S’mores Cookies
March 26, 2012 § 3 Comments
I have the Country Summer playlist playing on Frat Music, curled up in bed while the wind rages outside my window, and I’m trying to study for a quiz tomorrow but procrastinating by writing my junior paper. I’ve been up since 5:30 a.m.. At that time, I was in a hotel in the outskirts of Montreal. Eight hours later, I was sitting in seminar discussing post 9/11 literature. The campus is showing the first signs of spring, pretty pink flowers blooming everywhere, but you wouldn’t know it given the chill.
I’m torn between feeling like it should be summer, with all of us outside sitting around a BBQ and lying in the grass, and feeling like I could curl up in front of a fireplace and hibernate for the next month to come, these three weeks of midterms and papers and presentations and chilly winds that stand in between me and sundresses. Luckily, in this intermediary time, these s’mores cookies are filling the gap between winter and summer fires. Made in a hotel kitchen at the base of Mont Tremblant (which was disappointingly lacking in snow, so much so that I never even put on my skis), each cookie sits atop a graham cracker square and is packed with chocolate chips and mini marshmallows, with some extra chocolate squares on top just for fun and tradition’s sake. They’re soft and chewy and a great stand-in for the summer treat, though I imagine they would be even better with an extra-dark bruléed marshmallow on top.
I bookmarked these cookies a long long time ago. About a week ago, a friend came across them and demanded that they be produced. Here’s the cookie delivery.
Jet-Lagged in Hipster Town
March 19, 2012 § 1 Comment
Sitting on the S-Bahn platform at Friedrichstraße, watching people spill out of the doors, and then a new set of people shove in. The last straggler running up the stairs to catch the closing doors just in time. People on their way home from work grab a pastry at the kiosk, friends kiss hello and walk off, and I’m just sitting on a metal chair on the platform.
I always seem to have very bizarre experiences in Berlin and this trip has been full of random flashbacks, be it the chocolate castles I saw when I was sixteen or the sketchy night spent here last summer among the rail-side clubs by Oberbaumbrücke, with bottles smashing and voices screaming on the bridge. I must have seen that same bridge at least four times daily since arriving in Berlin on Friday.
As I’ve seen most of the main tourist attractions, we have mostly been bumming around East Berlin, having coffee, eating Korean dumplings and taking pictures of graffiti, which seems to adorn every inch of blank space. I’m eating Bulgarian fried eggs in yogurt-dill sauce on little slices of bread, with my hands, and falafel with chili sauce from the Turkish restaurant fronts. I am also eating Haribo gummies, speaking more French than German, and taking loads of pictures of art.
Well on my way to becoming Berliner hipster? We shall see.
Raspberry Oat Bars
March 9, 2012 § 1 Comment
The day after writing that what I really missed in life was lemon curd, I got a package from my mother with — you guessed it — a jar of bright lemon curd. It’s a little sweeter than the one I usually make, but it’s been getting me through the week before midterms, the little secret jar that comes out while I’m sitting in bed stressing at 11 p.m. It’s crazy that, even thousands of miles away, she read my mind. Lately, I’ve been feeling like jumping on a plane and heading home, someplace where a simple text message doesn’t have a dozen possible interpretations, a novel can actually be read in a quiet place with a cup of tea instead of being rushed through in a couple of hours, fish doesn’t have to be fried in breadcrumbs in order to be decent, and where I could actually sleep without lying awake for two hours trying to stop my mind from spinning.
What’s called for now is a country retreat. You know, one of those weekends spent in the woods or on the beach, in a little airy shack, where you cook simple meals and go to bed early. Maybe read a magazine, or the first chapter of a book. Run in the morning and take a walk in the evening. Given that a country retreat is not part of my reality right now (or anytime in the near future), I thought back to a time when it was. And it looked like this:
Raspberry jam crumb bars. Oats and brown sugar. Waffles in the morning drenched in Vermont maple syrup. Sunny orange juice. A brisk, blue sky light up by the sun. And lots of friends sitting around the table.
Guava Shortbread
March 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
It’s finally light again when we walk to dinner. I’ve contemplated not wearing a winter jacket for a couple of days in a row. The grassy expanse of the Battlefield stretches before me while I stretch, my run highlighted by low sunlight and a delicate breeze. The birds have started chirping again. At the risk of having spoken too soon, spring has finally arrived, calm in its early beginnings but bringing with it a cheerful liveliness, a feeling that, at last, the dregs of winter are over. I’ve started dreaming of beaches and salty oceans, of tearing crabs apart, fingers drenched in butter and feet still sandy, of dining on outside patios in the twilight, of citrus-specked drinks with straws.
Meanwhile, there’s still quite a bit of work ahead of me — and some cold, winter adventures as well. My summer activities have been limited to browsing recipe journals, dining slideshows, and travel articles. First there was a grapefruit curd inspired by a trip to Morocco on 101Cookbooks, and then there were whole fried mullet in the NYTimes Athens slideshow. And then the desire for a jar of lemon curd all to myself, to be standing in a kitchen full of windows, to be eating my mother’s strawberry shortcake. It’s around this time that I really start missing the busy morning markets and the fresh produce — the happiness of the farmers’ market finally coming back to life after endless weeks of pears and apples.
The last time I was home, my mother picked up a jar of guava curd for me. It was sweet and bright, yet surprisingly mild. I spread it between two layers of tender shards of shortbread dough, resisting the urge to press the grated shards into each other, which resulted in a soft, delicate crumb and a subtly tropical jammy center.
Birthday cupcakes
February 28, 2012 § Leave a comment
It’s official; the last one of us is finally 21. A day (or rather a midnight moment) well worthy of chocolate cupcakes filled with dark chocolate ganache, a (surprise!) blackberry and topped with a swirl of brown butter frosting and white pereilles. I revamped an old cake recipe (i.e. I finally followed a recipe that I once attempted to follow, but diverged greatly and ended up with a spectacular, towering, foot-tall, dark chocolate layer cake) and otherwise improvised on the flavor profile. Call it one of those ideas I dreamed up while bored in lecture.
Sorry for the short post — I just wanted to assure you that I am alive, just having a few very hectic weeks and enjoying all the (miniscule) downtime getting back into shape in this amazing spring-like weather.
To make these cupcakes:
Make this cake batter and try not to stress out as your cupcakes balloon up and look ready to explode.
Make ganache: Measure out whipping cream and chopped semisweet chocolate in a 1:1 ratio (ounces). Heat whipping cream in the microwave until just boiling. Stir in chopped chocolate until completely melted.
Spoon out the center of each cupcake and fill the hole with a spoonful of ganache.
Top ganache filling with a blackberry.
Brown butter on the stovetop (I used two sticks). Place in the fridge until decently solidified. Then mix in enough powdered sugar for the icing to be pipable.
Pipe icing on cupcakes and top with sprinkles of your choice.
Ask for clarification for this absurd attempt at a recipe.
Je me souviens
February 7, 2012 § Leave a comment
I’m sitting in the light of a stained glass window of the library in East Pyne, whiling away a few hours between classes. It’s only the second day of term, and the third day back on campus after break. A week spent up north, in Montreal and Dartmouth, has had the added effect of making Princeton cold feel like a summer breeze. Despite having caught a cold, it’s been easy enough to forgo a jacket this week. Otherwise, this week, being the first and before the monotony of mid-semester, has the benefit of every course and subject appearing fascinating and compelling. Visions of Paris, Eastern Europe and Morocco dance at the forefront, haunted by the cultural problems — immigration, terrorism and the destruction of neighborhoods — that I know will follow the thin veneer of the first two classes. I’ve just ordered over $150 of out-of-print and going out-of-print accounts, fictional and autobiographical, of Moroccan immigration as a testament to the theme of the semester. The question: what is hospitality and what does it mean in relation to our pasts?
When we walked into Artigiani off rue Saint-Denis, we were chilled and feeling vaguely triumphant, having just conquered the eccentricities of street parking in Montreal — check posted sign, check contradictory sign posted below, realize spot is permitted, drive to another side street, recommence parking sign-scouting. We were seated at a table in the middle of the dining room, which was largely empty it being a Monday evening, and handed large menus, written in French but punctured with various Italian words that required numerous explanations. Begin translations, retranslations and finally, successful ordering of food. The waiter, who diligently explained almost every item on the menu including how the fresh gnocchi are made, turned out to be the owner and an endearing example of Italian hospitality. We joined him at the bar for a couple of shots of his family’s homemade limoncello, discussing his hometown outside of Naples, the conviction of the Afghani family that murdered its three “Westernized” daughters in Quebec, the state of the surrounding ski areas and various future vacation plans. It seems like if there’s one thing people can bond over (besides food), it’s having a list of places we’d like to go but have never been. Call it a list of desires — everyone has one but many have no means to accomplish the majority on it.
The rest of the week was filled with touring human creations meant to take you away from the present to a different setting and existence: a snow village of igloos filled out with bedrooms made of ice complete with an ice bar and restaurant, and the biodome which recreates natural animal habitats, a tropical rainforest and northern maple forest among them. Coming back from an action-packed vacation to a class discussing the shadow of the Soviet Union, it’s striking to remember that movement and travel is not yet a universal right and how very lucky we are to be able to learn by seeing different parts of the world first hand.
Out wanderlusting, be back soon.
January 26, 2012 § 1 Comment
A couple of days ago, I bought a ginger pecan tart from a bakery at the Chelsea Market, which was a racket of food and dishware shops, bakeries and take-aways, and exposed-plumping industrial ceilings. The tart melded two of my favorite desserts in one, something I had never considered before. It had a cake-like gingerbread layer, topped with a thin layer of gooey pie filling and lots of nuts, and it was delicious for breakfast.
In other news, I have finished exams, spent the last few days in New York City, seen the Statue of Liberty for the first time, eaten moules frites and an incredible salmon avocado tartare, seen the Rangers and the Jets play, and now there’s only about three days before we’re piling into the car and driving to Montreal. Finally having a real vacation from school has been a relief as I was beginning to go a bit stir-crazy sitting around on campus, in front of my computer for two weeks straight. I’ll be back soon with some real kind of post, but for now, I think I need Microsoft Word and I need to go on a break.
The California Coastline
January 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
Two days ago we were driving down the winding coastline, swinging around the curves in the road and pulling over to stand at the brink of the waves, the salty water, with the dusty sand between our toes. Yesterday, fives lanes of car lights shone in each direction in the dark on the drive to the airport. Before I know it, my plane will be landing in New York. And I’m not sure I’m really ready.
The other day, I gave a talk on food writing and local eating at my old high school. To prepare for it, I scrolled way back in the blog, looking at entries I had written a year ago, and then even some beyond that. It’s bizarre reading your own writing with a year or two in between you and it, it comes close to reading the writing of a stranger, except you have a creepy feeling that that person knows who you are, or rather, that you know that stranger inside and out. Around this time last year, I was finally coming home from Europe, with absolutely zero idea as to what I would be doing for the next few months. I was lost, terrified and very, very stressed, close to throwing it all in and becoming a ski bum except that it was too late in the season to be on the job-hunt. It seemed almost too late to start any kind of search.
Some people wander easily, it’s simply their nature. Other people struggle with order their entire lives. I like to think I come down somewhere in the middle, riding in the back of the car along the highway, my iPod on, staring out at the ocean, but my mind lost in its own thoughts, plotting, planning the path ahead.
I arrived in New York yesterday evening after a flight of sleep and unrest and with a sense of dread for the weeks ahead. A day later, several pieces I had been stressing about seem to finally be falling in place. I remember leaving here a couple of weeks ago high-strung, upset and desperate for a way out. But coming back, it’s calmer, easier to face the problems for what they were. And also harder to accept that my surroundings are not this anymore:
Brown-sugar Poppyseed Sandwiches
January 1, 2012 § 1 Comment
Sometimes I get really into hearty cookies. That might be the reason behind my obsession with digestive biscuits and why I regularly snag them off the hors-d’oeuvres table whenever they are available. I would never put anything on them, I find them perfectly crumbly, buttery and gritty as is.
One of the reasons I love traveling is the variety of textures desserts take depending on the region. While desserts in the U.S. are often light, fluffy and made mostly with white flour, desserts in Laos are often gummy and made with coconut and tapioca flour. I particularly loved this one slice of cake I had at a restaurant in Vienna that was packed full, practically black, with poppy seeds. I was very happy when a similar poppy seed cake, this one a little lighter in color, appeared in a friend’s kitchen in Prague, made by a Hungarian visitor, who has since become the Hungarian girlfriend of one of the roommates. That morning, we spread thick slices of the speckled cake with raspberry jam and before we knew it, the entire pan was empty. It was grainy while remaining moist and had a heft to it that many American cakes lack. We thought about it for months afterwards and kept asking when the girl was coming back.
While I haven’t tried to recreate the poppy seed cake at home, I have been using poppy seeds quite liberally lately. These biscuits are a perfect example. Thin and light, but made entirely with whole-wheat flour, they have a dense crumb with crispy edges and a subtle sweetness, like a caramel prematurely removed from the fire. Two thin biscuits are sandwiched around a delicate spread of melted dark chocolate, to which I added a sprinkling of fleur de sel while still over the heat. They are a perfect accompaniment to a pot of tea on a foggy day, and made their way onto our holiday cookie plate this year.
Merry Christmas!
December 24, 2011 § 2 Comments
We never get much of a traditional Christmas around here. I’ve been running in shorts all week and this year there’s not even enough snow in the mountains to go skiing. So the parts we do have, we tend to do to extremes. We have five kinds of Christmas cookies (including one double batch). We got a tree that’s a foot taller than usual this year.
We made a lemon-themed bûche de noël instead of our usual gingerbread house; lemon sponge cake, rolled and filled with lemon curd, topped with torched meringue with lemon cookie elephants walking along the sides. Told you things were a bit alternative — the elephant cookie cutters have been in the family since before I started doing most of the baking. We also have a collection of flying dinosaurs, but that’s a story for later.
Tonight we’re cooking up seven kinds of fish, a tradition we’re apparently stealing from the Italians. This morning, we took the local grocery in full family-force and the intake includes salmon, tuna, whole crabs and crabmeat, scallops, prawns and mussels (we may be cheating and counting crab twice). Because of the Spare the Air alerts, we’ll be baking instead of our usual BBQing and we won’t be having a fire in the fireplace tonight. But I’m excited to recreate the stuffed mussels I had in Italy and to pan-fry potato latkes and crab cakes. Again with the mismatched traditions.
Even without the white Christmas, the air smells distinctly like Christmas. A run around our hill brings the slow setting of the sun as it settles into the misty, pastel sky. As it gets darker, the outlines of houses covered in lights start to appear up and down the hill on either side, and families wrap up their early evening walks, kids get carried home. Maybe we’ll drive out looking at the lights tonight after dinner. Maybe we’ll even convince Dad to let us play Christmas carols on the drive.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Soufflé Days 