Mazel Tov

I'm sitting here somewhere between having no idea who I am any more, and being more sure than I've ever been. Between the pouring rain and the raging swampy heat, the cold ocean and the primordially un-air-conditioned baking gig, I lost everything, and somewhere in the midst of all that water, I found it again. Along the way, I started two new jobs, gave notice at another, and asked the man I love to marry me.

Three tiers and an extra 9" cake waiting in the refrigerator under their first coat of buttercream.

He said 'of course.' Which is more or less what I assumed everyone would say after all these years. But being engaged turned out to be somewhat of a bigger deal than I had anticipated. I don't mean that it became a burden, or that anyone hired a skywriter. I mean what happened to me, and to Matt; the subtle shifts of responsibility and of commitment, the pleasure of our families, and the making of plans. Wedding plans may be a long way off, but in some new way, even more than before, we're planning the way we'll live our lives together. Some of it has been beautiful. Some of it has been very hard, I won't lie.  But in a deep, deep way, I feel like my life is beginning to move forward again, to break up the logjam, to grow.

Bowl, sieve, and spatula after straining roughly two quarts of lacquer glaze.

After the first glow of that 'of course,' Matt revealed the same exact question had been on his mind. In fact, he'd even started the process of ring shopping before he left for Avignon. Instead of being upset that I'd stolen his thunder, he was delighted that we had found ourselves in almost exactly the same place. If it weren't more than a little ass-backward, it just wouldn't be us.

The pristine perfection of the top layer, pre-transport.

And there there was wedding cake. Right in the middle of everything, in times so intense I feared things would go all Like Water for Chocolate on me, I made a three-tiered chocolate wedding cake for Jessica and Christopher and took it for the ride of its life (in crates, in the back seat, precariously balanced on bottles and old clothes) . Based on Rose Levy Beranbaum's Deep Chocolate Passion Wedding Cake from Rose's Heavenly Cakes, the cake was, as I've already described, Rose's German Chocolate Cake base, filled with passion fruit curd and passion fruit mousseline buttercream (light, spongy, marshmallowy, and tangy), and covered in a shiny lacquer glaze. The glaze is poured on warm, which allows it to form such a smooth, shiny layer.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to re-warm my extra glaze when assembling the cake at the wedding venue, so I accepted a few wrinkles and drips in the finished product. Any fears I may have had about the tower's look vanished as another friend of the bride arrived with boxes upon boxes of home-made sugar flowers, the loving work of several months. Together, we made one another look so good, and made the cake an impressive spectacle. I was so grateful to have the flower-maker on my team, and hope very soon to pester her into teaching me how she did it all.

The finished monster, covered in flowers.

While I was tiering and touching up the cake, the catering staff kept scaring me by asking me if that was all I had brought (it was), and if anything else would be served (not that I knew of, it turned out there were some truffles). I should have trusted Rose, though. Using her measurements, there was plenty of cake for all, in comparatively generous 'wedding-size' portions. In fact, the top tier managed to escape wholly unharmed, but only lived until the following day, when the newlyweds ate it for breakfast.

I have compared this cake to an upscale packaged snack cake on several occasions, but in practice it became something a little more--still light and fluffy, but served on fancy plates and placed on marble mantelpieces, it became elegant. I couldn't have done it alone though--without Matt to drive, position, photograph, and support me, without the faithful tasting crew and the online advice, without the friends who exempted me from all other wedding duties, and without the flower-maker who made it look so good, I would be nothing. Luckily, I have them all, and so I'm quite, quite, pleased with myself. Mazel tov, Jessica and Christopher, and thank you for your complete and unwavering trust in me.

Beautiful, no?

In these turbulent times, I want to wish joy and congratulations not just to the bride and groom, but to all of us figuring out our lives--to the friends finishing and starting dissertations, the friends moving from city to city, the friends walking across the UK, the friends starting new jobs, beginning new careers and new families, and becoming distinguished, the family old and new who loves me more than I can believe. To all those I treasure who struggle for and with love, who fight and sweat and treat each other right, and hold each other tightly. With Saturn returning for most of us soon, I couldn't be in better company, or more proud, happy, and grateful to know you all.

I'm gushing. But it's a good gush. As my mother says, it's always good to take advantage of any opportunity to celebrate a simcha. And this is certainly a simcha, which some would say is a mitzvah. Or a kosher beer. Or a pimp.

All photos in this post by Matthew Korahais.

L'chaim.

Heavenly Cake Bakers: Mud Turtle Cupcakes

I just watched an episode of Top Chef All-Stars where Fabio, the ridiculous and usually charming Italian madman, goes into a monologue in a Chinese grocery store about his pet turtle. Apparently, he bought one when he moved to New York, he loves it, takes it for walks, etc...and is deeply saddened by the cruelties of turtle soup.

Photo by Matt Korahais.

I don't think, though, that he'd mind these cupcakes. They don't so much look like turtles as sport that classic 'turtle' flavor combination: chocolate, caramel, and nuts. The base is a simple sour cream cocoa cupcake. The ganache was supposed to be dark chocolate, but my bodegas (even the fancy one) failed me, and it became a Hershey's milk chocolate whipped ganache, over which my bitter caramel sauce dripped nicely. I rarely buy pecans, so the nuts of choice were walnuts, as they have been in the last two Rose cakes that I made (one is upcoming, for free choice). I didn't eat one yet, but I tasted all the components. My taster, who is also my long-lost photographer, home from the opera wars, approved of them, looking askance at the number that I proposed to bring to work. As I work with about four people, he's probably right.

Photo by Matt Korahais.

So happy to have Matt back in the home and back at the tripod--I did extra special food styling tonight to feed his hobby. But he leaves again in not too long, so I'll be needing to get my camera fixed.

Those of you waiting for Lisbon updates, they're coming. Had to wait for most of my pictures to arrive, and I'm still waiting for five minutes to stop, breathe, and reflect. But in the meantime, enjoy the cupcakes.

Heavenly Cake Bakers: Cinnamon Mexican Chocolate Orange Angel Food Cake

This week's Heavenly Cake was an uncharacteristically open assignment, Angel Food Cake any way we wanted. We were instructed to take the Angel Food Cake base recipe (based on one egg white) and follow our bliss. I had already made the Chocolate Tweed Angel Food Cake for the last free choice cake, so I thought I would change it up a little. I actually made two cakes, one last Friday, which I tore into too soon and rendered unphotographable, though still very good. The second, which I made last night, was a riff on the chocolate tweed using grated Mexican drinking chocolate (Ibarra brand), Vietnamese cinnamon, orange oil, and almond extract. The orange oil and the cinnamon became the dominant flavors, but the chocolate made a pretty pattern throughout. I made the cake in a 9.25" tube pan, and I multiplied the recipe by 12, which seemed to work well.

No problems with any part of these angel food cakes, except the part where most of my quart jar of egg whites got used up for other breakfast foods while I was dawdling (read: leading tourists around non-stop, wearing a cape) on making cake #2. So now I broke a bunch more eggs, and might have to make some ice cream. Shucks.

Also, angel food cake just doesn't go well with ice cream. Something about the textures is just totally off. I bet whipped cream is the way to go, though.

Aesthetically minded types might have noticed that some of the blog photos in recent weeks have been more dramatically designed. Matt, the usual (and usually uncredited) blog photographer, has decided that he wants to employ a more intense style, and I'm right behind him as me makes me look very very good.

Well Provided

Thursday was a cold, wet, and dismal day. The kind of day where I take a train all the way to midtown and then fail to complete an errand because I can't bear the five block walk from the train through the tourists. It was also the kind of day that lets me know just how much I am loved.

First, a new neighbor came over for pie. Just stopped over, had some coffee, chatted, and took some pie. Could it be that Brooklyn is finally becoming, at least in part, the drop-in culture I dream of? Probably not, but it's a step in the right direction.



Then, I got to have dinner with Jill. Jill has known me for roughly eighteen years, and loved me for roughly thirteen of those. I don't grudge the first five, because the rest has been so good. Over the years,
Jill has pushed me, praised me to the skies, yelled at me, yelled with me, sung with me, done for me, and even lived with me.  Through it all, she has loved me, and she tells me so after every time I see her. I love her too, and am always grateful for her talent, her questions, and her constant loyalty, memory, and curiosity.

 After dinner, I came home wet and freezing to one more good thing. I knew that Matt had just had surprise oral surgery, so I wasn't expecting much in the way of conversation even, much less presents. But a large brown box was waiting for me in the hallway, with CSA vegetables on top and something even better on the bottom.

Last week, I posted about my ever-growing and obsessive desire for produce in large quantities. I wrote about it as a hunger for the more rural landscape of my childhood, as a desire for more than enough, for fullness and safety. Stacey has confessed on more than one occasion that she has a similar relationship with squash. Too many squash in the house, she admits, gives her a feeling of safety. Every time I go to the farmer's market, I think about all the security those tables and tables of multi-colored squash could give, and sometimes I get her a little one for a present. Sometimes I get one for myself as well.

Clearly, my loved ones took that post to heart, or just knew it well already. I got an email from my mother the other day telling me that she was blackening her hands cracking black walnuts for me (what black walnuts? from where? had we discussed this or did she just assume (rightly) that I would want any black walnuts upon which she stumbled?). And Matt, when he showed at the end of CSA pickup swollen and craving soft foods, knew me well enough that when the site coordinator told him to take all the apples he wanted, he took the whole box, and carried it proudly home for me. I danced around and couldn't stop exclaiming for hours. He knows me, this man, and he loves me. And he's a good provider. A whole cellar of squash couldn't make me feel so warm inside.

As for the outside, I think I definitely need some new boots and slippers. So I can shuffle around the house making apple butter, of course.

Bread Baker's Apprentice: Challah

I've skipped ahead one week in the challenge. This week's bread is supposed to be Casatiello, a kind of Italian take on Brioche filled with sausage and cheese, but I couldn't bear to make another brioche variation too soon, and we needed something less rich around the house.
You know you're in trouble when 'something less rich' is a challah. Challah was one of the first breads that I learned how to make, in part because it is easy, and in part because it is, like the Artos, a celebration bread, therefore the baking specialty of one or another of my parents' group of friends. John's (large, fluffy, wheaty) and Nina's (long, braided, seeded) challahs made it obvious that challah making was possible and came with great rewards, and I've never looked back. For Rosh Hashanah, I have occasionally been known to make Martha Stewart's rich, rich yolky challah, but Reinhardt's recipe is a good one for more everyday wear (as is the recipe in The Silver Palate Cookbook, fyi). I subbed in 1.5 cups of whole wheat flour into 4 cups total, and the result was a heartier taste with no change in texture.

Since my one other wedding assignment this summer, in addition to the cupcakes and cake, is a celebratory challah, it's good to flex the challah muscles. Like a very few other recipes, challah always feels so close and familiar to make that it is less like an adult challenge and more like a childhood memory. I like it that way.
Sophie, who has come to live with us for a little while, also likes it, but likes it best when Matt french toasts it, which he did this past Sunday.

French toast is outstanding. I have no manners, and, as with pancakes, tend to think it is best eaten by hand right off the griddle, one by one. Matt is very tolerant and allows such behavior even though he was not raised by wolves. My mother always did express the forlorn hope that I would behave more conventionally outside the house. That's why I never go out for brunch.

Matt Makes Dinner: Salmon with Apples and Pickle/Carrot Slaw

I mentioned that these days my cooking life usually starts around 9 pm. Some days, I just can't take it, and I need some greasy Chinese food to make it through a writers' meeting. Usually, that's a great idea, and preserves my sanity, if not my solvency. Last Wednesday, it wasn't the greatest idea, because I came home to find Matt making something delicious. He broiled salmon in a glaze of agave and butter and lemon juice (I think), sprinkled it with a crust of almonds and pine nuts, and surrounded it with apples, which gave it moisture and a faint apple aura.
For a salad, he improvised with our limited vegetable stock, and came up with a carrot and pickle coleslaw type thing--let no one say the man doesn't know his way around the improvisational possibilities of the back to the refrigerator.

It was all excellent, and I could only eat a tiny tiny plate of it. Luckily, I got stuffed mushrooms on Friday, so I suppose I've done all right.

Room for Cream (and Southern Belles)

Warning: This post contains only glancing references to food (there's coffee! and muffins! and...muff.)

Just a quick detour from the world of baked goods to let you know about something special, a bit late. You may know this, but in addition to eating cookies and frying sausage, Matt has many other talents. Specifically, he's a very gifted performer and writer, and right now he's performing with the cream of the Dyke Division of Two-Headed Calf in the live lesbian serial soap opera Room for Cream at La MaMa. The show, being set in the fictional town of Sappho, MA, of course hits a special note for me, but its campy charm and all-star cast could make anyone's night.

There's one week left to catch up, before Season Two begins. The cast is adorable and sharp, Matt plays a Pakistani tranny, and it's well worth staying up past 10pm on a school night. I'll be there.

As long as we're plugging, now is also a very good time to see the lovely Jill Frutkin in the TEAM's Architecting, at PS122. "A collision of horses, sex and hoop skirts, burning plantations and nasty hurricanes." (And she sings!)

Family Winter Holiday Macarons

Happy Chanukah!
Or as my friend Stacey would say, Happy Family Winter Holiday!

I love Chanukah, and have already had two latke parties to go to, which is a very good thing. Fried potatoes are excellent. Chanukah is also a great time to remember that one man's religious extremist terrorist is another man's Maccabee. (The way most people tell it, the Maccabees were fighting for their own right to religious expression, which had been outlawed, rather than trying to impose on others, but the point is historically dicey.) Just makes you think.

But when I think, I like to think about light. And miracles. Two years ago on Chanukah, crushed and lonely, I bested my better judgment and called Matt and asked him to tell me again about his theory of the third night. He believes that there is a tipping point for miracles, the moment when the miracle hits the mind, when it starts to dawn on everyone that this is more than just some high quality oil or a really good rainbow. He was surprised to hear from me (maybe) but he told me all he could, and when I asked, promised to round out the religious instruction with a multi-borough Christmas tree tour.

Somewhere in the cold wind and rain and snow of that winter, another miracle happened, and we found ourselves able to find each other again. Christmas and New Year are special times for us--fraught with darkness and fear and light and miracles.

This year, I'm leaving town for both holidays, flying on Christmas day to see my little sister in Uganda, where it's hot and modest. I won't be back until mid-January. Part of the trip anxiety, or just my wish to cram everything in, has been an immodest amount of cooking and baking. (I have to leave Matt well-fed, don't I? Actually, I know he's looking forward to a little unsupervised time to get to know the kitchen.)

I made lasagne and spanikopita, braised ribs and roasted chicken, and produced a large number of cookies. There were world peace cookies and there were NY Times chocolate chip cookies, and then there were these:
These are gingerbread macarons, from Tartelette. Macarons are notoriously temperamental to make, and the proper hard shell with a little fuzzy 'foot' on the bottom can be hit or miss. In fact, the first time I made this recipe, which mixes ginger, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg into the dry ingredients, the taste was great but the shape was a flop. (No disrespect to Tartelette, I have a feeling my conversions were off.)

I re-made the recipe the following morning using the recipe I've had best results with, David Lebovitz's. I just omitted the chocolate powder and didn't replace it, helping the dough to remain a little wetter. These held their perfect shape and I filled them with gingerbread buttercream. I brought them to one of the aforementioned latke parties and one guy fell for both kinds, exclaiming over and over that they were different, but he liked both.

Today, I mixed it up a little, and made plain nutmeg macarons with a filling made of cream, chestnut jam from Chile (thanks Miriam), and the leftover gingerbread buttercream. Here they are:
They look just like little UFOs, don't they?
The filling was great, and as a bonus, they are gluten-free, so I can give them to my aunt.

I love sweet things in my mouth and sweet things in my life. These are the dark days of the year, but I feel very lucky and well lit.

Matt Makes Dinner: Fettucine Alfredo with Shrimp

Because I'm the one writing it, this blog can have a pretty narrow focus at times. It can appear that I am the only one in our kitchen, messing around, taking far more time than I should and barricading the rest of the world. This impression, however, is wrong in more than one way. First, I haven't lived alone for over nine years, and then only briefly. I've always cooked for and with a family of some composition. Many of my roommates, friends, and ex-wives are wonderful and opinionated cooks, and even those who don't cook made strong impressions on my kitchen adventures by means of their palates and grocery shopping habits. Integrating foodways can be one of the most interesting and most challenging parts of living with someone. Also, I love to cook with people, and for people, and so my cooking, while informed by my personal interests and tastes, is inextricably bound up with my friends and family.

Which brings me to Matt making dinner. This is not an unusual event. Although I don't feature his work here enough, Matt loves to cook and to eat good things, and has strong opinions and talents in the kitchen. He excels at the grill, and prefers pure ingredients cooked simply and well over complicated, fussy creations. His scrambled eggs, as I've mentioned, are perfect. He likes to experiment (and has several unusual cooking show pilots in the works--more on this later), but understands the worth of a well-executed standard. Because he knows so firmly what he likes, he is an instructive audience to cook for, and his commentary is very welcome, especially because he's willing to try anything.

I love learning to cook with people whose basic methods are different than mine, learning their techniques and favored ingredients, their strengths and weaknesses. For instance, there's Libby and me on salad: I underdress, and often forget to make one, she loves them, and piles on not only plenty of dressing but an overload of good things (chickpeas, corn, and craisins topping the list). Having someone in the house who cooks along very different lines helps to vary the whole way we live.

The other night, after I'd draped the oven and a chair or twoin parsley flecked fettucine, Matt got to work on a cream sauce, via Mark Bittman, spiked with saffron and egg. The end result was simple, beautiful, and delicious, as is most of Matt's cooking.And who knew, a year ago, that I would adore shrimps so much after a 26-year hiatus? More on Matt's cooking and our cooking and eating together to come. I want this blog to chronicle not just my cooking, but a whole way of life and living with food, which is why I detail our CSA, our friends, our grocery shopping, and the pressures of the world outside.

Lay Ladies Lay

Sorry, couldn't resist.
Remember those tiny pullet eggs my aunt and uncle brought from Keene, NH? Well, apparently they're not kidding around up there (all counties blue! Yeah!), because when Joe and Nicki came back to stay last Thursday, they brought us these:Impressive, right? Those girls know what they're doing. The Keene harvest was bountiful in all respects, and we were also lucky enough to receive a tub of Joe's pesto (frozen earlier in the season, and so delicious), and a big ol' spaghetti squash, currently awaiting its demise by decorating our dining room table. Ah, but the eggs. Only one thing to do with those.

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but Matt makes superlative scrambled eggs. Here they are with some turkey sausage, mushrooms, and soup chicken bits.

CSA Pickup #7

I was still away for this week's pickup (this is getting to be a theme, but it will be all me come fall), but Libby and Rob brought home such a big and varied load of vegetables that I didn't realize until they told me that they hadn't picked up the week before, and none of this was carryover.

We got:
green snap beans
two heads of red Romaine lettuce, both showing a bit of wear from hailstones
a handful of yellow onions
three cucumbers or zucchinis
1 1/2 lb of red and gold beets
two sweet Italian frying peppers
a few tomatoes
Kale
collards

Libby and Rob did a great job of prepping everything for easy use, and now we're working hard to eat our way through. Does anyone want a steady supply of cooking greens and bell peppers starting a few weeks from now? I don't know if Matt and I can eat it all once everyone's gone.

So far I've made a pepper/greens/green bean stir-fry with kielbasa and maple syrup and apple (the seasoning was Matt's doing), a crudo pasta sauce with tomatoes, garlic, basil, and corn, and shell bean pasta dish which used farm onion and beet greens. I also made and then had to throw out an unappetising recipe from Bon Appetit for creamy mustard beets, which just looked gross. Not going to be the recipe that pushes me over the line with beets, which are not one of my favorites. To put it mildly. Anyone want some beets this fall? I'm trying to just add cooked greens or lettuce to everything, every time I eat.