Joy the Baker

I made you Sweet Potato Cookies with leftover mashed sweet potato my Dad’s infamous pie.  I mixed up the dough.  I portioned out little walnut size balls.  I popped them on the baking sheet and into the oven.  Then I sat down and made a terrible mistake.  Good things did not happen.  Not as good as these awesome cards from The Beautiful Project. 

See… I started browsing Etsy.  

Thirty minutes later my Sweet Potato Cookies were sad little creatures.  They were hard enough to pack into a canon and use as a weapon to storm some unsuspecting village… if I were in to that sort of thing.  

Truth is… I didn’t really want cookies.  I really wanted to shop.  

Instead of cookies, I bring you Etsy.  Cute.  Handmade.  Precious.  All from happy crafters.  I’m shopping all Etsy this holiday.  I like knowing that people as kooky as me are making me cool things.  Also,  it’s impressively cheap.  Also, I think my neighbor is cooking fish sticks for dinner.  On Thanksgiving!?  Very distracting.  

Look at this photo from Meganlee.  It’s so simple and  gorgeous.  Want.  Maybe a picture like this will be just the inspiration I need to write that dang cookbook. Yes.  I think this will do the trick.

Now excuse me while I try to do something about this fish stick smell.

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In the event of some sort of big fat natural disaster in California, I may be up a creek without a paddle.  Sure, I’ve got the canned tuna, the emergency gallons of water and a few flashlights with dying batteries.  I’ve got the walking shoes, a space blanket and pepper spray… you need those things, right?   It’s just that I’m not sure the internets or my cellphone are going to do me much good in the event of a meltdown.  Won’t all the cell towers be jammed?  How am I going to reach out to my family?  I don’t think Twitter will quite do the trick.  Clearly my only option is to jog to them… in a space blanket.  That seems to make the most sense.

My parents?  I think they’re just ahead of me in the emergency game.  They’ve got cell phones from 1993 and a telephone land line.  At least the land line will come in handy.  

My grandfather!?  He’ll fare better than all of us in an emergency.  He’s got Ham Radio.  Ham Radio is a sort of amateur radio system that allows people to talk to one another all over the world.  Don’t be fooled by the name.  Ham Radio is actually pretty badass.   Sort of like… trucker radio meets old school technology meets grandfather hobby.  In emergencies, Ham Radio is booming.  You better believe that in an emergency, my grandfather will be all over that radio.  Who he’ll be talking to?  I’m not exactly sure.  He’ll probably be saving the world.  I’ll be jogging my way to safety.  My parents will still be screening their phone calls with their answering machine.  Who is the hero?  Grandpa. 

I tell you all of this because Lemon Poppy Seed Muffins (specifically the giant ((seriously giant)) kind from Costco) are my grandfather’s favorite.  He no doubt has a 48 pack of those giant muffins in his emergency kit.  You think I’m kidding.  I’m not.

Note:  my descriptions of Ham Radio here may hinge on trite and are most certainly superficial and inadequate.  

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I have a relationship with this pie.  That’s normal, right?  

The smell of this pie takes me back to the days six year old me would run screaming through our lime green, hallway shaped kitchen in anticipation of pie and ice cream and the imminent holiday festivities such a dessert suggested.   

My Dad has been making this pie, with more cinnamon, with less coriander, with two eggs, with four eggs, with all sorts of variations, for… oh, just my entire life.  

Believe it or not, it’s hard to write about something you’re so close to.  Two things here are strange.  One… I’m so close to a pie.  Two… I’m having trouble writing about dessert! Oooh Lordy. 

Here’s what I want you to know about this Sweet Potato Pie.  Excuse me while I stumble through this.  

     This pie is made with orange fleshed sweet potatoes.  Maybe you call them yams.  Maybe you call them sweet potatoes.  The difference continues to perplex and bore me.  

     If you’re wondering what heaven might smell like, whip this pie up, throw it in the oven, wait 20 minutes then take a deep breath somewhere near the oven.  There.  Heaven.  Coriander, nutmeg, cinnamon and brown sugar heaven.  

     This pie can be made with my Easy No-Roll Pie Crust.  You win.  I win.  Pillsbury pre-made pie crust loses.  It’s better this way.  Trust me. 

Sweet Potato Pie.  It’s beauty.  It’s love.  If you think I’m exaggerating… then we’re obviously not friends. 

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I’m going to need you to do a little something for me this weekend.  

Yes.  It’s Wednesday.  We’re planning ahead.  This is important.  

I think you and I should make it a point to seriously relax this coming weekend.  See… it might be our last chance to really take it easy before the new year.  Before we know it we’ll be swept away by Thanksgiving, festive flavored lattes, contemporary holiday music, visiting relatives, cranberry cocktails and company parties.  

This weekend though… this weekend we can take it easy.  

To help us with our plan, I’ve come up with the perfect weekend breakfast:  yeast risen waffles with maple and black pepper bacon.  

We’re taking it slow this weekend.  Are you in?

**But wait!  You don’t have a  waffle iron?  It’s ok.  These Milk Chocolate Chip Buttermilk Pancakes with a side of Maple Black Pepper Bacon should put  you in an equally great food coma.  Not to worry.

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Here’s a fun fact:  my Mom is a scrapbooker.  She’s a serious scrapbooker.  She’s got the paper cutters, the corner choppers, the fancy albums and colorful background paper… there are stickers…. so so many stickers.  She’s for real.  Scrapbooking is the new rubber stamping.  Remember the rubber stamp craze!?  Yea, we’ve moved on.  Scrapbooking. 

I went to my parents’ house a few days ago to find these envelopes gracing the brick fireplace.  The envelope in front had my name on it.  I was hoping for an early Christmas stocking.  Boy oh boy did I get it.  Among other darling and embarrassing photos of myself, I found a chronological history of my school days.  From preschool to high school.  Every cute, awkward and downright horrifying picture.  

Now.  Because I don’t know any better.  Because I’m certifiably batty… allow me to share with you preschool through seventh grade.  The later, more awkward years will follow, and we’ll all cry. 

Though she will deny it, my Mom gave me this haircut herself.  I remember very well.  Even at four, I knew how ridiculous I looked.  

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I’ve got a case of the lazy bones.  Serious and impervious to negotiation, lazy bones.

These lazy bones have coerced me into watching a solid five hour block of television last Friday night.  These lazy bones strong armed me into excessive Saturday and Sunday napping.  I also did that thing where you get up and make breakfast, eat it, hold you belly with the sheer joy of your accomplishment… then get back in bed… back in bed (!) for a nap.

I’ve had the best of intentions, but I learned early on this weekend (about halfway through watching my third bridal show on Friday night) that my to-do list was just going to have to sit tight and have some patience.  That’s how it goes some weekends.  Who am I to disrupt the flow?

Nuts.  I somehow roasted and fancied up hazelnuts.  This must have been done in one of the hazes between naps.  I have no real recollection, but I do have photographic evidence.  Thank heavens.  I may not fully remember making them, but I sure do remember the dream where I was shoving them into my face by the fistful.  True.

Ok…. maybe they’re not the prettiest nuts you’ve ever seen.  Delicious?  Oh.  So.  Yes.

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I went to the Foodbuzz Festival in San Francisco last weekend, and all I got were these silly photo booth pictures with my dear friend Tracy of Shutterbean.  

Ok…. that’s entirely untrue.  

I walked away from the Foodbuzz Festival with more kitchen gear than I could carry, pockets full of fellow food blogger business cards, and a belly full of incredible food.  

A room full of food bloggers means a room full of cameras.  So many.  Rather than crowd around and take pictures of food…. I just took pictures of people taking pictures of food.  Weird.  I know.  

This also happened…

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This big old bowl of tomatoes and cream is the best thing to ever come out of my kitchen.

So good.  So right. I’m thinking of retiring.  I’m thinking of hanging up the apron strings and ending on a high note.  You know, like Seinfeld did in the 90’s.

But it’s just tomato soup?  What could be so special about it?  Let me explain. 

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or should I just call it Brown Rice Pudding?

When I was a little one, I remember lulling myself to sleep by listing off in my brain all of the things that I might like to find in heaven should I find myself there.  I started off with important things like:

I’d like to find my little sister Lauren in heaven, but I don’t want to have to share my toys with her if I don’t want to.

I’d like to find my best friend Natalie in heaven because I love to play with her hair.

I’d like to find Grandmother, Granddaddy and Aunt DeeDee in heaven because they make the best hamburgers every Friday night .

And then this list would surely devolve into something that resembles my Christmas wish list:

I want an Easy Bake Oven in heaven…

I want a Barbie Dream House in heaven.

I want mechanical pencils in heaven… I had a serious thing for mechanical pencils.  Still do.

Nowadays I’m barely awake enough to get my socks off before I’m zonked out on my pillow.  I’d like to put this down on record now, if you’ll indulge me.

I want Rice Pudding in heaven.  Rice pudding with raisins.  Rice pudding with dried cherries.  White rice.  Brown rice.  Any kind of rice cooked with milk and sugar.  Please.

A few mechanical pencils might be nice too.

Awesome.  Thanks.

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Autumn is settling in.  Autumn has settled in, and here I am ready to accept it.  I’m also ready to accept the fact that my days in the kitchen are about to dramatically increase (if you can believe that) as my cravings for apple crisp (lovelovelovelovelovelovelove), pumpkin cookies and cranberry treats become harder to ignore.  I’m less ready to embrace the way my jeans are tightening around my thighs… or maybe it’s my thighs growing inside my jeans.  Either way, the tightness and the sucking in of the tummy seems to be just a part of the season.

What are you up to in the kitchen these days?  Here’s some food for thought  Yes… I totally just said that. 

Mocha Hazelnut Marble Cake.  This cake was gorgeous, classy and utterly fine… until I tried to transport it in a fancy cake stand and got this glistening chocolate glaze exactly everywhere.  Everywhere.  Lesson learned. 

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I’ve got a guilty conscience.  Here’s a little peek inside:

Dear Coworker David,  

Tonight when you were detailing the twenty one shots you had for your twenty first birthday, I stopped listening at about shot number four… the Raging Bull I think you said.  How do you remember all twenty one shots after twenty one shots anyway!?   Sheeesh!  Though I was smiling and nodding tonight, I heard not a word you said.  True. 

Dear Downstairs Neighbor,

Is it noisy down there?  Does it seems sometimes like I’m stomping around on my second floor apartment floors?  Probably.  I am.  I can have some heavy feet from time to time.  Do I do it on purpose?  Sometimes.  Yes.  To be fair, I do this because, as you know, I left cupcakes on your doorstep for you one afternoon and I watched you discover them and take them to the dumpster to throw away.  I saw you do that.  Not cool.  Not cool at all.  

Dearest Friend (pssst!… that’s you),

Sometimes I make recipes vegan simply because I’m out of eggs and/or butter.  It’s true.  A severe and persisting egg shortage in my house was the inspiration for the Vegan Pumpkin Bread.  If you’re vegan, you’re probably annoyed.  That’s ok.  I can be annoying.  If you’re not vegan, you’re probably happy to know that you can still bake up some wonders without eggs and butter.  Your call.  

Love,

Joy the Baker

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I have really great news friends!  

Number One: I had chicken and waffles for dinner last night.  Hot dang!  Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles… you were great news for my belly.

Number Two:  Remember a few days ago when I was telling you how lovely the people at Minted.com are?  Turns out… I was totally spot on!  I love when that happens.  I was right about their intrinsic awesomeness, which leads right into my third bit of great news…

Number Three:  Minted.com is offering every single one  of you a 15% discount on any holiday card order you place between now and Wednesday November 11th. Coupon code is: JOYTHEBAKER  Whaaaat!?  Yea.  Awesome.  So. Super. Sweet.  

Now here’s the deal.  I totally think you should hop on over to Minted.com and make up some super cute holiday cards.  Make sure you order enough so that you can send me on.  Seriously.  I want your smiling face in my mailbox.  It’ll make my insides happy.  Order them.  Email me.  I’ll send you my address.  I want a card.  If you think I’m kidding, think again.  

Aaaaand!  One last and very exciting bit of great news for one lucky reader…

Number Four (on the list of really great news):  Melissa Anizor.  You have some seriously lucky birthday mojo because Random.org chose shining number 657.  That’s you!  You win holiday cards!  Also… Happy freakin’ Birthday!

Here we are, staring November right in the eye.  Am I the only one giving November dirty looks?  I mean seriously November… how did you sneak up on me like this?  Did you just trample over September and October to rub your impending holiday spirit in my face?

I’m not sure I’m ready to dive into the season… but you know what?  I’ve gone and pushed myself into that pool.  Ok… not really.  I had some help.  Minted.com gave me a shove… a friendly shove.. but still a shove.

See, Minted.com wanted to share something with you.  They also wanted to me look super organized in my holiday spiriting.  Thanks for that Minted. Well played.  

So!  Here’s the situation.  Minted.com makes awesome, cute, rad ,modern, hip, tasteful, bodacious, colorful and fun holiday cards.  Remember the long photo holiday cards your Mom would send out in 1983?  They were decorated with some sort of pixelated wreath and an unflattering picture of you and your sister  pretending to decorate a Christmas tree?  Yea… that doesn’t have to happen anymore.  Thank you Minted.com.  Thank you.  

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I’m putting on an orange leotard tomorrow.  An orange leotard. 

I’m also putting on bright blue leggings tomorrow.. and white leg warmers… and sweat bands.  

I’m going to encourage the big, puffy, curly hair that I spend most days trying to tame.  Yes, there will be blue eye shadow.

I’m going to step out in the world tomorrow as an 80’s aerobics instructor.  The only little hitch?  That I actually have to step out of the house in a skin tight orange leotard and skin tight blue leggings.  Oooh lordy.  Whose idea was it to take the Halloween celebration beyond my solo living room dance parties?  Yeeps!  

Ironically, the only thing making me feel better about my very bright and very tight 80’s debut are these S’mores Icebox Candy Bars.  There are fifteen in a batch and I’ve worked through four just writing this post.  Send help.  Orange leotard, people…. send help. 

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These eggs aren’t the only thing that’s scrambled.  

My brains…. also pretty scrambled right now.  

As far as I see it, there are two solutions to the scrambled brain mess that I’ve got going on inside my head right now: a whole weekend worth of sleep or a bag of fun size Snickers bars.  

Aaaand Snickers it is… but first, let me show you what I eat morning, noon and night:  scrambled eggs.  

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Have I introduced you to my little sister Lauren? 

Lauren… this is everyone.  

Everyone… this is Lauren.  

Lauren and I grew up in the kitchen together.  We made brownies, we burnt cookies, we frosted crooked cakes, and we could plow through a box of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch in 10 minutes flat.  We were always in the kitchen either creating or consuming.  True.  

Things aren’t all that different for me and Lauren these days.  We spend a lot of time baking up treats, talking about Paula Dean, and arguing about which awkward teenage phase was worse:  my Blossom Hat Phase or her Sweatpants and Vest Wearing Phase.  Just typing those out… they each seem like equal tragedies.  Thank heavens we’ve moved past that.  

I’m introducing you to my sister because these two things are true:

1.  If Lauren were not in the world, I would surely be unable to breathe… that’s how much I love this girl. 

2.  I shoved my camera in Lauren’s hands last week, told her to bake something and take pictures of it.  In her unending brilliance, she returned to me a camera full of pictures (including the self portrait below) and six of these cookies.  Holy heck!  A food blogger could get used to this kind of treatment.  For real.  

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I cleared out my cooking cupboard and piled everything up on a table… I’m trying to make a point.  

I think it’s important you know that you don’t need cabinets full of fancy equipment to make glorious things happen in the kitchen.  

I think it’s important you know that I don’t have the most, biggest, nor the best equipment in my kitchen.  I do seem to have enough… and I’m scrappy enough to make things work.  

Let’s talk kitchen gear:  what you must have and what you might want to have on hand.  

Aaaand, go!

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Today’s Maple Pecan Muffins are dedicated to Tracey.  

Tracey, you are dear and darling… and 15, which is equal parts hard and rad, I know.  

Let me tell you a little about Tracey.  Tracey had her 15th birthday last week.  Tracey’s best friend Maggie sent me a pretty precious email asking me if I would send Tracey an autographed picture of myself for her birthday.  See,  Tracey is a great baker and a huuuuge fan of my site.  

I’m not the sort to have pictures of myself to autograph on hand… that would be totally weird,  so I sent Tracey a little birthday gift and handwritten note.  Easy enough, right?   In return Tracey sent me a very long, very excited, exceedingly adorable email to thank me for her birthday present.  Seriously friends… this girl is priceless.  

After reading Tracey’s email a handful of times (it was packed to the gills with information), here are a few things I want you to know about my new friend:

Tracey makes a mean lemon pound cake with blueberry sauce.  

Tracey almost set her house ablaze trying to make these doughnuts.  

Tracey is obsessed with muffins… and feeds them to her dog.  Let’s all just pretend like that’s normal.  

Tracey got a “Tracey the Baker” apron for her birthday.  Clearly I have competition. 

By sharing loads homemade cookies, Tracey is well on her way to becoming the most popular girl in school.  Don’t get too popular Tracey… it might be overrated.    

Tracey giggles a lot… not in emails, but this is just something I’ve surmised from being 15 and eating a lot of sugar once upon a time.

Tracey?  Is that Jesus peeking over your shoulder on your fridge there?  If so… awesome.  If not… awkward. 

Tracey these muffins are my little shout out to you because it seems like you get as excited about eggs and butter and sugar and flour as I do.  That makes me happy. Thank you. 

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Hey!  Can I share some fun news!?  Sweet… thanks.

What makes dinner with friends even more fun and lovely?  A dash of holiday spirit… aaaand whiskey.  

I love the months between September and January because I get to cook and cook and cook.  Something about the holidays inspires people to gather and consume… it’s just heaven for me.  

This holiday season I’m teaming up with my super chef friends and crackpot wine buddies to cater big ol’ homey holiday suppers for people in their homes.  You gather.  We throw down in the kitchen.  You consume.  We’re talking six course meals with things like Braised Cocoa Beef with Buckwheat and Corn Polenta Cakes and Christmas Lima Beans. Yea… the real deal.  How about Warm Apple Crostadas with Butterscotch Ice Cream and Bourbon Whipped Cream?  Yes.  Please.  Dang.  

We also do dishes.  Wait… chefs who do dishes!?  Well… we bring help.  That’s true.  

I’m telling you all of this goodness because if you’re in Los Angeles or San Francisco… well heck, maybe you’d like to throw a badass holiday dinner party.  Weeks sure are coming and going quickly so email us at joythebakerdinners (at) gmail (dot) com if you’d like to talk food… talk wine… talk menu and pricing… and talk holidays with you.

Persimmon Pudding, from tree to table.  

Step One:  Find a neighbor with a gorgeous, almost cartoon like persimmon tree.  Ask your Mom to help you pick persimmons… Mom always likes to help.

Step Two:  Entice neighbor and Mamabear with the promise of fresh baked persimmon pudding if you’re granted access to their persimmon tree.  

Step Three:  Try this phrase, “Hey Neighbor!  I think you’re just swell.  Can I borrow a ladder?  That’s one tall tree.  Sweet… thanks.”

Step Four:  If you decide to sneak a peek into the other neighbor’s yard while you’re up on that ladder picking persimmons… maybe you’ll want to be more subtle than my mother.  I’m just sayin…

Step Five:  Pick the ripest, softest persimmons.  Way to be, Mom!

Step Six:  Carefully place super ripe persimmons in bag to cart off home, thanking your neighbors Dan and Libby for their ladder and their abundant tree. 

Step Seven:  If you don’t happen to have a neighbor with a persimmon tree, I’m betting that the local farmer’s market will have some gorgeous Hachiya persimmons for you this time of year…. and you won’t need a ladder. 

Step Eight:  Call your favorite Aunt from Indiana and ask her to promptly send you all of the persimmon recipes she owns… that will be a lot.  Seriously.  Thanks Judy!

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