Joy the Baker

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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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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Pumpkin. 

It’s October and it is time.  Pumpkin.  

Hold on to your hats.  I’ll be all up in your grill with peppermint and chocolate for Christmas before you know it.  

For now….

Pumpkin.   Don’t fight it.

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The date was September 17th, 2009.  

Yes.  Yesterday.  

That’s the day that I finally stopped totally sucking at scone baking.  That’s the day that I didn’t pull a tray of overly sweet, super flat triangle shaped mounds out of the oven, trying to pass them off as scones.  

Summon the parade.  I’d like you to call in the marching band please.  Flag twirlers would also be nice.  This is sort of a parade worthy occasion.  Fluffy, rounded, nicely browned, fruit filled scones?  From my oven?  Yes.  Parade please.

Oh!  Just so we’re clear…  I’ve made at least twenty dozen terrible batches of scones in my lifetime.  Terrible terrible.  I just couldn’t get it right!   Let this space hold as proof that I’ve wrestled scone dough and oven temperatures and come out successful.

Here’s proof:  pink and fruity, spiced, hearty and subtly sweet scone proof.  

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I faked it.  

I faked it just a little bit with these croissants.  

See, these croissants were hot from the oven and onto my breakfast plate in less than 30 minutes because I used frozen, all-butter puff pastry instead of slaving over homemade croissant dough.  Real croissant dough has yeast, a bit of sugar and milk in it.  Puff pastry does not have these elements; it’s just flour, salt, water, and more butter than you care to know.  

So you see… I didn’t spend the time folding and folding and folding croissant dough, I faked it.  I don’t feel one bit of bad.  In fact, I feel so good about faking it, here’s a few other things I’ve been known to fake.

I’ve faked a tan with that new and clever gradual tan lotion.  Thank you lotion technology.

I’ve faked a smile… when I’m feeling super extra awkward, or when I don’t like your perfume but you’re a friend of the family and I don’t want to be rude, or when I’m being paid to smile.  That last one doesn’t really happen… ever.

I’ve been faking being an adult for the last ten years.  Sometimes, well… it sure feels like I’m faking it.  

Lastly, as discussed above… I fake a dang good chocolate croissant.  Here’s what’s what on that!

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I love pancakes.

Maybe you don’t believe me.  Maybe you need proof.  

How about a list of the ways in which I totally love love love pancakes?

Perhaps you can find your deep rooted love for pancakes this weekend with one of these fine recipes.  

Milk Chocolate Buttermilk Pancakes

Dad’s Buttermilk Pancakes

Vegan Jam Swirl Pancakes

Everything But the Blueberry Pancakes

Gingerbread Pancakes…

Whole Wheat Banana Walnut Pancakes, one of my all time favorites. 

Need more proof of my pancake love?  Ok!

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Some things just shouldn’t be a luxury.  Some things are an absolute necessity.

Spending too much money at Target, for example.  Sometimes… (you know it’s true) that’s a total necessity.

Hot bath plus cold beer.  You need it.  I need it. Necessity.

A super comfortable dress that shows a little shoulder.  Everyone loves a little shoulder.

A girlfriend you can talk about your lady parts with.  Yes, I said lady parts.  Please don’t under estimate this necessity.

Aaaaand, last but not least… a little pancake love on a weekday morning.  Do it.

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There are three things I want you to take away from this post.  No foolin’ around… I’ll get straight to the point.

One.  You’ll want to stop by tomorrow if you think you might like to be one of those people that attends my (holy heck yes!) summer party.  It’s in August.  It’s for real.

Two.  You know that part of the pedicure when the lady at your feet goes to it with a pumice scrub?  It’s at that point that I have to try with every ounce of who I am, not not not to kick her in the face.  I’m ticklish.  Extremely.  Now you know.

Three.  These blueberry muffins are (yes) perfect.  Straight forward.  Simple.  Summer.  One whole hell of a lot better than the stale coffee shop version… perfect. How often do I say something is perfect?  Not often.  Fact.

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You know this guy, right!?

He’s my Dad.  He makes some amazing pancakes… the best pancakes, the best tacos, the best sweet potato pie, the best tofu potato bake.  He’s a champion in the kitchen.

He’s also a champion Dad.  Top notch.  The kind of man that will talk to you for hours about the intricacies of Alfred Hitchcock movies… when you’re eight years old, make your stuffed animals talk and have fake bowel movements, and microwave your ice cream so it’s not too cold.  He’s the best I know.  Happy Father’s Day.

Want pancakes?  Take the jump!

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I’ve been struggling for the past few hours with what to tell you in conjunction with these Blackberry Pie Bars.

I thought maybe we could talk about how I’m still totally dragging my feet about going to my ten year high school reunion.  No… that’s been done.  Boring.

Maybe we could talk about how I sat around a campfire with Andrea Zuckerman… a character from that show Beverly Hills 90210, but that was actually just a dream I had last night.  Not real.

We could chat about the weather?  Seen any good movies lately?

No?  Ok… let’s not fight this.

Let’s get on to the bars.  They’re good.  Really good.  Good enough to not need a silly introduction.

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Number Five: Peanut Butter Fudge Treats

For those moments when you decide to kill your noisy neighbors by gifting them an epic sugar rush in the form of these super charged bars.  Not a crime, right?

Number Four: Red Velvet Black and White Cookies

Because red dye makes everything… red velvety!

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I made rolls, of the cinnamon variety.

I use cinnamon rolls as a sort of… well, anxiety calming drug.  I don’t pop pills, I definitely pop cinnamon rolls.

See… there was this thing invented a good long while ago called the 10 Year Class Reunion.  It’s where you get together with all the people that made fun of you during your painfully awkward teenage years.  Yea.  Why?  Why do I have to do this?  Can’t we all just become friends on Facebook and Twitter and consider ourselves properly reunited!?

Seriously.  The future is now!

Since I think I’m going to gracefully bow out of the reunion festivities, here’s the CliffsNotes of what I might have said to my old classmates.

Hi.  Yea, it’s me Joy.  I sat behind you in.. a bunch of classes probably.  Here’s the update.  I went to college.  I read a lot of books.  I graduated.  I traveled around some.  I haven’t gotten married or pregnant yet.  Yea.. I’m prettier now, but that’s mostly because I was actually really ugly when you knew me.  I’m a baker.  I think it’s the most awesome thing ever.  I know a crap ton about food.  Would you like to discuss French cheeses at all?  I have a blog… also awesome.  Sure, I’d like to meet your boyfriend Steve.  I recognize him from your Facebook photos.  Your relationship status is “complicated” though… care to discuss?  No?   Hm… well, sure I’d like to see pictures of your kids.  Would you like to see pictures of my cinnamon rolls?  It’s only fair.

Don’t make me go to this thing.  It will be awkward.  Awkward.  Awkward. Awkward!

I need counsel and another cinnamon roll.

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Strawberries make me restless.

It’s a fact.  Yes, a strange fact, but no less true.

See, in my part of the world, strawberries come along every year right around May.  This is around the time when I’ve loooooong ago let slide any New Year’s resolutions I might have made for myself, when it’s possible that I’ve slacked a bit on my workout routine, and the goal of reading a chapter of a book a night before I fall asleep has somehow transferred into watching an old episode of House every night before I pass out.

Don’t even get me started on the mania that I try to pass off as my closet.  It’s not pretty.

So…. strawberries come along at a time of year when I’ve cemented in some slightly lazy and ooooooh so comfortable habits for myself.

I don’t know how or why this works, but strawberries inspire me to shake my world up a bit, maybe introduce something new, maybe hop on one leg every morning just for the hell of it…. whatever.  This is the time of year when I change things up a bit.

This year, strawberries have inspired me to do two things:  learn Italian and combine fresh strawberries with one of my favorite cakes of all time…. streusel topped coffee cake.

Let’s do this.

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Please.  Take a few moments to dig through your kitchen cabinets to find your waffle maker.  Please do this.  I’ll wait.

….. There?  Find it?

Now.  Please.  These waffles need to be made now, tonight, first thing tomorrow morning, or whenever you get hungry… now?  They’re that good.

I need to go wash my hair.  That’s not a euphemism for anything.  I really need to wash my hair.  By the time I come back, I hope you’ve preheated that old waffle machine.

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I woke up to an utterly dreamy California morning on Tuesday.  The soft morning sun was just streaming through my bedroom window, the birds were singing good morning, and I knew that I had a whole basket of clean laundry for the week ahead.  Pretty sweet morning, right?

Sure… the only problem was that my brain was entirely unwilling to join  the sunny spirit.  Nope.  I felt like on  big stale loaf of bread.  After an extended love affair with my snooze button, I determined, behind closed eyelids, that the only thing that would change my circumstance was streusel topping.  On the shuffle from my warm bed to the kitchen counter I decided that blueberry muffins with streusel topping would flip the light switch in my brain.

There was only one problem with my blueberry muffin plan.  I had not a blueberry in sight.  No fresh.  No frozen… just a whole lotta outta luck.  After rifling through my freezer and fridge I emerged with the tail end of a bag of frozen raspberries, and half a jar of strawberry jam.  I figured that, brought together under the welcoming umbrella of streusel topping, these two would simply have to work.  Not but thirty minutes later, puffy streusel topped muffins found their way out of the oven and into my face.  While they didn’t pay that pesky credit card bill, or make that much needed dentist appointment, they at least kept me from crawling back in bed for a handful of hours.  Sometimes, that kind of help is just enough.

It’s not every morning that you jump out of bed ready for the world, fully equipped to make blueberry muffins.  When those morning escape you, I promise that with a little jam, the remains of your frozen fruit collection, and loads of streusel topping, you just might be able to set things right.

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I’m not sure exactly how to say this, so I’m just going to go ahead and put it out there.

For the first time in…. ever… I had fun at a baby shower.   Real time, legitimate good times at a baby shower.  I wasn’t even faking it, not even a little bit.

I’m going to stand by what may be an unpopular position.  In the past I’ve found most baby showers I’ve had to attend, a troubling combination of boring and humiliating.  Between standing around listening to various labor horror stories and playing disgusting baby games that involve Tootsie Rolls and diapers, I typically just barely manage a fake smile.

This weekend’s baby shower was different.  My friends Mitch and Lara got together, got married, and made another human that Lara is currently growing in her belly.  These people are filled with hilarity, and an uncommon and humble goodness.  Watching them open their baby gifts with grace and a downright speedy efficiency (thanks!), I couldn’t help but imagine their little girl filling the onesies, hats and socks they received.  While it may sound silly, the reality of this impending life became more lovely and amazing as each gift was opened.

That I may or may not have been able to cheat at one of the baby team relay games has very little to do with me having a great time at the shower.  Don’t press me on this.  Please.

Now, without a well-crafted transition, I bring you Crustless But Still Dang Good Quiche.

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Not every morning in my life is filled with Chocolate Chip Buttermilk Pancakes and Chocolate Chocolate Chip Banana Bread… not when things like my ten year class reunion and bathing suit season loom just around the corner.  For real friends, those are two scary things.  At least I don’t have to go to my ten year reunion in my bathing suit.  Can you imagine the horror!?   Yea… so there’s always a silver lining.

I’d like to introduce you to Low Fat Oatmeal Banana Bread.  If this bread were one of your dear friends from high school, it would be that friend who wore old lady shoes because they were the most practical, and played the trombone, and was the super smart editor of the school newspaper.  This bread would be the friend that was super sensible, and sweet and just downright made you feel good about your day.

Go ahead, think of this Low Fat Oatmeal Banana Bread as your friend… and then it eat.  No, there’s nothing weird about that.

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Dear Future Husband and Future Children,

While it’s clear that the universe hasn’t yet pressed us together into a family mold, I think it prudent to get a few things about our life out in the open.  You know, for the sake of transparency.

Future Husband!  In all likelihood, I think you’re the coolest guy around.  You’re awesome.  While I’m certain there are things you do that drive me a little mad, the fact that you help me with the dishes and make me tea in the morning just makes me swoon.  I’m a little quirky.  You’re probably a little nutty too.  That’s only  fair.  You should know that I sometimes show my love in… pancakes, piles and piles of warm pancakes.  Pancakes for breakfast.  Pancakes for a snack.  Pancakes for dinner.  Pancakes.  It’s important that you like, no, loooove pancakes and understand that when I make giant plates of them for breakfast, I’m just trying to show you how much I love you.  Deal?

Future Children!  You’re super cute.  You must be just adorable.  You should know that I want to squeeze you constantly.  When I mix up your names, you should know that it’s not that I don’t know your names… it’s just that things get a little complicated when I’m trying to wrangle all y’all.  Eat your broccoli.  It will make you beautiful, or at least that’s what my Mom used to tell me.  When you feel mortified by my very presence in your teenage years, just realize that that’s all part of the game.  I’m actually not that uncool and you’ll realize that at some point.

Also, like I told your father, I’m going to make you piles and piles of pancakes some mornings.  Eat them, because I love you and you love me, and we love pancakes.

Thanks Future Husband.  Thanks Future Children.  I love you like crazy.  K.  Thanks.  Bye.

Future Wife/Future Mother,

Joy

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Things that are awesome and things that are not awesome; an incomplete list.

Things that are awesome:

Summer dresses that look great with summer ponytails.

Bathing suits + Palm Springs + Rented Summer House + Sun Screen + Giant Sun Glasses + Mojitos x Infinity = Awesome.

Big, fat bumble bees… come on, they’re precious.

Pulling this beautiful Dutch Baby out of the oven on Easter morning,  sprinkling it with orange sugar and feeling like Julia Child… that’s awesome.

Things that are NOT awesome:

Otherwise perfect vintage dresses that are half a size too small.

Bathing suit shopping… exactly no one likes that, and why on earth are my legs so white!?

Bee stings on the butt.  It happens people.  It really happens.

Not pulling this Dutch Baby out of the oven on Easter morning… that’s not awesome at all.

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Three things are true.  Let’s go over some facts.

I’m gullible.  I prefer to think of it as less naive and more trusting.  If you tell me something, in all likelihood, I’ll believe you.  For this reason, let’s keep the April foolery to a minimum this morning.  It’s not really my style, and chances are, if you try to fool me with falsehoods or pranks today, it’ll work.  Let’s not and say we did.

This day reminds me of one particular April Fool’s Day many years back.   I thought playing a prank on my little sister would be ripe with comedy.  It involved a toilet seat, petroleum jelly, and her resulting slippery bum.  As I giggled with success, my little sister busted out her fake (but oh so convincing) cry and I was in a heap of trouble with Mom.  She’s brilliant with the fake cry… award winning.  Well played little sister… I see how you turned that around… Well played.

Lastly, and this is no petroleum jelly joke-  I was featured in the London Times this week!  Check out the interview and the photos… and say hello to London.  Normally I’d tell you how being in the London Times makes me want to yell, and jump and otherwise spaz with excitement.. but I’m trying to play it cool.  You know.. like wearing sunglasses at night, or wearing Converse sneakers with a fancy dress, or putting ham and mustard in cookies…. cool.  Let’s play it cool.

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