Joy the Baker

Two days ago my sister was out in Seattle having dinner with a friend.  Simple enough, right?  

She was approached my a friendly faced woman and asked “Are you Joy the Baker’s sister?”  My  sister burst into confused laughter.  They carried on a short, smile filled conversation and went on with their meals… my sister still slightly confounded.  

Lauren is Joy the Baker’s sister… that’s not the confusing part.  The confusing part is that you all might recognize my sister in the world.   Awesome.  Odd.  Strange.  And awesome again.  

Have I told you how awesome you are?  How glad I am that you’re here?  How glad I am that you would say hi to my sister if you saw her in Seattle?  Well…. you are awesome.  I’m so stoked that you’re here and thanks for being nice to my sister.  For.  Reals.  Cause if you weren’t nice to her… we’d have to fight.  That would be weird.  

In other news… I can’t find my tweezers and I made you a cake.  Let’s discuss. 

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I have downright baffled myself.  

I may have mentioned that I’m moving this week.  Moving is… horrifying.  Yes, I’m being dramatic.  Please indulge me. 

Among the things that I found under my bed and in the dark recesses of my closet as I’ve been cleaning and packing are:

eight kitten stuffed animals. 

one medium sized bunny stuffed animal. 

three puppy stuffed animals.

….. WWWHHHHHYYYY?

one baby sock….  A. Baby.  Sock.  I have no baby.  Seriously… What the heck is going on here!?

a tiny rhinestone turtle toe ring.  Really?  

one sweater that gives my arms a rash.  I found out the hard way.  

one wooden bobble head turtle toy.  Why so many turtles hiding in my house?

and… a rock.  Because… yea.  A rock.

Take these Little Lemon Hazelnut Cakes as a token of my love, affection, and dwindling sanity.  

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I’d really like to conjure up some useful information for you.  That would be nice, right?  I could tell you all about avocados.  Where they came from.  What a lovely shade of green they are.  Why they’re so expensive at the grocery store… you know, things like that.  

But you didn’t come here for boring old information… did you!?  

I didn’t think so.  

You came here  because you want me to admit to eating Pepperidge Farm Soft Bake Cookies…which is totally happening right now.  You came here because you want me to admit to rrreeeeaaaalllllyyyy wanting to watch the season finale of The Bachelor… it’s true… it’s a problem.  You came here because you want me to admit to wearing my big fluffy slipper socks.  The dreaded socks/shoes that will keep me single for eternity.  Well… I’m wearing them and I’m loving it.  

So there, friends.  It’s all out on the table.  Now can we talk about cake?  

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On the Lamb threw a Speakeasy last night… complete with Bathtub Gin and Juice, Pork and Wild Boar Sliders and Cherry Bourbon Ice Cream. There was bourbon and scoundrels as far as the eye could see. Before we get down and dirty with my new favorite ice cream flavor, here’s a peek at what setting up a roarin’ Speakeasy looks like.

A Speakeasy requires a guest list, a password at the door, and a cash box for cashmoney.  

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Can I let you in on a little something?

I don’t live in the cool Los Angeles neighborhood that all my friends live in…

I have more matching spatulas than I do matching bath towels.  

I still can’t seem to commit to buying myself a couch.  

My bedroom bookcase seems to be made up of one part books and three parts dust.  

I tell you all of this to let you in on the fact that I’ve been feeling domestically restless these days.  The kind of restless that has had me daydreaming about moving into a downtown loft that I can’t afford.  The kind of restless that has had me daydreaming about decorating a downtown loft that I can’t afford with expensive furniture that I also can’t afford.  

Not being able to afford your daydreams?  Torture and motivation.  Together.   

This weekend I decided… get this… that it’s all ok! 

I took to my kitchen with my rubber gloves, bleach spray and a few rags and I scrubbed and organized like I’ve never done before.  Yes, it’s just the kitchen.  No, I couldn’t get to my whole apartment.  But the scrubbing and organizing helped me remember that my humble little apartment, in the uncool part of town, is pretty darn sweet.  I don’t need the fancy loft and the expensive furniture.  I just need to make my little spot in the world a little brighter… with bleach.  

And the pancakes this weekend helped too.  Tremendous.

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Let’s just close out eyes and pretend we’re sitting under an orange tree. An orange tree heavy with fruit… but with the occasional late blooming blossom. There are honey bees too. Just a few. The friendly kind. The kind of honeybees that remind you that life is full of creatures big and small… and we all have tasks to do.

Let’s just hang out under our orange tree for a while. Right here in the shade, greeted by little spots of sun as the wind spreads the leaves.

It’s nice here.

Sweet. Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.

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Let me lay out some facts for you:

My bed has an electric blanket on it this winter.  My fears of spontaneous combustion are usurped by my complete inability to actually get out of my warm bed.  

Yes… I’m totally writing this from bed.  Try and stop me.  This cozy just won’t quit. 

I have exactly zero interest in turning on my oven for the next week… mostly because my oven isn’t in arms length of my bed.  I really don’t want to get out of bed.  

Yes… I’m talking a lot about my bed right now.  Maybe I’m obsessed.  Maybe this is unhealthy.

But!  There is one reason I’m getting out of bed tomorrow.  Vacation.  Holy hell!  I’m going on vacation!  I’m going to a gorgeous spa/ bed and breakfast situation in San Luis Obispo… all by myself.  There’s a bathtub.  Not just any bathtub… but a soaking tub… next to a fireplace.  Oh.  My.  God.  I only plan on leaving that soaking tub in an extreme prune state.  

If you’re in San Luis Obispo and you think you can lure me out of my soaking tub… we should totally have lunch!

Before all the soaking begins… here’s a deep purple Blackberry Granita.  I suggest eating in in bed, under the covers, while watching your third Netflix romantic comedy.  Don’t worry.  No judgements.  This granita just tastes better that way.  

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I just stepped into my kitchen, turned on the light and was greeted by a massive amount of dirty dishes… not to mention a random stick of butter I left out this morning.  

I walked across the way to the dining room table to find all of the half addressed holiday cards I have yet to send. 

I shouldn’t even mention the atrocious pile of laundry that I’ve managed to ignore for weeks.  

But all is well.  All is juuuuust fine.  Why?  Because I’ve got my little nativity scene up.  My Christmas lights are twinkling.  I’ve hung silver snowflakes from my windows with scotch tape, and there are cranberry smells coming out of my kitchen.  At this rate, I can ignore the household atrocities well into the new year.  

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I sometimes daydream about spending a day holding a sign, perched on some sort of stoop at the base of a freeway off ramp.  Totally random daydream, right?  My daydream sign holding isn’t about begging for money or protesting a cause.  No.  My signs are much more silly and benign.  

In my daydream I hold a variety of signs (might as well rotate them, right!?) that say things like:

Honk if you like my bangs.  

Peace is awesome.  Bombs are stupid and ugly.

My thighs and skinny jeans are not friends.  

Will work for Spice Cake.  

… you know… signs like that… signs that are open and honest and for strangers to smile at.  

Wait…. is this a weird daydream?  This is totally a weird daydream.  Forget I mentioned anything.  

Let’s just talk about cake.  

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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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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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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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I sometimes wish that my future self could just pop into my present world just to… you know… say hi, and let me know that everything in the future is going along just swimmingly.  That never happens, but maybe I just haven’t given future me enough guidance.  With this in mind…  here’s a quick letter to future me.  Now maybe 48 year old me will get crackin’ on some answers.  Slacker.  

Dear Future Me,

Hi.  How’s it going?  You look really pretty in that sweater.  

I have a few questions for you.  I hope you’ll indulge me.  

Are you still unreasonably afraid of spiders?  Probably.  You know what?  That’s ok.  That’s what spouses are for… clearing spiders from anywhere that might interfere with you.  

Speaking of spouses… do you have one?  How’s that going?  Awesome.  I hope it’s awesome.  I hope you two hold hands and take morning walks and go out on dates.  

Do you still buy the cheap mascara?  Have you been to Italy yet?  

Tell me you still wear a little black dress and heels on occasion.  Please.  

Kids.  Do we have Mom hands yet? Oooh, I love Mom hands.  I can’t wait to have Mom hands… well I can wait.  I’m waiting right this very second and I don’t feel bad.  But Mom hands…. I bet we totally have Mom hands. 

How do you feel about eggplant?  Do you like eggplant yet?

What’s been good?  What’s been not so good?  Are you livin’ the dream?

Let me know how we are.  Send me a sign… maybe a paper airplane with your answers… whatever you need to do.

I’ll be sitting here with a cup of tea and my Spiced Apple Cake waiting to hear from you.

Love,

Present Me

Quick Blurb of Shamelessness

Hi… it’s me, Joy the Baker.  I hang out here a lot.  So do you.  I like that.  Thanks. 

Last week I was nominated for the Foodbuzz Blog Awards.  The Best Baking Blog… go figure.  If you’re feeling… votey, you might head on over to Foodbuzz to vote for all the fine folks that are up for an award.  Yea?  Thanks!

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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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Is it just me, or is making a pie sorta like going to jury duty?

Don’t get me wrong… I sometimes (no.. not always) like throwing together a pie.  I also sometimes like trucking my rear downtown for jury duty…. that’s after kicking and screaming in the weeks prior to said dutying.

The process of going to jury  makes me feel super adult.  What?  You want me to sit in this crowded room with a bunch of angry people missing work, and you want me to possibly make decisions Law and Order style?  Ok.  I’ll play your game justice system.  I’m a tax paying adult… thanks for the recognition.

The process of making a pie also makes me feel all adult like.  Something about tacking a many layered recipe and busting out my pie plate tells me that yes… you’ve got bills to pay, but why not take a minute… ok, an hour… and show to world who’s in charge by making a pie?  Orange and Cream… done and done.

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Let’s play a game called What’s on Your Nightstand?.  What?  Too personal?  Oooh come on!  We’re all friends here.  Let’s try to figure out what our night stands say about the state of our lives.

On my night stand is:

1 Ikea lamp.

A water color painting made by my aunt in the 80’s.

A cup of what once was hot lemon water with honey, now just a mass of lemon seeds at the bottom of a mug.

A glass bowl with a ring and a business card for a French bed and breakfast.

Two books:  Unaccustomed Earth and Seize the Day.

My credit card, and a small bowl with cookie crumbs in it… Lemon Rosemary Palmier cookie crumbs.

What might my night stand contents say about me?  I love a home furnishing bargain.  When I run out of tea I make do with lemons.  I can’t sleep in jewelry and I like to daydream about vacationing in the French countryside. I either read a book or go internet shopping before I fall asleep, and I eat cookies in bed.  All things considered, it seems like a pretty cushy and self indulgent life…. plus, cookies!

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It’s August 3, 2009 and I refuse to believe a) that summer is almost over, and b) that we’re a handful of months away from 2010.  Turns out that whether I believe or refuse to believe these two things… they’re still true.  

It’s August 3, 2009 and I will openly admit that in the past few days I’ve been stress eating like a maniac over these picnic plans.  I’m not proud.  

It’s August 3, 2009 and tonight is the night I’m going to polish off the frozen dough balls in my freezer.  Again, not proud.

It’s August 3, 2009 and I’m thinking it’s going to be really awkward when Dr Martens come back into style and I bust out my original pair that I sported back in middle school.  Yes, I still have them.  Yes, they still fit.  

It’s August 3, 2009 and among the many other things I’m thankful for today, I’m also thankful for internet shoe shopping and these beautiful thumbprint cookies.  

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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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