A Christmas Pie

Guess which one I am

I write this sitting on the blue couch that was in our Kentucky farm house and has been transplanted to Cleveland. The wreckage of Christmas is around me--crumpled paper, presents, and a bottle of wine I occasionally sip from. This day has been characterized by board games, cooking, and drinking.

Last night we went to a Christmas Eve service. We heard about the World War I Christmas Truce, where soldiers stopped their fighting for one day to exchange souvenirs, cigarettes, and sing Christmas carols together. It was an incredible moment of peace, where the people actually doing the fighting recognized each other's humanity, and then the next day went back to killing each other. The service, for one out of practice with church-going, was almost intolerably long. I scribbled on my bulletin: "Must practice patience, stillness, breathing, listening," and then the sermon was all about that. A long, long version of that.

I had decided to make this pie weeks ago, without really looking at the recipe. It's a Christmas pie. Here's the recipe, with my edits in bold. Merry Christmas. Safe to assume I love you, or I would if I got to know you.

Soundtrack: Sylvan Esso and Sturgill Simpson

1 9-inch Nut Crust ("Your delicious nut crust" Howard entitled an email he sent me with a picture of this recipe, which still makes me laugh, but gross)

1/2 c. sugar
1 envelope unflavored gelatin
3 eggs, separated
1 3/4 cups milk
1/4 cup chopped candied brandied cherries

3 tablespoons light rum or 2 teaspoons vanilla extract no
whipped topping in aerosol can no

EARLY IN DAY OR DAY BEFORE SERVING OR LIKE AT FIVE THIRTY, AN HOUR BEFORE DINNER, WHICH IS WAY TOO LATE BY THE WAY: Prepare piecrust in the process burning out the coffee grinder, then chopping the nuts by hand, and bake crust for 8 minutes, or until you realize the timer has stopped for some reason, using Brazil nuts pecans; cool. Meanwhile, in medium saucepan, stir 1/4 cup sugar with gelatin until mixed. In small bowl, with wire whisk or hand beater, beat egg yolks with milk until mixed; stir into gelatin mixture. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring, until mixture is thickened and coats spoon at point of curdling; remove from heat. Refrigerate Freeze, because there isn't much time, until mixture mounds when dropped from spoon, about 40 minutes. Yes, still about forty minutes, for some insane reason. WHY DOES THIS TAKE SO LONG?
At this point, you are 1.4 beers in on an empty stomach, so it's getting a little harder to manage your smaller motor skills. With hand beater, beat mixture until smooth, stir in cherries and rum.
In small bowl, with mixer at "high" speed, beat egg whites until soft peaks form you've had enough. Beating at "high" speed, gradually sprinkle in 1/4 cup sugar, beat until sugar is completely dissolved. With wire whisk or rubber spatula, gently fold whites into gelatin mixture. Spoon filling into crust; refrigerate freeze until set Scrooged is over, about 4 hours 101 minutes.

Guest Post by Howard Simmons: Grasshopper Pie

Thursday was Michael’s birthday, so I’ve offered to write his blog this week. I also made a pie for him, but whatever.

Besides cats, Michael loves chocolate and mint (preferably together), so he kindly told me that I was going to make him a grasshopper pie. Me being the awesome boyfriend, I agreed, because that’s what awesome boyfriends do. And the fact that I knew people would read this and think “what an awesome boyfriend” helped as well. I crave approval.

Anyway, here are the ingredients:

Grasshopper Pie

Chocolate-Wafer Crumb Crust (I made this too *pats self on back*)

1 Envelope Gelatin (unflavored, obviously)

Sugar (the book just says sugar, but in the end you’ll use ½ cup)

1/8 teaspoon salt

3 eggs, separated (this is fun and gross at the same time)

¼ cup crème de menthe

¼ cup cold coffee

1 cup whipping cream

Angelica for garnish (I ignored this because I believed my pie would be so gorgeous I wouldn’t need garnish to distract from mistakes. What is angelica anyway?)

Chocolate-Wafer Crumb Crust

Oreos (about half a package)

Butter (about 1/3 cup)

Okay, so after preheating the oven to 375 degrees, I started on the crust, which allowed me to combine two of my favorite things: Oreos and sharp blades spinning very fast:

Basically you just pulverize the hell out of those delicious cookies until they’re completely crushed, much like your dreams after you graduated college.

Feel free to eat any large pieces that refuse to be broken up (Pro tip: Before grabbing cookie pieces, turn off blender!).

Next, dump them into a bowl and pour the melted butter on them (oh yeah, you have to melt the butter first). Then stir until it’s a tempting, heart-clogging crumbled mess. Then simply pour into your pie dish, and press down on them until you think, “That looks about right.” Bake for eight minutes then set aside to cool.

At this point, I was beginning to worry that I was moving too slowly, because Michael’s friend Elise and beau Josh were coming over for dinner, and there was still so much to do. However, I did not increase my rate of speed, just my level of worry.

So the recipe was divided into four steps, but basically it can be boiled down into Egg Whites and Egg Yolks. I separated the eggs, which is pretty easy – just crack the shell and, while holding both portions of the shell over a bowl, transfer the yolk back and forth between halves. Much like the contents of my father’s stomach on a fair ride, the egg whites can’t take the constant motion and they come spilling out in a disgusting ooze down into the bowl waiting below. Then you just put the yolk in a separate bowl. Easy peasy.

Egg Yolks: These yellow balls of cholesterol are combined with ½ cup of water and whisked. When it’s good and frothy, you add it to a saucepan in which you’ve already placed the gelatin, ¼ cup sugar and the salt. Stir it a few time and give it about 10 minutes. (Pro tip: Turn on the stovetop to a low heat! Gelatin thickens faster when there’s actually heat on the burner. Something I’ve just now learned!) It’ll go from dark green to bile yellow.

At this point, remove from heat. Normally, you would add the crème de menthe, but our local liquor store, cash only and with the motto “we’re sold out of that” (that being anything besides flavored vodka and Bud Light Lime), didn’t have crème de menthe, but it did have peppermint schnapps (which is delicious and a great throwback to that high school party where you sat on the back porch with your best friend and wondered why Ryan didn’t like you, even though you would be so good for him). So add the peppermint schnapps and cold coffee.

The egg yolk mixture is to be refrigerated, yet constantly stirred, for 20 minutes. However, other things took my attention and 40 minutes later Michael and I were staring at something that looked Nickelodeon Gak©®™

Being the quick thinker I am, I put the mixture back on the stovetop on low heat, until it resembled the consistency of “unbeaten egg white” as the recipe called for. Unfortunately, not all of the pieces of gelatin melted again, so it remained a bit “chunky.” In fear, I showed it to Michael, who was enjoying the week off by shopping online for a Christmas present for me (or at least I think that’s what he was doing). Michael remained admirably stoic, although I could tell that he was reconsidering spending his life with a man who couldn’t be trusted to follow a 45-year-old recipe. I also don’t think he ordered that iPad upgrade for me, either.

Anyway, that problem addressed, I turned my attention to the egg whites. I used Michael’s mixer to beat those egg whites like (insert inappropriate domestic abuse joke here). Once the eggs are peaking softly, the remaining ¼ cup of sugar is added slowly until dissolved (still using the mixer – this time at a medium speed and not full tilt like before). Then you “fold” it into the egg yolk mixture. “Folding” sounds intimidating, but it’s basically stirring it from the bottom up, and slowly at that.

Finally, the cream is whipped into stiff peaks and folded in as well. You dump it all on the crust and refrigerate. This is what it looked like when I was done:

  

Note the golden gelatin chunks, which, it can be argued, some might find appealing. Maybe.

And that’s it.  Basically you just refrigerate it until it sets completely then serve.

When Michael and I first began dating, I was a little dubious about his choice of recipe books, to be honest. As a child, when my mom cracked open one of her Good Housekeeping recipe books, nothing good could follow (my brother and I still remember with horror one particular asparagus casserole.) I mean, once upon a time, culinary sophistication was the following:

(Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised to find the second recipe in this book. Good Housekeeping loves them some gelatin.)

But each week he’s surprised me by creating something delicious while remaining pleasingly old-fashioned (in the same way that bell-bottoms are old-fashioned). The grasshopper pie was no different, as it proved very tasty. And most importantly, the beautiful birthday boy enjoyed it. Which, in the end is all that matters, really. I love that guy.

Peppermint Pie: The Family Dollar Edition

Lord, I love me some Christmas. I am full hog embracing that this year. I introduced Howard to the amazing Muppets Christmas Carol, which he has since been obsessed with (to my joy). We've been listening to a lot of "It Feels Like Christmas" lately. In the spirit of the season, Howard and I went to the Brown Elephant to buy used ornaments, picking through other people's abandoned mementos. Tonight, with the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas playing, we made a peppermint pie. There are a few variations on this pie, including this one from Rocky Mountain Cooking, which uses Oreos for the crust and booze!

I thought it looked tasty, but it was completely different from my recipe, so I just opted with the Good Housekeeping version. I had to buy actual peppermints, which our grocery store doesn't carry, so I ventured across the street to Family Dollar, which, if you haven't been, is a similar to a post-apocalyptic nightmare:

"Excuse me, where are the peppermints?" 

There, a very well-dressed, nicely-coiffed young man (however, milksop is the description that comes to mind), younger than me, lingered over a junky children's toy. Like he was considering if it would actually make his niece happy, or maybe if it would just suffice.

How I feel about picking out your Christmas presents at Family Dollar:

For some reason, peppermints are super hard to find. I circled the war-torn Christmas candy stand, finding a lot of bubblegum-flavored candy canes, OLD-FASHIONED HARD CANDIES in a tin, and most horrifyingly, what they call a "fruitcake."

Who I imagine eats Family Dollar Fruitcakes: 

#fuckyeahsaturdaynight

I approached an employee, who was in the midst of the Sisyphean task of stocking and organizing Family Dollar. Wiping away sweat and maybe tears, she immediately located and delivered me a bag of the much-needed candies, which Howard later hammered on our kitchen floor:

Inspired by Rocky Mountain Cooking, I did make the crust out of Oreos, which is great! It looks pebbly and tastes...like buttery Oreos. Which of course is delicious.

The pie itself is very fluffy, pretty-pink and peppermint. It's great for this time of year and would also be a sweet Valentine's Day treat.

Worth it.

Spicy Gingerbread Cake

With my Christmas playlist "Eggnog" in the background, I made Good Housekeeping's spicy gingerbread cake today. For a change, I didn't need to buy a lot of ingredients for this one. It calls for flour, molasses (the only thing I didn't have), sugar, shortening, an egg, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, salt, and cloves. Super easy! Great for the season and a lazy day where I read in bed until about noon, but still wanted to do something productive-sounding.

I've never used molasses before, and expected it to be thicker and slower. "Slow as molasses," is something people say, so I didn't expect it to pour so gracefully from the bottle. It's very dark and silky. When it poured onto the mountains of flour it made little rivers and lakes, rolling thickly in the white powder like mercury.

While I write with a French bulldog on my lap, it bakes for 55-60 minutes at 350, and once it's cooled I'll frost with "4-minute" frosting (sugar, egg whites, corn syrup, vanilla extract and salt).

Cakes this easy are a quick way to boost your self esteem. "Look what I can do!"

Tomorrow will be the anniversary of my grandma Ginny's birthday, and we're always thinking about her around this time. She had such a sweet tooth--she loved soda, bourbon balls, and sin brownies, among other things. I found an email exchange between my mom and me about her sin brownies from when I was studying abroad in England. I wanted to make them for a potluck, so she sent me the recipe and we talked about GG. My mom wrote: "She loved chocolate and sweets, and made these often. They were always a big hit. She liked to pass the leftover caramels around to us while the brownies were in the oven. She was really indulgent when it came to sweets. Luckily we weren't all big as balloons because of it!"

The family is remarkably fit.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find caramels or German chocolate cake mix (and didn't think to make that from scratch) in Sainsbury's, so I went with a savory family classic: spinach casserole.

The cake is out of the oven, and it expanded quite a bit!

Now I'm off to visit with friends for the day, and will frost and enjoy this spicy cake tonight, or maybe tomorrow. I'm excited!

"It tastes like a prune": Vegan Mince Pie

The weeks are spinning by so fast, and Christmas is only 22 days away, as the Christmas Countdown Bar someone downloaded at work keeps reminding me (thanks, I didn't forget I have ALL my Christmas shopping yet to do). But see, I'm getting ahead of myself. Thanksgiving happened, though you may have missed it--it was squeezed in somewhere between controversy about stores opening the day before Black Friday and actual Black Friday.

My Thanksgiving was spent with wonderful friends of Howard's (now mine, too) in St. Louis. Since the mother of our host made three pies my offer of sour cream pumpkin pie was politely looked over. In truth, it was kind of nice to sit on the couch with the guys, feet up, dogs around, watching football. But don't think I watched football. I read Middlemarch.

My Thanksgiving pie was for the vegan Thanksgiving with coworkers. A bit ago I made the mincemeat, which I think I sort of slurred over when writing about hot toddies. Mincemeat is such an old-fashioned pie. It used to be made with actual meat and eggs and gradually bastardized into just a spiced fruit pie. If you buy normal mincemeat in a jar it often contains suet. What's suet? It sounds lyrical, like a song sung by two Susan. In fact, it's kidney fat from a cow or lamb. I don't think my vegan coworkers would have appreciated that addition, so I adapted a vegan recipe from Joy of Baking, making lots of exceptions for my wallet and our local grocery mart.

My mincemeat contained:

4 T vegetable shortening
1 c apple juice
2 apples peeled and grated
1/2 c golden raisins
1 c dried currants
1/2 c dried cranberries
1/2 c dried cherries
1/2 c dried prunes
zest and juice of one orange
2/3 c brown sugar
1/3 c dark rum
1/3 c brandy
1/2 t cinnamon
1/2 t nutmeg
1/4 t ginger
1/4 t cloves
1/4 t salt

Old people read that and be like:

PRUUUUUNES!!!!!

You bring it all to a boil and then simmer until almost all of the liquid is evaporated, then you add a bit more booze, cool, cover, and refrigerate until needed. I had it sitting for nine days and it was fine. I took a swig of brandy and stirred in a little more before putting it in the crust.

Howard put it in the oven for me, since I had to work all day before the party, and said he didn't think it looked "golden" enough, so melted some butter, took out the pastry brush, and was just about to give it a nice buttery glaze when he remembered he was about to attend a vegan dinner.

Close call.

If I say so myself, my lattice was the best I've made so far. And do I have a picture of the complete pie? Of course not. But here's the last piece, which I'm getting ready to eat:

Looks like it dragged itself to the rim of the pie plate to die, guts trailing, but it's good, trust me. It's really dense, nicely spiced, and I like the tiny bursts of fruit. At the party, Susanna squinted and said: "It tastes like a prune. But...like, good." I'll take that.

Not sure you could get a clear survey of how the desserts were, because by the time we ate them everyone was a little tipsy. And by that I mean most of us had had more whiskey-cider drinks and mulled wine than was altogether good for us. My Hangover Breakfast was this:

Note the Emergen-C and assortment of pills (also that weird Buddha Hand fruit in the background--I didn't have that for breakfast).

Cake Flour vs. All-Purpose Flour

Today is Howard's birthday! Also George Eliot's birthday (my new project has begun: chronicling the experience of reading Middlemarch: From Here to Middlemarch). We woke up and cuddled with Baudelaire for a bit, and then walked to the grocery store. It's Howard's favorite kind of day: the sky is a solid gray and it's chilly, but not too cold. I made pancakes from scratch and sausage. Howard asked for a chocolate cake (which I made with Aaron in May and that journeyed across many neighborhoods afterwards) and so after breakfast I made him a chocolate cake.

My recipe called for cake flour, which I'm out of. Which led me to ask: What's the difference between cake flour and all-purpose flour, and are they interchangeable? What I learned today is that cake flour has less protein than all-purpose flour, and helps to make a cake light and fluffy while retaining its shape, but isn't tough or dense. 

If you are like me, and habitually forget important ingredients in your recipes, it's valuable to know how to make substitutions. My most frequent Google search term is: "what's a substitute for _______?" So when you are making a dessert that calls for cake flour and all you have is all-purpose, here's what you can do:

For every cup of flour your recipe calls for, remove two tablespoons and replace it in your flour bag, or use it to dust the greased pans, like I did. Replace it with two tablespoons of corn starch, and sift together five times. 

If you are like me, and don't have a sifter, whisk together multiple times with a fork. I hope that works, because that's what I did. I tried and make sure it got lots of air. 

When we remove some of the flour, we are cutting out some of the gluten and replacing it with an agent that inhibits gluten development, leaving the cake tender. Read more about it on Joy the Baker, which is where I learned about it.

Here are the cakes cooling:

I will add photos of the finished project later!

UPDATE 12/2/14: Finally, pictures. Howard's birthday cake with wrapped presents:

Sidebar: Hot Toddy

I've been finding that when I am creative with a recipe and make alterations, it comes first from a financial perspective, and then usually from forgetfulness. I went to the store to buy ingredients for Howard's birthday cake for Saturday and ingredients for mince pie for the 29th. Because it has to be vegan, and most mincemeat contains beef suet, I'm making the mince from scratch. Exciting, right? However, there is a lot in mincemeat. And it's expensive. After walking around the store asking myself: "Can I afford this?" I looked at the list of ingredients again and started asking instead: "Can I go without this?" After paring down the recipe, I selected a few things I figured should probably go in a mince pie: two apples, dried currants, cranberries, prunes, and golden raisins. I eliminated the dark raisins, because it seems redundant, and I'll just double the amount of currants. Additionally, I skipped the mixed candied peel and candied cherries. What I decided was ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to the recipe was the rum and brandy.

The first thing I did when I got back home was to make myself a hot toddy. I haven't had one of these in years, and they are delicious. Into one small mason jar I poured:

1/2 t sugar
2 whole cloves
1 small cinnamon stick (one of the ones used in the mulled wine, in fact)
a tiny, butchered slice of lime (because we don't have a lemon and a citrus is a citrus is a citrus, as far as I'm concerned), wrangled from a quarter of a lime found in the back of the fridge
1 shot of rum

Diligently following my Good Housekeeping recipe, I placed a spoon in the glass because it told me that would prevent glass from breaking when I added the boiling water. And ta-da! A hot toddy.

I wanted to be cheeky and add a photo of a hot man named Todd to this post, and when searching for one came across Todd Sanfield, who is about as unique as a Ken doll, nevertheless can lead one to some pretty racy thoughts. Have fun.

Sidebar: Mulled Wine

A moment ago I was lying under a pile of pillows, book in hand, starting to doze. I wanted to do something with my Saturday night, but had this feeling I had "done enough" this week: Lauren's going away party (with a beautiful sweet potato chiffon pie, cream whipped in the bathroom away from the guests), Sidetrack on Monday, SAIC grad lecture Wednesday, an all day extravaganza from the Bucktown Tree House to the Art Institute with my work friend Chelsea on Thursday, and Howard and I, in a sugar-craving frenzy, making a frozen lemon cream pie yesterday. But tonight I wanted to do something! Or have a drink.

I asked Howard: "Do you want to go to the Glenwood for a drink?"

"Sure," he said.

I closed my eyes and almost fell asleep. I wondered what it would be like to go to bed at nine and wake up at six. Would I wake up at six, or would I sleep until ten, like normal? Would I be a much more productive person? Maybe I would go to bed and lie awake thinking of all the things I should do, like work out. Like start working out. Or maybe just stretch.

Howard gasped and his eyes got big. I jolted awake.

"You've got an idea?"

"I've got an idea. Let's make mulled wine!"

He looked up a couple recipes and after a little back and forth, during which I resigned myself to a quiet night reading, we finally decided to get dressed and go around the corner for ingredients.

It's a perfect night for mulled wine. Fat soft snowflakes floating down, and they have started sticking to the grass. It's a glinting, shimmering night. A good night to stay in and sip hot spiced wine.

We poured a giant bottle of cheap wine into our big saucepan and added four cinnamon sticks, four anise stars (which are beautiful!), sixteen cloves, honey, sugar, and a whole sliced orange. Once it was hot, we poured it into a glass (for a picture), and then mugs (to drink).

Now we are going to watch Harry Potter, which Howard is SO EXCITED about. I might sort of read my book while we're watching.

The wine is really good.

The End is Nigh

Image from 28 Days Later

I met with Elise today, which is always inspiring. We talked about our writing projects and ideas for the future. I am currently meandering my way through Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, and it's coming up on a perfect season for the slow savoring of a novel. Prompted by my pleasure in this reading experience, I want to tackle one of the largest novels on my shelf, of which I know nothing about: Middlemarch. I have thoughts of a future blog project for that.

But first: working my way through the pies and cakes of Good Housekeeping. I'm feeling antsy now about finishing this project, and so when I got home I made a list of the remaining cakes and pies, not counting the cakes that start with a mix. Then I eliminated the custard pies, because they are disgusting. After that I cut out the ones that were pretty much pouring a can of fruit onto ice cream and calling it a pie, and lastly I scratched out "jelly roll" because it sounds revolting. That leaves me with twenty-six pies/cakes.

The forecast:
Pumpkin chiffon pie for Lauren's going-away party this Saturday
Butternut squash pie next Thursday
? for Howard's birthday on the 22nd
Sour cream pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving at Stephanie and Amanda's
Vegan mince pie at Sydney's on the 28th
Spicy gingerbread cake Dec 4th
Peppermint pie Dec 11th
Grasshopper pie for my birthday Dec 18th
Christmas pie on Christmas
3 layer party cake for the first day of 2015.

HOLY SHIT!

The end is nigh.

Remaining pies:
Butterscotch cream
Concord grape
Deep-dish cherry-berry
Deep-dish plum
Double peanut
Freezer pineapple-orange
Fudge-Nut (makes me smirk every time, which is disgusting)
Gooseberry
Raspberry Ribbon
Rich Bavarian

Remaining cakes:
Angel food
Big orange chiffon
Chocolate chip chiffon
Deluxe marble
German gold poundcake
Merryfield apple
Sugar bush walnut (another one that earns a chuckle)

If anyone is interested in a particular pie or cake, please let me know and we can arrange a date to get together and enjoy it and/or bake it together.

To thwart thee, foul fruit fly

I bought a bunch of bananas earlier in the week (last week?) with the optimistic thought that I'd eat more fruit, instead of just stuffing myself with cream cheese, burritos, and booze. I did have a few, but they quickly turned an unappetizing brown, so I put them in the fridge hoping that might preserve them (and thwart any potential fruit flies!), but instead they rapidly (shrunk?) turned completely brown.

"You gonna make banana bread?" Howard asked me the day before yesterday as we were getting into bed.

"What? Why?"

"I just thought...because of those ripe bananas in the fridge."

"Oh, yeah. Right, yeah, I'm going to make banana bread," I decided.

Tonight after dinner Howard looked up and asked again: "You gonna make banana bread?"

"Yes," I said, carrying our bowls to the kitchen and pulling down Good Housekeeping. Since we don't have loaf pans, I greased and floured a medium casserole dish. In a large glass bowl, I mixed the flour, brown sugar, shortening, and baking powder and soda. I added cinnamon and nutmeg because my recipe didn't call for any spices (or walnuts or raisins).

The bananas were surprising ok-looking under their grotesque skin. I've learned over cursory online "research" that there is an enzyme (?) that breaks down (?) when the bananas are stored in cold temperatures because they are tropical fruits, but though the skin will darken it won't affect the quality of the insides.

The dough was irritatingly sticky, and took a few utensils and fingers to get it spread across the pan, leaving spoons and globs of dough sprawled across the dusting of spilled flour on the counter top. That Crisco, man, it never gets off your hands.

I can't use the stuff without thinking of working at Tulip. We had a lube that was basically Crisco, just more expensive. Which makes me want to add that I wonder when I'll have a job where I'm not wiping up people's spit and leftovers, spurted lube samples, or cat piss. If that sentence doesn't make me want to go to grad school, I don't know what it will require to push me.

Back to the banana bread. It's delicious. Its taste is warm and rich, and the outside is satisfyingly crusty while the inside remains bouncy and soft.

The Life of a Cookie

Image from meals.com

Contrary to liberal propaganda, the life of a cookie begins when all ingredients are first mixed together. If we are to measure by kitchen scales, it begins precisely at the moment when the chocolate chips first rain down from heaven, giving the cookie its raison d'etre.

Chocolate consciousness ekes in, giving life to what was a rather dull mass of Crisco, sugars, baking soda, flour, salt, and almond extract. The spirit of the cookie is at this time one and varied, a collective consciousness, if you will, a Lacanian hum that varies between the I and the We.

They/It is aware of the red smooth sides of its roofless womb, the carrier that holds its unformed mass. Above them is the bleary face of Our Father, Who Art in the Kitchen. Their Father is hungover, a credit to all creators who continue to make and bake in the face of unspeakable obstacles, namely, the desire to still be in bed.

"Bakers gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake," says Prophet T. Swift.

Their Father lifts them from their cool red womb/bowl, giving them a glimpse of a Kitchen littered with torn-open goodie bags from something called "The Black Cat Ball," in order to wrap them in a plastic shroud, to rest for hours in an enclosed tomb, one that is cool and sparse. If this time were represented by the tarot, it would be the time of the Four of Swords. On one side of them is a shriveled half of a tangerine, crying for its lost youth, and on the other a circular container of Gorgonzola, proud in its rapid and frequent use.

Time passes. Hours for humans is a lifetime for cookie dough, which awaits the sweet culmination of their life in the hot mouth of a Superior Being.

And then their tomb opens, and a different Father lifts them from their shelf. Unwrapping their plastic shroud, he refers to a script scrawled on the back of an envelope, left for him by the Original Father. Second Father separates the I/We mass, giving individual life to the cookies, and places them in the Oven of Formation, where they will grow into the shape meant for them by Almighty and Longer-Living Father.

It is whence they emerge from the Oven of Formation that their individual lives begin, the ones that set them aside from all cookies before them. They are placed in a wicker basket and covered with a towel.

"I wish you had told me earlier you weren't coming," booms the voice of their Original Father to their Second Father, who sits at the table.

"I'm sorry, baby. Have a good time," thunders the second voice. And then, with a terrific clatter, the door is opened and the cookies feel a blast of cool air from the World Beyond.

It has started! What a joy, to be feeling the air and on their way to their Final Culmulation!

They swing in their basket down the stairs, down to the basement, and balance in the air in what can only be described as a stunning feat of balance and skill as Their Father pedals down the dark city streets, singing to himself.

Their journey is punctuated by the puh-dunk, puh-dunk of first one, then the other wheel as it jostles over raised portions of the road. The cookies know this by intuition, and because they are more intelligent than the haughtier cakes and pies believe. The cookies and their creator are lulled into a feeling of safety, and perhaps that is why they didn't sufficiently prepare for the rough speed-bump that surprised them when they were ever-so-close to the party.

"Whee!" some of the cookies--a third? half?--cried as they were thrown (leapt?) from under the towel and over the lip of the basket. The plunge was thrilling--scary but titillating to their chocolate nibs. And then there was the pavement, rushing up to them, and for just a second--one long, terrible second, they realized that it was not their fate to meet their end crumbled in the hot mouth of a Superior.

Meanwhile, their creator and fellow cookies had skidded to a stop by the curb. The towel was quickly thrown back and stock taken of the remaining troops. Shaken and some of them broken, they huddled together to make themselves appear larger, like a frightened animal.

"Damnit," growled their creator, as he looked back at the fallen ranks, considering. But he shook his head and continued forward, bravely, and considerably more carefully this time.

The cookies and their creator arrived at the party, where they were promptly separated. The cookies tingled with excitement. With the loss of many of their comrades, they felt all the more special for having made it, and looked forward eagerly to their fate. Unfortunately, many of them were set aside in the kitchen, while only a chosen few settled on a gorgeous spread to join perfectly formed store-bought Swedish cookies on a platter.

"They'll be waiting here a little longer than we, don't cha know," said one Rosenmunnar to another (it turned out they were more Minnesotan than Swedish).

However, there's something eternally attractive about a chocolate chip cookie, though. If they took the Enneagram, they'd be a two: a people-pleaser. And so one by one, they reached their sweet end in the hot mouth of an intoxicated gay man.

Southern Decadence

Image courtesy of allposters.com

Thursday my day was blocked off by the hour, as written on the back of an envelope, which I referred to periodically to ensure I was on the correct task and timeframe. When I used forty minutes where I would have stood "idly" around and cleaned to instead do my grocery shopping (allotted for two pm), I was very proud of myself for my good use of time.

As I've noticed before, when given a shorter amount of time, my baking is quick and "matter-of-fact." I wanted to make a pecan pie this week, as I had been craving it for awhile. The Good Housekeeping version is very similar to my grandmother's recipe, though hers involves more pecans and less sugar, but right before I went grocery shopping my good friend Mitch gave me an enormous bag full Southern Living (which I continue to mistakenly call "Southern Comfort") magazines. The cover of one of those was a salted caramel chocolate pecan pie.

Heaven! Just what I wanted! So I branched off from my Good Housekeeping and made something from a different source. It was quick, easy, and is delicious! Though it is so rich I can only eat very little at a time (not a bad thing).

In the process of arranging the pecans

Drowning in caramel sauce!

When I described it to my (vegan) coworker Sydney, she said: “It sounds like diabetes.” And yeah, I totally see that. It is decadent. So southern and decadent it makes me feel like I live in an old plantation house, where I spend my days and nights alone, drifting down the dusty halls and grand staircase in my torn kimono, sipping my mint julep (minus the mint, sugar, and water) and talking to my fluffy white cat, Antebellum.

"Why, Antebellum, what a mighty fine day we're havin'," I'll murmur in Blanche Devereaux's voice, trying to focus my bleary eyes out at the setting sun dappling the magnolia trees, which are choked by Spanish moss. "I feel like a short-legg'd pony in a tall field'a grass."

The magnificent grandfather clock will chime five o'clock, signalling the hour for pie. I'll float over to a long table, where my gorgeous salted caramel chocolate pecan pie sits on a tiny china plate with a silver fork set beside it. A rusty lounge singer in a ratty boa will emerge from the gloom of the dining room, accompanied by a band in faded tuxedos, to sing "My Old Kentucky Home" in a wavering contralto. From then she'll move on to Patsy Cline's "If I Could Only Stay Asleep" (or Patsy Cline ANYTHING!), and I'll be singing through a mouth full of pie, and pretty soon you can't tell who's the lounge singer and who's the pie-eater.

So yeah, y'all, it's good.

Guilty Pleasures

photo from wbez.org

This week, Elise took me to Links Hall to see their residency shows. Links Hall is a performance venue (with a full bar!) that also offers four residencies a year, giving rehearsal space, a modest stipend, and a mentor who is a working artist in Chicago to the participating artists. It seems like a great program, and Elise should be a part of it. I can just imagine what six months of rehearsal time would yield for her work!

The two performances last night were in very different stages of development: The first felt very much like we were inside the mind of the artist and seeing the ideas about Third Culture she was bouncing around, but a piece had yet to emerge. The residency gave her time to delve into it, to get some stories out and some articulation to an Idea she wanted to work with.

The second piece felt much more like a finished product, though there was a disclaimer that it was a work-in-progress and may continue to grow and break off into separate entities. It was titled Amok, and was written and directed by the artist Karen Yates. It began with a gamelan ensemble, which made me think of my mom, who introduced me to gamelan music when she played in an ensemble in Lexington. Then nutmeg was passed around to be held and sniffed, and the performers began reciting recipes for spiced wine, or a melange to ward off the plague or impotence. From there the piece delved into the spice trade, the voracious and relentless Jan Coen of the VOC, and the volcanic eruption of Krakatoa.

I take spices for granted. Sure, their trade isn't as brutal as it once was, but I rarely think about where they come from when I buy them at the grocery store. For a moment I wonder "Where did this come from?" as I reach for paprika or cumin, but the question doesn't linger for long or develop. Amok was a satisfying bite into the disturbing reality of where popular spices like pepper, cinnamon, and nutmeg came from.

From the beginning of the performance, I thought of the spice cake I made months ago, the one that prompted me to begin this blog, so when at one point a performer came high-stepping onto the stage in a red apron chanting: "This is how you make a cake! A cake. A CAKE," I felt like giving a little hoot. Her exaggerated stirring pantomime gave way to a brutal punching motion, and her face and voice took on a Hulk-like quality. Oh yes, I remembered, this isn't a Good Housekeeping recipe.

It was an involving, intelligent performance, and I'd encourage you to keep an eye on Yates's website to see how it develops.

All this said, this week I made a pie with a noticeable absence of spice. I am ever so slowly working my way through The Office, and this week I watched an episode where the Everyman hero, Jim Halpert, tries to make the best out of a day in a cramped "work bus" and more importantly, to give his paramour a sweet surprise, by convincing his nemesis/friend to drive the office to a little pie stand.

"What do we want?"
"Pies!"
"When do we want it?"
"Pies!"

They talk about the glory of banana cream pie, and how it is always the first to sell out, and that made me want to make one.

The magnificent Banana Cream Pie by Gardner Pie Co. (Akron, OH)

I had a big fantasy of what a banana cream pie would like like and involve, but in reality, the Good Housekeeping version is vanilla pudding, banana slices, and whipped cream in a vanilla wafer crumb crust.

But you know, that's ok, too. Good Housekeeping offers little (no) guidance on how to garnish the pie, so I took inspiration from the internet:

culinary.net

and decided not to go with the diner variety:

WHIPPED CREAM AND WAFERS 4 LIFE

My finished product:

I tried to be fancy with the whipped cream and added salt and vanilla. Too much salt. So I tried to compensate with honey. The result is not so bad, when it combines with the sweet filling. The cake is maybe still not fully set, since when I cut a piece the filling and whipped cream sort of seeped in to fill the empty space. But I had to try it RIGHT NOW! 

It's pretty good. Guilty-pleasure good, like listening to a playlist of Katy Perry and ABBA. 

The Peace in Recipes and Cake Gore

Today I made a walnut fudge cake, and it took hours. I needed to pick up some things from the store, and that helped me realize how expensive this weekly baking project is. Along with the weight I (imagine?) I'm putting on (I went clothes shopping on Wednesday and realized I'm definitely a 30-inch waist now), this goal has an impact on my finances as well. I do a good job not thinking too much about either.

Because once I start measuring the ingredients and setting out my mixing bowls, I become calm and happy. The recipes give an order to the next hour or two of my day, and it sets out attainable goals, the finished product of which will be there, visible to me and the world, and ready to be enjoyed.

The cake is three layers, two crunchy fillings, and a thick glaze of chocolatey-nutty sweetness.

Howard and I enjoyed our slices with mugs of fresh-made coffee and our three (out of four) familiars around us. Twinkle Toes rolling around on the table beside me, prompting me to say I don't think I should ever have children because they'd never compare to his perfect adorability, Suki dozing next to Howard, and the dog grunting and snuffling around the room, leaving his vapors and trails of farts and mucus in his wake. Georgella dwells like a banished queen in the bedroom, where she occasionally yowls at the door, wanting us to come to bed so she can sleep on us and groom my beard. 

Last night, once Howard got home from school around one in the morning, he introduced me to, and consequently slept through, the Italian film The Beyond, of the Giallo genre. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, Giallo films are known for their extreme violence and gore. The Beyond was set in a broken-down hotel in Louisiana which happened to be built on one of the seven doorways to Hell. It was not a very coherent movie, but what it lacked in plot and continuity it made up with multiple face-meltings and a man eaten by tarantulas. The above picture is a cake-version of Giallo: a close-up shot of gooey insides. Yum. 

Cranberry-Nut Pie

I have retreated to the other end of the apartment to hide from the workmen whose head-splitting drill sporadically screeches. The only surface I have to roll out dough is our dining room table, which is where they are working, doing something mysterious having to do with pipes and our water pressure (which is currently rather lackluster). So I rolled out my crust, from dough I made according to my coworker's recipe (which is a gorgeous gold and so easy to work with!), and threw together the most pathetic-looking lattice (it took two attempts, the second not noticeably better than the first), and then high-tailed it out of there.

I made a cranberry-nut pie today, which seemed like another great fall flavor. I'm also looking forward to pumpkin and pecan pies! It was impossible to find the fresh cranberries the recipe called for, so instead I used two jars of whole cranberry sauce, which cut out half of the preparation time. Hope that works out. I then forgot to mix in the nuts and raisins, so I ended up mixing them in after the cranberry sauce was in the pie crust.

No matter the mistakes made in the process, it smells delicious baking, and bubbles enticingly out of the oven. I will take it to Mitch's house to share!

Midnight Autumn Pie

On this night I made an apple custard pie, thus completing the first page of pies in my Good Housekeeping Cookbook, also marking my return to pies, which I had given up during the heat of the summer, and while making this pie Howard started putting together our dresser. It was a picture of domestic bliss. As Wendy Cope says in her poem "The Orange:" "This is peace and contentment. It's new."

For a period there I felt like I was churning out the apple pies, and needed a break. It's been long enough that an apple pie started sounding appetizing again.

It is headed full-tilt into autumn in Chicago, which makes Howard gleeful. I enjoy the chill and the change in dress. Fall is my favorite season, and my mind is itching to quote one of my favorite poets, Rachel Wetzsteon, who shares my feeling, but of course when I look through my books I can't find the particular poem that tickles the back of my mind.

Fall is also, of course, the season of the salted caramel mocha, which is cause for celebration enough. I'd like to make a salted caramel pie of some kind. Any suggestions?

The pie crust went well tonight, after the first attempt, at least. I rolled it out between sheets of plastic wrap, but forgot to dust them with flour, so the dough stuck and I had to start over. The second time was much easier. I had chilled the dough and liberally sprinkled flour, so I was able to transfer it to the pie plate easily enough. I dented the crust with a fork and used a fluted pastry wheel to trim the edges.

I placed the thin slices of apples--which had been coated in flour, sugar, cinnamon, and a touch of salt--in concentric circles in the pie crust and poured the custard (with a dash of nutmeg!) over it. It baked for 45 minutes covered with foil, and is in the oven now for another thirty, then it has to be cooled and finally, refrigerated. We were hoping to have some tonight with vanilla ice cream, but that is looking unlikely. Or at least, it will be around midnight before we get to it. Midnight pie!

Freezer Lemon Pie

Today started as one of those I-don't-know-why-I-feel-so-bad days. Listless and irritated, nothing was satisfying. The one thing I hoped Howard and I would do today--hang shelves--didn't happen, and he didn't seem to mind.

"You could hang pictures, instead," he suggested, not paying mind to my irritability, and the result of his comment is that I became more irritated. I could hang pictures, he suggests, as if he didn't care if pictures go on the walls or not, as if he didn't have a say where they go, as if he wouldn't mind if I put cat pictures on every single wall of this apartment.

And then an ugly part of myself wondered: "What's the point?" Certainly, I have given up the fantasy of painting--the bedroom a rich plum, dining room colonial blue, and the kitchen blood red. But if we are here for just a year, what's the point? I do want to make this place a home, I feel driven to do that, to make it mine, ours, really, but then this listlessness drifts in and mutters: "So what?"; it yawns and asks: "Why bother?"

But I don't want to give into the lethargy, which is a kind of death. So I will make a pie and I will hang a goddamn picture and a calendar. I will hang them like twentieth century criminals.

So I went into the kitchen and pounded two nails into the wall. Up went a Grumpy Cat calendar and up went artwork over the sink. Then I took the rolling pin and pounded a package of graham crackers. Bam Bam Bam! until they were crumbs. Considerably less tense, I poured in organic sugar, a gift from Kate, who when I thought of her seemed to lend me some of her gentleness. "What Would Kate Do?" my supervisor at work asked. "Remember that. Remember her generosity and the way she gave people the benefit of the doubt." Kate is gone now, on a road trip, and then Florida, and she has become the Patron Saint of work.

From then on, the day got considerably better. Just making something pulled me out of my funk. I did some writing for the Tumbleweed Diaries, and later on Elise came to visit, bringing me my mixer. I finished up the pie and put it in the freezer. It was a hot day--supposed to be 90, but didn't feel quite that, so Howard and I picked a cold-sounding pie that required a minimum of baking: lemon freezer pie. Instead of a traditional pie crust, I opted for a graham cracker crumb crust, which just spends 8 minutes in the oven. Lemon pie is just evaporated milk, frozen lemonade, and sugar. I'm almost embarrassed to write that. But it's delicious. Howard, Elise, and I had slices and then we played cards. It was a lovely evening, such a difference from the start of the day. I do think creating has a healing power.

And making oneself at home in a new space is important. Having a friend over to share pie is a good start. This week we will work on hanging pictures and shelves.

Criss-Cross Applesauce

For the second time this year, I moved across the city. In one McDonald’s-fueled 18 hour day, Howard and I combined two apartments with their own sets of pets into a large one-bedroom in Rogers Park. Unfortunately, neither of us have much in the way of kitchen supplies (tonight we ate dinner off of pie plates), but it’s great! Neither of us mind roughing it too much, and we’re having a great time together.

Yesterday I made two applesauce cakes, which are dark, moist, and sweet. Not to mention super easy to make! I purposefully picked a cake that wouldn’t cause a breakdown to make without a mixer (since I left that at my old apartment—will get it back soon!); a category that is quickly dwindling, after so many weeks baking. We had to buy a few things at the grocery store—applesauce, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, walnuts, and raisins, and then one more return trip when we realized the milk I moved with was bad. We enjoyed the cake after a tipsy burrito meal and then again as necessity for breakfast. It’s really good! I don’t know why I keep thinking of church coffee hours with these unfrosted cakes, but this would be perfect for one of those. Easy to make Saturday night, easy to travel with, slice, and share.

Lastly, I love living in an apartment with a dishwasher. It makes cleaning up so easy! Gosh, that is the word to use with this cake experience (so different from my last move/bake experience, when I considered giving up after realizing baking was actually inducing a minor meltdown). I am conscious of and enjoy the pleasure I take from the little improvements in my baking life—a mixer, a dishwasher, a silpat, a spatula thing shaped like a slice to serve cake with…

What a change I feel with my baking experience! I feel so much more confident than I did a few months ago. 

Vermont

This week I didn't have a specific baking goal, since I am on vacation in Vermont with my family. I assisted in the final stages of making chocolate chip zucchini bread, which turned out to be delicious (I ate five out of six muffins in a span of just hours).

My sister has been taking the lead on a lot of the cooking. This morning she made blueberry pancakes that were just a little zesty from a squeeze of lemon, and thin and crisp along the edges. They were complimented by the gen-u-ine Vermont maple syrup we drizzled atop. That isn't to say that anyone in my family is slacking. In addition to hikes, board games, and biking misadventures, we all have a night where we prepare dinner for the family.

Regarding this blog, I have a few new goals for this project. I want to:

1) Make cupcakes instead of a cake.

2) Try more vegan variations.

3) Use a contemporary recipe or two.

4) Work out. Not that I have a scale, but I'm pretty sure I've gained weight since I started baking (and eating desserts) so much. See above statement on muffin consumption.

UPDATE 8/29/2014

Just kidding! I did actually make a cake last week. Four people in my family have birthdays in August, and so I made a very simple white cake with vanilla buttercream frosting. It was very traditional and delicious, and not at all fancy, though it did have pretty periwinkle sprinkles (or as my sister and I call them for some reason, “sparkles”).  It was scarfed down very quickly. I had a total of one small piece.

My sister Jessie and brother Luke

sweet picture of the cake (tiny piece!)

yet moments after this happened, and seemed much more honest

Perhaps the best thing about this cake is that I made friends because of it! The mixer at the house where we stayed was busted, so my Mom went door to door trying to find one for me. Eventually she found a couple who were home and lent her theirs—an old-fashioned hand one. It wasn’t all that much of a help, a fork worked fine, but when she came back she said: “Michael, you will love returning this. The man has an adorable accent.” When I returned it, I met a lovely couple who lived next door! We had dark and stormy highballs and they introduced me to their dog and showed me their garden. It was great to make friends while on vacation, though I wish I had seen more of them.  They had a gorgeous home and land, and seemed to live an idyllic existence.