Faux skillet cookie

So I got strong-armed into making this skillet cookie recipe, which actually didn’t end up being a skillet cookie at all, but just kind of a cookie spread into a brownie pan, aka a blondie aka kind of one of my baking nemeses. But I’m gonna call it a skillet cookie anyway, because I like the way that sounds. Also I have a dislike for the word “blondie” because sometimes gruff-sounding men think it’s ok to yell “Hey Blondie” at me when they need to get my attention. Instead of what I prefer, which is “Ho there Flaxen-haired maiden.” But I guess, how could they know!? JK obvi lulz I’m hilarious lollol.

Aaanyway. I was responsible for dessert at a lady dinner party last week, and my old roommate essentially demanded that this be the recipe I made. Which, look: I’m not against these. But I knew what was going to happen. I was going to bake these and we were going to pull them out of the oven all hot and gooey and we were going to eat half the pan right then and there. Which is exactly what happened, because I’m always right, and because this recipe is fucking gooooood.

Tricky, because of the whole wheat flour thing, which makes you think these are healthy (they’re not.). There are 2 sticks of butter in this, friends. Don’t get all wool-over-your-eyed by that whole wheat flour. That is a fake “this is healthy!” sign. It does nothing. Especially when you eat half a pan of it.

We ate it out of the pan with butter knives and then our fingers, and we drank wine and Got Real and talked about lady stuff, as ladies are wont to do. If you’re a man, you’re probably wondering what happened next, so I’ll give you the story you’ve already created in your mind: we drank too much wine, it started raining indoors (and, shoot, we’re all wearing white!) so we huddled together for warmth, and one thing lead to another and we started exploring our sexual curiosities, and then we got into a jello wrestling match, and then all of our periods synced up and we started crying. You know. Just your standard lady stuff.

Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Skillet Cookie
from 101 Cookbooks

3 cups / 13.5 oz / 380 g whole-wheat flour
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/4 teaspoon fine grain sea salt

8 ounces / 225 g (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces, plus more for buttering the pan

1 cup / 5 oz / 140 g dark brown sugar
1 cup / 7 oz / 200 g sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

8 ounces / 225 g bittersweet chocolate, roughly chopped into 1/4- and 1/2-inch pieces

Preheat the oven to 350°F / 175°C degree oven, with a rack in the middle. Butter a 10 (25cm) or 11-inch (28cm) ovenproof skillet, one that is at least 2-inches (5 cm) deep. If you’re unsure, measure, because if you use a too small skillet, you’ll have a messy overflow.

Sift the dry ingredients into a large bowl.

In another large bowl, or in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, add the butter and the sugars. Mix just until the butter and sugars are blended, about 2 minutes using the mixer on low speed. Use a spatula to scrape down the sides of the bowl along the way. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing until each is combined. Mix in the vanilla. Add the flour mixture to the bowl and blend on low speed until the flour is barely combined, about 30 seconds. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl.

Add most of the chocolate to the batter. Mix just until the chocolate is evenly incorporated. Use a spatula to scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl, then scrape the batter out into the skillet, pressing it out into an even layer. Sprinkle any remaining chocolate across the top, and casually press it into the dough a bit, just enough that it isn’t riding directly on top of the dough.

Bake the cookies for 35-45 minutes, or until until the dough is a deep golden brown along the edge, and the center has set. Remove from oven and let cool a bit before slicing into. Cute into wedges or small squares.

Makes one large skillet cookie, which you can cut into as many cookies as you like.

Inspired by the Chocolate Chip Cookies in Good to the Grain by Kim Boyce (Stewart, Tabori and Chang, 2010)

Prep time: 10 min – Cook time: 30 min

Fermental

Purple carrots, you will win my purchase every time. Look at you! Your shit is all wacky colored. Anyone who really knows me understands that I’m one of those people enthralled by colors. How do they exist?!?! Every time I go into the nail salon (which, recently, has been quite a lot, actually), I choose the most obnoxious color they have. Last time it was hot neon traffic cone orange. My friends always roll their eyes and try to explain to the nice ladies that I’m new to this, but I can’t help it. I want all the colors, all the time, one per nail.

I gain especial delight when things are colored differently than I expect. Black cherries? In my mouth. Blood orange? Chomped. Yellow heirloom tomatoes? YES! Other stuff that I can’t think of right now? Fuckin yeah. Let’s do it. Oh like white eggplant? Red lettuce? All these things! I don’t know. Wackiness excites my brain.

So I did what I thought I should do with such magical carrots–pickled! Just a standard vinegary recipe sure to punch up these little purple gems. I also threw some harissa in there because I like spice and I wanted to impress you. I’m so cultural! I know what harissa is!!!! Colors and spice!

Hm. Had a lot of coffee this morning. Also I am distressed because my MOM tried to set me up with someone. My mother! Of “you’re so young, don’t think about marriage, just be young and do whatever you want, you have plenty of time!” THAT mother. Sigh. I lamented with my sister about it and she said, “yeah, well, she probably reads your blog.”

So, apparently total hippie laid back mothers of mine are now reading this blog and determining that I Need a Man because I’m old and a tad wacky (and I curse too much). I contend that me and my pickled carrots and fermented soul are doing quite ok on our own, getting drunk on the weekends playing competitive Bananagrams and then dancing to soul music at the Elbo Room and then vomiting the next morning because, though we are now exactly one week from turning 28, we still can’t handle our Tecate. Not that that’s a goal we ever aspired to. Is it? But purple pickled carrots!!!!!!!!

Spicy Pickled Carrots

1 bunch baby carrots
1.5 cups warm water
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1 tbsp sugar
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp harissa

Mix all the stuff and pour it over the carrots. Put in the fridge for many days.

That could’ve gone better.

Well it’s midnight and I just shoved two pies into the oven, which isn’t too bad considering I started this disaster of a baking session 2.5 short hours ago. I mean I guess we could start at waking up this morning, being slightly hungover and looking like total ass, and also somehow my zipper pull on my jeans being on backward. I’d ask why, but at this point…knowing the answer doesn’t even help. So going to the bathroom was fun today, let’s just say that. Also at work, my boss’ boss, who is someone To Impress, came up to my desk and tried to relate to me about the ONE thing we have in common, saying “Hey, you’ll appreciate this…” And instead of appreciating it and then adding in some meaningful way to the conversation, I just guffawed (literally) and turned red and then got really silent. Well played, member of humanity! You aced that interaction!!!

But let’s fast forward and talk about all the things that went WRONG SO HORRIBLY WRONG in the kitchen. Starting with the fact that my oven broke. Straight up doesn’t work. Hey, you know what you need to bake a pie? A fucking oven.

So I procured oven space at my old apt. Luckily I was going to dinner with my old roommate tonight so we just decided we’d end up back at her place afterward for the pie baking. But then she got held up at the nail salon for an hour because apparently everyone in San Francisco decided all at once that they desperately needed their nails did at this particular nail salon in the Richmond.

So it was late when I entered the kitchen, only to discover/remember my old apt does not have…pie tins or a rolling pin! I’m not going to do that fake rhetorical question about items that are essential to pie baking, but, well. These items are some of them!

So I ran to Safeway (literally) and got some tins and a pin and also $8 worth of sour strawberry rope candy which I proceeded to stress-inhale on the run back to the apt. Ah, and I have not started BAKING yet.

Then I’m trying out our new crust and it just fails for me. Like, I questioned my existence. That’s how bad I failed. It was getting stuck, the texture was all wrong, it was breaking, and it was fucking crumbly as shit. Then I calmed the fuck down and took a step back and made some adjustments to the dough and to my shitty attitude and mucked my way through shelling 2 tins. But they did not Look Good.

Obviously no kitchenaid at my disposal, so I tried to (very quietly) beat some egg whites by hand to soft peaks. At that point it was 11:30 and my roommate had gone to bed and of course I’m using one of those BALL whisks, so every stroke literally sounds like me breaking the rack in a pool game. So I walk outside and I beat the egg whites while standing on the sidewalk. Some nighttime hipster bike riders rode by and asked me what I was doing and I said “whipping egg whites!!” and…..well, just take a moment to absorb that scene.

Other than that I apparently completely forgot that lemons have pits so I spent a good 5 minutes fishing some out of the custard, awesome work there, slam dunk. And I spilled an entire bag of rice onto the stove, because if it was on the floor I could’ve just swept it up, but on the STOVE my friends, you have to pick rice pieces out of the burners for, oh, 25 minutes.

In conclusion, no it hasn’t been the culinary ballet I envisioned it to be. But I guess here I am with 2 lemon buttermilk pies, and also the rapture is this Saturday, so fuck it, right?

But then I just had the most lovely taxi ride home with a driver named Kevin, who is studying to become a vet. And also my dinner was joyous. And a present I sent was received and loved. And I got a thank you card in the mail. It’s strange how you can exist in your own personal tornado, and people will, without knowing it, reach in and pull you out. It’s strange and it’s wonderful and it’s 1:17am, which is why this thought feels particularly weighty. Like, AM I RIGHT? People are pretty amazing. Relatedly, this pie.

Lemon Buttermilk Pie

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs, separated, at room temperature
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
the juice and zest of 1 lemon
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
generous pinch salt
1 cup buttermilk, room temperature
1 9-inch pre-baked pie shell

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

2. In a bowl, mix butter and sugar until smooth and well blended. Add egg yolks and continue to mix. Mix in flour, lemon juice and zest, nutmeg, and salt. Add buttermilk in a thin stream until just blended. Set aside.

3. In another bowl, whisk egg whites until they form soft peaks (when you pull the whisk up through the whites, they should hold some of their shape).

4. Gently fold egg white mixture into buttermilk mixture, by hand, until just combined. Mixture will be somewhat lumpy.

5. Pour filling into pie shell. Bake in middle of oven until pie is the palest shade of brown and the filling is mostly firm, except for a bit of jiggle in the center, 45 to 50 minutes. If edge of crust browns too quickly, cover with foil.

6. Cool on a rack.  Serve warm or chilled, with fresh berries.

Yield: 6 to 8 servings.

Yep, you saw what you thought you saw.

Dispatch from the field, y’all.

I was sitting on the couch at work, and I was eating a cup of granola. A piece of granola fell down the front of my shirt and landed in my bra. Honestly without thinking, my hand went on in there to grab it. Then, you know, still not thinking, my hand led that piece of rogue granola to my mouth.

AS I AM PUTTING GRANOLA PIECE IN MY MOUTH, I look across the room and catch a dude with whom I work staring at me. The expression on his face tells me what I need to know: he has seen everything. Everything. A witness to my unconscious disgusting self. Which is my true self, friends.

Anyway, it was too late to do anything, so I just put the granola in my mouth and averted my eyes. Like, I don’t know what you’re looking at coworker dude, this is normal and unembarassing for us both. I mean, it is totally normal to me, but sometimes I remember that “society” exists and I’m supposed obey this set of norms that might see this as a Weird Thing to Do in Front of Coworkers.

Also wow, I have been eating a lot of granola off my boobs lately, huh? Anyway, unrelatedly but also very relatedly, I had this conversation with my friend L about 2 minutes later (re: my continued excitement over this weekend’s egg sandwich):

L:  i think it might be time to move on…
me:  it was the best egg sandwich i’ve ever had.
ever
in my LIFE
L:  i understand
you know what tv character you kind of remind me of?
3 guesses
love of sandwiches is a hint
me:  ummmm
liz lemon?
L:  ding ding ding
L:  you are liz lemon

Welp.         Welp.  Clearly I offer no rebuttals.

THIS IS THE BEST THING

Welp. This was the best thing I have ever eaten, ever, in my entire life. It was the best thing. Ultimate. Tops. The titty tops. No comparison. Nothing even close. This was the pinnacle of my kitch-ing. My proudest moment in food.

Last meal? This. If I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life? This.

Chocolate vs this? This. Cheese vs this? This (unfair because this had cheese on it, but still).

Sex vs this?

Ah, shit. Let’s not play that game. But…………maybe this.

Or, in a perfect world, one followed immediately by the other? Hm? No, now I’m just asking for too much.

Kat’s Ultimate Egg Sandwich (THE SEARCH IS OVER)

2 pieces applewood smoked bacon
2 fucking delicious friend-raised chicken eggs
2 pieces multi-seed bread, toasted
2 pieces baby gem lettuce
2 slices heirloom tomato
1 california hass avocado, sliced
some shavings of my tangy hard cheese whose name i don’t know
tiny tiny bit of stoneground mustard and tiny tiny bit of ketchup
salt & pepper

Assemble. Don’t fucking break the yolks! Also don’t burn the bacon, unless that’s the way you like it.

Wednesday afternoon thoughts

I don’t know how else to admit this. It’s all true. I fucking love a soggy pb&j. DON’T LOOK AT ME I’M A MONSTER!

Single lady eggs benedict salad

The other day I spent all day eating my feelings…my feelings apparently being like 8 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and all the granola that exists. Anyway, I was laying in bed watching tv on my computer, and my hands were underneath my body because, I don’t know, I wanted to keep them warm? It felt right? And I was eating a granola bar by resting it on my boobs and biting into it, like that trick some babes do with lipstick, only this is way sadder?, and some bits of the granola fell onto my shoulder. I despaired a bit, because I didn’t want to move my hands from their warm and comfortable lair underneath my body, so then I decided to just turn my head and stick out my tongue and guide the food from my shoulder into my mouth without the use of my hands.

I remember consciously considering what people might think of me if they saw this scene: fully grown woman splayed out on her bed, immobilized by her own body, eating granola off her chest, too lazy to brush the crumbs off, therefore shifting her body and tonguing them into her mouth. I also thought about all the other weird shit I do when no one is watching, like way weirder than that. I often wonder if everyone is equally weird in their private time, or if people just do normal things like read books and look out the window.

Anyhow, this eggs benedict salad is the opposite of me struggling to tongue granola into my mouth in bed. It’s healthy, I ate it with a fork at the table like a normal human being, and while creating it I mastered a new life skill: poaching eggs.

My friend C and her boyfriend L live in Davis and raise chickens. C&L came to SF to visit and brought with them a whole carton of fresh chicken eggs for me! You all know how I feel about eggs, so I was out of my mind overjoyed (they also brought me homemade beer! yeah! having friends who do things is the best!!). I felt like I needed to celebrate the eggs in an appropriate way, given that they’re special and extra nutritious and the yolks are crazy bright. So I learned to poach. Was it the best poaching job ever? Probably not. But it worked on the first try and I didn’t waste any precious egg and the yolk was exactly as runny as I wanted.

So high five for new life skill. Otherwise, this salad came to be as a result of my seeing these baby gem lettuce leaves at the farmer’s market and becoming incredibly enamored by them. Like pretty much as in love with lettuce as one can get. Then I added some asparagus and snap peas, capers for tang, heirloom tomato, cheese shavings, and some mustard-y vinaigrette. It was fucking legit. The kind of meal you eat and think….shit y’all, if I’d ordered this at a restaurant, I’d've been stoked. So plus one for me, which brings my lifetime total up to like -99,678 or thereabouts.

Eggs Benedict Salad for one.

handful of baby gem lettuce leaves (or butter lettuce, or whatever you want)
1/2 bunch asparagus, chopped diagonally into 1/2″ chunks
olive oil, s&p to taste
handful of snap peas, chopped
1 heirloom tomato
1 tbsp capers
1 egg
1 tbsp mustard
1 tsp olive oil
1 tbsp hummus
some hard, sharp cheese, shaved

Heat a small frying pan on medium-high heat. Toss the asparagus chunks with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Saute the asparagus in the pan until slightly soft, about 3 or 4 minutes. Remove from heat.

Bring a small saucepan of water and 1 tbsp white vinegar to low boil. Once bubbles start forming, reduce heat so that the boil is low and there are no big bubbles. Crack the egg into a small measuring cup or similar container. Slowly lower the egg into the barely-boiling water and ease it out of the cup. Use a slotted spoon to gently nudge the whites into place. Let cook 4 minutes, then remove with slotted spoon onto a paper towel.

Whisk together the olive oil, mustard, and hummus. You can add some vinegar or lemon juice too, but I didn’t. Chives or parsley would also be nice here.

Arrange the lettuce in a bowl. Sprinkle the asparagus and snap peas on top. Cut 2 big slices of tomato and place on top. Sprinkle with capers and salt and pepper. Place the egg on top and spoon the mustard sauce on top. Shave some cheese on there and marvel at yourself. You are a golden god.