Oh Dear

Well, I survived. I made it through the Monday-night cake-decorating class, barely. Without assistance from my mother, I would be crumpled up on my parents' kitchen floor--still.

Things started out fine, er, rather, things started out OK. The cake only momentarily got stuck to the pan, but things were set by the time I got to my mom's house. I cut off the rounded top of the cake to my satisifaction, saying "Hey, that looks pretty good." However, my sister Emily (honestly and naively enough) said, "Oh, is it supposed to be crooked?" Thanks, Em. You may have been to young to recall all my cake icing debachles and have thus set the bar far too high.

Next, I set to work on the crumb coat, which is 1 cup of powdered sugar mixed with 1 to 1 1/2 tablespoons of water. It's drizzled on the cake and allowed to dry; it forms a hard-ish crust that makes the frosting go on smoother. Because I was only making a one-layer cake for last night's class, I decided to cut the crumb coat recipe in half. I should have thought that through mathematically, because yes, there was half the area but not half the surface area. I thought it was no big deal that I didn't have enough icing to cover the sides of the cake--this was a  HUGE mistake.

Here's me mixing blue into the icing for the base layer. Things are still going well, or so I think.

Still smiling before the icing goes on. I had the foresight to buy this gigantic cake tip that supposedly makes icing easier. Technically, it does, but my frosting was so thick it took a look of muscle to push it out of the bag and onto the cake.

Here we go. The entire time I was coaching myself: "don't mess up, Lainey, don't mess up."

Things start to get sticky, and I called Mom over to help turn the cake.

Damn, I ran out of icing. Cue the whining and cursing. Emily thought it was funny that the icing looks like a face here; I did not laugh.

I try spreading the icing along the sides of the cake and ACK, it won't stick and it's pulling off the cake forming a pool of crumbs along the edges. The whining turns to a wimper: "Mom, mom, it's not working." I am on the verge of a complete meltdown before my mom flies in and whisks the spatula away. She and Emily are in fits of laughter. Thankfully, I had enough good humor (barely, barely enough) to be chuckling between stomping feet. Mom was laughing and saying, "It's only your first time. You're doing better than Allison (my other sister who is teased for taking this same cake decorating class 10 years ago)." She was consoling because I was going on about I'm hopeless, what am I doing taking this class, I can't decorate a freaking cake, I'm a worthless human being. OK, I wasn't saying that out loud, but only a mother would know that was what was going through my head. I had plunged into the state of a toddler, whining and wimpering about a dang cake and begging my mom to save me, "oh but don't do the top, mom, I want to do the top, boo hoo!" What a two-year-old.

With the sides of the cake fixed (how did she do that?!), Mom returned the spatula to me and out of nowhere tosses a glass of wine into my hands. "Here, you just have some soup and wine." It's true, I hadn't eaten much all day (popcorn, chips and a muffin), probably with anxiety over having to ice that cake. I had a dream/nightmare about it the night before that I had to decorate a cake for the wedding of this boy I used to be like in love with a long long time ago and then I had to be in his wedding. Horrors! I am not that big of a person.

As you can see from the above picture, the cake ended up alright and my mom and Emily got the greatest kick ever out of my minor meltdown. We colored the rest of the icing while eating gumbo at the kitchen table. My mom begged me to come over again next week (I may have to) because apparently my meltdowns are highly entertaining.

Below is the finished cake. My attention to detail is evident by taking a close look (the piping gel is peaking out from under the icing), which is to say I have no thought for details. All I care about is if something tastes good and if it look reasonably nice--sort of "it's the inside that counts" of cooking.

And I do not have high hopes for the inside of this cake. I'm actually afraid to eat it. Just taking the top off the cake holder thingy, the smell of sugar slaps you in the face. I came home and brushed my teeth after class because they were covered in grimy sugar from the frosting. And the cake itself did not turn out (I think). It's incredibly dense. My mom actually spit out a piece of the rounded top when she tried it. And here's the thing with these fancy cakes: As far as I can gather, you have to use this buttercream frosting because it hardens to the right consistency. But it tastes awful. It's way too sweet and greasy. At some point in life, I changed over to liking dark chocolate better than milk chocolate. I prefer desserts flavored with fruits instead of laden with sugar. I can eat salty anything, but something overly sweet (like this cake) makes me want to yack. Thing is, I'm not sure I have enough determination to figure out how to make and ice a cake that I actually or that anyone actually wants to eat.

Correction: The cake is fine, as in edible. The frosting is way too sweet, but the cake itself turned out OK, nothing special, but totally edible.

Taking the Cake

Now for what's become a once-weekly installment of cooking. I must be a glutton for being busy--once my university class was over I signed up for a cake decorating class. I just replace one thing with another. The class started last week and meets at Mangelson's, a local craft store and actually my first employer way back 10 or 11 years ago. I walk through the aisles, which have been slightly rearranged and recall sorting shopping carts filled with beads and rhindstones. The store still has a popcorn machine.

Tonight's class should be interesting: I have to bring an already-frosted cake. I have never once been able to properly frost a cake--not ever--and I've had numerous chances. I've had cakes break apart on me, I've made frosting too runny, I've ran out of frosting midway through, you name the disaster involving the sugary-glue and I've done it. This time, I swear to follow the instructions. I'm going to make a crumb layer, and I'll even use Crisco instead of butter. My poor mom is perpetually the recipient of my awful cakes. She's the only one who would appreciate these efforts anyway. Get ready to be stunned mom--this one's for you.

This is what I'm aiming for: (I'll keep you posted on my progress)

May Berries

The only reason I had time to make this blackberry cake was because the last of six lacrosse games this weekend got cancelled because of lightning. I coach a high school lacrosse team in Omaha and signed them up for SIX games this weekend--complete madness, but the girls really were such great sports about it. As the thunderhead rolled in from the west, the sky was blueblueblue and dotted with puffy clouds to the southeast. Driving back to Omaha, I was racing the storm going in and out of the rain. It barely rained while I napped in the mid-afternoon and then cleared up in time for me to go on a run and bake. It was a great end to what turned into a pretty good weekend.

Megan is leaving soon--she's getting married and moving to Madison, Wis., this month. Spring cleaning is all very real as I wake up to boxes of stuff and half-empty walls. Moving on is so strange post-college. After graduating, everyone leaves, but not so this time. I know Megan is really excited to be living with Eric, but I also know she's nervous about finding new friends and a new job in Madison. It's bittersweet for me as well: a good friend is moving far away (she's the best listener ever), but I do have a pretty cool new roommate moving in. It's just this trudging along of life, I guess. A reminder to enjoy life in the celebratory moments (like weddings and graduations) but also when it rains and thunders for an hour but becomes a beautiful evening in the end. Enjoying life definitely includes making this cake.

I've made the cake once (OK more than once) before but with blueberries. The blackberries were on sale and the grocer. They were nice, a cross between the sweetness of a blueberry and the tartness of a raspberry. There aren't many pieces left, so if you want some, you better stop by today.

I'd Probably Dress Up in You

Yesterday, I saw that it got up to 84 degrees on one of those bank thermometers: I love it. Love it. Can't get enough of it. Soon enough people are going to start whining about how hot it is, but not me. I'll gladly bask in the sun on a sweltering day. We've got glorious things like popsicles, ice cream, cold beer, sun dresses, salads and swimming pools--all ready to make the heat fun.

By the time lacrosse practice was over, you could see the thunderhead rolling in. I pulled into the driveway and immediatly heard that our downstairs neighbor's air conditioner rattling. I thought, "ah how foolish, it's going to rain and cool off by 10 tonight." It happened before that. It started raining around 8, but the fire display didn't really kick into gear until later when you could swear for a minute or two you were enveloped in the cloud and only luck was keeping you from electricution. It's strangely so soothing: the beat of the rain, the clang of thunder and flashbulb of light. Ah yes, amid oil spills and mine explosions, at least God working as Mother Nature is consistent. You can't stop the rain.

Now that I've discovered a light and tangy (I hate that word) dressing, I predict this will be the summer of salads. The radishes were the best part of this medley. I never used to like them arranged whole with a side of ranch dressing--it's like a bitter bite of garlic. But sliced in this medley, it was just enough. Next time I would have used feta cheese instead of parmesan, and I would have been more mindful of my fingers when running the radishes up and down the side of a grater, but no blood was spilled in the making of this salad.

Cucumber-radish Salad:

1 cucumber, peeled and sliced

5 radishes, sliced

1 green onion

handful almond slices

feta cheese crumbles

turkey

this eggless parsley mayo

Slice the vegetables. Toss together with dressing. Enjoy.

Good Ol' Gourmet

I found this recipe in Real Simple while on the road. Picking up glossies is my favorite thing about airports. Last week when I went to Columbus, Ohio, I went through Vanity Fair, Vogue and Real Simple. I just love magazines; I love them in newsstands and I love getting them in the mail.

For the past few months, I've been looking for a replacement to Gourmet magazine. I cannot find one. Conde Nast sent me Bon Appetit as some sort of consolation for closing down Gourmet--me no like. It's a fine publication, but it's geared a little more toward families (If I want finger-food recipes to serve my kids, I'll read Family Circle, thank you.). Then its editorials are way subpar. I like Molly Wizenberg's column, but that's about it. The feature stories are less than half the length and not worth reading past the first paragraph. I was thumbing through old Gourmet issues recalling lengthy features that I read, rivetted, the entire way through. Gourmet's writers were people to be imitated, and its photography. I looked at the images, and I wanted to be there, eating with those models. Not so with Bon Appetit. Then there's Food and Wine. Meh. I tried a couple recipes that were only so-so. I have the same critique of its features--too short, too boring, too snobby about wine. Someone recommended Real Simple--it's OK, but I want a food magazine, not a magazine about cleaning my house, dressing fashionably and decorating. Saveur may be the only comparable replacement--I love its photography, but again, it lacks in the feature-writing department. Gourmet had such a well-rounded arsenal of feature writing: political issues, trends, personal narratives. I did not fully appreciate that magazine until it was gone.

Aside from subscribing to Saveur, which I'm still unsure about, I'm considering subscribing to The Diner Journal or Canal House Cooking. As I understand it, The Diner Journal comes out four times a year (with each season) for $36, while Canal House does three a year for $50. Canal House is 100 pages of recipes and photos (omg!), and TDJ is (I take it) more in the vein of a scholarly journal. Can anyone weigh in on these publications or others that have replaced Gourmet?

Meanwhile, here is the recipe for shrimp enchiladas from Real Simple, which were quite good though a touch too acidic and soupy (I blame myself for the soupy part--I was too hungry to wait for the volume to reduce!).

Puerto Rican Shrimp Enchiladas: from Real Simple

2 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 medium onion

1 bell pepper

2 garlic cloves

2 teaspoons paprika

1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

sea salt

1/2 cup white wine

1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes, drained

1 pound shrimp

1 tablespoon capers

1 tablespoon lime juice

1/4 cup whole milk, cream or half-and-half

8 tortillas

mild goat cheese

Chop the onion, bell pepper and garlic. Heat the oil on medium and add the onion and pepper. Saute until the onion is softened a bit, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the garlic, paprika, red pepper flakes and salt. Saute for another minute or two. Add some fresh cilantro (I didn't), the wine and tomatoes. Bring the liquid to a boil and then reduce heat to simmer. Simmer for 15 to 20 minutes until the volume has reduced and the liquid is thicker. Add the shrimps, milk, lime juice and capers. Continue to simmer for another 5 minutes until the shrimps are cooked through. Serve with tortillas, mild cheese and garnished with cilantro.

Spring Salad

It has been an explosion of spring. I came back from a trip to Ohio and the magnolia's were in bloom, along with the crab apples, violets, tulips, daffodils. Our rose bushes have even come back to life. It's as if winter never happened and things could stay this way forever. They won't of course., one swift wind and the magnolia blossoms will drop (many already have). Soon I'll be able to buy locally-grown produce at markets and farm stands, but in the meantime, I'm settling for stuff shipped in from Mexico.

Broccoli, asparagus and radishes. Exactly what the day called for (except that I couldn't find radishes and picked turnips instead). The broccoli and asparagus, warmed just to crisp-tenderness and brilliantly green, played subtly with bitter turnip slices and spring onions. I topped the salad with creamy toasted pine nuts and shavings of parmesan cheese. Drizzled with this Portuguese mayo-esque dressing (Portuguese to make it sound fancy and complicated), this salad, oh this salad. Though the dressing (it required emulsification--a word that draws fear and trembling) required a bit of fiddling, I came out victorious, by adding extra lemon juice. Really, it was a proud moment watching the mixture of whole milk, garlic, lemon juice parsley and olive oil go from just a mixture to a thick, creamy sauce with a few extra squeezes from a lemon. Eric declared the dressing light but flavorful, perfect--quite a compliment. I'll be making it again tonight.

And now to digress to something that is bothering me: my downstairs neighbors. They moved in just a month ago. My landlord called to say someone just signed the lease, and when I came back from out of town, they were there with their stuff in our garage and children's toys littering the yard. They bought a satellite dish, used our washer and dryer for a week (while we were using it! and without asking!!) and watch an excessive amount of TV (though compared to how much TV I watch, almost anything would be excessive), but all this is nothing compared to the sex.

My room is directly above theirs, and I can hear them every time they copulate. Every. Time. The first time I heard it, I came home from the Old Market at probably 1 a.m. Sliding under my covers, I said aloud to myself, "oh my gosh, is that ... moaning?" This is no bed-creaking, panting sex; this is moaning, grunting intercourse. Not only is it gross, it's grossly unnecessary. It has forever ruined Sideways for me because all I can picture is the scene from the movie when Paul Giamatti crawls into that couple's house to steal back the ring--those people are my downstairs neighbors. And they each have children, who I am absolutely positive can hear them. Why, you may ask. Because while it's not quite ridiculous that I can hear them seeing as my room is directly above theirs, but Megan has heard them whilst sitting in the living room. Sunday they did it twice, once in the morning, once at night. They keep me awake flaunting all the copious and apparently very good sex they are having, while I try to plug my ears and imagine myself on a beach, on a hike, anywhere but there.

Asparagus and Broccoli Salad: from 101 Cookbooks
handful asparagus spears
several stalks broccoli
1 tablespoon butter
1 turnip
1 spring onion
parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons pine nuts

Eggless Parsley Mayonaise: from David Lebovitz from The Portuguese Table
1/3 cup whole milk
2 teaspoons lemon juice
pepper
1 clove garlic
3/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons dried parsely or 3/4 cup fresh
salt

Chop the asparagus and broccoli into bite-size pieces. Melt butter in a skillet. Add the broccoli and asparagus, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and saute for a few minutes, until vegetables are brilliantly green. remove from heat and place in serving bowl. Toast pine nuts in skillet for a couple minutes, until they are lightly browned.

Chop spring onion. Slice turnips on the slicer side of a grater. Toss onions, pine nuts and turnips with green vegetables. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese.

Meanwhile make the dressing. In a food processor, blend milk, garlic, pepper and lemon juice until the mixture is frothy. If your processor has a hole, use it to pour in the olive oil. Mine does not, so I removed the milk from the processor into a bowl and whisked constantly while ever-so-slowly drizzling the oil into the milk. The dressing should thicken nicely. If it doesn't (which mine did not), add a few extra squeezes of lemon juice. Stir in parsley and season to taste with salt and perhaps extra lemon juice. Toss over the salad and serve.

Sing Me to Sleep

I'm formulating a plan to reward myself in a month once lacrosse and my class is over. It will involve lying in a hammock, gardening, cooking, drinking iced tea and listening to music. Here are a few songs I love right now:

                        Excuses >>> The Morning Benders

                 Dance Floor >>> The Apples in Stereo

            Animal >>> Miike Snow

Bulletproof >>> La Roux

  The Modern Leper >>> Frightened Rabbit

Slow Roast This

It seems the only cooking I have time for these days involves frying and egg or slow roasting. Yes, slow roasting so I can leave things on the stove, head to happy hour at Dario's and return to homemade chicken stock a few hours later. I'm barely treading water, yet I somehow manage to make chicken stock. It seemed like such a waste to throw away a perfectly good carcass (I love that word). I had planned on adding this to a vegetarian lentil stew for a party tomorrow, but the chicken stock would make it, you know, not vegetarian. Details.

Chicken Stock: by Barefoot Contessa
1 pound chicken (she recommends whole chicken, whatever, I used used the leftovers)
1 onion, unpeeled and quartered
3 carrots, unpeeled and halved
2 stalks celery, with leaves cut in thirds
1 garlic clove, unpeeld and halved
1 tablespoon dry parsley
1 teapsoon dry thyme
salt and pepper

Toss all that crap in a big ol' pot. Fill with water. Boil, reduce heat to a simmer and let stew for 4 hours. Pour through a strainer and reserve the liquid, throwing the vegetables away.

Apple-cider Braising

Last night was the first thunderstorm of the year here. It was spring in all its glory: downpour, lightning, thunder, leaky roof, even hail. Before that friends came over and we shared chicken, rice, potatoes, parsnips, fruit, mango popsicles and stories (and maybe a few yoga poses) with Dark Was the Night playing in the background. I finally braised chicken according to Molly Stevens instructions. Four hours passed with barely a blink.

My sister, her college roommates and a few extra friends make dinner for each other every single night of the week (here's their blog, including amazing photography from her friend Ryan). They take turns cooking for each other, so everyone only has to take time and money out to  once a week. My sister once made broccoli, by choice. Unbelievable considering our aversion to it as children.

The apple-cider braised chicken, recipe below, it did take a while. About two hours start to finish, though the last hour the chicken baking (er, braising, which Adam says means that it cooks with juices in a tightly-lidded pot)  and me finishing Night by Elie Weisel and then napping on the couch. Now that I've learned about browning meat before baking it all the way, things are crispier on the outside and juicier on the inside. That apple cider did quite a number on the parsnips, making them ever-so-slightly sweet and of a perfect balence between over- and underdone (so just right).

Gotta love the self-timer function.

Apple-cider Braised Chicken and Parsnips: by Molly Stevens
2 teaspoons olive oil
4 strips bacon
1 pound bone-in, skin-on chicken
3 spring onions plus 1 leek
2 1/2 cup hard apple cider
1 teaspoon dried rosemary
1 pound parsnips

Preheat oven to 325.

Heat olive oil in a large pot. Cook bacon in oil until its crispy. Remove and set aside. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons of the leftover oil for browning the chicken.

Rinse and pat (completely) dry the chicken. Smear with salt and pepper. Set the chicken skin-side down in the hot oil (I only cooked two pieces at a time). Let sear for a few minutes, turn once the skin has browned and crisped a bit. Brown all the sides and then remove the chicken and set aside.

Chop the onions and leeks. Peel and core the parsnips, removing their woody centers, and then julienne into matchstick pieces. Saute the onions and leeks in the oil leftover from the bacon and the chicken, taking care not to burn the onions. Once they're slightly browned, pour in 2 cups of the hard cider (I used Woodchuck). Using a wooden spoon, scrape up the browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pot. Bring cider to a boil and let the volume reduce to about 1/2 cup. Add the rosemary at this point, along with the remaining 1/2 cup of cider. Reduce the volume of the cider again to a generous 3/4 cup. Turn off the heat on the stovetop.

Arrange the parsnips on the bottom of the pot (they don't all have to touch the bottom). Season with salt and pepper. Sprinkle the bacon over the parsnips. Arrange the chicken skin-side down on top of the parsnips. Cover with aluminum foil and parchment paper that is nearly touching the chicken and drapes over the side of the pot (or if you don't have a fire-proof pot, transfer to a baking sheet or casserole). Lid it. Place it in the oven and cook for 25 minutes. Remove the pot from the oven, turn the chicken and bake it again for another 20 to 25 minutes, until the chicken has cooked through.

To serve, arrange chicken on a serving platter. Check to see if the parsnips are cooked through, if not, you can simmer them on the stovetop for a few minutes. Then the sauce slightly if necessary. It should be thicker than water but not thick enought to coat a spoon.

Trying Stirring Frying

In all my running about yesterday, I somehow managed to make dinner (though I neglected to clean up) and for the first time ever in my life I cooked steak (sort of). It's not steak in the traditional sense. I didn't fire up the grill--instead I sliced a ribeye into a manageable amount of meat for one sitting-plus-leftovers and made a stir fry. I started watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution on ABC, saw him make a chicken stir fry and practically started drooling. (That show is fascinating, btw.)

I admit I was pretty freaked out to be cooking steak. I had a strong aversion to it when I was younger--it just looked so gross to me, though now I think its ribbons of fat and flesh are beautiful. My mom always cooked steaks medium-well to well done, making them pretty tough/practically charred (sorry mom). (She also does this to hamburgers.) I never like steak until I realized I just like steak medium to medium-rare, but cooking it myself, I was a tad nervous I'd make myself sick. In fact, even while I was eating I was like, "oh, does my stomach hurt? Am I OK?" Don't worry, I survived.

Beef-vegetable Stir Fry: from Jamie Oliver

2 cups dry egg noodles (ramen would be good, just without the seasoning)

12 ounces steak, thinly sliced

vegetable oil

1 teaspoon fresh ginger, peeled and sliced

2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced

1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

sesame oil

soy sauce

lime juice

handul baby corns, halved (I freaking love baby corns!)

handful snow peas, chopped (I love these almost as much as baby corns)

handful shiitake mushrooms, chopped (I just now remembered I bought these expressly for this meal and didn't even use them, dang it!)

6 spring onions, chopped

cilantro to garnish

Heat the oil in a skillet or wok. Toss in the steak, ginger, garlic and red pepper flakes when the oil is hot. Sear the outside of the steak (or cook according to your preferences). Once the garlic and steak has browned, toss in a few good glugs each of sesame oil, soy sauce and lime juice. Remove from heat and pour into a bowl to set aside.

Meanwhile, bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the noodles according to the directions.

Return skillet to heat and add some more vegetable oil. Toss in the vegetables and saute for about 5 minutes, until they're heated through but not limp. Once the noodles and vegetables are finished combine the two in the skillet and toss to coat noodles with oil. Serve the vegetables and noodles then top each plate with the beef and sauce.