All-American Summer

Remember when you were a kid and the summer seemed endless…in a good way?  I sort of have that feeling right now.  Maybe it’s the extreme heat or the impending 4th of July weekend, but I kind of feel like I’m on vacation.  It could also be the fact that I’ve only been consuming liquids for the past five days on my dietary cleanse and am possibly losing touch with reality, but I tend to lean toward the former observations.

When I think back to some of my best summer memories they revolve around a bicycle.  I used to have to stay with a babysitter when I was a kid…even up through being 11 or 12 years old if I’m remembering correctly.  I would get up every morning with my mother and she would drop me off on the way to work.  Now, I never really liked going to the baby-sitter that much.  I always thought I was too mature for that sort of thing (as I’m sure every kid does), but during the summer when all the kids were there and Wenonah (that was the babysitter’s name) and her husband Herb would prepare the above ground pool, the days became heaven.  There is nothing better than getting into a pool with a bunch of other kids and playing like there is no tomorrow.  We would all move ourselves to the outer rim of the pool and try to run (in the 4 ft deep water mind you) in the same direction around and around until we got a good strong whirlpool going.  Then it was time to float around and be drug to the center of the vortex all the while pretending to fight for our lives.  Those were good days.

The other really fun days were when we took our bicycles out and rode all over town and beyond.  I must have been at least 11 or 12 years old, otherwise I can’t imagine they would just let us leave and ride off to who knows where, but it was a small town and there never was any danger (at least that we were aware of).  We would play a game of chase all over the small town streets, but when we got really brave we would ride out of town and down Terrel Creek Rd.  This always seemed really adventurous and somehow naughty. 

Like I said, it was a small town and therefore didn’t take very long to pass its borders.  Leaving town on a bike could be accomplished within a matter of minutes, and it was exhilarating.  Terrel Creek Rd. would take us out into the hilly countryside along a roughly paved road.  The fields all along the sides of the road were full of weeds and wildflowers along with raspberry, blackberry, gooseberry and even the occasional blueberry bushes.  Tall, dry grasses wilted over from the hot sun would scratch our arms and faces as we whirred past an endless expanse of barbed wire and cattle.

Eventually we came to a more woodsy area a few miles outside of town.  The houses were sparse, but well manicured and mostly private farms.  A group of kids riding by would get a wave from someone on a tractor or sitting on the porch instead of a suspicious glance I imagine they might get nowadays.  We would ride beyond a stone bridge and park our bikes in the weeds.  From this vantage point we could glimpse water through the tangled vines and poison ivy guarding the way down to Terrel Creek.

Hiding beneath the underbrush was the creek: cold and refreshing after such a sweaty ride, full of crawdads and smooth stones ripe for skipping.  And what did we do when we got there?  Throw rocks at each other.  If memory serves rocks seem to hurt less when you are a kid.  These were the war games of summer after all.

Those were glorious and exhausting days, and when we returned from our unsupervised excursions, Wenonah would have lunch waiting.  Sometimes it was Spaghetti-O’s and sometimes it was vegetable soup, but more often than not it was bologna and cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  We would happily scarf down our food in an effort to get back out onto our bikes or into the pool or involved in some other sort of game we felt like playing. 

As an adult I can certainly appreciate that burst of summer energy.  I find some days I have it, and some days I don’t, but when I’m on, I’m on.  I suppose I don’t throw too many rocks anymore, other than the ones I've found in the garden and tossed into a pail to get them out of the way.  Or maybe I use the rocks as a natural border in the garden, but people coming over for an afternoon visit don’t have to worry too much about me screaming and throwing rocks at them in a feverish state. 

I’ve traded the pool in for a birdbath and the bicycle for a lawnmower, but the items I refuse to give up are peanut butter and jelly.  I don’t care how old you are, if you can’t find comfort in two pieces of white bread smothered in creamy (or crunchy) golden peanut butter with the jam or jelly of your choice, then I can’t help you.  But if you are someone who still takes a deep, carnal pleasure in a spoonful of Jiff, then I’m your man.

What I decided to do this week has been percolating in my head for a while, ever since I made the carrot bread from Jim Lahey’s My Bread.  A few pages beyond the carrot bread recipe is one for Peanut Butter and Jelly Bread.  Eureka!!!  Since the first time I saw it’s picture I was in love; a deep mahogany loaf stippled with roasted peanuts and containing a secret jelly filling inside.  I couldn’t help myself any longer, this bread had to be made!!!

The recipe is similar to his others by using the no-knead method Jim is famous for.  It’s just a matter of patience.  You start out by making a peanut butter flavored dough, let it rise for 12 hours in a warmish place (no kneading required) and then you pat the dough out into a rectangle.  Spread your jelly onto the dough like a sandwich; roll it up (tucking the sides in to prevent the jelly’s escape), top with roasted peanuts and bake for an hour and fifteen minutes.

The house smells amazing!!!  Even though it’s 10,000 degrees outside and the kitchen gets quite warm with the oven on during the summer I encourage you whole heartedly to make this bread.  I served it as a dessert along with chocolate peanut butter ice cream to much success, but I think it would also be great for a breakfast or brunch.  It really does smell like peanut butter all through the house, and if that’s a comfort food trigger for you you’ll have a hard time waiting for it to finish baking.

I’ve said before that summer smells like grass, but summer can also smell like peanut butter…at least it certainly can for me.  This bread makes me want to get outside and get moving, knowing that after a long journey and a few scratches later I have something delicious waiting for me cooling on the stove.  Now I just need to figure out where I put my bicycle.  It’s just who I am.

Life Is Just A Bowl Full Of Cherry Scones

Apparently I should get up at 6:30 every Saturday morning.  I sure seem to get a whole lot more done than I would normally.  It’s just going on 11:00am and I’ve already been to the airport, ran to the farmer’s market and grocery stores respectively and had time to make a Scone recipe from my beloved Barefoot Contessa, Ina Garten.

It isn’t often I get up early, but I find that I always appreciate it when I do.  Getting up when it’s still cool outside and you need a jacket (even though it will be scorching hot later in the day), a cup of coffee to get you going (though I’m doing a diet cleanse right now and am not supposed to have caffeine) and there is no one on the road to get in your way as you speed down the highway of life (or while taking Brian to the airport).  Maybe sleep deprivation is getting to me and I’m entirely too excited for my own good, but I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.  I’m certainly convinced that Martha Stewart never sleeps.

What’s great about being up so early is the first choice at the farmer’s market.  They officially open at 8:00am and I was there by 7:55 watching the last of the stalls being set up.  It was my first time to the Ossining farmer’s market this year and I always feel so proud when I go and support the local farmers.  There is nothing better than getting food freshly picked that hasn’t traveled miles and lost its vital substance.

All the berries were looking absolutely beautiful.  The scone recipe I found calls for strawberries, which are in season, but having so recently made strawberry shortcake I thought I would let the market dictate what kind of scones I should make.  There were a variety of gorgeous cherries at one particular stand.  Cherries had been on my mind anyway because we got a really delicious batch of sweet ones from Fresh Direct this week at work.  Ding!  We have a winner.  I only bought a pint because the scone recipe calls for 3/4 cup of cut up berries and a pint was about twice as much as I needed.

The vegetable produce was also looking really good.  There were bright, fresh spring carrots, beets and radishes that will fit perfectly into my current eating regimen, and everything just looked so healthy.  No one had been along to pick over anything yet and I had all the best goodies to myself…mwah, ha, ha, ha….

After that I stopped by to the grocery store to get a few missing items I needed for the scones like eggs and good old-fashioned heavy cream.  These scones are really straightforward to make, especially if you have a Kitchen Aid glistening on your countertop waiting to go for a spin.  You could probably use a food processor too, but you would need one that would hold a decent amount of ingredients because there are 4 cups of flour and 3 sticks of butter in this recipe!

What’s nice is it’s a one-bowl process.  Just combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in your mixing bowl.  Cut your chilled butter into a small dice, add it to the dry ingredients, and mix on low until the butter breaks down into pea-sized pieces.  Mix together your cream and eggs in a separate bowl, then add them to the mixing bowl while the paddle is still on low speed.  That’s it for the mixing.

Turn your dough out onto a floured surface and using a well-floured rolling pin (because the dough is fairly sticky), roll out to 3/4 inch thick and cut into 4-inch squares.  These squares get cut in half on the diagonal leaving you with about 16 scones.  Lightly brush with egg wash and sprinkle with sugar.  Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes and you have a lovely brunch snack for friends if they drop by, or if you are feeling neighborly and decide to go “a callin’”.  Light, buttery and with a sweet/tart cherry taste, these are a “not to be missed” portion of a well balanced diet.

It’s good to get the baking done early on these hot pre-summer days.  In fact, it will be summer next week!  I can’t wait for the cobblers and crumbles, fruit pies and refreshing glasses of lemonade or a mojito out on the veranda.  If only I had a proper Southern veranda I would be set!

Now with the day ahead of me I have time to mow the yard and tackle some weeding in the garden I’ve been putting off.  With all the rain and constant moisture this year it has turned into a tropical jungle.  I don’t guess I necessarily mind since I was going for more of a cottage garden look, but apparently I’m nearing more of a “garden gone wild!” sort of theme.  An eye for editing is key at this point, and it would do me some good to use it.  After seeing all the gardens in Ptown last weekend I think I could be content with only hydrangeas, roses, lavender and some tall spires of sea grass.  I don’t have the heart to “clear-out” my garden, but maybe next time around I’ll do things a little different.

I can’t help it if I’m a fan of excess.  It’s just who I am.

Dunes

The dunes were simply breathtaking.  Miles of sea grass hand planted into the hills and mountains of sand, blowing in the breeze as the sun was setting.  I’ve never seen anything quite like it before, and hadn’t expected to experience such a foreign landscape last weekend.  Happily, my expectations were left in the dust.

In the concluding episode of our vacation, Brian and I took a long weekend to Provincetown, Massachusetts (lovingly known as Ptown).  It’s where the Pilgrims first landed in America before moving on several weeks later and settling in Plymouth.  The place is extraordinary to me, not only for it's place in history, but for its architecture.  Hey, I love a good pilgrim as much as the next guy, but it's the houses that make this place so special to me.

Provincetown is located on the tip of the spiraling landmass known as Cape Cod, on the Atlantic Ocean.  Coming into town you can sense the history if you are willing to look past a main street full of shops and eateries (which I also love).  There is one street in particular I like to stroll along:  Commercial St.  When you get out to the West End area of town walking along Commercial parallel to the water, homes and gardens that have been thriving for many generations line the brick walkway, and to me are photographs waiting to be taken every step of the way.

I’ve been in love with “Cape Cod” style homes for years.  The cedar shingle, large colorful shutters and details, well built wood construction that has stood the test of time; it makes me feel safe.  Today, few houses in America are built the way these beauties were crafted.  This whole town was built to last and is happily waiting there for me whenever I get to visit.

This is my third time to Provincetown, and we happily went with several of our usual vacation companions:  Randy, Nick and David.  While the three of them stayed in Nick’s lovely home, Brian and I spent our mornings and evenings at a quaint little guesthouse called the Brass Key.  The people were friendly, the room was lovely and it was just moments away from all the shopping and eating we set out to do.

I must confess now to numerous trips to the Fudge Factory.  Batches of freshly made fudge line the shelves along the wall, and the people working there were very generous with samples.  My favorite had to be the cappuccino fudge (I’m quite a lover of coffee) and I think this is something I’m going to have to re-create in my own kitchen.  I was also forced on occasion to eat a hot fudge sundae and a wicked slice of peanut butter mousse pie at a great old restaurant called the Red Inn.  It was heaven on a plate.

The highlight of our trip had to be our own pilgrimage into the dunes outside of town.  Apparently about 80% of the land around Ptown has been set aside as a national park and nature preserve containing the most unexpected landscape I’ve seen in some time.  We took a guided tour with a friendly gentleman named Rob who drove us up and down through the wild mountains of sand while telling us stories about the grasses, wildlife and some amazing shacks that are still standing and inhabited way out in the middle of nowhere.  Since we were conveniently driving through “nowhere” we got a glimpse of some of the structures. 

Over the years various artists, writers and other creative types have come out to these shacks for solace and a place to work on their craft.  Though the government now owns a majority of the properties, few of the buildings still house persons willing to live off the grid and be left the heck alone.  I know I mentioned Walden recently in one of my postings, but here it was all over again, the structures in the flesh and a place I could empathize with wanting to never leave.

It’s hard for me to describe the alien landscape.  I guess if you have ever been to the desert, it must be something like that, but with tall grasses and scrub pine.  We drove through as the sun was setting and made our way out to the beach for a clambak .  Our guide prepared the food and spread out blankets while we wandered around in awe at the beauty and emptiness of the space.  We were the only people on a deserted beach and it seemed like we had traveled to Mars.  The water was a deep blue turning black as the orange fiery ball of the sun collapsed into its depths.  The sky turned grey and then midnight with Venus appearing out over the horizon.  Rob lit a bonfire and we gathered around after finishing our lobster and clams, chilled by the night ocean breeze and very aware of how spectacular and moving our surroundings were.  Occasionally you know when you are having a magical moment. 

I think the only thing that could have made this experience better would have been dessert!  I’m sure I could continue to write about the stunning scenery, but I really need to focus on the Lemon Tassies.  With all the heavy confections, ice cream and other naughty treats I was eating what I really needed was a palette cleanser.  What accompanies seafood on the beach better than a hint of lemon?

I realize I have made lemon desserts two weeks in a row, and I debated making fudge, but I really needed something a little brighter and lighter.  I had received my daily cookie/pastry email containing the lemon tassies some weeks back and had filed it away to break out at a later date.  The time has come.

The two most important things about this dessert is that people will gobble them up like there is no tomorrow because they are that good, and that it took about 20 minutes to make.  It is comprised of two parts, the crust and the filling.  They are very similar to a pie, but without all the fuss.  All you need to have is a mini-muffin pan and a food processor is very helpful. 

Place the butter, flour, sugar, vanilla extract (or paste), egg yolk, lemon zest and salt in the processor.  Turn it on and pulse until smooth.  Normally with a crust you would pulse just a few times keeping your butter in pea sized pieces, but here you can grind away and make the consistency more like bread crumbs.  Butter your muffin pan, pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees and divide the dough into quarters.  Take each quarter and divide it into 6 parts.  Roll the small pieces of dough into balls and press into the muffin pan.  Use your thumb to make an indention that will be the bottom of your mini crusts.  I do recommend using your thumb to press the remaining crust up the sides of the muffin tin (this will give you a larger cup to pour your wet batter into).  Bake the crust for about fifteen minutes and let it cool.

Meanwhile you can make the filling.  Combine the cream cheese, lemon juice, vanilla, lemon zest and sugar together.  Fill your mini crusts and bake for another 10 to 12 minutes, and voila!  The taste is like a cross between a light lemon cheesecake and shortbread (two of my favorite things) and they certainly seemed a big hit at work.  The lemon flavor is strong from all the zest, packing a punch but without being overwhelming.  My palette was surely cleansed and I was ready to hack into another lobster.

It’s sad that vacation is over and I have to return to reality, though my reality is certainly nothing to complain about.  Taking time away reminded me of the things I miss about my routine (if that’s possible).  I like watching my usual television shows, making dinner, poking around in the garden and even my reading time on the morning commute.  Vacations and travel is the best way to open your eyes, heart and mind to the world around you and then bring a tiny piece home to cherish, especially on those more challenging days life offers up.  Without sounding too cliché I must utter the beloved phrase, “There is no place like home”.  It’s just who I am.

And 1000 Miles Later...

I love sitting on the front porch, rocking in the old wood and cane chair as the sun sets.  It’s not something I get to do very often, but when the street is quiet (or maybe kids are shouting and playing in a nearby backyard) there is nothing quite like it.  The soothing sound of birds in the trees and a nice glass of lemonade are all you need to get right with the world.  Or maybe you need a Pink Lemonade Pie.

Brian and I recently made it back from our whirlwind visit to the Midwest, practically driving all over kingdom come in an effort to visit as many friends and family as possible.  We tried to squeeze in as many dinners and hangouts as we could, but of course we couldn’t make it around to everyone.  There never is enough time, and all the driving around left me with plenty of “time” to think about this very concept. 

I haven’t lived in the Midwest for over eight years now and it’s funny how some things in life change, and many others stay the same.  There were neighborhoods built up in places that used to be miles of fields, and there were big empty spaces where buildings once stood.  The contrast between the old and the new was startlingly apparent to me.  Maybe because of my time away I have the perspective to see changes other people don’t catch.  When you live in a place, and time is passing from day to day (as it does) it’s difficult to perceive change.  It’s good to step out of your “normal” life once in awhile for a reminder to appreciate the things you have. 

While driving around both Missouri and Oklahoma I remembered how I always craved a “big city” life with little ability to appreciate the endless expanse of fields and roaming animals, never happy with what I had.  Fortunately and unfortunately this is a common theme in my life, always wanting more and trying to take on that next big thing.  Being forced to slow down for a bit and take in the landscape was just what I needed.

Our drive to Bartlesville, Oklahoma (to see our friend Maria and her new baby, Noah) took us over a portion of Old Route 66.  The road is a bit worn in places and many storefronts are boarded up where life once thrived before bigger interstates came along.  There is a certain loneliness and sense of longing I associate with seeing this.  The feeling is a like a craving, a craving for a time I’m not even old enough to remember but thanks to film and television I have a sense of.  I get the same feeling when I look at the artwork of Norman Rockwell, a captured innocence of our country which has been seemingly lost or left behind in an effort to do things bigger, better and faster.

Bartlesville is the original home of the Phillips Corporation, and was once a booming town until Phillips merged with Conoco and relocated their headquarters to the southwest.  Though the town seems to be doing just fine, I had a strong sensation of a place trying to find itself again and figure out it’s next move, or maybe that is just my own feelings about life being projected onto a place.  Regardless, our friend Maria works for the tourism board and is helping bring people to town for both business and pleasure.  Brian and I were obviously there for pleasure, and we were not disappointed.

Having lived there all her life, Maria knows everybody and gave us the full tour of town.  We visited redeveloped industrial lofts, small (and fabulous) main street diners and even had a chance to visit a place called Woolaroc.  This place is a nature preserve, similar to that of Dogwood Canyon, which we visited last week in Missouri.  Woolaroc (Wood, lake, rock) was created by the head of the Phillips Corporation decades ago, and is home to many animals including buffalo and a horse and zebra combination called a Zony.  The main attraction of the property is a museum housing American Indian artifacts.  In the gift shop I was perusing through trinkets and “what-nots”, coming across a section of homey cookbooks.  While flipping through the pages I saw a recipe that spoke to me as uniquely Midwestern.  It is, of course, our pink lemonade pie.

The simplicity of the recipe is what stopped me.  There are only four ingredients:  a store bought graham cracker crust, Cool Whip, a can of frozen pink lemonade and a can of sweetened condensed milk.  It sounds crazy, but I thought I just had to try it out in honor of Oklahoma (and in honor of “baking” something really quick while on vacation).  I did buy three of the four ingredients, but my conscience wouldn’t let me purchase a store-bought crust.  I know, I know…they are good you say!  But this is a baking blog after all and I had to at least put something in the oven for goodness sake.  So I made the Graham Cracker Crust.

The crust recipe, too, is super easy.  All you need is sugar, butter, graham crackers and a pinch of salt.  It’s easily made in a food processor and then pressed into a 9-inch pie plate.  Once it’s baked (at 350 degrees for 12 minutes or so), the crust needs to cool completely.  Mix up your filling ingredients and pour it into the cooled piecrust, refrigerate for at least 2 hours and dessert is ready!

I might recommend putting the pie into the freezer just to get a little more firmness before cutting the pieces.  Though the filling does hold up pretty well, it’s a bit on the soft side and doesn’t like to hold its shape the way you might like.  The taste is, well, like pink lemonade.  It almost reminded me of Smarties candies from when I was a kid, or possibly the taste of Sweet Tarts.  It’s a very childhood-memory inducing flavor and seemed to fit with my memory laced journey around the countryside.

The goal of our trip was to see family and “get away from it all”.  It’s hard to escape your past; whether that was something you consider good or bad.  Driving around, seeing old, overgrown highways, fields full of wildflowers and hay bails and quite a few of the friends and family I grew up with (many with kids and families of their own) made me realize time hasn’t stopped.  In my mind certain convenience stores are still in a my small hometown, people “cruise” certain roads on Friday and Saturday nights to find out where the party is going to be, my 23 year old brother is still 6 and everyone is still alive and well with their lives and fortunes ahead of them.  Some dreams came true, some didn’t, but most people are still plugging away trying to make the best life possible for themselves.  I can relate.  I’m doing the same thing in New York.  It’s just who I am.

Blogger on the Road

This week finds me out of New York and back onto the wild country roads of my youth.  I grew up in the country, not far from a small town in southwestern Missouri.  It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been back and the best part about it is that very little changes while I’m gone.  The pace of country life is so much different from the city.  People and activities are slowed down…way down, and it’s the perfect place to come for a much needed getaway.

Brian and I have been planning a vacation for quite some time.  Our lives have become increasingly hectic over the past six months, seemingly more so than in years past.  Being that it’s Memorial Day weekend, visiting the family seemed like a perfect way to kick off our vacation and slip into the unwind mode of “country time”. 

Memorial Day is what some would call the unofficial start of summer, me included, and the weather is certainly cooperating with that theory.  It’s hot, humid and sunny here in the Midwest with a nice breeze blowing through the grasses and the freshly cut hay.  It smells so darn fresh here!  My parents live way out in the country and are surrounded by farmland.  It’s not uncommon to see cattle grazing in the fields around their home, hear coyotes howling at night and is the best place I know to hear a symphony of crickets as you drift off to sleep.  It’s hard not to like this place as an adult.

When I was growing up I always wanted to get away.  I felt the need to get to the next bigger, happening place.  Happily I managed to make my way to New York City and realized that though I love the city dearly, I definitely have the country in my heart.  As an adult, I have fantasized many a day about living in a cabin in the woods, being left alone by the world and never having to deal with pesky commercial clients ever again.  It would be my own personal Walden where my baking empire would begin and I could still be connected to the rest of the world through the Internet.  Just Brian and I could live off the land with a small but fruitful garden and me canning or putting away all the food for when the harsh winter comes.  All right, so this all sounds a bit Laura Ingalls Wilder-ish, but it’s a decent fantasy for those busy city days when frustration seems to be the only thing holding as a constant. 

I don’t get away often enough, and I certainly don’t get to see my family as much as I would like, but I certainly do appreciate the time I have when I do get to Missouri.  Since it is Memorial Day weekend and a vacation, we decided to get out and see a place in the Ozark Mountains I haven’t been to:  Dogwood Canyon.  I thought I'd seen all the attractions this area of the country had to offer, but apparently there was a treasure waiting for me to come and find.  My mom suggested that we go and check it out because it’s a beautiful and fairly unpublicized place full of waterfalls and rock bridges, the sort of things I like to take pictures of.

Dogwood Canyon is a huge nature preserve, a couple thousand acres in fact, which was made open to the public in the late 90’s by John L. Morris, the same man that owns Bass Pro Shops.  They offer cabins to stay in, hiking and biking trails, classes in fly fishing and the most simple activity for a city boy:  a two hour guided tram ride.  We were able to see all of the park’s most beautiful spots while casually being pulled along in a trailer.  Led by an elderly Ozark-ian gentleman full of homespun tales and humor, we enjoyed not only waterfalls but also the animals. 

The drive takes you through several miles of woods and then crosses the border into Arkansas.  The smell of the forest is something I genuinely miss.  There is a certain deep, earthy and leafy smell that I only find when I’m far away from a city.  It’s a freshness seeping from the woods that awakens something profoundly primal and spiritual.  Once out of the woods and into Arkansas we went up the mountainside and down into a broad grassy valley where there were longhorns, bison and elk just hanging out waiting to be fed.  I couldn’t believe how close we were able to get to them, and with no protection I might add.  The animals seemed pretty domesticated no doubt from the multiple tours that come through each day, but it was still a little surprising to see them so up close and personal.  We had a really fun day.

Once we got home, it was time to make this week’s dessert:  Strawberry Shortcake.  What could be more perfect than to serve this simple and delicious dish on a warm day out in the country?  I spend months waiting for this to happen, and although I love my New York City, having strawberry shortcake out in the real countryside is an all-American treat. 

Saturday afternoon, when we arrived at my parent’s house, we went to the next town over and hit the farm-stand.  Fresh strawberries were plentiful having come into their seasonal peak.  It’s exciting to be at the farm-stand once more and realize that gardens are getting ready to put forth their summer best.  I can't wait to run to my local farmer’s market in Ossining on Saturdays once more for all my shopping and baking needs. 

Making strawberry shortcake is simple.  The process is very similar to making scones, and that’s about all short cake is.  The recipe I’m using this week is from June’s Bon Appetit, and puts a bit of a twist on this usual favorite by adding both balsamic vinegar and black pepper to the macerating liquid for the strawberries.  Being at my mom’s, there aren’t as many kitchen gadgets and toys as I have at home.  Dare I gasp and say there is no Kitchen Aid in the house.  But fear not!!!  You don’t need a mixer for this recipe at all.  Though it does call for a food processor, I ended up making the shortcakes the old fashion way:  by hand.  EEEEEK!!!! 

It was so easy; the only trick is to cut your chilled butter into really small pieces.  All you have to do is mix the dry ingredients in a bowl, add your small pieces of butter and mix/crumb it together with a salad fork.  Once the butter is broken up into “pea sized” pieces add the cream and mix with a wooden spoon.  Turn your dough out onto a floured surface, fold it together a few times and flatten it into a 4x8 rectangle.  Cut the dough into 8 squares and stick them in the fridge to chill for 20 minutes.  Heat the oven to 425 degrees.  Pull your shortcake squares out of the refrigerator, brush with egg wash and then sprinkle with sugar.  Bake for 15 minutes and smile at their golden goodness.

While all of this is happening you can have your strawberries macerating in the sugar, vinegar and black pepper.  This recipe also calls for whipping your chilled cream into a topping, but not having my trusty mixer I admit to buying a tub of Cool Whip…and you know what, I liked it.

This dessert was the perfect compliment to my mom’s crock pot roast and potatoes, and we were properly sated, fat and sassy and ready for a nap when it was all over.  And that’s just what we did.

A posting about Memorial Day wouldn’t be complete without recognizing what the day actually means.  Once called Decoration Day, it was originally created over a hundred years ago to honor lost soldiers from the Civil War.  It didn’t become an actual “government” holiday until 1971.  Over the years people have taken it as a time to remember their loved ones and “decorate” their graves with flowers. 

I haven’t been to my father’s grave since he passed away…I haven’t been to Missouri since he passed away.  It was good for me to go and plant something for him to honor his memory.  I know that taking the flowers is something for the living, the dead could care less, but it’s nice to have a place to go and remember him.  Generally I think of him most when I’m in my garden at home because I know he loved to mow the yard and plant flowers as much as I.  It seems only fitting to plant some catmint at his grave because I also have some growing in my backyard.  I think Dad would have liked it.

It is so nice to get away from the rat race and spend time with family.  I talk a lot about baking, but they don’t often get to taste what I have made from week to week.  It’s important to connect with the food in person as opposed to just writing about it.  My mom always kept us fed and happy as a way of showing her love and I’m sure I get that same trait from her.  I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.  It’s just who I am. 

Showers of Babies

I was so proud and honored to help with our friend Izabella’s baby shower last weekend.  She has been one of my best New York City girlfriends ever since I moved to the East Coast, and from the moment we met at work, years ago, we have rarely been too far apart.  I like her.  She’s smart, funny and feisty…all the things I respond really well to, and I’m certain she is going to make a great mom.  Now let’s just hope I can pull off the responsible uncle part as opposed to the uncle who lets the kids get into the liquor cabinet…

We had been organizing the party for quite sometime and it’s always great when the plan comes together.  Brian spent a lot of time getting the games ready and making a beautiful receiving blanket while I was busy in my usual spot monitoring the kitchen stove.  Cupcakes were the chosen dessert for the festivities primarily because they can be dressed up or down for a party and people can nibble on them while walking around with a drink in their other hand.  Plus, cupcakes are fun.

I haven’t made them in quite awhile; in fact I think it’s been about two years since my last batch.  I remember making them for my friend James’ 30th birthday party and they were quite a hit.  I like presenting them nestled together on stacked cake stands for the feeling of a giant cake.  They sit there beautiful and unassuming, waiting for someone to stop by, pick them up and take a bite.

The flavors we chose were simple vanilla and chocolate, but they were dressed up with frosting/glazes made of fresh fruit and confectioner’s sugar.  I took blueberries, strawberries and mint (respectively) and distilled them down to their juicy essence…syrup in fact, and then just mixed in the sugar until they made it to the desired consistency.  You are looking for a frosting that is sticky and honey-like when you drizzle it.  These toppings are very easy to make as long as you have humidity on your side, but unfortunately humidity and I were not getting along so well on Sunday morning.  I had to keep adding sugar and testing the glazes out on the “extra” cupcakes before I finally found something that would stay on top of the cupcakes and not just run off the side and down on the tray.

Trial and error is part of the fun, and for some reason I seemed to be all over the map in my baking this weekend.  The vanilla cupcakes didn’t want to raise a whole lot, whereas the chocolate cupcakes seemed determine to grow their way out of the pan and take over the kitchen.  Recipes are always funny that way.  You can have a considerable amount of experience with baking and still have some days go well and others just sort of spin out of control.  I suppose that’s life in a nutshell.

The good news is that all things can generally be recovered from with enough patience and a little know how.  My only know how this week was to keep adding sugar to the fruit purees until they made an icing strong enough to hide some of the cupcakes blemishes.  A good cover-up stick is a gal’s best friend at times and at the end of it all I was happy.  The cupcakes looked pretty and festive, tying into Izabella’s bright and cheerful color-scheme for the day, and they tasted pretty darn good too. 

I made the vanilla cupcakes with vanilla paste again instead of extract, and the three sticks of butter in their batter didn’t hurt either.  They were light like an angel food cake, largely from the whipped egg whites folded into the batter at the last moment.  The chocolate cupcakes had a deep, bold flavor from the 1-1/4 cup of cocoa powder they contained.  Green mint icing seemed a natural pairing with the chocolate, but all the flavors seemed to mix and mingle like a perfectly orchestrated cocktail party (or baby shower).

It turned out to be a really beautiful day and everyone seemed to have a great time…especially playing the games.  People always act like they don’t want to play games at parties, but once you get them going the competitive animal comes out and they want to play more and more.  We based some of the games off our friend Andrea’s baby shower, and threw in a few different one’s to spice things up.  The clear favorite was the play-dough based game.  Everyone had five minutes to sculpt a baby out of play-dough and Izabella had to choose the “best” one.  I must say we had some creative and outrageous guests, and the things they came up with weren’t necessarily babies you might find on this planet.  Mars perhaps?

The winners of the games were rewarded with small bottles of Polish vodka and chocolates.   It seemed only fitting since Izabella grew up in Poland, and many of the shower guests like to have a nice sip of vodka from time to time.  There’s certainly nothing wrong with that.  Maybe it was the alcohol contributing to the strange shapes of the play-dough babies.  Sometimes creative genius can lurk inside a bottle…a baby bottle that is.

Brian and I are so looking forward to becoming “uncles” once more and watching our soon to be niece grow up in a loving home with wonderful people as her parents.  We are also looking forward to baby-sitting and quite possibly a diaper change from time to time, though I’m going to have to figure out how to do that one.  I better get to practicing for when I have a baby of my own.  I assume diaper changing will come fairly naturally, not dissimilar to smelling fresh baked pastry wafting on the breeze and realizing it’s time to come out of the oven.   That’s right, I just made a diaper and pastry analogy.  It’s just who I am. 

The neighbor's rhododendron bush.