Three parts love and seven parts forgiveness

Who says a wedding cake has to cost hundreds (or thousands) of dollars? For under $25, some friends of ours got a beautiful, whimsical and delicious wedding cake that they'll never forget. Leonard and Caireen recently got married, and being an intimate affair (only six guests, plus the bride and groom) I was happy to provide the photography as well as the cake. The night before the wedding I told Caireen about our having a croquembouche at our wedding after she joked that having doughnuts would be a laugh. I demanded that she let me build her a tower of pink doughnuts for her wedding cake. She was tickled.

The morning of the wedding I called Acme Doughnuts, located a few blocks from my house (their website has obviously just been thrown up from a template and is not useful yet), and was delighted that they needed no more than a couple hours to hook up two dozen doughnuts. They even made pink icing from scratch, when it's not normally one of their toppings (the nice gal whipped some up by mixing berry juice with white icing). Due to my no-notice call, they could only do a dozen of the raised doughnuts, so the order was supplemented with a dozen cake doughnuts. A few hours later Scott was able to pick them up and paid only $18. I also sent him to our neighborhood fancy grocery store for pink roses ("the tiny kind, if they have them"). The flower lady looked at him funny when he asked for baby pink roses, but that's her problem. For $5, a regular plate of doughnuts was transformed into something rather special.



Never be afraid to think outside the box. Or inside it, if it's a box of doughnuts.

Easter Candy

"Who dares approach my chocolatey cave?"

"NOOOO!!"

Get your Easter candy now, on sale at See's!

Rumple Minze hot chocolate

I got your Holiday Cheer right here. Ghirardelli Double Chocolate cocoa with Rumple Minze peppermint schnapps and marshmallows. Serve with Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate-Covered Peppermint Joe Joe's for dunking. They taste like a cross between Girl Scouts Thin MInts and Oreos, with crushed candy cane on top.


This tastes like the holidays.

Pannetone French toast with orange-bourbon syrup

...or, Special Christmas Breakfast

I really haven't gotten into the holiday spirit this year. No baking, no candy, nothing. I still have time to pretend I'm Russian, though, in which case the New Year celebration is more important. Technically, my people were German-Russian for a hundred years or so, and I'm calling that close enough. Ooh! Also, I found out recently that my great-grandmother was half Tatar (my father claims her conception was nefarious, but I can find no information that supports the claim that Mongol raids of the Volga were still happening in the 19th century). My first reaction was not surprise, or shock, but "omg, really? I'm part Asian? I knew it!" Now the slight almond shape to my eyes, my Nipponophilia and my hard-on for Stephen Chow makes so much sense. Being 1/16 Volga Tatar makes me practically Chinese, right?

But that's neither here nor there, and is typical of my digressions. On my journey to Trader Joe's (partly for sustenance, partly to escape cabin fever), I picked up one of my favorite holiday treats, pannetone. They didn't have any of my real fave, the orange and chocolate chip (I honestly haven't seen that kind in about a decade), so I grabbed the cranberry instead. Then I proceeded to forget that we had it for a couple days, just long enough for it to go a little stale.

Then I had the stroke of genius to make French toast with the pannetone (of course, now I find out that Giada deLaurentis makes it). I whipped up a quick batter of cream and eggs, orange zest, my homemade seven-spice and bourbon vanilla, a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar. I browned it in butter, then topped it with powdered sugar and a syrup of orange juice and zest, sugar and Maker's Mark, simmered until thick and good.

Serve with a little holiday cheer (in this case, mimosas, but I'll also accept "screwdriver", a propos of Russia). S Novim Godom!

Espresso ice cream

And introducing my favorite apron. I've had this little beaute since I was in college, and I used to love wearing it to work during my four+ years as a barista.

Oh, man, I was a good barista. I hate to admit it now, but I used to love to look down my nose at people who ordered abominations of the brew. A hazelnut mocha, or worse, a fucking sugar-free vanilla, decaf breve with whipped cream(?) was met with contempt thicker than treacle. I brought that same pride and "if you can't do it awesome, then why the fuck do it at all" work ethic to the machine every day. I adjusted my grind for changes in barometric pressure and humidity. Anything less than a quarter-inch of crema went down the drain (or into a mocha, which is a 13-year-old coffee drinker's teething ring and not what Real Coffee Drinkers drink). One time I even had an Italian man come in (a real-life Italian!), order a doppio, and he did that kissing his fingertips thing and said "bellisima!" upon tasting the delicate perfection of my shots. Swoon!

I still drink my espresso straight, with just a hit of sugar and maybe a little splash of cream. For cooking, though, I use instant espresso. Oh, if I had the Cadillac of espresso machines - a La Pavoni - well sure, I'd pour a couple shots. But this is just ice cream, folks. Just be sure and use a good instant espresso (I like Medaglia D'Oro) for the best flavor.

I tweaked a basic ice cream recipe (I call it a "blank", because you can use this recipe for probably any ice cream and it's rich and delicious) as follows: 2.5 cups heavy whipping cream, 0.5 cups water, 6 egg yolks, 0.5-0.75 cups sugar. Heat the cream, sugar and water until just to a boil, add 3 or 4 (or 6) tablespoons of powdered espresso, a pinch of salt and a splash of vanilla.

Pull the cream off the heat and temper the eggs (this means slowly and deliberately incorporate the egg yolks and cream, while avoiding the terrible mistake of turning your dessert into an omelette). I'd advise you watch a video of this being done a few times, and maybe practice on a crème brûlée once or twice if you're nervous. Return the cream/yolk mixture to the heat and gently (I mean GENTLY!) heat the custard until it's thick and coats the back of a spoon. Seriously, you've come this far, why would you go and fuck it up by aggressively heating this up? It's your newborn baby. You wouldn't boil your newborn baby, would you?

If you're very fussy like me, you'll pass this newborn custard through a fine-mesh sieve or some cheesecloth before you chill it. Follow your ice cream maker's instructions to get it from custard to ice cream (usually some type of "chill for at least three hours in the fridge, run it through the machine until it's like soft-serve, then harden off in the freezer for a few hours or until you cannot possibly stand it any more"). Your patience will be rewarded.

Gilding the (Voodoo)lily is spooning warm dulce de leche over the top. Now that's a toe-curl, darlings. I bet this would also make a pretty righteous brown cow with some Manhattan Special, if you can get it, or just in a float with some cream soda.

Buttermilk spice cake with bourbon-banana compote and toasted marshmallows

...or Having a Laugh (Are You Having a Laugh?)

So, we all know that I love to cook, and have demonstrated a fair amount of competence in doing so. Proficiency, even, modestly put. Baking, however, is not my forte. Sure, my galettes are passable, but this is because galettes are definitively rustic. Cakes are not rustic at all; contrarily, they are to be pretty, delicate things, almost too precious to eat. Slicing into one is to feel like committing a violation.

My cakes are pretty ugly. Remember the chocolate cake with pecan-coconut frosting I baked for my dad's birthday back in May? Sure, everything tasted great - I mean, it's pretty hard to fuck up chocolate cake from a box and a sack of coconut mixed with sweetened, condensed milk and chopped nuts. But you almost ate it because you felt sorry for it, like you were putting it out of its misery.

This cake had a face only a mother could love. But oh god, it tasted like a Moon Pie and a piece of banana bread got shit-faced on fine Kentucky bourbon and cranked out an illegitimate love child (this is a good thing, to those of you with blank looks on your faces).

It started out a harmless buttermilk spice cake, a recipe from Moosewood Restaurant Book of Desserts (a vestige from my crunchier days). I was baking this cake for dinner guests, to go with crawfish-smoked pork cheek etoufee, collard greens and cornbread, so I wanted to bring it (down)home with buttery bananas sauteed with bourbon and a little crushed hazelnut praline. Kind of like Bananas Foster on cake. Oh, god, was it ever going to blow their minds. Then, though, and maybe it was the Lynchburg lemonades thinking, I said, "Hey, whydunwe put summadem lil' marshmallows on there and TORCH the shit," which was met with emphatic agreement from our dinner guests. This, dolls, is what happened next.

"Noo, it needs some sliced bananas. I'm finnuh brulee them. Watch this!" And I layered on sliced bananas, sprinkled sugar on top, and torched the fuck out of that poor cake.


Obviously, the whipped cream melted all over the damn place, making it an even tragic abomination of dessert. It was like a bad acid trip.

Let's summarize: it tasted like inebriation incarnate (I think that's good?), looked a hot mess (not such a good thing), and it'll be a few more months before I attempt to bake anything other than biscuits or cornbread again. If there are any Daring Bakers out there reading, would you hook a sista up and make this into a pretty cake?

Pulled pork and sweet potato hash with tomatoes

Man, we had the best brunch this morning. Best of all? It practically cooked itself.

* * *

Last night we had some long-lost friends over for dinner. Well, it's not that they were lost, but having a couple kids can sure make it seem that way (them, not me). It was great having them, but I was a little disappointed when the Japanese intern they're hosting had other plans and couldn't join us. I had really been looking forward to giving her taste of authentic American cooking - not the sort of canned corn and sliced hot dogs on Bisquick "pizza" that defines the Japanese interpretation of American food, but real southern food like slow-cooked pork and juicy heirloom tomatoes.

The menu:

• Carolina-style pulled pork sammiches with kohlrabi-dried cranberry slaw
• Sweet potato frites with walnut oil and Maldon sea salt
• Heirloom tomato salad with parsley flower vinaigrette
• Seven-spiced peach slump with ginger and pine nuts, topped with vanilla ice cream

I made my usual pulled pork recipe, but with two extra pounds of pork butt (and one less hour to spare in the oven), it was not falling-off-the-tongs tender. Tragedy! I ended up having to chop it up and mop it back through the golden fat to come close to the desired effect (the sweet-and-vinegar-y sauce that makes it "Carolina-style" also helped, as did the addition of a little gochujang for extra tongue-spank). Since I was engaged with my guests and their charming progeny, I wasn't paying as much attention as I normally would on the fries, and they ended up a bit squidgy with only crispy edges (not all-the-way crisped like I'd prefer). Oh well. Everything tasted good, and that's what's important, right? Right?

The salad was tasty and fast: thick slices of three different varieties of heirloom tomato with a drizzle of balsamic/white wine vinegar, olive oil, and sprinkled with chopped parsley flowers (my crop has bolted) and minced shallot. Hit of salt and pepper and you're laughing.

The dessert was really last-minute. I just sliced some nice organic yellow peaches, tossed them with a bit of sugar and a spoonful each grated fresh ginger and my homemade seven spice (this time with some pink peppercorns added) and pine nuts. I made a basic rolled biscuit dough (recipe from Joy of Cooking, halved, with the addition of a 1~/4 cup sugar). I rolled it out to the size of my casserole, dumped in the peaches and laid the dough on top. I jabbed a few holes to allow the steam to escape and sprinkled more sugar on top. Baked at whatever temperature the oven was already at (I think it was ~350), and pulled from oven when crust was golden.


But here's the million-dollar question: What do you do when it's 11-ish on a Sunday morning and you have a fridge full of leftover chopped pork, sweet potatoes and good tomatoes? Damn skippy - you make some fucking hash! Just chop everything (the pork's already chopped) and fry it all up in a pan using a dab of the congealed, orange pork fat that's settled into your storage container. When it's crisped up on the edges, dish it up and slide a fried egg (over easy) across the top.

Since it's actually nice out for a change, have the Hubz pour some mimosas, and go ahead and heat up the leftover peach slump just for shits and giggles. Butter some leftover wheat levain from Friday night's orzo and toast in under the broiler. Retire to your shady patio and enjoy brunch while watching the hummingbirds drink up the last of the rhododendron's nectar, and know that this is the life.

Yes, that is the Deery Lou mug from which I drink my daily coffee. No, I am not five years old.

Cherry galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze

Is there any better taste of summer than sweet bing cherries? You're giving me that look, aren't you. The "It's not summer yet, Heather, not in your neck of the woods. Fuck you smilin' about?" look.

Okay, sigh, I bought off-season produce from California. Sue me.

How could I resist? We won't have succulent chin-dripper stone fruits in Oregon for at least two months (especially if it never stops raining), and I want them now, dammit! Besides, I know what to do with a sassy little bag of cherries. Oh, do I ever.

I bake some galettes.

Galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze.

Some of you in the Forty and Fabulous set remember Kirsch as that cherry brandy that you add to fondue to let the cheese melt without clumpy into a greasy wad - this is the same stuff. Kirschwasser ("cherry water" in German) is just a double-distilled brandy made of mashed cherries, that is clear for lack of aging in wood. Portland's own Clear Creek Distillery make one that is really superb.

Since I wanted to maintain the sanguine color of cherries, I knew I'd need to add a bit of acid to the glaze, so I used the juice from my last blood orange (killing two red birds with one stone). I also added a splash of Bokbunjajoo for sweetness (and to add to the color). For the record, Bokbunjajoo tastes exactly like Loganberry Manischewitz and is to be avoided at all costs, even if you are a Korean celebrating Passover. It was a terrible err in judgment whilst wandering the booze aisle at Fubonn, and I hope that you will all learn from my mistake.

You might remember that I am afraid of pastry, and in fact can only brave a galette because they are expected to be fugly (rustic, I mean rustic). Yes, I ventured into some unsteady waters with that first experiment with savory-sweet dessert, and baby, I came out swimming. This time I went a little more aggressive with the pepper since I had the intrepid sweetness of cherry acting as the backbone.


Cherry galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze
This would probably be great with Rainier cherries or even plums. I'm totally making them with plums in a few months. Makes 4 galettes.

Prepare the pastry dough:
1.5 c AP flour
2 pinches salt
3 tbsp sugar
8 tbsp (one stick) cold butter
~like 5 or 6 tbsp ice water

Whisk together the dry ingredients. In a food processor (or with a pastry cutter) cut the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse meal with pea-sized nubs of butter. Sprinkle in the ice water and stir together (or pulse a couple times) until the dough starts to come together. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and mush the dough together into a ball. Quarter the dough and wrap each in plastic wrap. Fridge for an hour or freezer for 20-30 minutes until the dough resembles modeling clay in texture.

Prepare the fruit:
2 oz. (an airline bottle) Kirschwasser
2 tbsp blood orange juice (or 1 tsp lemon juice)
2 tbsp Bokbunjajoo (or other cloying red booze - I guess sloe gin would work), or omit
2 tbsp sugar

Simmer down to a syrup (thick enough to be brushed without making pastry soggy).

~6 c bing cherries, pitted and halved (this was like 8 handfuls)
1/2 tsp fresh-ground black pepper
1 tbsp sugar
pinch Chinese 5 spice

Toss fruit together with other ingredients.

Pull the dough out of the chiller and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out as thin as is praticable - you should get each ball to about 10" in diameter. Arrange the cherries fastidiously all concave-up as pictured (you think I'm just being fussy, but this will be crucial for pooling the juice and glaze). Brush the glaze over the fruit and give each galette another crack of pepper. Fold over the edges of the dough rustically (if you want perfection then you'd be making a tarte and not a galette). Brush the dough with some milk or cream and sprinkle a pinch of sugar over the top.

Bake for 10 minutes, then brush more glaze over the fruit. Another ten minutes, and brush some glaze. Then bake another 5-10 more minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. Brush once more and cool on a rack. Serve warm with black walnut ice cream, thundershowers and Nude.

Venison sirloin with bing cherry jus and buttermilk mashed potatoes

My dad's birthday was Friday, so he brought over some venison for me to cook (the thought of him eating all his game in the form of well-done steaks drowned in A-1 makes me cringe). Since he brought it the day before, I gave it an overnight dry rub of my usual secret blend, but with a little cocoa powder and coffee added for depth.


The next day I rinsed off the rub (stay with me, here) and gave it a wet marinade with juniper berries, rosemary, pink and black peppercorns, bay leaf, cassia and allspice berries. The wet part consisted of some budget pinot noir, mushroom stock and a bit of honey.


After an hour or two, I pulled the sirloin roast out of the marinade and pat dry. A quick sear in a hot pan (lubed with duck fat), finish in a 400-degree oven for about 15 minutes (basting a couple times during that period). Whilst the meat was roasting, I reduced the marinade with a spoonful of veal demi and a handful of dried bing cherries. (Don't worry, I hadn't salted the marinade heavily because the dry rub from the night before had already done its work on the meat.) I would've liked to have reduced this down into a sticky syrup, but I could tell my dad really wanted to eat.

The potatoes were simmered with fresh horseradish root and mashed with buttermilk, good French butter and minced chives. In retrospect, I would've just grated the horseradish into the milk and butter and simmered it to pull out the flavor, as the root never really softened up enough to be edible (and we had to pull woody nubs out of our mouths while eating). The asparagus and favas provided a simple side with more of said good French butter, lemon and a chiffonade of fresh mint.

My father, having the palate of a five-year old, would not touch his asparagus or favas. The venison went unsauced, and I had to re-fire the meat after slicing, because he only likes it medium-well to well done. He did, however, like the mashed potatoes because they are pretty much just like baby food.*

Even though he didn't bother staying for his own birthday cake, I also baked him a chocolate cake with homemade pecan-coconut frosting. This was an ordeal and looked like an abortion, but standing over the plate with a spoon, shoveling in warm gooey cake after the harrowing experience of spending three hours with my father was rewarding.


*He reluctantly agreed to a small ramekin of jus on his plate for dipping, and then made a huge fucking production of showing me how open minded he is to try some of my cRaZy sauce. He would stare at me and when I finally turned my head he'd say "see? I'm trying it!" He really is just like a fucking child and leaves me wondering why I even bother. This is the experience of my every holiday.

Also, I rented a movie for us all to watch. "How about Cloverfield? It's a good blockbuster-type monster movie." Scott says "what about No Country for Old Men?", to which I insist, "NO. Cloverfield." My dad doesn't realize we're having a debate over his head because I know that whatever movie we choose will be talked over by my father. "Whoa, what is that?" "I don't know dad, this is the first time we've seen this too." "What is she saying?" "I don't know dad, maybe if you would shut the fuck up for five minutes you'd be able to hear some fucking dialog. I know this isn't Lord of the Fucking Rings, but why don't you just watch it and see what happens." Sheeeesh. I love the man, I really do (mainly because he's my father and I have to, and I'm not completely broken), but I can only take him in small doses. Like an hour every other month.

Because we are concerned about your health!

Okay, I totally stole the idea from Voodoo Donuts, but it's so good, how could I not? I was in a stupid shittown grocery store that had maple bars and fried bacon in the deli. Two great tastes that taste great together.

[Insert Homer Simpson gargling noise here.]

But this, THIS, is the funniest fucking thing I've seen in awhile, and warranted breaking out my camera in the middle of a Benton County grocery store:

Yes, this sign is plastered directly above a vat of tater tots covered in sausage and melted cheese. Some kind of "breakfast casserole." God Bless America.

Semi-Homemade

These words make me feel like a total fucking whore. And not the good kind. I never thought I would *gasp* cook something from a mix, but Williams-Sonoma had a box of chocolate truffle bread mix (with real Valrhona chocolate!) on the clearance rack, and since I had already been planning on having some people over, I just shrugged my shoulders and bent over.

It was actually pretty decent (much better straight from the oven, with insides still squidgy), and only called for some water, eggs and a stick of butter. Not unlike a Betty Crocker cake mix, actually. My brownie recipe is pretty close, which reinforced the feeling that I was selling out, but the chocolate was good. I baked it in a souffle dish instead of a loaf, and whipped together a blissfully simple topping of cream, blood orange zest, sugar, a splash of my homemade bourbon vanilla and a pinch of my homemade "six-spice" - mace, nutmeg (both plucked from the jungle floor on our Fijian honeymoon), cinnamon, cardamom, star anise and clove. Whip until thick (but not butter).

A sprinkle of cocoa and crushed praline and the (voodoo)lily has been gilt. Serve with strong coffee or a nice glass of shiraz.

Ya Pear Galette with Pinenuts and Lemon-Pepper Honey Glaze

I was at Fubonn again last weekend. I swear it's like my mallrat addiction now, on a cold day I just love to walk around and around that place and ogle all of the produce that I've never heard of before. I try to pick up one new fruit or vegetable each time I'm there and taste it, figure out how to cook it, how to elevate it or introduce it to western cuisine.

This time I played it a bit safe and got a ya pear. It looks kinda like a cross between a regular Asian pear and a bosc pear, but has that crisp fragrance expected in an Asian pear. Turns out that along with lemons and nuts, pear is one of the ingredients in this month's In the Bag food blog event, hosted by the lovely Julia at A Slice of Cherry Pie. So I was happy to join in the fun with newfound fruit.

I originally didn't want to do a dessert (because I'm afraid of pastry, I'll be honest), but then someone else did the classic pear-walnut salad that I wanted to do, so I had to step up my game a bit. I'd made a pear galette once before (like TEN YEARS AGO), so I decided to just tweak it a bit to make something more interesting. China meets France.

(Oh man! I just had this great idea as I was typing this to do a hazelnut-crusted pork loin with pears and caramelized shallots and lemons, but oh well. Another day.)


Ya Pear Galette with Pinenuts and Lemon-Pepper Honey Glaze
Makes 2 galettes

Pastry
3/4 c AP flour
pinch salt
1 tbsp sugar
4 tbsp cold butter
3 or so tbsp ice water

Whisk together the dry ingredients. In a food processor (or with a pastry cutter) cut the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse meal with pea-sized nubs of butter. Sprinkle in the ice water and stir together (or pulse a couple times) until the dough starts to come together. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and mush the dough together into a ball. Cut the ball in half and wrap each in plastic wrap. Fridge for an hour or freezer for 20 minutes until the dough resembles modeling clay in texture.



Lemon-Pepper Honey Glaze
juice and zest from one lemon
2 tbsp honey - I used mesquite honey
3 or 4 cracks of black pepper
1 tbsp butter

Melt these together in the microwave for 1 minute, watching carefully and stirring every 10 seconds or so.

Assembling the galette
1 ya pear, cored and thinly sliced
pinch of cinnamon
1 tsp sugar
2 tbsp pine nuts

Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Toss the pear slices gently with the sugar and cinnamon.

Pull the dough out of the chiller and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out as thin as is feasible - you should get each ball to about 10" in diameter. Lay the pear slices in two overlapping rows, leaving an inch of dough around the perimeter. Sprinkle 1 tbsp of pinenuts on each galette. Brush the lemon-pepper honey glaze over the fruit and give each galette another crack of pepper. Fold over the edges of the dough as pictured above. Brush the dough with some milk or cream and sprinkle a pinch of sugar over the top.


Bake for 10 minutes, then brush more glaze over the fruit. Another ten minutes, and brush some glaze. Then bake another 5-10 more minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. Brush once more and cool on a rack. Serve warm. This is probably great with vanilla ice cream.