Kitchen Closing

Etsy

Its been fun.

It really has. But eight weeks ago, before starting this blog as a class assignment, I had no idea how much maintenance it would take. Like any working kitchen, a blog requires daily upkeep. Upkeep I'm not sure I can maintain in the coming quarter. 

This blog gave me things I didn't expect. Courage for every time I clicked publish. Willpower and creativity for every time I didn't feel like writing or hadn't a clue of what to write about. Admiration for those blogger's who make keeping a blog seem easy and reading it even easier. And lastly, curiosity. Keeping my own blog ironically piqued my interest in reading other peoples' blogs. 

One such interest developed while reading A Homemade Life. I used many of Wizenberg's recipes for my beginning posts and added Delancey to my bucket list of restaurants to try. So, a few weeks ago on Valentine's day, I took a detour through Seattle on my way home for the weekend.  The location itself was a bit of a hole in the wall in that it was out of the way and identifiable only by the small sign pictured below. The window on which it was written also tended to fog up (I blame this for the fact that my accomplice and I had to circle the block several times before locating it).

Please pardon the subpar, cellphone-quality of these pictures!

Delancey's decor was modest, yet chic. And the pizza? Top notch. Even better for breakfast the next day. The crust was charred around the edges, not burnt, but "kissed" by the flame (as I have heard it called). I kept my eyes peeled for Brandon or Molly, but to no avail. 

If I hadn't started my own blog, I wouldn't have become so invested in others'. I wouldn't have visited Delancey, tried and devoured Jane's carrot cake pancakes, reminisced the good ol' days of Sharks and Minnows with Kaitlyn, or sat mesmerized for ten minutes watching Bailey paint shoes.

I leave you with two things: a piece of advice and a piece of pizza.  Scratch that, just the pizza (because what else would a food blogger do?)  Though I won't be posting anymore, you can still find me in the kitchen.

And with that, the kitchen is closed.

The Uneaten Birthday Cake

The UFO (sans the flying bit) pictured above happens to be a cake.  More specifically, a lemon poppyseed birthday cake. A cake baked by your's truly for her dad. A cake that his mom used to make for him. It happened just a few years ago, this calamity, when I was all-too eager to be in charge of what would be the least eaten birthday cake of all time. 

I can't recall anything suspicious about the batter, and can guarantee I tried it as I sample whatever I'm baking at each stage along the way.  The trouble started when I pulled the cakes from the oven.  Both layers appeared to be covered in ants, only I knew this wasn't so.     The poppyseeds had risen to the top. I must have thought that this was no big deal since I continued to assemble the cake.  

It was supposed to be two layers of poppyseed cake sandwiching a lemon filling. I got the two layers part! But not only had each layers' poppyseeds risen, but their Crisco had also sunk to the bottom, yielding a five layer lard-opium-lemon-lard-opium cake. Mmm. 

To make matters worse, things went terribly wrong with the lemon filling so that it resembled something like oatmeal or vomit. I couldn't even frost the sides of the cake in an attempt to disguise its unmixed interior because the lemon guts were spilling all over the plate. And the two layers of poppyseeds made the cake crunchy...not that anyone wanted to eat it at this point anyway.

I can't remember if I ever figured out what went wrong.  I think we ended up buying a cake. Good thing it's the thought that counts.

Food: Not Just for Eating

P

Apparently, some people don't enjoy eating as much as I do.  The mother of my suitemate from freshman year wishes that we had some sort of daily nutrient pill rather than having to find, buy, prepare, pack, and laboriously transport each bite via fork or spoon from plate to face. 

For people like her (and my own personal enjoyment), I have found six common foods that can be used for things other than eating!

1. Bananas—Trip mortal enemies, filter water, polish shoes, fertilize gardens, whiten teeth.

2. Apples—Poison enviously beautiful step-daughters, add light and fall festivity to Halloween parties, can be used in potpourri. 

Photo By: Eric Frierson

3. Whipped cream—Removes makeup, conditions hair, acts as stand-in for shaving cream.

4. Rice—Repairs water-damaged phones, fills heating pads, provides sound for "instant maracas."

YouTube

5. Lemons—Deodorize, degrease, bleach, sooth throats, and smooth feet.

6. Cinnamon—Serves as aphrodisiac, medicine, insect repellant (learn more here!)

Have you ever repurposed food?

Fish Milkshakes and Fires

If ever you consider cooking to be a safe or unadventurous activity, think again. 

This week, I set the smoke detector off on not one, two, or three, but four separate occasions.  And started my very first kitchen fire.  (Does that qualify me for some sort of Kitchen Klutz award?)

Now, I am generally pretty conservative and like to play things safe.  I pay bills weeks before they are due and do work for classes before they even begin.  For this class, I finished Wizenberg's book the day before winter classes began.  

With my risk averse nature, going to a movie on a school night is slightly scandalous.  Tonight, I went to see Safe Haven.  At 9:45 P.M.  This was ludicrous, totally unheard of in the realm of all things Molly Grater.  I felt as rebellious as Spartacus—only, instead of inciting a rebellion against a slave-owning oligarchy, I was breaking a non-existent, self-inflicted curfew. 

As with this midweek movie, I have been more adventurous with my cooking as of late.  Hence, the tuna burger.  It required that I blend a can of tuna fish with peppers, spices, bread crumbs, and such.

For many of you, the stench of tuna is probably cause enough to deem it unappetizing.  Watching it transform into a fish milkshake of sorts is even more so.  

I scrubbed my blender something fierce after dinner.

After coming up with this tuna juice instead of a thicker, patty-formable paste, I realized that I should have drained the can prior to blending it.  Oops.  Somewhere between spending time in the refrigerator and emptying a container of breadcrumbs, the mixture did what can only be described as "congealed."  

It just gets more appetizing by the minute!

Despite being slightly dry, the tuna burger wasn't too bad...especially considering how terribly I botched the recipe.  It probably helped that I slathered the top with a cilantro mayonnaise spread.  Mayonnaise is the miracle worker that makes any dish seem forgiving.

And truth be told, I am just as happy to make something new that turns out only good as I am to make something tried and true delicious that I have made dozens of times.

Do you consider yourself to be adventurous or one to stick to what you know?

For a better (veggie) burger, check out my fellow blogger's here!

On Conquering Fears: The Beast that is Yeast

I'm willing to bet that you have heard and can finish Mark Twain's famous quote, "why not go out on a limb?"

Because "that's where the fruit is," of course.  But did you also know that's where the pizza is?

You heard (er...read) me right!  That's where the pizza is.  For years I have been avoiding recipes with yeast like the plague.  These years were wasted, forgoing such yeast-demanding delicacies as breads, doughnuts, and cinnamon rolls.

I'm not sure what makes yeast an object to be feared—perhaps because it is a fungi, and technically alive.  How something so small (a microorganism, if fact) can be so intimidating is a mystery to me.  

After some research on Google, however, I do know that even some popular food bloggers share this fear and post about how they overcome it.  I found this post on "Eva Bakes" after finished writing and was flabbergasted by the similarities (and couldn't help but share them).  We both used pizza to trounce yeast!  Released from this bondage, foodies are invited to a whole new world—one with croissants, danishes...and incredible pizza crusts!

This pizza is worth conquering fears for.

 

An unknown author said: "[n]ever be afraid to try something new.  Remember, amateurs built the ark, professionals built the Titanic."  Chefs can whip up some mighty fine grub, but it was by accident, by amateurs, that popsicles, chocolate chip cookies, potato chips, beer, and sourdough bread were invented.

Can you imagine a world without chocolate chip cookies?! 

I thought not. 

And the sandwich?  "Rumor has it that John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich found leaving the gambling table to be a royal pain, so he ordered meat to be delivered to him between slices of bread.  An alternate tale suggests that work matters kept him pinned to his desk, thus necessitating the fork-free meal."  Without royal pains, experimentation, boldness, mistakes, and failures, our world would be void of some of the most drool-worthy dishes we have today.

This is your cue.  Get up, undertake and overcome your fear...because that's where the fruit is.

What are you afraid of? 

I used this for the crust and this for the topping.

Renee Locks

Savory for My Savior: The Last Indulgence

Hi, I'm Molly...and I'm a sugar addict.

There, I said it.  Step one of Alcoholics Anonymous: check.  Except, my addiction is to sweets—to breakfasts where one might ask, "would you like a side of pancakes with your syrup?", to the corner piece of cake with the biggest frosting rose,  and to brownies and blondies at any time of day, in lieu of any meal.

You see, Buddy and I adhere to the same dietary guidelines, sans candy corn.  In my own food pyramid, syrup would probably take candy corn's and the right half of candy's place, making for a sailboat-shaped section (an entire half of the triangle) devoted entirely to the consumption (and utter enjoyment) of syrup. 

Only, syrup isn't what I want to give my devotion to.  In fact, I don't want to devote myself to a what at all.  I want, above all, to devote myself to a who—not a thing, not a cause, but a man.

As a Christian, I have been anticipating the upcoming Lenten season beginning next Wednesday, praying and pondering about what The Lord might have me let go of.  Though I  believe that it is grace that saves and sanctifies, not fasting or self-denial (pardon my Christianese), I feel that both exercise our spiritual discipline and give us a better picture of and focus on Jesus (Here is a brief article that explains a bit more.)  In the past, I have given up habits and small addictions (visiting certain websites  and other time-suckers), using my newfound time to pray and read scripture.  

Now, I've always had a sweet tooth, but only recently did I realize that I am a sugar-addict.  It happened whilst lying in bed, between consciousness and sleep (the location and time wherein my most brilliant ideas are had).  For the purposes of this blog, I had been attributing and excusing the copious amount baking occurring in my kitchen as "homework"— entirely necessary for the fulfillment and success of my college education! 

But I could only lie to myself for so long.  It had gotten out of hand!

So, with Ash Wednesday just a week away, I carefully chose this decadent pie as my last indulgence before beginning slowly to wean myself from sugar.  Although I only have seven days to cut back, I decided I'd rather ease into it than encourage "Fat Tuesday" where I would gorge myself on all-things sweet until 11:59pm and then kick my addiction cold turkey when the clock twelve.

I tell you this not because I want to impress you with my forty day fast from sweets, but to strengthen my resolve by having a place and people to be accountable to.  

So, for the duration of the Lenten season (and consequently, this class), I will be cooking and eating only what is savory.  Any desserts I post about in the future were made, photographed, and consumed in the past—I wouldn't tempt myself when things look as good as this does!

My final dessert, this pie, is one of my family's favorites.

Like a textbook used to prop a window, eating utensils, scissors, and remote controls also serve multiple purposes!

Raspberry Butterfly Pie

Bake pie shell (I made a chocolate crust found here, but highly recommend Marie Callender's deep dish frozen pie shell. An Oreo, graham cracker, pretzel, or other cookie crust would probably be Rachael Ray "yum-o!" status, as well.)

For cream filling:

     8 oz. cream cheese (softened to room temperature)

     1 C. powdered sugar

     1 C. cool whip (I made whipped cream instead using this recipe.)

Mix the ingredients above and spread into the cooled pie crust.

For topping:

     4 C. raspberries (I've also tried peaches, mangoes, strawberries, marionberries,       blackberries, and huckleberries, and would recommend any combination of them. I usually use less than five cups—half is plenty—since berries are expensive and using the amount called for creates a beehive of a mound requiring precarious arrangement and much patience.)

For glaze:

     1 C. raspberries, mashed 

     1 C. sugar

     3 Tb. cornstarch

Cook in saucepan until thickened (about 10 minutes) and let cool slightly. Pour over raspberries. Chill before serving (if you can).

This was my first time making pie decor, and I used this tutorial.

Things I like: Cinnamon

I can pretty much separate all of life into three categories: people I love, things I like, and what gets my (hypothetical) toga all up in a twist (supposing I am an Ancient Roman).




































Belonging in the toga-twisting category are words including, but not limited to: tender, supple, chuckle, moist, and coupon.  Among the things I like are alliteration, organizing, acronyms, Jeopardy, coffee, pageants, Boggle, The Bachelor (for which I have an unabashed obsession), people watching, and cinnamon. 

Now, I realize you neither need, nor probably care, to know any of this.  That aside, if there is only one thing I like that you should care about, it is cinnamon.  Cinnamon is more than just a flavor or sugar's longtime partner in crime.  In fact, here are some fun facts to help you better understand the under-appreciated spice that is cinnamon.   

Cinnamon:

• is an aphrodisiac and antioxidant made from the dried bark of laurel trees.
• has been used as currency, medicine, and insect repellant. 
• was used to preserve meat and embalm mummies in Ancient Egypt.
• has been cause for both exploration and war. 

According to Wikipedia (my sources are bulletproof), "Cinnamon, as a warm and dry substance, was believed by doctors in ancient times to cure snakebites, freckles, the common cold, and kidney troubles."  Seriously, is there another spice so multitalented?

Anyway, if neither snickerdoodle nor cinnamon roll, apple pie nor Mexican hot chocolate, mole sauce nor churro has yet convinced you that cinnamon is a spice worth fighting for, leave it to this recipe to change your mind. 

Cinnamon Muddy Buddies/Puppy Chow

I ran out of Chex cereal and added some Wheaties.

More butter, more better, right?

...butter...

Momentarily unappetizing.

Returns to appetizing.

Must. Take. Pictures.

QUICKLY.

...before I'm photographing an empty bowl.

Reaffirm/discover your love for cinnamon here. 

Tough Potatoes

I don't know what qualifies something as a salad, but am greatly appreciative that potatoes and eggs slathered in mayo counts.  Ah, the American classic: potato salad.  Healthy me...I ate salad for lunch the other day. 

Looking at the recipe, I was initially concerned about the dressing to potato ratio, and rightly so.  In her book, "A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from the Kitchen Table," Molly Wizenberg says "[i]f my math is correct, that works out to approximately one tablespoon of mayonnaise per small potato."  I thought it might be a little overwhelming, more like a soup of potatoes swimming in a mayonnaise/ranch broth.  

But that wasn't an issue.  Or, the issue.  Remember the description of my blog?  Perhaps you didn't even read it.  Anyway, this post is about one of many culinary catastrophes, granted it was only minor...hence the "wah wah wahhh" (sad trumpet noise) Wednesday post.

I let the salad dress overnight and daydreamed about it until lunch.  And when the time was right, I scooped myself a heaping pile of potatoes in anticipation of my feast...only, before potato even touched palate, I knew something was terribly wrong. 

Each hunk of potato I attempted to pierce shot out from under my fork, as if it knew of the certain and impending doom it would soon be subjected to...I had underboiled the potatoes in my haste to toss the salad together. 

No matter.  Despite the crunchiness of semi-raw potatoes and the extra few minutes it took to capture them, the salad was particularly good.  Some people even like raw potatoes, my mom for instance.  She'll occasionally eat a slice with a sprinkle of salt...but then she also eats watermelon with salt and likes sucking the butter out of frozen cookies so I can't much vouch for her taste.

My advice? Be patient and properly boil your potatoes.  Or it will be tough potatoes to you, too (Recipe here.)

Ideal Grocery Stores and Expectation-Exceeding Cupcakes

My favorite time to go the grocery store is late at night—or rather, early in the morning.  There’s something strangely peaceful about perusing the aisles alone besides the two or three remaining employees and the occasional college student, arms loaded with Tim’s Jalapeño chips, some sort of soda or energy drink, and the last-minute snag of check stand beef sticks, all in an effort to cure the late-night munchies. 

Between 1 and 2am is gold. 

Besides the prime parking, it’s the hour just before closing and as the sole customer, I receive a personal and warm welcome—as least as far as grocery store greetings go. The store is quiet besides the gentle thud of cans being restocked, a slop of water under a mop, and the often quirky, yet endearing music playing over the PA system. 

A crowded aisle makes me uneasy. My cart and I become an incredibly awkward dance couple as I am forced to sashay it from side to side to get out of someone’s way.  In this case I put my head down, stick to my list, and focus on carefully and quickly navigating the minefields (aisles) with the next item as my destination, all the while asking that others “excuse” and “pardon” me.

P

My ideal grocery store conditions (the ones found on the late weeknights described above) allow me to walk slowly and carelessly, admiring artistic packaging and imagining the taste of spices I have never heard the name of before.  Especially dreamy are the myriad of flours—ones made from buckwheat, coconut, pistachios—nut butters, and newly crossbred fruit.

A normal person might dream of renting out Disneyland for the day, re-riding Splash Mountain until they achieve the perfect picture descending from the peak—or at least one where their head isn’t buried or face distorted in horror.

I myself would be overjoyed to spend the day at Haggen.  No list. No mission. Just smelling the dill and examining the thousands of products I frequently pass by.  But that’s another story.

My latest trip to the store was comedic. If you ask me, everyone and their aunt’s nephew’s baseball coach was there stalking up on groceries as if they thought the Mayan calendar was off by a couple of weeks.  I was in pursuit of ingredients for several recipes by famous food blogger Molly Wizenberg.

Potatoes, dill, and caraway seeds for her father’s famous potato salad and too many things to list for her go-to chocolate cupcakes.

Here’s the comedic (and embarrassing) part. As the clerk rang up my treasures I dropped my purse. No big deal, right? Wrong.

With the zipper conveniently open, the contents of the open compartment (a truck, scratch that, purse load of coins) clinked and clattered across the floor.  I stooped to the floor to begin the long and arduous task of picking pennies off linoleum…only, I couldn’t pick up a single one.

I was handicapped by my own fingernails, freshly French manicured and adorned with acrylic nails. At a loss, I attempted to scoot the change under the side of the counter with my shoe, hoping somehow no one noticed.

The kind clerk instead came out from behind the counter and picked up every last penny.  Upon receiving my change, he jokingly pretended to drop it on the floor.

I dashed out of the store hot coffee in hand (an ingredient for the cupcakes). It bubbled, foamed, and splashed as I ran through the dark parking lot in the rain, eager to get to my kitchen.

I must admit. I am a cupcake skeptic.  In my book, cake doesn’t stand a chance against a thick, fudgey brownie unless it is obscenely piled high with frosting (contrary to the modest “cap” of melted chocolate the cupcakes would wear in Wizenberg’s recipe).

As soon as I finished the batter, I knew something was special…and anyone else would have, too, if they had seen me barbarically assaulting the beaters with my face. Too much information, I know. 

They glistened with moistness as they came out of the oven and I excitedly measured and melted the chocolate chips that would soon cap their crowns.  And then…and then I ate a number of cupcakes I choose not disclose.  And some more.  Wizenberg's recipe can be found here.