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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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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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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This time last year I was up to all sorts of mischief in the kitchen.  

Don’t believe me?  Well check out the Blood and Bones above.  Red hot chocolate with bone shaped meringues?  Sinister. 

How about this Butterscotch Pudding with Bourbon Whipped Cream.  One tablespoon of bourbon for the whipped cream…. five tablespoons of bourbon for my belly.  Please.  Thank you.

Then there’s the Carrot Cake Pancakes with Cinnamon Cream Cheese Spread.  Cake and frosting for breakfast.  Sure, I can call them pancakes.  Yes, I added a vegetable… but seriously… this is just good old fashioned cake before noon.  I say do it!

It’s Friday friends!  What sort of mischief are you going to get up to in the kitchen this weekend?

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 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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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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Friends.  

This is important.

I need you to hold your pinky up for me.  We’re about to make a very important promise to one another. 

I need you to promise me that you’ll never. ever.. ever… ever buy a store-bought pre-made pie crust again.  Don’t do it.  Promise me.  

Those store bought pie crusts are full of all sorts of mystery fats, trans fats, dirty fats, mean fats… you don’t want all that mess in your pie!  

Besides… I’ve come up with the pie crust recipe of your dreams.  Seriously.  Fluff the ingredients in a bowl, throw in some moisture, then press the dough directly into your pie pan.  No chilling.  No rolling.  No stress.  I’m looking out for you.  

If you’re scared of pie, I’ve got you’re back…. promise… lemme show you. 

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If this blog were written by 13 year old me instead of 28 year old me… I can safely say that I would blog about these White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Cookies every. single. day.

One bite of these cookies and… oh heavens!  I feel like I’m being dropped off at the mall to meet my friends on a hot summer day.  We speak Gibberish and Pig Latin.  We are fluent enough in both made up languages to combine the two into one mega made-up language.  It’s pretty sick. 

One bite of these cookie and I have tragically frizzly triangle hair and my twenty dollar allowance in my pocket.  My friends are trying to convince me to see Jurassic Park and all I want to do is sit on a bench with a bag of White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Cookies from Mrs Field’s and try to muster up the courage to go talk to the cute cashier at Sbarro Pizza.  

One bite of these cookie and, yes… I’m wearing overalls.  Yes.. I only have one strap buckled.  Yes… one hanging strap on overalls is super cool.  

Who knew one bite of a cookie could be so transforming…. and awkward.  It’s a good thing I don’t make these very often.  

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Ooooh God.  This is embarrassing.  This is about to happen.  

Here’s a small excerpt from Joy’s (before she was the Baker) diary circa late 1996.  I had strong feelings about a lot of things back then… my first crush named Hayden, my best friend turned enemy, the television show Seinfeld, making the volleyball team and…. MTV’s The Real World.  Yea… I’m not so sure about that last one either.  I dunno.  Here’s an actual excerpt:  

Um.  Diary.  Seriously.  (P.S.) Real World Miami sucked just to let you know.

Reasons to be on Real World…

1) I’m athletic… DUH

2) I’m funny… so how bout them Dodgers… who’s on first… knock knock.  

3) I’m diverse.  I’m a black girl (woman).  

4) Kissing.  But not on camera. 

5) I’m from Los Angeles… with bright lights and clear skies.  

6) I’m a country music lover… Come on baby let’s go to Vegas.  

*HELL-OOO

My heavens! I laughed out loud when I found this little gem in my teenage diary. Ooooh but believe me… that little book is full of all sorts of priceless wallowing and poetry so terrible… so foul… that I can barely even stand to revisit it. This little list though…. hot dang… so funny.  I think I love reason number three the most.  Why did I feel the need to put the ‘woman’ in parentheses?  My heavens.  What a weirdo. 

I just had to get that off my chest… now, cake. 

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Can I tell you a secret?  Sometimes I lack all confidence in the kitchen.  It’s true.  Sometimes a project will keep me up at night.  Sometimes the ingredient list will just baffle me.  Sometimes I hold my breath as I incorporate the ingredients, or I second guess myself and reread the recipe with every turn of my spatula.

It’s the absolute truth.  Sometimes I just need someone to hold my hand through a new recipe… or I at least need to be allowed to throw my hands up and call uncle at any point during the process.

I tell you all this so you know that when I stepped in the kitchen to make pasta this past weekend… well… I was totally intimidated.  I wasn’t sure I could pull this off.

I know… I know… everyone was telling me how easy it was.  Frankly, I was convinced they were liar liarpants.  For real.  Handmade pasta!?  Easy?  Not possible.

Well, let me be honest.  Pasta isn’t as entirely easy as everyone would have me believe.  That’s not to say it’s impossibly hard…. not at all.  For me, making pasta by hand just involves a little talking to myself, a big area where I could throw flour all around, a rolling pin and willingness for a good arm work out, and a few hours set aside for doughing… mostly just patting it, talking to it, and walking around the house showing it to whatever family member would pay attention to me.

The end result is beyond… BEYOND comforting.  The process was super satisfying, and really?  So Much Fun!  Pasta!  I made pasta!  Daaang!  I’m going to go ahead and pat myself on the back for this one.  Don’t mind me… I’ll be done in a minute.

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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 are there butterflies everywhere?  

Maybe it’s butterfly hatching season…. that’s a technical term: butterfly hatching.  Obviously.  

Exhibit A:  On a particularly rough day at work, a butterfly just about the size of my hand fluttered around me showing off its black, yellow and red wings.  Absolutely gorgeous.  

Exhibit B:  Just this morning a butterfly whizzed past my nose as I rode a bike through the Oakland hills.  High speed butterflying.  

I don’t even need an Exhibit C, I’m tellin’ you… there’s something in the air:  butterflies.  

So, all of this beautiful fluttering action has lead me to, well… look for a little meaning in all of it. 

I know… totally cheese ball, right?  It’s just that I feel something in the air.  Maybe it’s the change of season, or maybe it’s my sun sign doing God knows what to my moon sign.  Who knows?  I just feel a flood of change coming my way.  I think that’s what all these butterflies are trying to tell me.  Change is a’comin’, in more ways than I might already think.  That… or it’s just butterfly hatching season.  I don’t know.

In other news:  I have a fridge full of zucchini and I made zucchini pancakes.  

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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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How about a quick lesson on my newest and favorite food find?  You in?  I’m droppin’ knowledge.  Let’s talk farro!

Farro is a grain commonly and presently grown in Italy.  It doesn’t have strictly Italian roots… those roots would probably be somewhere in the Middle East, but Italy is a mighty fine producer of farro these days.

Farro is a wild cousin of wheat.  If you’re farmiliar with barley, I would say that farro is very similiar.

When cooked, farro is often shaped like a giant puffed rice.  It’s nutty in flavor and has a slightly crunchy texture.  I know it as a super healthy whole grain that keeps me full for hours and hours… an almost impossible task.  It’s full of fiber and even has a great amount of protein in it!

I most often use farro to fatten up soups or to make a nice sauteed vegetable salad.  Salads with farro are delicious warm, or room temperature, or cold standing in front of the fridge sometime past midnight.

We’re not done here…. click on through, won’t you?

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Sometimes I have imaginary phone conversations.  Ok… this happens a lot.  They go a little something like this:

Hello..?  Yes, hi.  I’d like to speak with the person in charge of making up all these clever food holidays like today’s Bacon Day.  Oh, that’s you?  Excellent.  I have a few additional food holidays I thought you might like to add to your calender.

How about a pizza and beer holiday every Friday of the month.  I mean… it’d just be really great if my calender could justify my food choices.  No?  You know, you don’t have to decide so quickly.  Maybe think it over a bit.   Still no?  Ok… lemme run another idea by you.

Can we make everyday at 3:30 in the afternoon National-Go-Ahead-And-Eat-A-Brownie Moment?  What?  That’s too specific?  I see.  You might reconsider this one… the people are really calling for it.

No?

Ok…. I’ll just stick to Bacon Day.  Thanks for that one.

I gotta run.  I have to tell all my friends about these Peanut Butter Bacon Cookies I just made!  Laaaater!

Interested in other ways to celebrate bacon!?

How about Brown Sugar Bacon Waffles or BLT’s with Homemade Mayonnaise!?

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God sure does have a clever sense of humor, wouldn’t you say!?

Yes.

Here’s how I know:  I’m dating a faaaaantastic man who… doesn’t know the difference between a pie and a cake… a muffin and a cupcake.

Funny, right?  This has to be a joke… right?

Nope.

Ok.  To be fair.  It’s not that he doesn’t know the difference… it’s just that he mixes them all up all the time.  Maybe it makes me a little crazy.  Maybe it goes a little something like this:

Me:  Simon,  what do you want for your birthday?

Simon:  A giant pie!

Me:  A pie?  You mean you don’t want a big ol’ chocolate cake?

Simon:  Oh!  Wait!  No…. I want a cake.  Wait… cakes are the big, multi-layered things with all the frosting.  Yes.  I want that.

Me:  Cake.  Not pie.  Cake.  Ok.

OR!

Me:  Hey Simon!  What do you want for breakfast?

Simon:  Cupcakes!

Me:  You mean muffins, right?

Simon:  Ooh yea.  Muffins.  Yeaaaaah.  They have the same shape!  It’s confusing.

Me:  I know.

Ok… maybe these two conversations are a bit of an exaggeration.  But seriously friends… they’re not that much of an exaggeration.  This happens to me, and I don’t see an end in sight.  Very funny God.  Luckily I have a very keen sense of humor too.  Ha.

Perhaps making up for his mix-ups, Simon is one hell of a cupcake decorator.  Seriously.

Now, I’d like to introduce you to my absolute favorite Red Velvet Cupcake recipe with Cinnamon Cream Cheese Frosting.  Wait… muffins.  No, cupcakes.  No… definitely cupcakes.  I know this.

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