Joy the Baker

Hi darling.  Hey sugarbear.  What’s shakin’ sweetums?  Lookin’ good sweetpea.  Hey loverboy!  Oooh darlin’.  

I’m practicing my terms of endearment.  Yea… I want to sound natural when the time comes to use them.  

Can I practice on you?  How does this sound?

     Hey loverbear, will you come on in here and help me with these dishes?

     Darlin’, will you hold the oven door open for me?

How about…

     Sweetpea, stay away from those cookies.  You know we have company coming.  

My favorite…

     Sweetums, I made you cupcakes… cause I love you like crazy.

How am I doing so far?  I’m a little stiff aren’t I?  I’ll keep working on it.    

Jump on over.  I have a lot to tell you!

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Merry Christmas from me to you.  

I hope Santa brings you peace and love, a KitchenAid mixer and a dishwasher… and a kitten.   

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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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What are you up to on this fine Sunday?

Holiday shopping?  Holiday partying?  Trying to find a pair of pantyhose without a run in them?  Yea… me too.

I thought I’d pop in and remind you of these little peppermint gems.  They’re light.  They’re beautiful and festive.  You can put them in the oven and just about forget about them while they bake…. and yes, they look a little bit like Colgate toothpaste.  

Peppermint Meringues.  Because you can.  Because you should.

Eggnog Pancakes with a slight hitch.  Eggnog Pancakes without the Eggnog.  
You should know that I’m going to capitalize Eggnog in this here post. If that bothers you…. apologies.

My Grandfather is the first person to pull a carton of grocery store branded Eggnog out of the refrigerator every year about this time.  When I see him reaching for the carton on the refrigerator door, I avoid all eye contact.  There is no offering.  There are no questions.  If Papa decides to pour you a glass… and it will be a GIANT glass… then you have to sit there, and drink every last bit… unless you want to be called a goshdarm vegan hippie.  Sure.. being a hippie might not be all that bad… but…well Eggnog shouldn’t be punishment and hippie shouldn’t be a bad word.  Dang!

 So!

To avoid cartons of Eggnog coming from my fridge, I’ve created an Eggnog flavored pancake.  Not a dollop of actual Eggnog in sight.  Nothing to worry about here.  

Can I tell you something about these pancakes… you know, because you’re here and all… they are crazy/heck yes/ omg good.  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  Weekend breakfast?  The answer is… yes!

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You are just the most lovely people ever.  I’m so glad you’re out there in the world!  

Reading through your best holiday gift comments totally put a smile on my face.  Who knew you all were so charming and touching and genuine and humble and all around rad!?  I knew… I totally knew that. 

Those of you that said that your husbands and children were your best gift ever… you’re tender and I’m going to have to punch you now.  Don’t worry.  It’s a punch in a good way.  Seriously. 

Winners.  Four of you darling people win.  Thanks for letting me regift upon you. 

Millie.  Hi!  Sweet.  You win!  Merry Christmas!

Doreen!  Holy heck!  You’re number two!

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Here are a list of questions I think might be running through your head right now. Well… I like to flatter myself by thinking that these questions might be running through your head. It’s a self-involved delusion . I know you have better things to worry about. Also included here are the answer to before mentioned self-involved questions.

You might be thinking:

Seriously, Joy? Here we are in prime baking mode and you bring us crackers!? Crackers!?
Answer: Yes. Crackers. Big, thick and crispy, salty and satisfying crackers. They have sea salt, people… they must be fancy.

Joy, what are you wearing to your holiday party tonight?
Answer: I. Don’t. Know. Please send help. Please send a new outfit. Please get these crackers out of my face so I stop stress eating them.  Please.

Joy, calm down. Why not just wear your nice pair of jeans?
Answer: What? I can do that? I can seriously do that? I’ll can wear my nice pair of jeans even though they’re still jeans?  I suspect you’re just trying to make me feel better. I have to find a skirt and top combination that doesn’t make me look like too much of a lunatic hippie.  Drats.

These crackers aren’t helping. Someone take these crackers away from me.
And send help… send a pretty black top with sparkles. Quickly.  Thank you.

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I’m dusting this recipe off, shining it up and throwing it in your general direction.  It would just be a shame for these cookies to languish in the Joy the Baker archives when they absolutely must be included in your holiday baking.  

Let’s make a deal.  You jump in the kitchen and throw a batch of these together, and I’ll pop in the kitchen and crank out a few cranberry recipes.  It’s teamwork.  Delicious, delicious teamwork.  Let’s do it.

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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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There are things I allow myself to buy… things like new jeans, the occasional pair of fancypants shoes, milk, butter, frozen yogurt and a bottle of chocolate syrup.  Ok… to be honest, I allow myself to buy a lot of things.

There are things that I do not, under any circumstances, allow myself to buy:  Oreos.  Double Stuff Oreos.  Yes, it may sound silly, but I am not allowed to buy Oreos.  It’s  a rule.  In my brain.  That makes it real.

Why the silly strict Oreo rule?  About ten years back, when I was the all-knowing eighteen year old that brazenly moved out of my parents’ house and across the country, I realized that I had to find a way to feed myself.  Not a problem.  Just go to the grocery store, right?  Suuure.  I took myself to the grocery store and bought every single bit of junk food that my parents’ had (wisely) withheld from me for eighteen years.  Chesee puffs, orange soda, fruit roll-ups and Oreos… sooo many Oreos.  It turns out, a girl can live on Oreos alone…. for about a week… and then comes an epic Oreo hangover that is not to be forgotten.  

So.  Fine.  No more Oreos.  

No more store bought Oreos.  Homemade Oreos with a touch of peppermint?  That’s ok, right?  Totally ok!  Are you in?  Heeeeck yes!  It’s December.  Let’s milk this chocolate and peppermint thing while we have the chance. 

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Aprons.  Aprons.  ApronsApronsAprons!

We made aprons.  We bought the fabric.  We cut the patterns.  We sewed and stitched and sewed and stitched and sewed and stitched about a million (ok… just fifty)  times over.  Maybe ‘we’ is a bit too liberal.  My darling and most talented mother made each and every one of these aprons.  Where I can work wonders with a spatula, she can work wonders with a sewing machine.  Please don’t make me sew anything… I just make myself bleed.  

So here’s the plan.  I want you to have fun in the kitchen making Cream Cheese Cinnamon Rolls or whipping up a batch of Oatmeal Cookie Pancakes.  I also want you to look cute, and feel pretty, and not be afraid to get in there and get some bakin’ done… even if that means dirtying every single dish and emerging from the kitchen covered in flour.  Do it!  I think a fun little apron might help.  

For you pleasure, I’ve even made an Etsy store to showcase Joy the Baker Aprons.  Sweeeeet!  

All aprons are 100% cotton, one size fits darn near everyone… and bonus:  each apron comes nicely wrapped for your gift giving pleasure.  Supplies are limited.  The fabric is flying.

My Mom took this picture with my cellphone.  See?  Proof of cuteness.  Aaaaand… go!

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’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’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’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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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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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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Autumn To-Do List

Buy boots.  Wear new boots at every waking moment.  

Bust out the scarves and go for it.  Two at a time?  Fine by me! 

Make Dad’s Sweet Potato Pie.  I know… I’ve been talking about this for ages.  I need to shut my trap and get bakin’ already.

Don’t get Swine Flu, that would be seriously lame. 

Is it time for flannel sheets?  Well.. is the Pope Catholic?  Heck yes!

Eat Roasted Pumpkin Soup by the truckload.  Do it.  Done.  

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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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Honey Roasted Plums with Fresh Thyme and Greek Yogurt

This weekend I want out!  Out of the kitchen and into a pool.  Out of these clothes and into a bathing suit.  Out of this computer and into a poolside book and cocktail situation.

I want you out too.  I don’t want you in the kitchen all weekend.  Don’t you think your time would be much better spent in sunglasses and a big floppy hat with your feet up by the pool!?  Good.  I’m glad we agree.

If you’re celebrating the 4th of July this weekend, be sure to say things like “Go America!” and watch colors explode in the sky if you can.  It’s fun.

If you’re not celebrating America’s independence… well heck… I think a weekend by the pool is still in order.  You just don’t have to scream things like “Go America!” unless you really want to.

Here are the recipes that will keep you out of all day kitchen adventures and magically keep your bellies satisfied.

Let us explore.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies

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