This corn soup is amaizing (nailed it!)

Other than awesome Italian guys, beautiful Italian women, and nice Italian food, Long Island is also known for its sweet corn. So when I got home to a 60-degrees-and-raining late June on Long Island, I knew that the perfect iteration of fresh corn would be in a sweet and spicy corn soup. I love a creamy corn soup, and I was intrigued by this recipe because it doesn’t actually use any cream, it just relies on the natural milkiness of the corn cob that is released when you grate the kernels off. Since someone has been on something of a food bender lately (read: I’m fatty), no cream was an enticing prospect (never you mind that I served this with the cream-filled asparagus egg pie. shhh. shhhhhhhhhh. shush your mouth).

I have to admit, grating 8 ears of corn can wear on a person’s soul, but it’s not nearly as bad as, say, grating mozzarella cheese, or even carrots. Somehow I didn’t grate any of my skin off in the process! I know, daily miracles.

Aside from the corn grating, this soup is so very easy, and so very very good. The chipotle-lime sauce is awesome, herby and just the right amount of kick (and I’m a total baby with spiciness). We served this with some flank steak, and even that was great dipped in the sauce.

It was pretty much the perfect thing for an unnaturally dreary summer day. Now that it’s all hot and humid again, the thought of spicy soup makes my brow sweat. But I can imagine a cool night, out on the deck, beer bottles tinkling, grill still hot, fireflies blinking, when this soup would be the most welcome of dishes. So do yourself a favor and give it a whirl.

No-Cream Creamy Corn Soup with Chipotle-Lime Topping
from the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market Cookbook

8 ears corn, shucked
1 onion, finely chopped
2 ribs celery with leaves, finely chopped
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp unsalted butter
4 cups chicken or veggie stock
Kosher or sea salt and freshly ground white pepper

For the Topping
4 chipotle chiles
2 large garlic cloves
1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves
1/4 cup lime juice
1 tsp kosher or sea salt
1/2 cup olive oil
1/3 cup crema (Mexican creme fraiche) optional

Using the large holes of a box grater set in a deep bowl, grate the corn down to the cob. This will be messy but well worth it. You should have about 5 cups milky pulp. In a wide pot, saute the onion and celery in the oil and butter over medium heat until translucent and soft, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in the corn and stock and season with salt and pepper. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover partially, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the corn is tender and the flavors are blended, about 15 minutes. Leave the soup as is or puree with an immersion or stand blender.
To make the topping, soften chiles in water for 4 minutes in the microwave or 10 minutes simmering on the stovetop, then discard the stems and some or all of the seeds (the heat is in the seeds). Using a food processor with the motor running, add the garlic cloves through the feed tube and process until chopped. Add the chiles, cilantro, lime juice, and salt and process until well blended. With the motor running, add the oil in a slow, steady stream until blended. You will have about 3/4 cup. Alternatively, mince the topping ingredients by hand & whisk in the lime juice, salt, and oil.
Pour the soup in bowls and drizzle with the chile mixture (and crema if using).

Eggcellent Pie (Swish!)

What can I say about this pie? Well, one, it’s probably a quiche. I don’t really know why the recipe calls it an “egg-pie” other than to delight me, so I wouldn’t care if you called it a quiche. Or an egg custard or something. You can call it whatever you’d like, actually, if you follow through with this and make it. Because henceforth there’s going to be a lot of whining about how complicated this recipe is. Just warning you.

It started out so simply. Roasting potatoes and mashing them into a pie plate. FUN, right? I was so on board with this pie at this point. Then came a relatively simple custard…some milk, some cream, some paprika, etc. No biggie. Then I remember doing a lot of things that annoyed me greatly at the time, like shredding a ton of cheese, separating eggs, boiling garlic in violently spattering oil for what seemed like an eternity, roasting asparagus in the extra oil from said garlic boil, and finely chopping a lifetime’s worth of thyme.

But now, looking back, it doesn’t seem so bad, especially if this pie is your main dish (which it should be). As it was I was making it along with a fairly complicated soup with an accompanying sauce, so I don’t really remember much about the whole experience except that a lot of time passed and when I was done it looked like a minor hurricane had passed through the kitchen. And to further convince you, this egg pie is really reeeeeallly good. I might even call it phenomenal. Might I? Yes, yes I believe I would.

And although my carefully placed starburst of asparagus tips migrated during the short trip from the countertop to the oven and ended up looking a bit like a drunk starfish, and although the edges of the crust were SLIGHTLY overdone (something a bit of foil could’ve prevented, had I been so prescient), and although I’m pretty sure this is not the healthiest egg pie ever created, I am now, upon writing this post, totally on board to make another one of these babies.

Repeatability, something I have difficulty finding in a dish given my obsessive search for the new and untested, is a high standard indeed. So if you have some sort of important brunch coming up, at which you’re announcing some kind of career-related or personal love-capturing or baby-making success to casual yet crisply dressed people, consider this pie. Or if you just want another way to eat eggs for any meal, which I fully support, much to the chagrin of my cholesterol levels, consider this pie. Or if you just want to keep up with your stress management skills, consider this pie. And consider yourself delighted after you’ve eaten the whole thing, because you will be.

Asparagus Egg-Pie with Potato Crust
from Pastries from The La Brea Bakery

For the Crust:
2-3 russet potatoes (1 lb)
1/4 tsp kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

For the Custard:
3/4 cup whole milk
3/4 cup heavy cream
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp kosher salt
3 extra-large eggs
2 extra-large egg yolks
3 tbsp creme fraiche or sour cream
3/4 cup (3 oz) grated Parmesan Reggiano cheese
1 cup (4 oz) grated Gruyere or Comte cheese
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh thyme

For the Pie:
18 small to medium whole garlic cloves, peeled (so….I used 5 large ones. sometimes too much garlic is too much garlic for me. but they were “jumbo” so I bet it about equalled 15 small cloves)
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp lemon zest  (~1/2 lemon)
1/4 tsp kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 tbsp (1/2 oz) unsalted butter, softened

9-in round baking dish, lightly coated with melted butter

Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat to 400˚.
Place the potatoes directly on the oven rack and bake until cooked all the way through, about 45 min to an hour. Allow to cool. Peel the potatoes and mash them with a fork.
To prepare the curst: Using your fingers, press the mashed potatoes into the bottom and sides of the prepared pan. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and bake for about 15 mins, until dry.
To prepare the custard: In a medium saucepan over medium-high heat, bring the milk, cream, cayenne=, and 1 tsp of salt to a boil. Remove from heat and allow to cool 10 minutes.
In a small bowl, whisk together the whole eggs and egg yolks.
Add the creme fraiche, parmesan, and gruyere to the milk mixture, whisking to incorporate. Slowly whisk in the eggs and sprinkle with the thyme, set aside.
In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the garlic cloves, olive oil, and lemon zest, and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat and continue to cook just below a simmer, until the garlic is tender all the way through when pierced with a knife, about 20 minutes. Strain the garlic, set aside, and reserve 2 tbsp of the oil for the asparagus, setting the rest aside for another use.
Place the asparagus in a roasting pan, toss with the garlic oil, and sprinkle with the 1/4 tsp salt and pepper. Roast about 10 mins, until cooked but still slightly firm.
Cool and slice 12 of the asparagus stalks into 1-in pieces.
Evenly distribute the garlic cloves and asparagus in the crust, reserving the tips. Pour the custard over and dot with butter. Arrange the tips in a starburst pattern on top.
Place the dish on a baking sheet and bake for 50 to 60 minutes until set.

Now you’re speaking my language

Now THIS is what I’m talking about, internet. This is the kind of recipe a girl like me can really get behind, philosophically speaking. Lemon curd, fresh blueberries, flaky tart crust. It’s all there, all wonderful, all working to return that sparkle to my baking eye.

And, it’s simple (relatively)! For some reason I was fretting about making lemon curd. I thought it was going to be really complex and I’d need to use a thermometer and there’d be all sorts of temperatures and paced whisking and long cooling periods. I was wrong. Basically you just whisk up some egg yolks with some lemon juice, butter, and sugar, and strain it through some lemon zest. It really wasn’t a big deal, and the result is really f’ing good. The kind of tart sweet that makes you smack your tongue a little and thank the sweet heavens for the creation of citrus.

Oh, and then you pour it into a flaky buttery tart crust and let it cool a bit. And then you cook up a quick glaze for about a million fresh blueberries. And you pour the blueberries on top and the bright blue and yellow colors make you feel alive inside. And then you bite into it and the crust kinda flakes tenderly off and you smack your tongue and the berries burst in your mouth and the heavens open up and birds sing arias and you wonder why you haven’t made this tart every damn day of your life until now.

Perhaps I exaggerate a smidge. But the flavor/texture combination on this one really is spot on. And it’s pretty to look at. So what else is there?

But maybe you’re not understanding me. Let me make myself clear. You need to make this. Now-ish. I am not even interested in hearing about how you’re swamped at work and you barely have time to work out and you’re stressed about your future and you’re taking finals and you’re trying to renovate your bathroom and you’re really consumed with all the gardening you’ve been doing and you’re not quite sure you know how to make a tart crust and you’re a little hesitant to commit an hour or two to baking. You. Your pie hole. Shut it. Make this.

You’re welcome. God.

Blueberry Tart with Lemon Curd
from the Pie and Pastry Bible

Basic Flaky Pie Crust for a 9 1/2-inch tart, prebaked and still warm
-8 tbsp unsalted butter, cold (I usually just take a bar out of the freezer)
-1 1/3 cups pastry flour or all-purpose flour
-1/4 tsp salt
-1/8 tsp baking powder (optional–if not using, double the salt)
-2 1/2 to 3 1/3 tbsps ice water
-1 1/2 tsps cider vinegar

1/2 large egg white, lightly beaten

1 recipe Classic Lemon Curd
-2 tsps finely grated lemon zest
-4 large egg yolks
-3/4 cup sugar
-6 tbsps freshly squeezed and strained lemon juice
-4 tbsps unsalted butter
-a pinch salt

3 cups fresh blueberries, rinsed and dried
1 tbsp arrowroot or cornstarch
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup water
1 1/2 tsps freshly squeezed lemon juice

Make the dough: (This is my abbreviated version, because I don’t feel like typing out Rose’s meticulous directions, and because this works just fine for me. If you want the long version, buy the cookbook. You should probably buy it anyway) If your butter isn’t frozen already, put it in the freezer while you whisk together the flour, salt and optional baking powder in the bowl of an electric mixer. When your butter is frozen, cut it into small cubes (1/2″ is good). Add the butter cubes to the flour mixture and, with the paddle attachment, mix on medium-low speed until the mixture resembles a coarse meal (this takes a few minutes). Add the lowest amount of ice water and the vinegar and mix together. Pinch a small amount of the mixture together between your fingers. If it does not hold together, add the remaining water and mix. Collect the dough into a ball and wrap in plastic wrap. Flatten into a disc and refrigerate for at least 1/2 hour; preferably overnight.
Prebake the dough: Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Roll out the dough to 1/8″ thickness and press into the tart pan. Refrigerate for 1/2 hour (I stuck mine in the freezer for like 7 minutes). Prick all over with a fork. Line with foil or parchment and fill with beans or pie weights. Bake for 20 minutes.
Make the lemon curd: Have ready near the range a strainer suspended over a medium bowl that contains the lemon zest. In a heavy nonreactive saucepan, beat the yolks and sugar until well blended. Stir in the lemon juice, butter, and salt. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thickened and resembles hollandaise sauce; it should thickly coat a wooden spoon but still be liquid enough to pour. Make sure it doesn’t boil, that will curdle it. Once it has thickened enough, pour over the lemon zest. Press with the back of a spoon until only the coarse residue remains. Discard the residue. Gently stir in the zest and allow it to cool.
Bake the tart: Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Spread the lemon curd smoothly into the prebaked tart shell and bake for 7 to 10 minutes. The curd should not begin to color, but should barely jiggle when the pan is moved gently from side to side. Cool on a rack.
Prepare the topping: Place the berries in a bowl. In a medium saucepan, stir together the arrowroot or cornstarch and sugar. Stir in the water and lemon juice and heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture is clear and thickened. With arrowroot, this will happen before the boil; with cornstarch, the mixture must reach a full rolling boil and boil for 30 seconds. Remove the pan from the heat and add the blueberries all at once, tossing until coated with the glaze. The berries will turn a bright blue. Empty the berries into a colander or strainer suspended over a boil, to drain away any excess glaze. Gently spoon the berries evenly on top of the lemon curd. Cool completely. If there are any dry spots on the berries, touch them up with the reserved glaze.

Nuts for bananas, bananas for nuts, etc

I don’t know, readers. Why I do feel so meh about everything I’ve cooked as of late? Why does this banana bread not make me want to skip through the fields with wild flowers in my hand? What I’m trying to say here is that I feel like this past week I’ve been kinda going through the motions. Nothing has excited me, not that things like peanut butter bars or banana bread are particularly thrilling in and of themselves.

But, I don’t know. Banana bread CAN be thrilling, right? I mean, when you don’t overcook it (WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME) and when it’s moist and dense and wonderful toasted with a glass of milk. And there’s nothing wrong with this one. In fact, if I hadn’t overcooked it, I might call it really f’ing lovely.

But things being what they are, it turned into regular ol’ banana bread, the likes of which you can find at any mediocre bake sale. Baking, I am finding, is like any relationship. Sometimes there are going to be really bleh periods, when maybe baking is working late all the time and by the time baking gets home you’ve already fallen asleep in front of the tv and baking doesn’t even bother to wake you up because it’s been a long week, woman. But you have to push through those and find the aspects of it that make it all worth it to you.

So here I am, pushing through the ennui of it all. And then I’m going to make something and it’s really going to speak to me, and I’m going to fall in love with baking all over again, and it’ll all be puppy dogs and rainbows and honeysuckle and the smell of the grass after a spring rain. For now, here’s a pretty decent banana bread recipe. You should make it.

Banana Bread
from How to Cook Everything

8 tbsp (1 stick) butter, plus some for greasing the pan
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsps baking powder
3/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
3 very ripe bananas, mashed with a fork (I used 3 1/2)
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans
1/2 cup grated dried unsweetened coconut (I used wheat germ here instead. why? because I did)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a 9×5-inch loaf pan.
Mix together the dry ingredients. Cream the butter and beat in the eggs and bananas. Stir this mixture into the dry ingredients; do not mix more than necessary. Gently stir in the vanilla, nuts, and coconut.
Pour the batter into the loaf pan and bake for 45 to 60 minutes, until nicely browned. A toothpick inserted into the center of the bread will come out fairly clean when it is done, but because of the bananas this bread will remain moister than most. Do not overcook (thanks, Mark). Cool on a rack for 15 minutes before removing from the pan. To store, wrap in waxed paper.

The reason I always make fruit cakes

Apparently I have been on a bit of a fruitcake kick as of late. I can’t deny it, nor do I regret it, nor do I feel like I should apologize for it. You try walking into the supermarket thinking “what should I bake this week?” and not leaving with a bag full of fruit and maybe some ice pops or something. TRY IT.

So this is for all you crazies who prefer peanut butter and chocolate to fruit. I know you’re out there, and I know you think you’re in the right. I just want you to know that I’ll never understand you.

That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, or that I won’t bake you a chocolate cake for your birthday. It just means I’ll never truly be able to see life from your perspective. I won’t GET you. Are you ok with that?

Good, I’m glad we got that settled. That said, I really have been craving peanut butter something fierce lately. Maybe it’s my body reacting to all the fruit. It’s like, please, something not watery and sweet for a second? I have to say that I don’t have a great peanut butter cookie recipe; and, spoiler, this isn’t it either. I’ve been searching, I really have. I find mostly they come out too dry. I know I’ve had the type of peanut butter cookies that I love: moist and completely dense and overwhelmingly peanut buttery.

I just don’t know how to get there. Can anyone help a girl out? For this recipe, I upped the peanut butter to 1 cup and I still felt like there wasn’t enough peanut butter taste. Also, I made the batter intending to make cookies, but discovered there are no baking sheets here in my sister’s place. Instead, I mushed the dough into a baking pan, added a ton of chocolate chips, and called them bars. But they’re sub-par bars. And although I like the way that sounds, I’m not totally jazzed about the way they taste. Sigh.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Bars
adapted from Moosewood Restaurant Celebrates

1 cup brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup smooth or crunchy peanut butter (this I upped to 1 cup and it STILL WASN’T ENOUGH)
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 egg
1 tbsp pure vanilla extract
2 tbsp light corn syrup
1 1/4 cps unbleached white flour
1/2 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 to 2 tsps water, as needed

Preheat oven to 375˚. Lightly oil a baking sheet or two.
Cream together the brown sugar, peanut butter, oil, egg, vanilla, and corn syrup. On a piece of wax paper or in a seperate bowl, sift together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the creamed mixture and blend thoroughly. The dough will be stiff and crumbly: If it won’t hold together, add a tsp or so or water.
With your hands, shape and roll the dough into 1-inch balls. Place them on the baking sheet and, wit the bottom of a glass, press them into flat circles. Smooth the cracked edges a little with your fingers. If you like, press the tops with the tines of a fork to give them the mark of classic peanut butter cookies. If you like them brown and crisp on top, spray a light coat of oil on the tops of the unbaked cookies.
Bake for about 10 minutes, until golden brown. Cool on a rack and store in a cookie jar.

Apricot it out

These are apriums.

They are different than pluots. They are 3/4 apricot and 1/4 plum. Pluots are 3/4 plum and 1/4 apricot. Can I be honest here? They look like apricots to me. They taste like apricots to me. I’m sure the farmers who worked very hard to bring me these hybrids aren’t very pleased with those statements, but I’m not here to tell lies.

If it makes them feel better, I think they are delicious. I mean, I love apricots. Apricot jam is wonderful. Apricot in yogurt is also really lovely. And, as it turns out, apricots on cake is really great too.

Do you know what else I love? Hand beating things that really require an electric mixer. After these past 2 cakes, I have now learned to dread sentences like “beat on medium-high speed for 3-4 minutes until pale and fluffy.” One, I am using a salad serving spoon, because I do not have a wooden spoon. Two, my arm’s “medium-high” speed probably does not come close to an electric mixer’s medium-high speed, nor does it last more than 30 seconds at a time. Do you need a visual?

That’s me and some butter and eggs trying to get fluffy together (but did you note the apron? that’s right, she can be taught). It took about 6 minutes, and my arms were not happy about it, and we probably didn’t get as fluffy and pale as we should’ve. But who wants to be fluffy and pale anyway? Not me.

So maybe this cake was a little denser than it should’ve been. That’s ok by me. To be honest, I prefer dense cakes to airy ones. I don’t want to eat a sponge. I want to eat moist doughy dense goodness.

And apricots on top. By god, apricots on top.

Fresh Apricot Upside-Down Cake
from Gourmet

For topping
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter (I reduced this to about half a stick, and to be honest, I can’t imagine putting a whole stick in there. and you know how much I love butter. it was totally decadent with half a stick, take my word for it here)
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
10 or 11 small (2- to 2 1/4-inch) fresh apricots (1 1/4 lb), halved lengthwise and pitted (i used more like 15)

For cake
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
2 large eggs at room temperature for 30 minutes
3/4 cup well-shaken buttermilk

Special equipment:
a 10-inch well-seasoned cast-iron or heavy nonstick skillet (at least 2 inches deep)

Preheat oven to 375°F.
Make topping: Heat butter in skillet over moderate heat until foam subsides. Reduce heat to low and sprinkle brown sugar evenly over butter, then cook, undisturbed, 3 minutes (not all of sugar will be melted). Remove skillet from heat and arrange apricot halves, cut sides down, close together on top of brown sugar.
Make cake batter: Sift together flour, baking powder and soda, and salt into a small bowl.
Beat together butter, sugar, and extracts in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until pale and fluffy, 2 to 3 minutes in a standing mixer or 3 to 4 minutes with a handheld. Beat in eggs 1 at a time, then beat until mixture is creamy and doubled in volume, 2 to 3 minutes.
Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture in 3 batches alternately with buttermilk, beginning and ending with flour mixture, and beat just until combined.
Gently spoon batter over apricots and spread evenly.
Bake cake: If your skillet isn’t ovenproof, wrap handle with heavy-duty foil (or a double layer of regular foil) before baking. Bake cake in middle of oven until golden brown and a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 40 to 45 minutes.
Wearing oven mitts, immediately invert a large plate over skillet and, keeping plate and skillet firmly pressed together, invert cake onto plate. Carefully lift skillet off cake and, if necessary, replace any fruit that is stuck to bottom of skillet. Cool to warm or room temperature.

Strawberry cakes. NOT FOR DOGS.

I did not know it wasn’t clear that strawberry cakes are not for dogs. I was wrong. It was a point that needed to be clarified with my current charge, my sister’s dog, Zella. As my strawberry cake is to Trix, Zella is to that Silly Rabbit who is always trying to snag some. Trix are for kids, dawg! And strawberry cakes are for humans, dog. Except unlike wacky rabbit, Zella succeeded, because I walked out of the butler’s kitchen for all of 13 seconds to put peas in my mac and cheese (what can I say, I’m sophisticated).

Luckily, she only got a small bite off the top, and I cut the dogged part out and the cake escaped mostly unharmed.

So now you’re all like, yeah, ok, good story there, but the real question is, why are you posting ANOTHER recipe with strawberries in it? Have you no sense of adventure? Well, good questions, readers. The reason is, every time I go to the grocery store, the strawberries just get redder and redder. And I can’t resist that. I’m like, ooh, these look better than the last ones! And then I go again and I’m like, wait a tic, THESE LOOK EVEN BETTER. So I buy them. And I will continue to until it’s not strawberry season anymore.

Which, to be honest, isn’t that far away. Strawberry season is kinda fleeting, and I’m not interested in wasting a second of it. Plus we’re still in the awkward part of late spring before all the stone fruits get really ripe, and as soon as they do, they’ll be getting all of my attention (oh hey peaches!). So strawberries need to relish in the spotlight until that time.

About the cake: it’s good. I want to put whipped cream on it (KitchenAid, I missssss you). But I don’t NEED to, you see? It’s kinda just great on its own. I overcooked it a tad because, although I have used my sister’s oven thrice now and noted each time that it runs REALLY F’ING HOT, I still cooked it for the normal amount of time. Why, friends? BECAUSE I AM NOT SMART.

It happens, right? I knew you’d understand.

Strawberry Cake
from Martha Stewart Living

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened, plus more for pie plate
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup milk (I used buttermilk)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 pound strawberries, hulled and halved

Directions
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 10-inch pie plate. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt together into a medium bowl.
2. Put butter and 1 cup sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Reduce speed to medium-low; mix in egg, milk, and vanilla.
3. Reduce speed to low; gradually mix in flour mixture. Transfer batter to buttered pie plate. Arrange strawberries on top of batter, cut sides down and as close together as possible. Sprinkle remaining 2 tablespoons sugar over berries.
4. Bake cake 10 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees. Bake until cake is golden brown and firm to the touch, about 1 hour. Let cool in pie plate on a wire rack. Cut into wedges. Cake can be stored at room temperature, loosely covered, up to 2 days.

Keeping up with the sconeses

There are times when I feel totally in control of myself, and then there are weeks like this past one. I’ve managed to 1) unnecessarily call the cops 2) fall off a fence, face-first 3) cut open my finger breaking down a butter box 3) break a glass while washing it, and 4) spill an entire bowl of dog food across the kitchen floor, twice.

Somehow, I also made these scones, without incident (unless you count getting strawberry juice on my white shirt, which I do not, because clearly that kind of thing should just be implied at this point). To be honest, scones are a bit hit and miss with me. Once I made some from a box and they tasted like poison. Once I had one at Starbucks and it was crumbly and dry and fucking terrible, seriously Starbucks, FIX THAT.

These scones are good. They’re better than good, they’re great. Know why? Because there’s a whole shitload of butter in them. And strawberries. And when they’re warm, they’re wonderful.

So, if you too feel like sometimes you need to be contained, or locked up, or put to sleep for a while until you can get your shit together, go ahead and try out these scones. They have officially proven to be completely-batshit-crazy-girl safe.

North Fork Table & Inn Scones
from the North Fork Table & Inn site via Smitten Kitchen

Makes 12 to 16, depending on how you cut them

2 3/4 cup pastry flour (all-purpose is also fine)
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
6 ounces of butter, in 1/2-inch cubes
1 cup golden raisins plus 1 tablespoon caraway seeds -or- 1 cup fresh fruit of your choice, chopped
3/4 to 1 cup buttermilk (use the smaller amount if using fresh fruit, the larger if using the raisin-caraway combo)

Turbinado or sanding sugar for sprinkling (optional, not in the original recipe)

Preheat oven to 375°.

Place cubed butter in freezer for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, measure other ingredients (except buttermilk and fruit) and mix in the bowl of a food processor.

Add butter to processor bowl and mix until the butter and flour mixture are the texture of coarse cornmeal. Transfer the mixture to the bowl of a mixer and add buttermilk and fruit, mixing on the lowest speed until the dough just comes together.

Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently a couple times. Roll dough out to approximately one-inch thickness (I skipped the rolling pin and just patted it out with floured hands) and cut into squares. Cut those squares again on the diagonal, creating triangles. Sprinkle with coarse sugar, if you’re using it.

Bake on an ungreased baking sheet for 25 to 30 minutes, until lightly browned.

New Noodles

I like a good pasta dish. I like a bad pasta dish. In fact, I’ve never met a pasta dish I didn’t like (with the possible exception of that one time I went out for Thai food and felt all ballsy and asked for “hot” spice on my noodles and bad, very bad things happened to me and my insides). So, you get it, I’m not hard to please when it comes to pasta. But some nights, boiling some water and throwing on random marinara, beautifully simple as that is, doesn’t satisfy my cooking craving. Even tonight, cooking for myself, I felt this tiny tickle of ambition. I’ve learned that when I feel that tickle, I need to grab it and go with it. It’s the same tickle that allows me to change into my running clothes on really cold or rainy days (and every runner knows that getting into your running clothes is 90% of the battle…actually, for me it might be more like 99%. rare is the occasion that once I’ve already gotten all outfitted do I not follow through with an actual run).

What was I saying? Oh yes, cooking. It’s the same deal. I almost reached for a frozen quiche tonight and then something within me was like…Yo, I kinda feel like chopping some stuff. So chop I did, and disappointed I was not.

This is another little gem from the Tassajara Cookbook. What I like is that the recipe is so simple (I had most of the main ingredients hanging around) and yet there’s something a little bit different about it. It’s interesting enough to not feel like a cop out, as pasta dishes often feel to me. It’s also pretty flexible. I swapped out the broccoli for some fresh spinach and I was not disappointed, although I’m sure the broccoli would’ve added a lovely crunch.

The mustard, butter, garlic, and parsley make a nice and tangy combination, and the most important thing is that it wasn’t too dry. Sometimes pasta and butter dishes need like STICKS of butter before they don’t feel all starchy and gross, but since the mustard kinda thinned out this sauce, it was just the perfect coating for my al dente fusili.

Of course it could’ve benefitted from some fresh parmesan grated ever so delicately on top, but as I have expressed before, some sister of mine does not see the urgency in buying a grater of any kind, and me and the dull serrated knife didn’t really feel like going at it tonight. I don’t know, he was tired. I had a headache. So, instead, afterwards, I ate about 2 pints of ice cream and told the serrated knife that I didn’t care if he went out with his guy friends tonight, but don’t expect your boxers to be washed when you get back because NOW THAT YOU HAVE DRIVEN ME TO EATING ENTIRE BINS OF ICE CREAM I AM TOO FAT TO CARRY YOUR UNGRATEFUL LAUNDRY BASKET DOWN THE BASEMENT STAIRS! Wait, what?

Mustard Butter Pasta with Broccoli
from the Tassajara Cookbook

5/8 cup butter
4 tbsps Dijon mustard (or your favorites)
2 cloves garlic
2 tbsps parsley, well-minced
2 tbsps chives, finely sliced, or green onion, sliced and minced (these I omitted so I’ll never know how much of a difference they make)
salt & pepper
1 tbsp oil
2 cups broccoli, cut into small flowerettes (I used about the same amount of fresh spinach)
3/4 lb pasta, fettucine or linguine (or the TWISTY kind, friends!)

Set out the butter early to soften up. When it’s soft, blend in the mustard.
Slice the garlic and pound it in a mortar with a healthy pinch of salt. When it’s fairly pulpy, add the parsley and chives (or green onions) and continue pounding for a short while to release their flavors.
Blend this mixture into the butter, along with a few twists or black pepper.
Use a large pot to boil a generous amount of water with a teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon of oil.
Fan the pasta into the boiling water. If you are using fresh pasta, add the broccoli at the same time. When using dried pasta, add the broccoli the last couple minutes of cooking.
As soon as they are done, scoop out the pasta and the vegetables with an oval strainer, or drain in a colander. Put the pasta and broccoli in a 12-in skillet, allowing some of the water to dribble in with it.
Add the prepared butter and, over moderate heat, toss the pasta with tongs until it is evenly coated. Keep the heat low enough that the butter does not bubble or fry–that will change the flavor.
Check the seasoning and add salt and pepper if necessary.
Serves 4.

Happiness is a warm cookie in your heart

I don’t like to wax philosophical (too much) on this blog. For one, I don’t believe I have much additional wisdom to add to the pool of generally greeting-card-friendly and quotable collective wisdom of the internet. For two, I don’t believe that’s why people would ever come to this blog, because, well, see #1.

But today, my heart feels all warm, like a chocolate chip cookie right out of the oven. Parts of my heart feel like melted chocolate chips, and parts of my heart feel like warm doughy cookie. I feel grateful for being alive. I feel grateful for my wonderful friends, my disfunctionally loving family, and for all the experiences that make up the 26 years I’ve been alive. And I want to fucking share it.

I know that I take things for granted. I do it all the time. Like, today, I took for granted that my sister would have a lemon zester in her house. Some time, if you want, you and I can sit down and discuss the finer points of scraping zest off a lemon with a dull serrated knife. Maybe not today, to be honest, because at this very moment all I remember is a lot of lemon juice in my eye. But one day. You and me. Maybe over a cup of tea and some of this lemon poppyseed cake.

Here’s what I’m trying to say, readers. Can we make a corny analogy? Can we link this post to this cake? So, this morning I heard a piece on NPR about this 70-year study on happiness. I had read an article [disclaimer: it's long] about this study, and it really made me think about the concept of happiness in general. Specifically….ready?….the RECIPE for happiness. For this cake, I combined all the ingredients in a specific order, put it in the oven, and it resulted in a cake. But what are the proportions of my happiness? How much flour do I need? How much baking powder? If I add too much baking powder, will my happiness collapse?

I know everyone’s happiness is different. Maybe some recipes turn into lemon poppyseed cakes. Maybe some turn into muffins or scones, and maybe some turn into tofu. Maybe some get burnt and maybe some never fully cook. I can’t tell you what goes into my own happiness, but I can tell you that, somehow, despite my general clumsiness in the kitchen, happiness keeps coming out of the oven of my heart (did you like that?). And this lemon poppyseed cake came out of the oven of the kitchen. And that, my friends, makes me incredibly lucky.

So here’s my stolen wisdom, because everything I believe about happiness has already been summed up much more eloquently than I could ever express. To be happy…

“Don’t let hurricanes hold you back
Raging rivers or shark attacks
Find love, then give it all away”

Lemon Poppy Seed Cake
adapted from the Food Network

1 1/4 cup all purpose flour (i mixed all-purpose and whole wheat pastry flour, because that is the recipe for my own happiness)
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup cornstarch (so i totally omitted this and added like 1/4 cup more flour…the earth did not open up and swallow me, and the cake did not collapse)
1 tablespoon poppy seeds (i upped this to almost 1/4 cup…I like poppyseeds)
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup skim milk
2 teaspoons freshly grated lemon zest (i upped this to a tbsp)
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
1 large egg

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and grease and flour an 8 by 12 inch cake pan, knocking out excess flour.

In a bowl whisk together flour, sugar, cornstarch, poppyseeds, baking powder, and salt and with fingers blend in butter until incorporated. In a large measuring cup, lightly beat together milk, zest, vanilla and egg.

Stir milk mixture into flour mixture until just blended and pour batter into pan. Bake cake for 35 minutes or until tester comes out clean. Remove cake from pan and cool on rack.