Joy the Baker

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’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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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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I had no idea how easy ranch dressing was to make.  Here’s how it went down in my kitchen.

I looked at the Buttermilk Ranch recipe.  I shrugged one shoulder.  I mashed garlic, chopped herbs, and dolloped various white and creamy ingredients into a bowl.  I again shrugged a shoulder.  I threw in some salt.  I threw in some crushed peppercorns.  I threw in a dash of Tabasco.  I… yes, shrugged my shoulders.  I stirred the bowl of herbs and creamy things together.  I shrugged.  I threw in some buttermilk.  Stirred again.

Then I did this thing…. I took a leaf of butter lettuce and dipped it into the bowl.  Holy Hell!  Gracious heavens!!  It tasted… get this… JUST LIKE RANCH DRESSING!  Geeeeez!  That was cool.  Sometimes goodness sneaks up on you.  Dang.

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Lovely friends… hi.  Dear readers… hello.

Let’s talk about keeping it classy.  Hot dang! I try hard to keep it classy.  Holy smokes… do I ever fail sometimes.

Let’s discuss classy versus not classy, and what the heck chocolate dipped bananas have to do with anything.

Classy:  a tastefully short summer sundress.  Not class:  booty shorts that awkwardly bunch in the crotch.

Classy:  gracefully switching from wine to water at the company picnic.  Not classy:  maybe getting drunk and punching the sous chef in the face.  Oops.

Classy:  How much I love listening to public radio.  Not classy:  How much I love to watch The Real Housewives of  New Jersey.  Guilty… but why do they yell so much?

Classy: Enjoying mini chocolate dipped bananas on a summer afternoon.  Not as classy:  Trying to gnaw your way through a giant chocolate dipped banana.  It’s just not pretty friends.  Let’s try to avoid this scene this summer.  I think we all know why.

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Can you do me a favor?

I cringe any time someone asks me if I can do them a favor.  I always want to say… sure, yes, of course… only to be asked to do something like… I dunno… be a bridesmaid in their wedding and wear lavender and ruffles.  Ok… so that hasn’t been a favor asked of me just yet.  The thought obviously terrifies me.

I hope when I ask you to do me this favor you won’t completely cringe.

Do me a favor and make this popcorn this weekend.

I wouldn’t ask unless it was totally important, and totally delicious.

Believe me.  If you’ve never believed me before, now would be the time to start.  Make this popcorn.  It’s perfectly sweet and perfectly salty.  Make it for dinner.  Make it and sneak it into the movie theater in your giant purse.  Make it and sit out on your patio with a glass of cheap wine.  Find the time.  Find a way.  Just do me a favor and enjoy this popcorn as soon as possible.

It’s that good.

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You know that team building exercise you might play at sleep-away camp that requires you to fall backwards into the waiting arms of a fellow camper?  The Trust Fall?  The basic idea is that you completely let yourself fall backwards, trusting that the person behind you has arms outstretched to catch you before you hit the ground.  It’s a very literal way of saying “Hey!  I’ve got your back!”  or “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall.”  If the person you’ve entrusted to catch you is not paying attention and flirting with her sleep-away boyfriend as you fall… well, you might have trust issues for life.  Not cool.

I bring up the old Trust Fall because we’re talking about sandwiches.  Sandwiches are serious business.  I feel like I need to do a good round of Trust Falling with someone before we’re allowed to make each other sandwiches.  Like I said… sandwiches are serious.

I need to know that someone has got my back when they make me a sandwich.  Who’s making me a sandwich?  No one… that’s not the point.  It’s all about trust, and care and attention.  Like… which slices of bread they choose from the loaf, and how the mayonnaise doesn’t sneak over the edges, and how the tomato slices are just thin enough, and the lettuce is mostly dry from the washing.  Sandwiches have a lot of details.  There’s a lot going on.  I need to trust that my sandwich maker can handle these details… you know?

What?  Too much?  It’s just a sandwich?  Yea… a sandwich.  I take my sandwiches to heart.  I haven’t done the old Trust Fall with the young gentlemen at my local sandwich shop, so frankly, I don’t know if I can trust them to make me a sandwich… ridiculous, but true.

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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 was notorious in my family for being the child that could only be comforted by my mother.

Most playful family weekends, the scene went something like this:  I’d be in the backyard playing with my little sister, my dad and Scamper, the family dog on our creaky, rusted and awesomely fun swing set.  My favorite move was to swing as high as I could, count to three with my sister and jump out of the swings onto the grass.  Sounds innocent enough, but I was always getting my little girl fingers stuck in the chains of the swing as I dismounted.

I’d hit the ground and look at my dad with the silent cry face… the face kids give their parents before the completely lose it and burst into tears.  My dad would invariable come over and try to talk me out of losing it, but I was already halfway into the ugly cry by then.  It was then that no one but my mom could handle the cajoling and kissing of my finger.  I’d run into the house, screaming like a maniac and clutching my (not even bleeding) finger, looking for my mother who had found just a few moments peace to take a shower or a short nap.  I’d force myself into her lap, lift the offending, pained finger, and wait for the mom comfort to blanket me.  So good.

Come to think of it, that swing set caused as many injuries as it did smiles.

Come to think of it, jumping off the swing set is always worth the hurt finger.

Come to think of it, this pudding has much the same healing qualities as my mom’s lap.

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Here’s a fun thing to do!  Take a few minutes to close your eyes and imagine yourself as an old person.  I’m not talking about late sixties.  That’s not old yet.  I’m talking about great great grandmother old.. pushing the mid-nineties.

Sounds crazy?  Why would you spend time picturing white hair in bobby pins, shuffling feet and rocking chairs?  I feel like getting old is a luxury.  Not everyone gets to do it, so why not sit and enjoy the thought a bit?

I imagine that I’m the kind of old lady that talks to her over fed cats, and yells across the house to her practically deaf husband.  I hope I’m the kind of old lady who has a piano in the house just so my grandchildren can come over and practice their scales while I shuffle around the kitchen baking them cookies.

I want to be the kind of old lady that always thinks a glass of champagne is a good idea.

I want to be the kind of old lady who always has something out on the living room table for that unexpected guest.  Maybe it’s those soft chalky mints.  Maybe a freshly baked pie.  Maybe it’s these Sweet and Spicy Baked Almonds.  These nuts, my friends, have me daydreaming of old lady times somehow… with a smile on my face.

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These bourbon laden treats were inspired by two things:  those still spring, but almost summer days that give you a hint at just how blazing hot this summer is going to be, and… this weekend’s Kentucky Derby.

Here’s what I know about Spring:

It’s green.  Once we get past the Easter Bunny stage, it’s all about blooming flowers and May showers.  Spring makes me feel like I’m in love with the world… probably because I am.

Here’s what I know about the Kentucky Derby:

Horses.  Hats.  Mint Juleps.

Here’s what I know about bourbon:

Dang, it’s good!

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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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This I Used To Believe

I believed that if I wore  a stretched out paperclip across my front teeth I would be one of the cool kids with a retainer.  It turns our that retainers only seem cool when you don’t actually have to wear one.

I believed that if I sunk down in my chair low enough in Honors Algebra, I wouldn’t be called on the answer questions that I didn’t have answers to.  I didn’t have answers to any… aaany of the questions.  In reality, that posture was like a giant, neon, blinking arrow pointed right in my direction.

I believed that if I stayed up all night chewing gum, I was bound to get the part of Violet Beauregarde in the sixth grade performance of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory.  That part went to my best friend Lindsay.  What does it say about me if I still think about that from time to time?

I believed that Dylan would never leave Brenda on Beverly Hills, 90210.  Um… remember what happened in the pool?  With Kelly!? Brenda’s best friend!?  Yea… so that didn’t work out.

I believed that really good cookies simply had to have at least a few cups of all-purpose flour flour in them.  These Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies changed my mind.  Seriously.  I know you’re thinking  They’re better than you think.  Way way better.  These are great!

This post was inspired by last weeks episode of  This American Life which, in turn, was inspired by the international essay project, This I Believe.  Yaaaaay for  public radio!

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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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I woke up this morning ready to celebrate Friday.  This, despite the fact that I’m convinced that I’m due at least fourteen hours more sleep, and moving past the idea that I deserve a sleep re-do for having fallen asleep with all the light on, teeth unbrushed and (gasp!) bra still on.  I don’t get a do-over, or more sleep… but I do get a Friday, and that’s a little bit of all right with me.

This week, I overheard someone say “Whatever… you know that Thursday is the new Friday.”  Hm… I don’t know where they work, or how they pull that off, but to me “Friday is the same, old Friday”… and sometimes “Saturday is the new Friday” making “Sunday the new weekend”.

Wanting to celebrate Friday as the same, old Friday got me thinking about all the great little moments I had during the week.  You know… the little things- getting a card in the mail from Mom, or finding a crumpled ten dollar bill in your back pocket.

What are the three best things that happened to you this week?   Think on it.  Here’s what I’m workin’ with.

1. I dropped a cake I had just baked on the floor.  We can talk more about that later,  but thought to myself:  ok, well that shouldn’t happen again for another few months.  I’m glad that’s out of the way.  Then I wanted to yell and swear, but there was no one around to hear it, so I didn’t bother.  This restraint for lack of an audience later made me laugh at myself.

2.  I’m sitting here, in this very moment, enjoying a cup of hot tea and a few of my dad’s buttermilk biscuits.  It’s quiet and sunny and just warm enough to not regret my warm covers in the other room.  Quiet simplicity is a week highlight for sure.

3.  I’m going up to Oakland this weekend.  I’m going to wear a dress.  Don’t try to stop me.  Both things are going to happen.

In the meantime, I think you should take these Cinnamon Raisin Pull-Apart Muffins for a spin.

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On losing, letting go of little sisters, and warm biscuits:

We never talked about this.  I didn’t know how to bring it up.  The 2009 Bloggies.  Remember?  Best New Blog?  So… I sorta…. kinda…. mostly… didn’t win.  The thing is, I really really wanted to win.  I did.  I played it cool though.  On the outside, I pretended to not care either way.  That was a big fat lie.  But the thing about losing… it’s pretty cool actually… it makes me want to be better.  It also makes me unbelievably grateful for all of your smiling faces.  Fact.

I found myself in a frenzy this morning.  My little sister left for a many month long European adventure.  The thought of her being so far away that I can’t easily call her at two in the morning to scream our favorite Mariah Carey song at her sent me into panic mode.  I calmed myself, safe in the knowledge that my sister deserved some life changing adventures and I am due many presents from far away lands upon her return.

Biscuits.  If I were to hand you a warm biscuit with raspberry jam would you: a)  throw it on the ground and shove me on the floor or b) thank me kindly, gobble the biscuit and give me a giant hug?  If your answer involved shoving me on the floor… well, that’s kinda funny, but throwning biscuits on the floor is just plain rude.  Don’t do it.

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I used to keep a dream dictionary by my bed.  Fact.  I thought that I could wake up from a vivid dream all about pansies and weasels, broken clocks and cotton candy to thumb through a book and answer all off those deep subconscious questions.

It never worked.  I was lucky enough if I’d remember the dream, and luckier still if I had the wakefulness to actually reach for a dictionary first thing in the morning.

My dreams are trying to tell me something, I just leave it up to my sly and cunning brains to figure it out or leave it a mystery.

In the same way, my body was trying to send me a message early this morning.  I hadn’t been awake and in the world for more than an hour when I found myself standing at work in the restaurant saying exactly this, completely unsolicited:

I want potato salad.  I want potato salad exactly now.  Potato salad sound SO good.  I want pounds and pounds of potatoes in my belly right this second!

How’s that for a craving!?

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You mentioned once that you were an English major in college. What did you want to be when you grew up? Did you ever do it? How did you move from English major to Baker Extraordinaire?

I was an English major in college. Ironically enough, reading makes me fall asleep. Crazy, right? Somehow I managed to work my way through five (yes, it took me a while) years of college. I worked two jobs through college, always with food, often in kitchens. For those years, I either had my head (fast asleep) in a book, or my hands elbow deep in dough. When I finished college, I found that I loved baking so much that I didn’t want to stop working with food. I somehow wanted to find a way to incorporate my love of story telling with my passion for food. So far that journey has lead me here- cooking, photographing and writing for you fine folks. I honestly can’t think of any place I’d rather be!

Have you thought of making healthy versions of some of your recipes, or proposing a corpus of kid-friendly, healthier recipes that use fruit sugars and fat subs for a more conscious approach of your culinary art?

I think butter is beautiful. I think sugar is dreamy. I think cream is over the moon. I bake with ingredients that put a smile on my face. I certainly wouldn’t consider the treats on my site as everyday meal-time staples, but for a special occasion… when you need to reach out to that inner sugar fiend… this is a good place to come.

If you’re looking for fruit sugars and fat substitutes, I just may not be the baker for you. It’s just not what I’m passionate about these days. While I do have a handful of healthful recipes like my Gnarly Muffins… these recipes just don’t bring a sparkle to my eye like cream, butter and chocolate do.

What kind of camera do you use? Did you take classes or is it just the camera that creates those gorgeous shots?

I use a Canon XSi with a 100mm macro lens. It’s a lovely, easy to use camera, made even more awesome with the fancypants lens. Can I tell you a secret? There was a time when the lens to my camera was worth more money than the car I was driving. True…. that’s really true.

I also have to tell you that I’ve actually never take a photography class. A dear friend handed me a SLR camera, gave me a 15 minute lesson all about aperture and depth of field I think he might have mentioned shutter speed once or twice… but that was it. He knew what I wanted to shoot and he showed me exactly how to do it.

The 100mm macro lens It’s totally worth it, isn’t it?

Yes. Yes it is.

Did you go to culinary school? Do you currently work at a bakery? Have you been working at a bakery for your entire professional life?

Here’s the deal: I’m a self taught baker. I didn’t go to culinary school. Why? It was just too darn expensive. As a result, I’m no master at cream puffs, my bread baking is sometimes a comic tragedy and fancy French desserts make me break out in a cold sweat. But that stuff just isn’t where my passion lies. I’m more interested in getting in the kitchen with my Dad to recreate his favorite pie, or filling my kitchen with girlfriends to play with cookie recipes. My approach is all about food, stories, laughs and love and I didn’t feel like I needed culinary school to teach me that.

What recipe ingredients are worth splurging on?

Whatever you love… it’s worth splurging on. I love food, so I think the good stuff is worth seeking out. Recently I’ve come to love raw, artisanal honeys. The people at Ames Farm seem to know what they’re doing with bees. They have lovely honey that I usually eat by the spoonful. I also love love love good chocolate. I like to buy Valrhona when it comes to my chocolate baking needs. Expensive, yes… but the quality is absolutely worth the extra dough.

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Some things in the world are just too too easy.  Peanut butter is one of those things.

I suppose those easy things work to compliment the tasks in life that are far too complicated for their own good.  These complicated tasks include, but are not limited to, matching your socks fresh out of the dryer, finding your other slipper in a closet full of shoes, and emptying your vacuum bag and finding replacements of the same size and shape… seriously, why is that so hard!?

Where these little bits of life are difficult, some things, like homemade peanut butter, are easy peasy.  Thank goodness for the little things.

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