tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71932480609447775202024-03-14T05:13:53.417-05:00Food EatenLainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.comBlogger352125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-91796969547466738872013-07-31T07:14:00.001-05:002013-08-01T15:22:18.578-05:00Smells of a City<br />
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I've been commuting to and from work via bicycle for nearly a year now. Surprisingly, the weather permits most days, excluding the coldest days in January and February and the hottest in July. I get to work faster but things go a little slower. Slow enough that my nose is taken on a journey of smells through Somerville, Cambridge, Boston, and finally Brookline. It's mostly Cambridge that smells. There's garbage day, which is a bad scene. Then the day everything smelled like old fish. Whenever a diesel truck passes me, I'm brought back to Thailand. Something about the humidity level and that gust of pollution that takes me there. For several weeks in June, everything smelled like jasmine. One brilliant day a few weeks ago when I turned on to Massachusetts Avenue I smelled something sweet like marshmallows or doughnuts and then one block later it changed to vinegar. And not just any vinegar, distilled white vinegar, something used to clean things. Then as I was crossing over from Cambridge to Somerville, I could smell chocolate. The <a href="http://www.tazachocolate.com/" target="_blank">Taza Chocolate</a> factory is a couple blocks away and I could smell them making their delicious Mexican chocolate. </div>
Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-86514234261384116872013-06-12T20:17:00.000-05:002013-06-12T20:17:15.701-05:00Library Is Open<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Something monumental happened today--I got a library card. Boy it's been a few years since I've checked out books from a library, but they're pretty conveniently located in Boston and Somerville. The Brookline Library Main Branch is just a block or two from from my office. It's in an old marble building with archways and a dark, wood reading room an approachable amount of shelves. Nothing too intimidating--except maybe the unsmiling, balding lady who signed me up. (How does one deal with lady-balding? That would be a challenge.) I picked out two memoirs, hoping for some creative inspiration. One is a memoir by Grace Coddington, the creative director at Vogue, and the other is by a coworker who I don't talk to. It's <a href="http://mollysmadeleine.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Molly Birnbaum's</a> <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Season-Taste-Sense-Smell-Found/dp/B007MXCKQK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1371085988&sr=8-1&keywords=season+to+taste" target="_blank">Season to Taste</a></i> about losing her sense of smell. It's funny how weird I feel about reading her blog and her book. Clearly, they're public and for sale, but she does work in my building (though not in my department). I feel like a freshman in high school, spying on a cool upper classman. I'm sure she has no idea who I am. But I like her. Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-58459246778400681552013-06-11T19:08:00.000-05:002013-06-11T19:08:00.423-05:00Herbal Tincture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm off coffee again after nearly a year of good behavior. In its stead, I've been sipping various spiced teas (decaf chai, this kava tea that knocks me out and burned the entire inside of my mouth today). But the best replacement I've come up with yet is a home remedy: just a few slices off a knobby thumb of ginger and mint leaves all smashed up a bit in my mug. With a healthy shot of honey (for my aching throat), it's a soothing herbal remedy. I like to call it my tincture--even though I don't know what that word means and upon looking it up am only half right (it is herbal; it is not alcoholic). </div>
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It's a gloomy, rainy day in Somerville, which means it's just right for a cup of tea. I'm feeling a bit glum myself after another little breakup. Little ones--I have a pile of them by now. But this one was nice while it lasted. I often think my life will be a string of these short-lived and all-encompassing relationships followed by a recovery period. I don't feel it defines me, so I don't mind it. Sometimes lonesome days are just what the doctor ordered--so to speak</div>
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I ran across <a href="http://cognoscenti.wbur.org/2012/11/15/online-dating-molly-birnbaum" target="_blank">this article</a> today by a coworker who I actually haven't ever talked to; it stood out to me. </div>
<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-82133350144072183912013-02-10T17:23:00.004-06:002013-02-10T17:23:49.828-06:00Be Like BeyI don't know about anyone else, but I found last week's Super Bowl performance by Beyonce to be empowering. At first, I wanted this show-stopping thing where Jay-Z pops out, followed by Stevie Nicks (actually Stevie Nicks would have been amazing), and then Michael Jackson makes a surprise zombie appearance. So my immediate reaction was to be disappointed by just plain ol' Beyonce.<br />
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But about 30 seconds into the performance it became very clear that there were no men whatsoever on the stage. No male musicians spewing fire from their penises, oh I mean guitars, no male dancers, no male singers. And you know what, it was kind of awesome.<br />
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Now let's get to the outfit. I heard someone at work (a male) make a comment about the tight, leather, skimpy outfit she wore. I'm sure there are bazillion supporters of that position online, and I'm sure many of them have valid arguments about role models and how to show off your body in a modest way. All arguments I've heard and participated in way back when I went to conservative churches. Today, I could not disagree more. I thought her little jumpsuit was fabulous. To me, the message was that women can be powerful <i>and</i> sexy. It's something I have a hard time with. Obviously, I will not be wearing a leather catsuit to my office. That said, I'm getting a little sick of everybody throwing around words like "slut," "bitch," etc etc first of all as if those are bad things and second of all as if those are bad things applying only to women. There has to be room in the world for women to be sexy and for men to be sexy and still be smart, capable, powerful and silly even. I think it's a little scary. I'm a little scared frankly. I'm scared to have people think I'm not intelligent or creative or interesting because what I'm wearing distracts from it. But I know who I am, and I think I just have to allow others to perceive me as they will.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-47564545845921567312013-01-06T18:18:00.002-06:002013-01-06T18:18:14.507-06:00Make Me Up<br />
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I first started using makeup against my mother's rules when I was 12. She wanted to shield my sisters and me from looking too old and too slutty I think. Protect us from what we didn't know. A noble gesture, but I needed that foundation and powder to cover up my acne. Puberty was not kind to me in some ways. I had this greasy face with painful pimples popping up mostly on my chin and around my mouth. Not even two bouts of accutane could stave it off. And makeup was the only thing that made me think no one could see all my facial scarring. It was a necessity. </div>
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Thankfully, once I was about 22 my face cleared up and all I needed before I left the house was a splash of powder and a sweep of mascara so I didn't look like I had just woken up. Up until a few months ago, I had one or two tricks I could pull out for a wedding or a night out. It was my friend Di who changed my mind. She would come to work pulling off funky orange lipstick and vibrant colors on her eyes. It's silly but I was always scared to wear something bold like that. But Di sees clothing and makeup as an extension of her creative self. With a little guidance and some encouragement, Di had me lining my eyes with liquid with the tiniest flair of a cat eye. It's fun. I can't do much else. But it's nice to have a third trick up my sleeve. </div>
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Next up: the smoky eye:</div>
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Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-55326432071432193342013-01-02T22:42:00.002-06:002013-01-02T22:42:47.299-06:00Just Be a QueenSo I have a confession over this little thing that I am obsessed with. My friends Craig and David introduced me to this world. They didn't know the beast that awakened and my complete lack of self control when it comes to drag queens, specifically as featured on RuPaul's Drag Race.<br />
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What's not to love? It's boys playing dress up. The premise of the show is America's Next Top Model meets Project Runway but it's fun because the gays are involved. Now, in some circles I know I'm late to the game. There are blogs, live video chats, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/RuPaul-Supermodel-Doll-New/dp/B004HXM6QM/ref=pd_sxp_f_pt" target="_blank">RuPaul Barbie dolls</a>.<br />
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The cult culture aside, there is something I find deeply alluring about these ladyboys. There is a depth to these performers that I haven't ever seen. Yes, yes, it's about glitter and big hair, fake boobs and lip syncing to Beyonce, but it's all about entertainment--on sometimes the crudest level. I could stand to learn a lesson or three from these ladies about self confidence and sexiness. I'm basically afraid to be sexy--what if I embarrass myself? I'll think a little about the queens--they can't care if people think they're weird or crazy, that would stop everything. They're out (of the closet and on the town) having fun and making people laugh, cry (yes, I've done it) and sing along. It's inspiring even on the smallest sense. If they can dress as a woman, I think I can put on a little red lipstick.<br />
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Do yourself a favor and watch the previous seasons on LogoTV.com or Netflix. Below is a video of one of my favorite drag queens, Raven, in a music video for MNDR.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-38573083003402739002012-12-20T22:22:00.002-06:002012-12-20T22:22:57.476-06:00Holiday Cheer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This little garland is my Christmas tree. It was December 1 when I first wrote this and snowing in Boston. Light, flaky snow that has been coming down slowly all day. It is coating the trees and bushes in what looks like sugar cookie icing and dissolving when it hits the streets. I am into the holiday spirit and counting down the days until I fly home for an entire week.<br />
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I'm getting used to this new city and my new apartment bit by bit. I almost always know where I put items in the kitchen, and I've got the light switches down. It so strange and frankly disorienting to be in an all new place, especially one as confusing as Boston where none of the streets lead where you think they should. It's like we're on a different plain, and I don't quite know north from south. However slowly, things are becoming ever so slightly more like home. And if my home includes a hearth like this and art-deco inspired yet flawed floor tiling, then I think I like it. </div>
Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-43329706516443240702012-10-31T20:53:00.001-05:002012-10-31T20:53:16.154-05:00Levi StraussI have been thinking lately that I might have to give up my blog. I'm in a new city now and with that comes this change of life's season. I started the blog eight years ago to chronicle my escapades and fiascos in the kitchen. Of which there have been many, many of which have paralleled my life in some way allowing me to make easy analogies about fires, stolen tomato plants, and throwing things together but having it all turn out OK in the end. It's been fun. I can't give it up completely. But things need to change.<br />
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I can't really write recipes because of this new job I have writing recipes, but nor do I want to. I spend all week cooking, my blog needs to be an outlet of a different sort. I'm not really sure what will rise up from the ashes, but I don't really care. I'm sure that after a year of incredibly sporadic updates, nary a soul is still reading, so I will just go ahead and be as self indulgent as the next blogger and qualify myself to write unoriginally and to steal images from the interwebs to make my meager and dull words more compelling.<br />
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Let my first official new post be about style.<br />
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I wish I came of age in the 70s. I adore the high waist. It's slenderizing, it's clean, it makes me look taller. It makes a plain T-shirt look like something. The cashier at Macy's does not understand this. I did not understand this when I was a young wippersnapper judging my mom's old tapered jeans that made it nearly to her belly button. Those were the 90s, when I was wearing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Low-rise_jeans" target="_blank">low low low waisted pants</a> a la Britney Spears. Do you all remember those days? That was not a good look. She probably had to shave, like down there, to wear those jeans. It was so obvious, no mystery--just tight tops, sequins and bootiliciousness.<br />
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So I've been out looking for high-waisted jeans. I've been looking for them for <i>years</i>. They pop up every now and again at the Gap or elsewhere. And then I got cable and saw this Levi's commercial.<br />
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So cool. I need those jeans. And baby, I found them. One pair for $189 at the Levi's store on Newbury Street. Excuse me, no. The sales people at this "vintage Levi's" store is swearing to me that I can only find those Levi's at that store and nowhere else in the world or online. Because Levi Strauss has been around for almost $150 years thanks to of its exclusivity.<br />
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Meanwhile, at Macy's, I was rifling through piles of Levi's priced at $35 not sure where to go. The sales lady was completely shocked when I inquired about the high-waisted pants. She just blurted out, "but those are mom jeans. I mean, to me." And then the self doubt rushed in a bit. Was I pulling off it off or just looking frumpy? My sister reassured me via telephone to rock my Farrah Fawcett look. Don't mind if I do.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-54679876989636206802012-10-22T07:07:00.001-05:002012-10-22T07:15:37.206-05:00Appley Apple CrumbleA month or so ago, I treated myself to <a href="http://www.nigelslater.com/" target="_blank">Nigel Slater</a>'s <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ripe-Cook-Orchard-Nigel-Slater/dp/1607743329/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1350907603&sr=8-1&keywords=ripe+nigel+slater" target="_blank">Ripe</a></i>. This is a beautiful encyclopedia of gardening tips for fruit cum cookbook. I am fantasizing about my future garden, all of which can be achieved with only a tiny urban plot--that's all Slater has at his London flat. There won't be any weeds or slugs, and the light will filter romantically through the leaves of my plum trees. My prose will be succinct but redolent, just like Slater's. This man has a serious way with words. Listen to this random collection of phrases that I just opened the book to, "This is a fruit soft and tender as a baby's cheek, with a scent that is part honey, part almond. A fruit whose flesh has notes of peach, brown sugar, and orange blossom and opportunity for pleasure that is too good to miss." Can you guess the fruit? Apricot.<br />
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I'm a bit rusty with the writing these days. It's easier to distract myself with TV (I have cable for the first time in six years) and the Internet, and I leave no room for my cooking, reading and writing much less cleaning. But it does feel so good to clack my fingertips on my old keyboard and see my thoughts appears as if magically on a screen. Slowly I am whittling away at writing again and cooking odds and ends when I'm not at work. My first recipe from this tome was "A deeply appley apple crumble," as if I could skip it. <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Molly Wizenberg</a> plugs it on the back and so I made it my first conquest.<br />
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It's simple, of course. Apples, brown sugar, lemon juice and a buttery crumb layer on top. I even dusted off my new ice cream maker. I got it for Christmas last year from my boyfriend and had yet to use it. I had to pack it away all summer in my subletted apartment where it was probably used as an ashtray like some of my other kitchenware. I had some buttermilk in the fridge--true buttermilk from when I had made cultured butter (see what I mean about the odds and ends)--so I made buttermilk vanilla ice cream. It could have been brilliant, but I scalded the sensitive buttermilk and it separated and formed a grainy end product. I should have just threw out the custard base and made an egg-less cold cream.<br />
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Apple Crumble<br />
2 pounds apples<br />
half a lemon<br />
1/3 cup brown sugar<br />
2 tablespoons butter<br />
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For the Crumble:<br />
6 tablespoons butter, sliced into 1-inch chunks<br />
2/3 cup flour<br />
1/4 cup brown sugar<br />
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Peel and core the apples and cut into 1/2-inch chunks. Heat skillet on medium high to melt butter. Toss apples, sugar and lemon juice from half lemon into skillet and saute until sugar dissolves and apples just begin to leach out juice. Carefully transfer warm apples to small baking dish.<br />
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Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In separate bowl, combine butter, flour and brown sugar for crumble. Rub butter into flour and sugar with fingers until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Sprinkle over top of apples. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-46057047894298567702012-09-10T19:27:00.000-05:002012-09-10T19:27:40.995-05:00LatelyLately, the only things I've been cooking for myself are salads. So I'm not so much cooking as chopping and combining. You see, I've got this new <a href="http://www.americastestkitchenfeed.com/" target="_blank">job</a> that involves lots and lots and lots of cooking. I'm spending 40 hours of my week up on my feet cooking away. Sometimes it's really hard, but mostly it's just great. I've gotten over the fear that they accidentally hired the wrong person and am trying to make as few mistakes as possible.<br />
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That means I'm back in Boston, permanently, and am nearly finished with my year living out of a suitcase. I never thought I would miss my bed so much. Or cooking for myself. I'm looking forward to my weekend projects making pies, cheese, bread. It's almost a bewildering experience to not have to cook for myself. It's quite a luxury to be so spoiled by Bert and my mom with homemade cookies and food hot and ready when I get home from work. There are things I will miss: the simplicity of only worrying about what happens between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m., people who love me so close I can hug them whenever I want, and the piles of money I'm saving. But it'll be good to be back on my own.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-65816078859785356282012-07-16T18:46:00.001-05:002012-07-16T18:46:10.381-05:00Fresh Lobsters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's a small tragedy that my mother is landlocked because she adores seafood. My dad, on the other hand, is happy as a clam to be situated close to the best red meat money can buy. When my dad came to visit me in Boston, he was charged with bringing back some lobster for my mom. That was all she wanted. Lobster. I poo-pooed the idea. I'm not sure she understood the reality of cooking lobster at home. It either comes in a plastic bag already cooked or still alive. She didn't quite get it, and even though she was mad at first, I think I made the right call.<br />
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She got some delayed gratification on her birthday a couple weeks ago. My sister stopped by Absolutely Fresh Seafood and picked up some enormous lobsters, which cost about three times as much as they do on the East Coast but whatever. They were still delicious, salty, sweet and fresh. The trouble was getting them into the pot.<br />
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One of the lobster--the largest one of course--had somehow lost one of the bands that keeps its claws clamped shut. My sister had completely buried them in ice, making it difficult to grab those arachnids. She had them chilling, literally, in the cooler for a couple hours. The dog strolled on by a dozen times and didn't notice them until one of them made a sudden movement--a last effort to escape the pot.<br />
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Avoid the water they did not. In better hands, things would have gone better. I regret to say that neither culinary school nor a three-month stint in Boston (and plenty of lobster) made me much good at grabbing these boys. For starters, I just couldn't touch them. I had to use a glove. Not that the gloves would protect me from their claws or pokey legs or overall grossness, but it was an effective placebo. The other problem we encountered was that my mom doesn't have a pot deep enough for lobsters. We had to use my Dutch oven for the two smaller ones, who had to be squeezed under the lid like a fat lady in a cat suit. It was not what I would call pleasant. But in the end, my mom was happy and we had a delicious meal.<br />
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Steamed Lobsters: serves 2<br />
2 lobsters<br />
Water<br />
Butter<br />
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Fill a large stock pot with a couple inches of water and bring to a simmer. Place lobsters into the simmering water. Cover with a lid and steam for 18 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool for five minutes. Melt butter and go to town.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-33701581589729277652012-07-08T16:11:00.001-05:002012-07-08T16:11:20.164-05:00Scorching--Not in Reference to the Weather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I haven't had a certifiable kitchen disaster in a long time. This one wasn't my fault--I swear it. Look at what happened and then let me explain.</div>
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It was the oven. Seriously. I woke up early on a Saturday morning first to take my car into the shop (a <i>great</i> way to kick things off) and then to make hors d'oeuvres and dessert for my good friend's bridal shower. Salad went smoothly, and I made pesto with fresh basil from my mom's garden. I had whipped up some peach curd and lemon cream to fill tarts, meanwhile the oven went berserk. I rolled out the crust and filled the tins perfectly. I mean perfect. It was smooth; it was even. The world will never know because right before I popped these babies in the oven, it locked and kicked it up to "auto clean" level.<br />
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My dad surveyed the situation pessimistically. Apparently the oven had done this before, and it required a mechanic and a specially-ordered part to be back in working condition. I didn't have time for that. So when the oven unlocked after we had turned it off, I <b>foolishly</b> put two of my three tart shells in, hoping to bake them quickly and be done with it. Obviously, that was stupid. Within five minutes, the oven locked itself again and commenced scorching my tart shells right before my helpless eyes. I flipped it off. But these newfangled computerized ovens have a mind all their own, and it refused to let me save the tarts until the kitchen smelled of smoke.<br />
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I was at a loss. With only two hours until the party, I patently refused to remake the crusts. Too stressful. At the last minute, I ran out and bought a frozen pie crust and baked it at my neighbors' house. I had to put the crusts in the freezer to cool in time to add filling. My friend was very gracious about the tarts and pies, which turned out good enough.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-89922456617065328162012-06-21T19:47:00.002-05:002012-06-21T19:47:22.191-05:00New England Clam Chowder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Reflecting back on my three-month stint in New England, it's easy to get stressed. I'm still dealing with the gastrointestinal repercussions of driving in Boston and putting way to much pressure on myself in school and at work. But when I think about the great food that I forced into my possibly ulcerated throat, nothing was more worth eating that the clam chowder at Petey's Summertime Seafood and Bar in Rye, N.H. </div>
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I stopped there for the first time with my dad when he came to visit. We thought the line out the front door before the doors opened for lunch boded well. My dad is not a big seafood fan, and it has been a bone of contention in our family. My mom loves fish, but whenever she served it for dinner she would have to make something else for him and my youngest sister, Emily. He was a more than a good sport to indulge my craving for seafood on our day to the coast. In fact, I feel that I may have converted him. </div>
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I ordered a cup of clam chowder and some fried clam strips while he went with baked shrimp--shrimp happens to be on his very short list of edible seafood. It was a brisk day on the beach, so the hot chowder was welcome when it arrived. I offered him a taste. "When I just might give it a try," he said whilst gingerly dipping his plastic spoon in my cup. </div>
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Clams, potatoes and onions were packed into the thin opaque broth that tasted like it might be perfect for mermaids. I'm so used to those thick, almost pudding-like, chowders garnished with cheddar cheese like baked potato soup. This was not that at all. It was completely absolutely fish-y, not disguised at a tuna steak or mixed into a lobster mac-and-cheese. This chowder was boldly clam-tastic, and my dad, fish-hater, was eating it up. He promised me on several occasions "This will be my last bite." But then he didn't put down his spoon, and I couldn't very well deny him even though I could have easily polished off the entire cup. </div>
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I came back several weeks later with my friend <a href="http://dogjustfarted.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">David</a>. We didn't skip the clam chowder and both sprung for Petey's famous lobster rolls, which, for Midwesterners like myself who are unfamiliar, is a sandwich of bread filled with a lobster-mayo salad. Big deal, let me tell you.</div>
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Petey's, if you couldn't tell by the yard art in the top photo, catches its own lobsters. The second time I went to the restaurant, the boat and at least half the cages were missing--surely put to good use drawing in the days catch. I don't know that it could get any fresher, about 100 yards from the beach.</div>
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-37096348177014256192012-06-18T12:12:00.000-05:002012-06-18T12:13:19.058-05:00Barbecue and a Chocolate Cake<br />
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After what one could label a tedious 24-hour drive, I have arrived back home in Omaha totally broke and on the mend. My acid reflux, which had become something of an obsession (re: I troll the Internet at all hours trying to come up with a breakthrough), has lessened ever so slightly but enough, although I am still abstaining from all things fun, which is to say beer, spicy food, coffee, tea and carbonated beverages.<br />
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Part of my healing process shall be to do some cooking, and yesterday being Father's Day, I had a great opportunity to thank my dad for all his love and support during the Boston internship by spoiling him with barbecued beef short ribs and a triple-chocolate cake. He deserved that and more. Really, he's the best.<br />
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Unfortunately for the Internet, I signed one of those pesky nondisclosure agreements with America's Test Kitchen and cannot reproduce the recipe here. However, you are in luck because the recipe is featured in this month's Cook's Illustrated magazine. Let me entice you to purchase the magazine for this (and an awesome grilled jerk chicken recipe that I can't eat right now because of the habanero chile). Beef short ribs are maybe a little bit of a restaurant secret. Braised beef short ribs was something I was taught almost right away upon entering culinary school. You can get a lot of bang out of those ribs. The cut has a lot of connective tissue, making it pretty tough unless you cook it for a long time at a low temperature, at which point it becomes that melt-in-your-mouth meat.<br />
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Contrary to everyone else in the world, I have actually not been a huge fan of beef short ribs. There is a lot of fat in the cut. A lot. And it's that chewy, collagen-esque fat. It is always a heavy meal, especially when braised and all that fat just sits there in the stewing liquid and solidifies all over your leftovers. This technique solves that problem by roasting the ribs that are coated with a general rub. The fat melts off and you leave it in the pan when you move the ribs to the grill where they are treated to a mustard glaze. The glaze is the real ringer in this entree. It's mustard, vinegar (a personal favorite ingredient) and brown sugar. You glaze the ribs every half hour until the ribs gets this sweet-and-sour crust on the outside. The meat is completely tender once your break through that delectable outer layer.<br />
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We were stuffing ourselves not wanting to leave any meat behind. But once we had our fill, the family dog, Shelby, was more than happy to clean the meat completely off the bone and gobble down the last layer of fat and collagen right next to the bone. It was astounding really. Our eyes had not yet witnessed her skill at tearing through tough meat. She really such a wussy dog--she can't even jump high enough to get into the truck and this is a large golden retriever--we were impressed that she could rip the meat, clean off. <br />
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Not one to disappoint, I'll leave you with a different recipe. One for a Brooklyn Blackout Cake. We made it in my cakes class at school and I subsequently featured it at a Sukkot dessert reception where I worked last fall. My dad went straight for the chocolate on the buffet and requested it for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I held off until now, and I am happy to report that the cake came off without a hitch. It's not perfect by professional standards, but I think I may have finally moved beyond my <a href="http://www.foodeaten.com/2010/05/meltdown.html" target="_blank">early</a> <a href="http://www.foodeaten.com/2010/12/few-bad-decisions.html" target="_blank">cake</a> <a href="http://www.foodeaten.com/2011/09/cupcakes-and-broken-dream.html" target="_blank">traumas</a> with a little practice and the help of a screaming instructor. I present you with the Brooklyn Blackout Cake: a moist chocolate cake with a chocolate pastry cream filling and chocolate-butter frosting. </div>
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<b>Brooklyn Blackout Cake</b></div>
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Cake:</div>
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1 1/2 cups flour</div>
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1 cup cocoa powder</div>
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1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder</div>
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1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda</div>
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1 teaspoon salt</div>
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2 cups granulated sugar</div>
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2 eggs</div>
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1 egg yolk</div>
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1 cup buttermilk</div>
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1/2 cup butter, melted</div>
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2 teaspoons vanilla extract</div>
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1 cup brewed coffee</div>
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Filling:</div>
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1 cup milk</div>
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pinch salt</div>
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1/4 cup sugar</div>
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1 egg</div>
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2 tablespoons corn starch</div>
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2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped</div>
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Frosting:</div>
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4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped</div>
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11 tablespoons butter, at room temperature</div>
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1 2/3 cups powdered sugar</div>
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2 teaspoons vanilla extract</div>
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Mix dry ingredients including flour, baking powder and soda, salt, cocoa powder and sugar. Whisk to combine. </div>
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In separate bowl, combine eggs, buttermilk, butter and vanilla. In bowl of standing mixer, add wet ingredients to dry. Mix for one minute until combined. Pour in coffee and mix until smooth. Divide evenly into two nine-inch cake rounds that have been greased. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 35 minutes until toothpick comes out cleanly. </div>
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To make pastry cream, warm milk and salt in a saucepan on medium-low heat until steaming. Meanwhile, whisk egg, sugar and cornstarch. Pour hot milk slowly over egg mixture, stirring continuously. Pour entire mixture back into saucepan and cook over medium heat until thickened. Pour hot pastry cream over chocolate. Stir until smooth as chocolate melts. Place in between layers of cake once cream is cooled. Assemble cake before making frosting.</div>
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For frosting, melt chocolate in microwave by pulsing and stirring frequently. Cream butter in bowl of standing mixer. Add powdered sugar and cream again. Finally, pour in vanilla and melted chocolate, mix until smooth. Frost cake before icing is cooled because it will harden at room temperature and be difficult to spread. Decorate outside with crumbs from evening out cake layers or leave plain as I have here.</div>
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-69468676467532028942012-05-14T20:32:00.001-05:002012-05-14T20:32:17.447-05:00Goodbye My Dear Coffeemate<br />
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I have sworn off coffee, and actually I'm quite pissed about it. Some people chain smoke, do recreational drugs, do prescription drugs, have loads of casual sex while gambling. These are the people who should have acid reflux not me. Coffee is my drug. I want it, need it. I love the way the warm mug feels cupped in my hands, I like to sip it on the weekend while gazing out the window pretending to journal, I want to share it with friends at brunch over eggs benedict. Its bitter-sweet-hotness is all I want in the morning. But no. One sip of coffee and there's a burning sensation running up and down my esophagus all day and a desire to burp without relief.<br />
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Every morning at work people are quietly sipping at their mugs while they chitchat and start cooking. One day, I had to have dry biscotti--no dipping. Someone brings us free Starbucks every afternoon and I have to order lemonade. I love coffee more than most people I know. I have a stovetop espresso maker and a French press plus an autodrip. It's been years, years I tell you since I've gone a day without coffee in the morning. But depriving myself of my only addiction is the only way to abate the heartburn. Or, looking at it from another view: Coffee is giving me acid reflux.<br />
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I suspect it has something to do with stress. I have been at it with more self-assessed pressure than I've experienced for a long time. I feel I have been given a great luxury in my adulthood: To work for a short period without making any money, and I really feel that I have to make the most of my opportunity at America's Test Kitchen. I have learned the coffee-free and very hard way that I need to cool it. I've tried that, literally, with coffee.<br />
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I'm experimenting with cold-pressed coffee at the moment. I made a concentrated batch on Saturday night and steeped it overnight at room temperature for Sunday morning. The cold-brewed coffee has a fraction of the acid that regular coffee does, however, the caffeine still packs a punch. And in the case of my Sunday morning coffee, quite a mean punch. I was jittery and shaking from the caffeine for hours. I suspect I need to pay better attention to my one-to-three ratio. When I have the recipe down, you'll be the first to know.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-5060599081269126712012-04-23T16:45:00.003-05:002012-04-23T16:45:41.051-05:00New York CityI've had a setback in eating my way along the East Coast. Just when things were getting good on the ultimate food tour of New York City with my friends Thu and Eli as guides, I got the worst acid reflux. It had been bothering me for a couple weeks: that serving of calamari between games of Settlers of Catan and Bang Bang, the dim sum in Chinatown for Saturday brunch, red wine at dinner. But it all came to a head after I topped off a lunch of pastrami and matzah ball soup at the 2nd Avenue Deli with some grapefruit-flavored soda at Mario Batali's Eatily. A knot formed in my stomach, it twisted and refused to abate to make room for a pleasurable sample of baguette at Amy's Bread in the Chelsea Market and the perfectly brewed coffee in the Meatpacking District. I couldn't muster it. I had stuffed myself full of nosh at the deli and had to let me eyes do the rest of the feasting. In the end, it was nothing a few Tums couldn't neutralize in time for some great phad see ew and a couple cocktails.<br />
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Thu and Eli, friends from college, were the best tour guides. We slept in late and touched, smelled and photographed every edible item south of 42nd street--at least it felt like it.<br />
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Matzoh ball soup at the 2nd Avenue Deli--it was recommended to me by one of my old coworkers, a true deli fanatic.<br />
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Thu and Eli took me to Koreatown, which had the most incredible pastries and cakes. They were all completely beautiful and without flaws--I could never work there.<br />
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The iconic Flatiron--I adore this building.<br />
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Cheese at Eatily.<br />
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Fresh produce at Eatily, a market to end all markets.<br />
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I finally got to see Central Park. It has been the most incredible spring. The trees have had blossoms for an entire month or more. In Nebraska, the flowers on trees are so fleeting.<br />
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Inside the Chelsea Market</div>
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Lunch in Central Park before heading back to Boston. It was barely warm enough to warrant eating al fresco, but it being spring, we braved it.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-7179806551878799892012-03-12T19:58:00.001-05:002012-03-12T19:58:24.541-05:00The First Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've started my second week at the internship and frankly I'm almost too tired to post a blog update. There's all this new stuff to absorb that can be a bit overwhelming but also exciting. Little things like getting to work now take a lot of focus (and time). I rely heavily on my trusty iPhone to navigate me in and out of Boston's many squares. So far it has been a lot of fun and a lot of food.<br />
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Aside from all the tastings at work, there's Bert and Linc, my host family, who are hellbent on fattening me up for summer bathing suit season. They're very worried I could go hungry and serve me fabulous home-cooked meals nearly every night--plus wine. I am spoiled. Then there are the bakeries always just a jaunt away. My second day here I went a little out of my way to pick up some desserts at this local grocer called Butcher Boy. Their display case was impressive, featuring mousse pastries and sponge cakes. I got a flourless chocolate cake that was decorated with gold leaf, tiramisu and the best, a double-layer sponge with mascarpone lemon filling. It was so light (tasting only).<br />
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I also had to stop by the Clear Flour Bakery, which is on the other side of Brookline from the ATK office and has a line out the door pretty much every day. My instructor back home told me it was a must see. I even tried to volunteer there, but they don't take any. And yesterday, on an exploration through the North End, Boston's Italian neighborhood, which is still very Italian, I stopped with Craig and David at Modern Pastry for a chocolate cream filled cannoli. It's a good thing I do quite a bit of walking ...<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-12398922811389261412012-03-02T09:59:00.002-06:002012-03-02T09:59:45.304-06:00Here's to Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Reporting here from a village outside Boston, Mass., and my has it been a whirlwind of a winter. In brief summation, my grandma's health went downhill very quickly after Thanksgiving and she passed away near the New Year, and I was pushed in a class beyond what I thought I could handle. I almost gave up and walked out a couple times, which is not something I've ever considered before (except when completing long runs on my college lacrosse team).<br />
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In the end I think I'm glad I learned the lessons and I feel very capable of handling whatever is thrown at me in my career because nothing could be worse than that class. And it's not that the class was bad because on the last day, when I was busy screwing up Italian buttercream, I had an epiphany: I realized that I am confident enough in my intellect to not be phased by a mere mistake. Mistakes happen and people get angry over spilled milk all the time, but that mistake says nothing about me as a person. No, that's not true. That and all the many other errors I made and will make in the kitchen say a lot of about me: That I am a person not afraid of screwing up, which is exactly the kind of person I want to be. I think that's what my instructor wanted me to take out of the class. I doubt she achieves that very often, but I think she would be proud. And even if she isn't, I am.<br />
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That doesn't get me to Boston. Knowing that plating desserts is probably not my forte, the world can be thankful that I scored an internship at America's Test Kitchen, which is based in Brookline, Mass. That's right folks, THE America's Test Kitchen, the one that publishes Cook's Illustrated and has a PBS show featuring a man with a bow tie. I start Monday.<br />
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I have many many feelings on the subject (I proudly embrace my emotions thank you): nervousness, excitement, nastalgia. I left Omaha in a hurry with a large and bouncing potluck and a week of intimate dinners to force my friends to remember me by. I hope they think of me whenever they eat something tasty! (A lofty goal.) I finally made my way back to my home kitchen where I squeezed fresh blood oranges for a gin cocktail and wrapped prosciutto around dried figs and parmesan cheese for an hors d'oeuvre. No one saw when I ate the imperfect pieces of fig in the middle of production or scolded me when I picked the few seeds out of the juice instead of straining them. I played the music loudly and sampled the cocktail well before anyone arrived--just to make sure it was OK. It more than satisfied.<br />
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Here's to many more potlucks and intimate dinners in my future.<br />
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Blood Orange Gin Cocktails: adapted from <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/blood-orange-gin-sparkler-recipe.html" target="_blank">101 Cookbooks</a><br />
Yields One Cocktail<br />
2 ounces gin<br />
2 ounces blood orange juice<br />
2 teaspoons simple syrup<br />
2 ounces club soda or tonic water<br />
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To make the simple syrup, combine equal parts water and sugar in a heavy saucepan and bring to a boil to dissolve sugar. Let cool. Combine the gin, juice and simple syrup. Pour over ice and top with club soda.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-8788417594194561862012-01-30T10:13:00.001-06:002012-01-30T10:13:16.709-06:00Pear Tart and Panna CottaI'm just making a quick post to update with some photos of my most recent dessert platings. My baking production class has become quite time consuming, and with a bar mitzvah at work last weekend and a stage at the Grey Plume this weekend, I have had time only to work and watch an hour of television before I go to bed. I'm hopeful that this week will provide some respite from that schedule. I'll only be spending 9 hours at school today!<br />
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Last week, my desserts were featured once again at the Sage Bistro. I made a pear and almond tart and a coconut-mango panna cotta. In the end, I did come to love both desserts but it took time for them to grow on me. I was initially excited about them, but last Monday I was disappointed with the caramel sauce and the pastry cream filling. I tweaked them the next day, but it wasn't until I was plating them on Thursday evening that I really adored the tarts. I finally finally finally mastered the tart shells with a new trick (top secret). The panna cotta, once it set up, was just beautiful (if you ask me). I love the clean lines and the tuile top. It looks like it belongs at a black tie event. I am satisfied.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-57448001022062441952012-01-08T22:43:00.001-06:002012-01-08T22:45:25.691-06:00More Foibles in PlatingI have been forced lately to think about my personal aesthetic. In the past, I just buy or am gifted my style. I don't think much about it. For a while, I would follow fashion blogs and pull away ideas, but now I need to apply what little I know about design to what I know about food, and more specifically pastries, to present it in a visually pleasing manner. This is a challenge. I normally put on a plate as if there were TV-dinner compartments. One spot is for vegetables, one spot for meat and another for potatoes. Desserts go on small plates and are garnished with a large dollop of whipped cream. In many ways, I ascribe to the school of thought that one shouldn't judge a book by its cover. That saying can get one into trouble. While true, if a book has a beautiful cover but not substance it will be cast aside. However, giving no thought to exterior presentation at all shows a laziness which is fine when serving dinner for your family or friends but is not acceptable when you expect someone to be impressed or better yet to lay down money for a good or service.<br />
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So I've been thinking about my personal style lately. After contemplating my wardrobe choices on a very very long road trip I have come to a few conclusions about myself. I like simplicity matched with a bit of flair. I own a large volume of plain T-shirts in various colors, mostly short-sleeved, and with differing neck-lines--boat, crew, v-neck--to name just a few. I wear three pairs of jeans: skinny, higher-waisted flairs and white jeans. I have one jacket, with a herringbone pattern, that I wear all the time along with this one pair of moccasins (brown) and subdued gladiator sandals. All boring, except for this one element: a pin. I got the pin at a clothing exchange with friends. It is completely singular and must be handmade. It is an old pocketwatch with the workings removed. In its place glued, tied and somehow or another way affixed is delicate drapings of chain mail, small rhinestone daisies and a large and somewhat gaudy plastic-pearl clip-on earring. I put a safety pin through the top of the brass pocket watch and it has hung galantly on my jacket for two years now. That is the perfect point of style for me. Minimal and simple and then there's this one piece of intrigue. I like scarves, funky sunglasses, I tuck my T-shirts into my pants to show of a belt. I have this one necklace that I bought in Spain for 6 euros in 2004. It's black with gold etchings of birds and flowers chiseled out of it. So what I want to learn and to refine is how to present a dessert that is delicious while being simple with just a touch of flair.<br />
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I am discovering there are as many ways to dress a plate as there are to dress a person. For instance, there's flashy with too much going on:<br />
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There's skill with a lack of a focal point:<br />
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There's trendy to a point of silliness:<br />
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What I want is minimalism with a point of interest:<br />
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The shape is nice, flattering. The goods are well made. Everything is great about this outfit. Her skirt is the obvious focal point, but it all shows off the person--her hair, her great body (jealous) and her cute face. There aren't these beautiful pieces distracting people from how lovely she is. Here is a reinterpretation of a lemon tart. We can't actually taste it, but the elements look well executed. The lemon curd is creamy and lump free, as does the meringue. The crumb layer appears to add some crunch. It's a basic tart presented in a different way. If only I could come up with something like this.<br />
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Last week, I made chocolate pots de creme. My instructor was insistent upon them being chocolate--not mocha flavored, not chocolate-hazelnut or chocolate peppermint. Plain but rich chocolate. The challenge is how to present it in a way that exhibits fine technique and good ingredients. I ended up using Tartine Bakery's recipe--no surprise there--which was rich and bitter and perfectly creamy.</div>
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I started with a quenelle of creme fraiche on the suggestion of the bakery student manager. I liked the plating below--looks like the last pedal left on a flower. However, no one agreed with me. I do really like the whipped and sweetened creme fraiche. It's something I hadn't tried before but worked nicely--it had that bit of sourness to give it one more piece of flavor.</div>
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At the suggestion and with the help of classmates and the TA, I flooded the top of the pots de creme with caramel creme anglaise. I then added a garnish of chocolate sauce. I learned that garnishes should be present only if they add something to the dessert--an idea I love but which can make plating trickier.<br />
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I came back from break with an idea for a triple chocolate pots de creme with a white chocolate creme anglaise and milk chocolate sauce. My instructor thought flooding the top with plain cold creme would be better along with some chocolate shavings. I'm not too crazy about the chocolate shavings because thinking of garnishes and desserts as a whole it's not much, however, the plate was just so white without the chocolate. I don't have a photo of the final dessert, but I'm pleased and hope that my efforts will come more easily in the future.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-89075050921046370262011-12-19T10:04:00.001-06:002011-12-19T10:04:26.012-06:00Lessons in Plating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One great thing has happened that directly impacts this blog: I have an iPhone! Which means that I have a decent camera with me at all times, ready to document all my culinary adventures. And believe me, there have been a few this past week.<br />
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Right now, I'm enrolled in baking production class. It meets twice a week for like 10 hours--until the school's restaurant Sage Bistro closes on Monday and Tuesday--and we make the baguettes for the restaurant along with any desserts for catered events. The class meets at the same time as the Plated Desserts class, which essentially has students be the pastry chef for the bistro for the quarter. There happens to be only one student in that class this quarter, and she is responsible for producing four completely unique desserts each week. So alleviate her insanity, our instructor is having different students from my class fill in to help her each week. I got to go first, along with my friend Katie. Let me say, thank goodness I had Katie to bond with, freak out with and laugh with because it was a complete cluster.<br />
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We we responsible for two desserts: creme brulee (pretty easy really) and this thing called a tian (refer to the strawberry-orange dessert displayed above). I would be very happy to never make that dessert again.<br />
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The thing was Chef Mar's idea. She brought us a print out of the concept: cookie, marmalade, mousse, and packed with fruit. She said we could reinterpret it how we wanted. So we made a sable cookie, used some in-house marmalade, I made an orange-vanilla bavarian cream stabilized with gelatin, and then we chopped up a bunch of fruit. Monday morning before the restaurant opened, Chef Mar hated it. It was all wrong, she said. The fruit looked disgusting--it kind of did. Katie and I were clueless. I had no idea how to fix it. Finishing things is not my forte--Katie is much better at it than I, but we were both at a loss. Finally Chef Mar came over and showed us what to do, but not after an agonizing period during which time we flubbed around with the dessert. We got out of the kitchen after more than 12 hours of work without more than a 15-minute break then we turned around and came back the next day for more.<br />
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I had made a batch of the mousse on Monday to use Tuesday and Wednesday, except that by the time we left the kitchen at 10 p.m. or so the mousse was still a runny mess. I was paranoid that it wouldn't set and that there wouldn't be enough time to make another batch and set it so that it stood up on the plate long enough to travel from the kitchen to the dining room. The only way I got any sleep was to give it up. I thought, "There's nothing to be done now. I'll just arrive and remake it." But Tuesday, miracle of miracles, the mousse was solid enough to work--barely. Tuesday went much better. Katie and I both had a handle on what we were doing and what to expect, and we left planning to leave everything to the student managers on Wednesday and Thursday. That is until some of the Table Service students tried to eat our dummy dessert.<br />
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We had to make a false dessert to display to the restaurant's customers. The creme brulee was really, but the tian--not being shelf stable for hours--needed a stunt double. Katie made this perfect model out of Crisco and a little food coloring. It looked so realistic that the students got hungry and ate the creme brulee and started in on the mousse. The student manager caught them before they finished it, but they had effectually ruined the dessert. I got called in to remake the dessert for Thursday's service. What a week.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-55139864332125474372011-12-10T15:18:00.001-06:002011-12-10T21:23:00.466-06:00Deer Tenderloin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I had four or five paragraphs written out about this deer tenderloin, but things just kept rambling on and on very amateurishly so I deleted it. There were all sorts of ponderings about life and blogging and eating and dating--trust me it was boring. Just look at the photos.<br />
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I cooked the deer, brought to me straight from the woods from my friend Dan, with a fennel and crushed bay leaf rub. I've used it before on pork tenderloin--quite tasty and not at all as weird as it sounds. Try it with this season's trappings.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-70473756361432739902011-12-03T13:36:00.001-06:002011-12-03T20:56:50.382-06:00Me Oh My, I Love Pie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm usually a nut for pumpkin pie at Christmas and Thanksgiving, but I have lately been converted to the pecan variety. I've been making this pecan pie for work quite a bit lately to pretty rave reviews, but I hadn't tried it myself yet until last week. It is great. No surprise here, the recipe hails from Tartine Bakery's cookbook. Every recipe is a knockout. This one is great with the addition of whiskey and my substitution, orange zest. Tasting the batter before the bake, the whiskey is overpowering but ends up perfectly balanced.<br />
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The recipe also calls for several kinds of sugar, as opposed to just corn syrup. It adds a lot of depth the pie, making it not just sweet sweet sweet--my usual complaint with pecan pies. I was careful to add extra salt here too if you're not using salt pecans. I just love salted nuts, it seems such a shame to miss the opportunity for salted and toasted pecans covered in caramel.<br />
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<b>Pecan Pie: <a href="http://www.tartinebakery.com/" target="_blank">www.tartinebakery.com</a></b><br />
3/4 cup sugar<br />
1/2 cup maple syrup, I've also used honey<br />
1/2 cup corn syrup<br />
2 tablespoons whiskey<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
1/4 cup butter, unsalted<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla<br />
3 eggs, lightly beaten<br />
2 cups pecans<br />
zest from one orange<br />
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One partially baked <a href="http://www.foodeaten.com/2011/11/three-posts-in-one-week-and-awesome.html" target="_blank">pie shell</a>.<br />
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In a small saucepan, melt the sugar, maple syrup and corn syrup together with the salt. Boil for one minute. Remove from heat and pour in a mixing bowl. Let cool a minute then add the vanilla, whiskey and butter. Stir. Then add the beaten eggs. Stir to mix. Pour the pecan in the partially baked pie shell then pour the batter over the top. Bake for 45 to 60 minutes at 350 degrees until the filling is just set.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-41199995591752395532011-11-29T19:53:00.001-06:002011-11-29T21:01:27.052-06:00Three Posts in One Week and an Awesome Tart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I hosted dinner last night for friends in honor of a couple friends who are embarking on big journeys this week. One friend, Liz, is traveling to the brand new country of South Sudan tomorrow morning. She has "humanitarian" stamped into her passport. Incredible. And my friend Justin and his girlfriend Audrey are moving to Colorado on Thursday. Justin has never lived outside Omaha before, so this is sure to be a great adventure, one that should be marked off by a homey dinner with friends.<br />
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It's finally starting to get cold here, and with leftover turkey on my mind, I made two pot pies. One all mushrooms and one chicken. It actually took quite a bit of searching to come up with a meal plan. Justin is a vegetarian, so there couldn't be meat, but it's not exactly prime produce season and I didn't want to serve a bunch of sides. I leafed through what seemed like all my cookbooks (sometimes I can get obsessive), and finally found something on <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/series/nigelslaterrecipes" target="_blank">Nigel Slater's column</a> about a mushroom shepherd's pie. It was an easy jump to pot pie (in theory). I have come to realize through my cakes final and my first year testing that I need a lot of work on finishing products. I start out strong, cover my bases with good technique, some expertise and quality ingredients. And then I've got to put the top on the pie, which it shall be noted was not in a pie shell, and I just throw it on. Of course it totally shrank in the oven. I may as well not have even topped it (the topless chicken pie turned out just fine).<br />
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I do this with everything I've come to realize. All projects. Writing a story; I get through the first draft and read through it and turn it in. I'll come back and give it some work, maybe. But by the end, I'm just doing the bare minimum. How do I motivate myself to put forth as much energy at the end as I do at the beginning when I'm absolutely slaving over coming up with the perfect lede for a story. Does anyone out there have any tips? One thing I can think of is practice. For example, if I'm well practiced at making petit fours, I can do them just as well after oh say 15 hours of work as I do after one hour. So there's something. But what about writing? If any of you have tips on that front, let me know!<br />
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I found three different kinds of mushrooms for the pot pie at <a href="http://www.wohlners.com/" target="_blank">Wohnler's</a>: dried shiitake that I rehydrated, baby portobellos and oysters. Slater recommended pairing the mushrooms with a sliced leek, sauteing, deglazing with red wine and and lemon juice and adding vegetable stock before popping it in the oven. A couple heaping tablespoons of flour was plenty to thicken the stock to a stew inside the flaky pie crusts, and the pot pie turned out exactly how I had hoped: a sweet and woodsy hash with chunks of mushrooms. I treated the chicken pot pie in the same way, except added some extra celery and carrots that had been chilling in the freezer for a loooong time (yikes), almost as long as the chicken.<br />
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But the highlight of the meal was definitely dessert. I saw a recipe a for hazelnut-plum tart on <a href="http://www.smittenkitchen.com/" target="_blank">Smitten Kitchen</a> and made a mental note to make it as soon as there was time. (And I'll be making it again for work this week.) In absence of fresh plums, I used cranberries. It. was. incredible. The hazelnut butter crust was was crunchy with a bit of sweetness and just a hint of salt. The salt was the kicker. I love a salty dessert. And then there was the center. Creamy baked custard filled in the cracks around the tart little cranberries that just bled out juice under the heat of the oven. And to top it all was the rest of the hazelnut crumb crust and a little whipped cream (homemade, might I add). My good friend Dan has never ever eaten more than a polite bite of any desserts I have made (he doesn't like sweets) asked for a second slice--there wasn't any.<br />
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<b>Mushroom Pot Pie:</b><br />
Filling: by <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/nov/13/nigel-slater-leek-mushroom-quince" target="_blank">Nigel Slater</a><br />
16 ounces assorted mushrooms, cleaned and sliced<br />
1 leek, sliced<br />
a couple tabs of butter and glugs of oil, enough to get all the mushrooms<br />
2 heaping tablespoons flour<br />
3 tablespoons red wine or marsala<br />
1 1/4 cup vegetable or chicken stock<br />
salt and pepper<br />
fresh thyme<br />
juice from half a lemon<br />
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Crust: from <a href="http://www.tartinebakery.com/" target="_blank">Tartine Bakery</a> Cookbook yields two 9-inch pies<br />
1 1/2 cups cold butter<br />
16 ounces flour<br />
1 cup ice cold water<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
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I mix smaller batches of flaky crust by hand nowadays. I slice up the butter and add the flour and salt to it. Then I crumble up the butter with my fingers until they're about the size of peas, some smaller pieces some bigger. Then I add about half the water and stir with a wooden spoon. Then add only enough water until the dough comes together. I knead it a couple times, then wrap it in plastic wrap and chill it for at least an hour before rolling. This recipe makes enough for two whole pies with the tops, if you conserve your leftover pieces.<br />
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For the filling, slice up all the vegetables. Heat the oil on medium in a stock pot. Saute the leeks and the heartier mushrooms like portobellos, then add the shiitakes and oysters and the like. Saute until the moisture is starting to leech out of the mushrooms. Add the flour and stir to coat. Deglaze with the wine and the lemon juice. Then add the stock. Season throughout cooking with salt and pepper. It should taste good before it goes into the shell. Pour into the shell, pinch the top closed, brush with an egg wash and bake at 350 degrees for an hour or until the crust is a nice golden brown.<br />
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<b>Hazelnut Cranberry Tart:</b> from <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/08/hazelnut-plum-crumb-tart/" target="_blank">Smitten Kitchen</a><br />
Crust:<br />
3/4 cup butter<br />
1 1/2 cups flour<br />
1/3 cup hazelnuts, toasted (this is a crucial step!)<br />
1/2 cup sugar<br />
1/4 cup brown sugar<br />
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt<br />
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Filling<br />
10 ounces fresh or frozen cranberries<br />
1 egg<br />
1 egg yolk<br />
1 tablespoon flour<br />
1/4 cup plus two tablespoons sugar<br />
1/3 cup cream<br />
1/4 cup milk<br />
1/4 teaspoon salt<br />
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon<br />
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Toast the hazelnuts until they are light brown and nicely fragrant. Pulse in a food processor until coarsely ground. Combine with the butter, flour, salt and cinnamon, blending using your hands until the butter is the size of a pea. Use about two-thirds of the crumb mixture and press into the bottom of a tart pan or spring form. Bake at 350 degrees until "set," about 15 minutes. Let the crust cool a bit.<br />
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Add the cranberries and arrange on top of the crust. In a separate bowl, whisk together the rest of the ingredients. Carefully pour over the cranberries. Bake at 350 for 45 to 50 minutes or until the custard has set and the top has browned a little. If you gently shake the tart and the center is visibly quite jiggly keep baking. But if it seems more solid than liquid pull it out, it will continue to set while it cools.<br />
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<br />Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7193248060944777520.post-30145860684230013462011-11-27T13:06:00.001-06:002011-11-27T13:46:39.499-06:00Breaded Squash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And the beat goes on. It would have been a great idea to post this recipe before Thanksgiving, but I'm not exactly punctual. Up until last week, I was barely treading water. I have reclaimed my life, if only temporarily. If there's anything I've learned going to school the second time around, it's to soak up the free moments. I've got another two days off this week before winter classes start (International Breads, so excited), and I'm glad to spend a few minutes recording some recipes in this space.<br />
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I hosted another potluck probably three weeks ago now, and I found this easy fall recipe at <a href="http://sproutedkitchen.com/?p=3488" target="_blank">Sprouted Kitchen</a>, which is a vegetarian blog (some seafood I believe) with the absolute worst most disgusting photos you can ever imagine (sarcasm) and written by the ugliest meanest writer (lies, she's so gorgeous you want to hate her). The breaded squash turned out to be a real hit at the party though. There were a few pieces left at the end for me to nibble while cleaning up. I love winter squash. It's so hearty and bold. It's a vegetarian's best friend. I love that this dish is roasted--such a fall thing--with rosemary and thyme and a whole clove of garlic. I just love a kitchen that smells like rosemary and garlic. The rosemary comes straight out of the forest while that garlic is remotely offputting in a way that makes you want more--you know how you keep smelling that gym bag? This, my friends, is a winner.<br />
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<b>Panko-breaded Butternut Squash:</b><br />
1 butternut squash<br />
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs, smashed up a bit more than how they come in the bag.<br />
1 clove garlic with the bottom sliced off<br />
several sprigs of fresh rosemary and thyme<br />
olive oil<br />
salt and pepper<br />
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese<br />
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Peel and dice the squash into equally-sized portions. Place in baking pans.<br />
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In a separate bowl, combine the panko crumbs, which you will want to smash up a bit more than how they come in the bag so they really stick to the squash, parmesan cheese, and salt and pepper. Drizzle the squash with olive oil and toss to coat. Season a bit with salt and pepper--not too much remembering the seasoning in the bread crumbs. Toss the bread crumb mixture in with the squash. Press the crumbs into the squash if necessary. Add the rosemary, thyme and garlic to the pan. Roast at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until the squash is soft to the bite but not mushy.Lainey Seylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08769865388127949009noreply@blogger.com0