Lessons with Kristen II: Petit Fours

Petit Fours (© Jill Frutkin)

 Some of my loyal followers (is anyone still reading this blog? hello? hello?) may be under the entirely mistaken impression that I'm a baking master. After all, I make a lot of cake. And it looks pretty nice on this blog.

I'll admit it, I have some skills, including making things that taste fabulous, and other things that obey the laws of chemistry, but there's one area that I haven't come close to mastering. This area, arguably the most important in pastry, is aesthetics. I make bundt cakes. I make pies, and my three layer cakes aren't a complete disaster, but when it comes to inspired and masterful presentation, most of the baking population of the world leaves me in the dust. Marzipan flowers and shining ribbons? Fondant animals? Elegant composition? Cakes that resemble anything other than cake? This is another world altogether.

The truth is that I'm not that aesthetically gifted in any area of my life. Framed pictures would lean against the wall forever if I were left to my own devices when I move. I can dress myself, but am baffled by daily fashion. I never plate anything.

The upside to this general visual vagueness on my part, though, is that I'm quick to appreciate and admire the efforts of others, to marvel at their superpowers, and, at least in pastry, to be happy to learn from them with minimal ego, and go about squishing out buttercream roses and marzipan flowers with abandon.

Of my many aesthetically gifted friends, there are one or two who share my particular brand of dorkiness*, and some of the most beautiful cakes I've seen in the last few years have come from the hands of Kristen. Like me, Kristen is more or less self-taught, although she decorated cakes professionally for a few years. She's a talented and in-demand actress, but in the quieter parts of her schedule has managed to become an exceptional baker and decorator. (Really, buy her cakes.)  Kristen's work goes beyond rote skill--she's imaginative (my downfall as a baker), and visually inspired by a wide range of beautiful things.  Still, because she's a perfectionist, she isn't satisfied with what she knows, she wants to make her cakes better and better. After talking cake at parties for a few years, we decided it was time to take our combined talents into the kitchen. Modestly, she called it a skillshare (I teach texture and taste, she teaches making stuff pretty), but I think I'm getting the best of the deal. Watching Kristen bake is a revelation--her fingers and her mind move so quickly.

A lovely evening: Ladies Bake  (© Jill Frutkin)

Also she's beautiful and funny and interested in stupid chemistry and makes killer grilled cheese.
Our first meeting went straight to the basics--buttercream roses and yellow cake. For our second, Kristen suggested petit fours. For flower painting and other general prettifying, we brought in Jill, who loves to mess with things and get sticky.

The evening was a much-needed respite from a long week, with Chambord Royale, glittery dust everywhere, and much weepy watching of NBC as a friend's block became the epicenter of a citywide manhunt (no more on this for now, if there's one thing I learned from the news media this week, it's that there's no shame in waiting a goddamned minute to share how you feel and what you know (or don't) about a complex and painful event. I did not learn this by example). In the process, we made some quite lovely little cakes.

Traditional petit fours seem to be some sort of genoise, cut into small squares, sometimes filled with jam or soaked in syrup, and then covered in some kind of frosting--marzipan, fondant, poured fondant. Kristen was interested in trying poured fondant, made from sugar, corn syrup, and water. This kind of icing is easy to make but somewhat difficult to work with, as it hardens VERY fast. For the base, we used this almond cake from Dorie Greenspan's Paris Sweets.

I was rushed and a little scattered in making the cake, so it probably came out a bit more dense than it could have, with a few tunnels, but anything that is mostly almond paste will never be bad. The real work of decorating was concentrated in the marzipan flower making. Using marzipan, food coloring, and some nifty little flower-punchers, we made little flowers, and then Jill painstakingly painted each flower with gold dust and popped dragees in for the centers. I learned how to pronounce dragee. 

The layout.  (© Jill Frutkin)

The finished products were a little haphazard, as we'd all had a bit of cava by that point, but perfectly lovely, no thanks to me. But now I know more things, and I can't wait to see what our next project will be. Meanwhile, my mother was on an entirely different edible art quest--details to come. I'll just say that it involved Shackleton, celery, gummi penguins, and, of course, Jell-O.

I can't say I'll ever be a perfectionist, but I am lucky to share the world people who care passionately, and make good art.

*Can't stop baking.

Memories of Gooseberry Tarts

In my life, there have been three gooseberry tarts.

The first was a Martha Stewart Living inspired creation, with a thin layer of custard and purple-red gooseberries. This was before tarts were a regular thing for me, and it was made in a large mary jane pan that my mother found at a tag sale. At the time, I did not know it was called a mary jane pan, or what it was for, so I just used it like a regular tart pan. For those in my erstwhile situation, a mary jane pan is a tart pan with a raised center, designed to create a cake with a fillable indentation. I can't find a good picture of such a pan, but here is a good shot of a cake made with one. The tart was beautiful and delicious, though a bit wobbly. I don't remember exactly when I made it, except that it was during the time that Jill and I lived in a little shack in a garden on Hope Street in Williamsburg, and that I bought the gooseberries at the Union Square farmers market and had never seen any before, and that Jill's stepmother Rosie was in town and ate some of the tart. We may or may not have eaten at an outdoor faux chowder house.

Those were good days, in our tiny little house in the garden, where my room had a palatial ceiling fan, a pig-iron bedframe that let the mattress slip through and required eternal caution to mount, and an iron burn on the floor. A quirk of ceiling vent turned the tiny bathroom (separate from the shower and the sink) into an accidental confessional, perfect for overhearing all the drama from the balcony of a nearby bar, Larry Lawrence. Yes, its name was, and continues to be, Larry Lawrence. In retrospect, it makes me feel very 1930s Paris to have lived three years in two Brooklyn apartments without sinks in the bathroom. (I've never been to Paris, or the 1930s, but I have vague romantic ideas).

Speaking of vague romantic ideas, if I didn't have a thing for early 20th century British children's novels, I don't think I'd have a clue that 'playing gooseberry' is slang for tagging along as an unwanted chaperone on a date.

The second gooseberry tart in my life was made by Carrie, and the memory of it has lingered largely because it is such a perfect illustration of some of her best talents--if she loves you, she will show up at your door sometimes with a handful of berries and make you a tart. In this case, the door belonged to my parents, and they have treasured the memory of this impromptu tart for years, partly because it was the first time either of them had eaten a gooseberry.

This lingering memory inspired a recent purchase on my mother's part. Surprised to find gooseberries at her farmers market, she bought me a little carton. I'm sure she assumed that I would make something with them during my weekend visit, but instead I selfishly packed them (along with several pounds of strawberries) and took them home. A few weeks later, (they keep very well in the 'icebox,' as the seller said), I noticed them ripening and made tart number three.

This tart, made in a proper tart pan, of which I now have several, of course, was also a custard tart, a variation on the cherry clafoutis from Dorie Greenspan's Around My French Table.  The crust was Dorie's Sweet Tart Dough, a very forgiving and buttery dough made with confectioner's sugar and an egg yolk. I think it's a Pate Sucre, but what do I know? In any case, it was parbaked and then filled with gooseberries and custard. I didn't sugar the gooseberries, so they stood out sharp and tart against the sweet crust and custard. To round out the Western MA theme, I tossed in a few of the strawberries that I'd roasted with sugar. The result was delicious, which was foregone (it had custard), but also uncommonly beautiful. The opalescent pink shine of the berries through the custard reminded me of pretty plastic beads, and the strawberries added occasional touches of color. It was nearly perfect, at least to my taste.

And it's my taste that matters, these days. Certain hints may have given this away, but I might as well say it: Matt and I are no longer together, and I'm slowly beginning to put together the pieces of a life without him. Clichés abound, and certainly fuel my nostalgia for more than tarts. For now I'm just doing my best to live in this place of loss and change, and occasional perfect tarts. Though, to tell the truth, it too was imperfect, and the egg yolk wasn't well whisked in to the filling. There's room for improvement, at any rate, but it was very good.

There's more to say, maybe, but not now. I'm not as calm nor as wise as I'm maybe trying to sound. I'm looking into meaner stories, stronger stands, and harder things. Nothing is going to be the same, now. New memories. Old ones. And gooseberry tarts.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Chocolate Truffle Tart

I resisted this tart from beginning to end. Brownies are good, tarts are great, brownies in a tart shell, eh. I love chocolate but desserts that just taste of chocolate and sweet are not my favorite. Too sweet, too one-note, just too...eh. The chocolate tart crust was great, and I'm thinking of filling a small tart with the remainder and some passion curd. The original recipe resembled a riff on Rocky Road, with white chocolate and cookies and chocolate scattered into the brownie mix. I threw in some white chocolate chunks, grape-nuts (why not, I'm from New England), and cacao nibs, which almost always get mistaken for nuts at my office.

Next up, rugelach, which I can pretty much guarantee that I'll prefer.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Far Breton and Honey Nut Scones

Rustic pastry bathed in golden light? Oh yes.

As I may have mentioned, Tuesdays with Dorie is finishing up and doubling up recipes to make it to the end by year's end. This week, both recipes were so appealing that I made them in one night.

Above, we have the Far Breton, a high-level example of what the British call nursery food--custardy batter pocked with sweet dried raisins, craisins, and cherries. The Far was a close cousin of some other good friends of mine, the clafoutis, the popover, and the cup custard, and so completely compelling in its eggy-ness that I ate it all in about 24 hours.

With most of my attention focused on the Far Breton, I didn't have a lot of time for the eating of scones, but these honey-walnut ones won my approval by being very plain and simple. Whole-wheat pastry flour was allowed to shine, and they were a perfect jam vehicle.

Speaking of jam vehicles, nursery custard, and the end of the year, I wanted to take a second to float an idea I've been hatching. (Mixed metaphor alert--unless the idea is perhaps a duck.) Having built a pretty decent reputation in the neighborhood as a provider of delicious things, I'd like to launch a little consignment business for the holiday season, providing pies, cookie plates, and other good things upon request. Perfect for your dinner party or host gift dilemma. More on this shortly, and all suggestions welcome.

Where in the World is Tuesdays with Dorie?

Tuesdays with Dorie, a fixture of my life for over two years, is fast winding down. Although I’ve nearly stopped blogging TWD recipes, and clearly don’t adhere to a Tuesday baking schedule, I still feel a certain regular resonance from that big dirty cookbook with the melted cover. This resonance takes the form of a kind of proprietary fondness, a connection to the tome that goes beyond following printed instructions toward a goal of dessert.

As the good bloggers hurtle their way to the finish line, I remind myself that it’s the journey that makes things interesting. In the interest of making up somewhat for the last few months, a brief overview of the unphotographed portions of the journey. Many were missed, but along the way…

Creamy Dark Chocolate Sorbet: Very soft, and popular. I found it overly sweet but a good companion to other ice creams of the moment, especially passion fruit and black pepper.

Salt and Pepper Shortbread: I make these all the time, they’re a popular Valentines Day cookie in my house, as well as being the go-to choice when out of eggs. It may say something about me that even when out of eggs I’m well stocked with cocoa.

Flip-Over Plum Cake: Buttery crisp-edged, very sweet. Lives somewhere between crisp and clafoutis. Ate it at all hours with a spoon.

Basic Biscuits: Basic. Excellent. Any excuse to make biscuits is warmly welcomed.

Bittersweet Brownies: Whipped up this November recipe quickly the other night. The only alteration I made was to sub in about ¼ cup of Bustelo grounds for the instant espresso powder. This made a big difference in the taste and seemed to leave the texture unaffected. Matt, who should be pretty jaded on the subject of late night desserts by this time, got misty-eyed on being told that hot brownies were available at 11pm, a condition that he described as ‘one of the best things that could happen.’ The morning-afters went to Jill, who had them for breakfast.

The TWD group is continuing the fight in the coming year with an earlier Dorie Greenspan collaboration--Baking With Julia. A companion volume to the PBS show of same name, this book contains contributions from a variety of American cooks and pastry chefs. While the writing will remain Dorie's, I'm looking forward to changing it up with this eclectic collection.

I've been very remiss, obviously, on the photo-taking front, but while you imagine all the the desserts mentioned above, you can admire this shot that my sister dug out of the archives from our 2008 trip to Uganda.

Buttercream Recovery

Eggplant caviar on SCRATCHbread MuTTT loaf.

All the leftover buttercream is discarded or frozen. A few pints of passion fruit curd still linger in the refrigerator, but this week our kitchen's main focus has been grilled meats and fishes, and vegetables. August is high CSA season, and I am trying to keep up. While some kale and lettuce has gone to a smelly, wilted grave, we've been doing our best to make sure that Windflower Farm's hard work doesn't go to waste.

Last year, two of my big pitfalls were beets and eggplant. I let more than a few eggplants wither away in the crisper, and I dealt with the beets by giving them away or by juicing them. This year, I'm back to the juicing for the little red roots, and I'm still trying to develop a taste for eggplant before little back dots of mold appear. It's not that I hate it, I just can't seem to cook it in any way that makes me want to really eat it.

This year's first attempt at eggplant reclaimation was Dorie Greenspan's eggplant 'caviar,' incidentally last week's French Fridays with Dorie pick. It's essentially a spread, made from roasted eggplant mushed up with garlic, oil, lemon, salt, pepper, chile, paprika, herbs, onion, and tomatoes. In that it doesn't taste like eggplant at all, it's pretty much a win. All I tasted was garlic, and Matt, who tried it later, was concerned that he had tried the wrong dish, as it tasted like 'salsa' and appeared to contain peppers.  The more I cook from Around My French Table, the happier I am with it. All of the things I initially disliked--cutesy dishes, very personal tweaks--don't seem to detract from the general solidity and usefulness of the recipes, and sometimes add a little extra that I wouldn't have anticipated. I'm still a little irritated that the book doesn't include weight as well as volume measurements, but maybe in the next edition...

Tuesdays with Dorie: Cornmeal Shortbread

Strange. These cookies came out a little...strange. That's probably because I used a very coarse polenta in them instead of a fine cornmeal, underchilled, and threw in a pinch of Ancho chile powder because I did. Instead of lemon zest. On the theory that what's good for the cornbread is good for the cookie.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Chocolate Pots de Creme

French and I have a tortured relationship. I like the food, and the tablecloths and the attitude and all, but I fear the language. For a pronunciation challenged person like me, the myriad French words in the theater and food worlds are a perpetual minefield. I usually bull my way through by saying them slightly snidely, as if I were mispronouncing them on purpose to show those cheese-eating surrender monkeys. I mean, in the end, you still get cup custard. But I will cop to the fact that my aunt had to teach me how to say Pots de Creme quite recently, and I still feel a little dopey saying it.

(Can't say I'm the only one on the internet--yes I'm looking at you, bloggers who present their creations with a hearty 'Walla!.'  No, I'm still not over this.)

I feel just fine eating it, though, and was pleased when it was this week's Tuesdays with Dorie pick. I halved the recipe, and screwed it up somewhat by adding too much milk to the ganache at first, and refusing to skim and cover the baking cups, but the final product, though not picturesque, was some good pud. For those of you don't share my Francophobia, here's the recipe.

Normal as Blueberry Pie

If there's a better thing than the classic American musical, I may have yet to see it, and I've seen Macchu Picchu, Lake Victoria, Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, and one or two other things. But for a combination of sheer verve, skill, abandon, and riotous desire to make everyone happy, RIGHT NOW, the American musical comedy is it. It has its dark lows too, its broken dreams and bitter underbelly--nothing reaches heights without hitting real bottoms. 


I've spent the better part of my life involved in what may or may not be 'avant-garde' theater. I see any number of quite serious plays, strange in formula and unusual in topic. It's my not-so-well-concealed scrubbed-clean secret that if there's Rogers and Hammerstein playing next door, I'm pushing my way through the caged rabbits or badmitton birdies, the on-set camera wires and the stray architectural models to get there. Give me 'Wonderful Guy,' and I'm good for days. 

I can't dance for anything, and despite a quite decent singing voice I was rarely cast advantageously in school productions (to be honest, I have a long record of specializing in the characters who shout and don't get songs...the boss from Pajama Game all the way through to the mother in Crazy for You). Perhaps my greatest feat was wobbling around on roller skates through the first act of Funny Girl. At least that's the one immortalized in the hallway of my old high school, flapper rig and all. And it was awesome. If anyone offered me part in any musical anywhere, right now, libraries and bakeries could shove it (for a while, anyway). 


As things are, I find other ways to channel my madness, and to glam it up with passion and power (oddly, I've never watched Glee). Mostly, I keep on cooking, for that other kind of pure pleasure that lights up faces when you hand them the chocolate chip cookie. For the rush of hard work as it smells good out of the oven. For the burn of chile heat. And because I'm still kind of Dorie Greenspan's willing slave. 

This week, I did a little Tuesdays with Dorie in the form of some Almond Scones with Dried Cherries, which were perfect in taste, and perhaps just a little loose in texture...I've gotten addicted to stiff scones (that sounds awkward). 

I also did a little French Fridays with Dorie, to the tune of Short Ribs in Red Wine and (no) Port. Yes, despite recent excursions to Lisbon I have no port in the house, and wasn't about to pour out my Ginjinha into the mix. The grocery store was down to one tiny one pound package of short ribs, so I cut the recipe down to approximately one ninth, and made some substitutions. Somehow I got a few wrinkled bulbs of celariac into the vegetable aromatic mixture, but forgot the actual celery that I'd bought for the purpose. The finished dish, in my house, was small and unceremonious, but Matt was a fan. He also suggested that the meat would be great shredded and put into a pita with some yogurt sauce, but as we had so little meat to begin with, we didn't get the chance to go all Greek on its ass. It also made the whole kitchen smell great when it was cooking--the best thing about a braise is the anticipation. And the bones.

I was also very happy with the method, which eschewed a stovetop browning of the meat--always a messy affair, with a few minutes under the broiler before and after the braise. I'm going to see if I can adapt this one to other recipes. 


It was a triumph! A belly laugh! A wild ride! A balaboosta! Applause! 
Excuse me, I have to go watch some more youtube videos of my favorite songs now.

French Fridays with Dorie: Mushroom Soup

Photo by Matt Korahais.

So far, my foray into Around My French Table has been almost uniformly successful (we'll see how I feel when we get to the smoked fish), but this book really shines in the soup chapter. This week's soup, a rich mushroom, was perfect both for eating and for adding to other sauces. I made it even richer by adding Marsala instead of the white wine called for. While I ran out of mushrooms before making the little raw mushroom salad garnish Dorie recommends, it didn't much signify because I hadn't pureed most of the soup (house preference is chewy things in broth, rather than uniform mush). We're still eating it, and it's perfect for a snowy Friday, especially one when Matt's flying away to Paris and I'll be left alone at the end of the night. Still, we're so lucky, and this year is starting out very, very well. Lisbon in two weeks, and for now, there's mushroom soup.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Midnight Crackles

Photo by Matt Korahais.

My sister mentioned to me that she'd been telling her co-workers about my hobbies obsessions, and that they were jealous. While I won't question what kind of slow day at work had her detailing her sister's hobbies, it is perhaps needless to say that I felt the implied challenge. And luckily had a tin of these Midnight Crackles ready to go. Dorie suggests that it is better to under than over cook these, and I went the light route, making them very soft, somewhere between a brownie and a cookie. Enjoy, co-workers, and here's hoping someone else's siblings have hobbies like winning the lottery and running fabulous inns in warm places.

French Fridays with Dorie: December Round-Up

Since it's January, it does seem like a good time to clear the decks on the December cooking from Around My French Table (did everyone remember that I was in that cooking group--I did). Back in November I decided that I wasn't going to let cooking clubs take over my blog quite as aggressively as they have my life, and thus I would only do monthly roundups of my French Fridays with Dorie cooking. Somehow that seems to have translated into losing most of the pictures, so this round-up will be mostly text-based, an overview for the curious.


There were five recipes for the month, of which I made four. The butter-glazed carrots will have to wait, but not too long, if I know the carrot fiend with whom I live.

Sweet and Spicy Cocktail Nuts, page 18 -- Made 'em last night.

Photo by Matt Korahais

An egg white, a little sugar, some spice (more and bolder next time), some salt, and as some people in the blogosphere say, causing me to giggle hysterically every time--"Walla!" You know how Bush mentioned the internets and now they're called that? Yeah, unfortunately it's like that. Voila!

I covered the bowl, ate one, and then went back and uncovered it for another. This may go badly. Also, note the lovely bowl, courtesy of Stacey.

My Go-to Beef Daube, pages 244 and 245 -- I bought beef for you, Dorie, and I never buy beef. I made stew for you, Dorie, and I love making stew. My version was a bit quick and dirty, but it was eaten. Stew rarely goes astray. I found it a little acidic for my palate, which is odd given that I eat unripe fruit and suck lemons. But there you have it.


Leek and Potato Soup, pages 66 and 67 -- My Christmas weekend dinner, breakfast, lunch, snack... Somehow, Matt never got any, nor any chance to photograph. I had it all. I made the basic recipe, garnished it with parmesan croutons (from SCRATCHbread's country parma loaves). Then I added more potatoes, because it was like a delicious warm milk. I think perhaps a potato weight would have been helpful. But then I've been whining about the fact that this book doesn't have weights in general, so chalk me up for a whiner and move on. The soup was great.

Photo by Matt Korahais.

Speculoos, pages 406 and 407 - Not my favorites, only in that they were like yet unlike the fiercely spiced, barely sweet gingerbread that I crave. No fault of the cookies themselves, which I had great fun shaping in many shapes. I have a great many cookie cutters and they don't get put through their paces enough.

Photo by Matt Korahais.

Looking forward to another month with this book, which is more than the sum of its parts, making these recipes.

The Recipe in My Head

Photo by Matt Korahais.

There's an essay in Mouth Wide Open where John Thorne talks about seeing a recipe printed on the back of a pasta box as "a dish wildly signalling me from the other side, begging to be let out," rather than "instructions for making a dish." I feel like somehow that's the way I approached this week's Tuesdays with Dorie cake, which was supposed to be an apple coconut cake but somehow wound up a cranberry chestnut cake. It was less of my usual substitution and more of the process described above for one reason--I went shopping twice with this cake in mind, and both times stubbornly refused to buy apples. And I really like apples and wish I had some in the house right now. But something didn't want this cake to be made as specified.

Photo by Matt Korahais.

 It may be because it has similarities to my favorite yogurt cake, which I frequently make with cranberries. The (local!)chestnuts were leftover from a late batch of stuffing. The cake was good, though probably drier than Dorie was going for.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Lingonberry Shortbread Cake

You know what makes great cranberry sauce? Lingonberries. Ikea lingonberry jam is a great cranberry substitute in almost all conditions. Worked like a charm in this jammy little cake, with crumbly shortbread crust. Just the way we like it. You can find the recipe here.

Photo by Matt.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Peanuttiest Blondies

I just realized that it's been over a month since I posted anything but cooking club posts. This ends soon. Now that I'm back from the Halloween whirlwing tour-guiding, it's time to tell you about many delicious things I've been cooking, and some ideas and dreams and pursuits I've been pursuing.

For now, though, there's Dorie Greenspan's Peanuttiest Blondies. I didn't have chocolate chips, so my blondies were blonde indeed, and I think they could have used something to offset the richness of the peanut butter and peanuts.

Halloween really was nuts, with 11 tours in two weekends, including one that was three and a half hours long, guest appearances from my aunt Nicki and uncle Joe, from Marie and Jim of Heavenly Cake Place, and from Matt, who checked out the tour for the first time and lent his keen directorial eye and New York loving sensibility to making it even better. My tour was ambushed by zombies not once but twice, the second time in the middle of the afternoon, when the foul fiends crept up behind me and were this close to chewing on my neck. I was heckled, applauded, and exhausted. Peter Stuyvesant, Edgar Allen Poe, and the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire victims all got their due, McSorley's Old Ale House provided drinks, and I was far too busy walking at night to get half the halloween candy that I wanted. I did, however, get steaming tamales from the Day of the Dead celebration going on at the St. Marks Church, and in the end, I think that's a win.

French Fridays with Dorie: Marie-Helene's Apple Cake, Standard and Rustic

This simple cake, more apples than batter, was the first recipe that I cooked from Around My French Table. Or, should I say, the first recipe in the book that I cooked. It was not until last night that I was finally able to cook from my brand new copy of the book itself (it's giant! it's fun! I love new cookbooks!).

The first time I made the cake, I made it in an 8-inch cake pan rather than the 8-inch springform  recommended, because the bottom to my 7-inch springform has gone missing...anyone seen it? As you can probably see, Matt was not around to photograph the 8-inch pan, so you're stuck with my sorry shot. Both times, I had no issues with the cake sticking to the pan, it pulled easily away from the sides, and as it was somewhat sloppy anyway, I didn't see a problem with the turnout.

When I made it again last night, I halved the recipe and went rustic, cooking it in a preheated small cast-iron skillet.

It was thin and flat, almost like a breakfast pancake, and this time I cooked it longer to get a really crispy brown top.

Both times, the flavor right out of the oven was delicious, warm buttery cake bits and molten apples.

Overnight, the juices from the apples released into the cake, and turned it into something closer to a bread pudding (not a problem in this house).

The flavor profile was what Matt would call 'breakfasty' and I would call 'I'll have some now please.'

I like ice cream for breakfast and fruity things for dessert.

Now that my copy of the book has finally (finally!) come in the mail, I look forward to cooking widely from it.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Eat MORE Pie

Back on the pie crust train. We had a bag of 'utility' Macouns on the counter and a butter/margarine crust ready to go. And go we did.

I actually took this pie down to Libby and Rob's, re-living the time when my wonderful testers lived right here in-house. Full of butter, apples, vietnamese cinnamon, and not much else (ok, ok, I threw in a pear), this was pie at its purest.

The next evening, Rob, who hadn't been there for dinner, put it to me thus: "I was reading my horoscope, and it said I would be finding a new love and beginning a new relationship. And I now know that it was true--your pie."

Happy Birthday Dorie: Brown Sugar Squash and Brussels Sprouts en Papillote

It's possible that Dorie Greenspan has taken over my life. She certainly has a choke-hold on this blog...or her recipes do. (I do cook other things, I swear. I really have to post more variations)

Just the other day Matt very solemnly explained to Liana, that yes, we do what Dorie says to do here in this house. It makes for very good eating.

Today, October 24th, is Ms. Dorie Greenspan's birthday, and because she's given us so much baking and eating pleasure, and because she seems like a lovely person, though I've never met her, I thought I would join a little project that Holly of Phe/MOM/enon put together, a kind of progressive birthday dinner, made entirely of recipes from Around My French Table.

I chose a recipe from the vegetable section, Brown-Sugar Squash and Brussels Sprouts en Papillote.  This simple preparation is chunks of winter squash (I used a potimarron, or red kuri) and Brussels sprouts (and apples, the sleeper ingredient) tossed with some brown sugar and oil and sage and roasted in a tinfoil wrapper until tender. It was sweet and gentle and very well liked in this house, where brussels sprouts are definitely all that.

I was extremely excited about the potimarron, a squash that is supposed to have a flavor like that of chestnuts. (Ok, I was so excited that Matt caught me cradling it in my arms when I realized what it was). The farm stand at the market that I bought it from had it identified, interestingly, as 'Baby's Favorite,' meaning, I think, actual infants, as opposed to one's sweetie. I thought the texture might have done better for soup, but the flavor of the almost translucent squash cubes was excellent. Known for having skin so delicate it can be eaten after roasting, it was also a weeper, and poured copious amounts of liquid when cut, which can just barely be seen in the photo below.

Happy birthday, Dorie. Enjoy the feast.

French Fridays with Dorie: Hachis Parmentier and my Beef Block

AKA post number one million about how much I love DiPaola Turkey Farm.

Hachis Parmentier, the French answer to the English shepherd's or cottage pie. Usually made with boiled (simmered! simmered! shouts John Thorne in my head) beef and sausage and vegetables, and freshly mashed potatoes, but seeing that it's a down-home, peasant dish, I felt free to adapt it to what was in the house.

Perhaps because I wasn't raised cooking it, or because of all the problems inherent in buying 'good' meat, I have issues buying beef. I'd like to say I don't easily eat that high on the food chain, both literal and metaphorical. Beef has a kind of weight that birds just don't seem to in the American food imagination, and it kind of scares me most of the time. I don't like to buy it, though I'll happily eat it if it's served.

In this case, the meats became boneless turkey thighs and turkey sausage (from DiPaola, where else? I love you DiPaola Turkey Farm). The pototoes were recycled from a batch of roasted fingerlings that made it to a Sunday dinner table too late to tempt overloaded appetites. I mashed them up skins and all and made it work. Sprinkled with some mixed cheese, it was just the kind of food that Matt often asks to have in the refrigerator, a heat and eat, hearty dish, that didn't last long.

Everybody in the Pot: FFwD's Vietnamese Blend

 What do you get when you pour almost everything that you like to eat into one pot and slurp? Some would say ramen, and I wouldn't disagree, but almost every cuisine has its version of a hot, restorative, noodle soup, and I happen to think that the Vietnamese do it very well indeed. I've rarely met a pho I couldn't get along with (we won't talk fishballs now), and Dorie Greenspan's pho ga/la sa ga hybrid was no exception. 


Matt doesn't do coconut, so I waited until he was on tour before pouring an entire can of coconut milk into some chicken broth, simmering with aromatics including cilantro, anise, and chiles, and poaching some chicken thighs in the broth. One of the things that can make Southeast Asian cooking difficult is the long ingredient lists--even a 'simple' soup is apt to have ten flavoring elements and fifteen add-ins, but in this case I found that almost all of the flavoring elements have become pantry staples for me, and that the CSA had provided many of the herbs I don't always have on hand, including cilantro and Thai basil. There were glass noodles in the cupboard, and the whole thing just came together remarkably...simply. When it was steaming, I filled a bowl with bean sprouts, chopped basil and cilantro, and sambal oelek, and poured it in.

And continued to do so for lunch and dinner for the next few days. Matt was gone, and Jill, who was staying with me, doesn't eat meat, so I hoarded the whole batch for myself. And slurped and slurped. And will have some more soon. With such a loose and elastic recipe, I found myself unintimidated by the ingredient list, and looking forward to adding, subtracting, trying the variation with curry and lemongrass (which I just found at the farmer's market, hurray!), throwing in some black mushrooms, and making each day's soup a little different.