Joy the Baker

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?

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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Pie takes time.  Pie requires attentions.  Pie demands love and care.  Pie, even for an everyday baker like me, is a lost art.

I needed a good, old fashioned, pie contest to help me slow down, take a breath, and dream up the most delicious pie I could.

The most delicious thing I could dream up was this:  bananas, homemade peanut butter, chocolate, graham crackers, butter, whipped cream, and as much sugar as I could reasonably pack into a single pie dish…. and some chocolate shavings for good measure.

The result:  one mad Peanut Butter Banana Cream Pie.  The contest:  inspired by Whitney and several bottles of wine.  The contestants:  as serious about pie as they are about being incredibly fashionable and audaciously cool.  The competition:  stiff.  The winner:  one devastating, delicious and perfectly tart Key Lime Pie.

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I’m going to need a day to digest the Fancy Food Show.

In the meantime, I thought I’d present you with this Lemon Souffle Pudding.

I often think of myself as a mash up of the time I’ve spent in the world so far. In essence I feel like a messy concoction of parents, siblings, friends from kindergarten, mean girls from high school, various low paying jobs, and different cities. I am all of those things. Whether or not I acknowledge it every day, I am who I am as a direct result of all of many people, many places and many experiences. So far it feels like a pretty sweet gig.

I got to thinking about the sum of my life’s parts yesterday on a plane from Oakland back to Los Angeles. Plane rides, no matter how short, force me to quickly assess my life situation.

My quick flash assessment went a little something like this in my brain:

Lindsey, Michelle and Beth were the best girlfriends I could have had in elementary school. I’m glad I became best friends with the smart girls.

I kinda feel bad about treating my prom date the way I did. Maybe I should Facebook him.

I’m really glad I got to see my parents renew their vows. That brought a lot of good to my world.

Simon. I’m so glad Simon and I stumbled upon each other.

If this plane crashes… God, please don’t let this plane crash… I’d feel like I’ve had a pretty good run. Thanks. Seriously.

If this plane crashes… God please don’t let this plane crash… I wonder if the lady sitting next to me would hold my hand … but only if the plane were crashing… otherwise, I don’t really need to hold her hand.

Should I order ginger ale or cranberry juice when they come around for drink orders?

Jill gave me the most gorgeous lemons and they’re waiting for me at home.

Lara made the most amazing lemon pudding the other night. I want more.

Oh God… the plane is taking off! I hope we’re nowhere near a flock of geese. Seriously. I don’t think I like river landings.

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Something happened last night-

It involved me, my space heater, a few comforters, season one of Pushing Daisies, a spoon, and an entire container of chilled rice pudding.

I realized two things last night. One: while Pushing Daisies is beautiful and charming, it’s almost too sweet. It is still, however, an effective way to wish away three hours of a Sunday evening. Two: Yes, my stomach does have the capacity to hold about 8 cups of rice pudding. How awesome is that!?

I ate the whole thing. Fact. Every last creamy, soft, raisin studded, vanilla bite. And the truth? I’d do it all again tonight if I could… and I can… but I won’t. Does that make sense?

This Rice Pudding might be best shared with your family. It’s Super Comfort.  If comfort became a super hero and came to save the day, it would come in the form of this rice pudding.

If you do have to eat the entire thing by yourself, under your covers on a cold night, well…that’s not such a hard cross to bear, is it?

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I was trying to come up with some charming childhood anecdote to accompany these butterscotch puddings, when I came to the blunt realization that I didn’t like pudding as a child. In fact, I may have purely despised the stuff. My only exposure to pudding came in the occasional lunch time trade with a friend for her chocolate pudding cup. I seem to remember a goopy, brown, almost plastic flavored dessert. Even when I was eight I knew that there had to be a better way.

A mere twenty years later I’ve decided on the perfect pudding solution: mix together cream, brown sugar and bourbon whiskey (among a few other ingredients) and call it Butterscotch Pudding. Glorious! Top that pudding with Bourbon whipped cream and toffee and life just got that much sweeter.

If I could talk to eight year old Joy the Baker, I’d tell her not to trade her all natural fruit snacks for the chocolate pudding. There’s something much better lying ahead. I’d also tell her that she won’t have horribly frizzy hair forever, and it really is ok that precious, blonde, adorable Hayden likes Alison and not her. It really is ok.

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What do you do when you’re down to your last egg?  Either cry about it or make Chocolate Pudding with Almond Whipped Cream.  In my case, I did both.

I know this is only a food blog, but I’m sure you all won’t mind if I get something off my chest.  I’m sad.  I’m puffy eyed, in my pajamas all day, looking out the window at the beautiful weekend passing me by- sad.

It’s relationship trouble.  My Mom called it “matters of the heart” which kinda put a smile on my face because she made relationship drama sound so old fashioned.  Moms are good for that.

So, while I understand that this is totally out of place for my humble food blog, I hope you won’t mind me over sharing and asking for advice.  Maybe you can help.

How do you do it?  How do you keep a relationship alive and well?  Tell me your love story because I think I need to hear it.  Is it hard?  Is it perfect?  Is it completely neurotic?

I’m here asking for dime store advice.  How do you make it work?  In return, I have pudding to offer.  It’s a lovely recipe.  Now tell me what you think about love.

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I love comfort.  Ok.. I know that’s a stupid thing to say.  Who doesn’t like comfort?  That’s like saying that kittens are cute.  Not so controversial right?

Well, this Banana Pudding Ice Cream is an exploration in comfort.  I absolutely love banana pudding.  It not just the pudding, it’s the fresh whipped cream and vanilla wafers that just make the dessert feel like ultimate comfort.

Banana Pudding reminds me of laughter- comfortable summertime, gather in the backyard after a big summer meal- laughter.

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Sometimes I just need the comfort of pudding to make things right in my world.  There is something about the smooth texture, slight chill and sweet chocolate goodness that can ease anything from extracted wisdom teeth to a broken heart.  It can even ease the pain of a crazy concoction your Mom may have tried to pass off as dinner.

I would say that this pudding is also comforting because it’s the way Mom used to make… but my Mom never actually made pudding.  It’s fine really, no hard feelings!  I have oodles of love for my Mom.  Hot dog casserole was more her kitchen niche.   And even that sometimes turned out purple.  I think the purple had something to do with cabbage, which is totally bad news.  As if hot dog casserole isn’t bad enough news.  Oh Mom.  She’ll never live down that tragic dinner.

Now, back to the chocolate!

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