My Lovely Patch of Wilderness

I haphazardly planted herbs and vegetables this year (and a few impatiens). Last year was such a disaster what with the chiggers, lead contamination, snakes, overabundance of weeds and no tomatoes to speak of. Scoring the current apartment almost makes last year's ordeal worth it. Our current landlord fixes things AND has someone mow the lawn every week. Amazing. Our neighbors are fantastic: Pat gave me tips about weeds and has extended an open invitation for wine at his and his wife's fire pit; Eric the chef had a block party and loans me tools; and Patrick helped me push my car out of the snow. The only ones I'm not fond of are the downstairs neighbors who still use our dryer but no longer have loud sex (thanks to our awesome landlord). In fact, Amanda found a ginormous pair of men's underwear in the dryer that she tried to explain away as one of our friend's until she realize how big it was at which point she tossed it quickly on their washer.

I have got to get over it, but everything they do irks me: the dryer, the satellite dish, hideous lawn ornaments (an angry dog gargoyle, mushrooms and a stone starfish) and running the air conditioner when it's 70 degrees outside. Truly, now that they don't keep me awake at night, they keep to themselves, so it's not big deal. I hardly ever see them even though I'm out weeding in the backyard daily. They probably think I'm this crazy girl who hangs her washing on the line and is obsessed with her plants. It's true I'm totally obsessed.

I give Amanda and my mom daily updates on the progress of the plants. The tomatoes all have flowers and one even has the teeniest tiniest tomato. There is a little bity cucumber. And the herbs (dill, cilantro, rosemary, sage, thyme and two kinds of basil) are proliferating. The basil leaves are humongous and, come last weekend, were in desperate need of pruning. I could practically hear them speaking to me, "Pesto, we would make the best pesto. Put us in a bruschetta. Tear us into a tomato salad. Please, anything." Without ripe tomatoes, pesto was the best choice. I paired it with cream cheese and crackers at a barbecue, and it disappeared.

Pesto recipe here. I added a teaspoon or so of lemon juice to give it some zing.

Salmon with Creme Fraiche and Capers

Today I'm thinking about life. What makes a good one? What makes one happy? Does happiness equal a good life? Before I even start, I'm afraid I don't have any answer. I know the things that make me happy: coffee in the morning, just being with friends and family, cooking and eating, cooking and eating with friends, doing anything outside (doesn't matter what) but especially bicycling. But we humans, we're all so complicated.

I've realized lately how many things I'm afraid of. There are dumb things like spiders and close spaces, but then there are real things like being lonely (I hate being lonely), leading a boring life, being made a fool of, being left behind. But these are all things I'm just going to have to deal with. There will always be spiders and, geez, I make an idiot of myself on a regular basis. And as much as I wish I were immune to it, loneliness will find me some day or another. But then there's always the good things. I have the best friends you could ask for and an even better family. I live in a country where there is always food, though I realize some people are not so lucky. I guess, even though I don't possess everything I want and even some of the things I want more than anything, my life is pretty good even when I have to sit inside.

Salmon with Creme Fraiche and Capers: for one

(This is the easiest recipe, ever. Plus, it gave me the chance to use some of my herbs from my now prospering garden.)

1 salmon filet (with the skin)

1/4 creme fraiche

curry powder

salt and pepper

capers

dill

In a skillet, heat some olive oil on medium. Lightly salt and pepper the salmon. Place salmon filet in skillet, skin side down, and cover with a lid. The steam will cook the top of the salmon and the skin with be extra crispy. Cook until the salmon turns a lighter pink color and flakes all the way through when you stab it with a fork.

Meanwhile, stir together about a teaspoon of curry powder with the creme fraiche and season with salt and pepper to taste. Top the cooked salmon with the curry creme fraiche, capers and fresh dill.

Breaking Hearts

I typically get artichokes from a can or maybe a jar. Marinated and salty, I love the texture biting into the hearts, how the leaves sort of smush and juice seeps out. They are so Mediterranean--I can just see these hearty souls taking blasts of salty wind whilst clinging to the side of a Grecian cliff. More than likely, this artichoke came from California where it was hacked from its stem by a machete-wielding migrant worker. This was my first real artichoke. I liked it.

I followed Julia's instructions, except that I didn't boil it long enough so the pulp didn't quite slide off the leaves the way it's supposed to. The outside leaves were tough to tear off and tough to eat. But the closer to the heart we got, the more succulent. Amanda (the new roommate) and I pulled the meaty parts of the leaves off with our teeth after it was dipped in melted butter. It's hard to imagine snobby French people eating such an ugly vegetable and discarding sucked-on leaves right at the table, but that's what we did. I'm so glad my life is largely devoid of pretense.

Artichokes are just so weird (they're hairy!), but in a way, they are kind of beautiful. All those spiky leaves and the hair (some of which is quite pokey) protect the heart. It took a lot of pulling and pealing to get to the center, but I think it was worth it. I would try it again.

Boiled Artichokes: from Mastering the Art of French Cooking

1 artichoke
water
salt

Tear off the stem of the artichoke. Cut 1 to 2 inches off the top of the choke, then trim all the leaves using kitchen sheers. Wash. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Boil artichoke for 40 minutes. Serve with melted butter or hollandaise sauce.

A (so far) Losing Combination

After last week's grand cake success, I was overdue for an ego check, which came in the form of a tart. I was inspired by my prospering basil plants and ripe summer fruit to substitute the sweet-tart strawberry for the tart-sweet tomato. My mom pooh-poohed the innovation. I never listen to her, but this time, she was right. I'm convinced basil and strawberries could pair serendipidously, but not with feta cheese or creme fraiche.

Things went wrong how they usually do with me: I tried to cut a corner. I didn't want to make an entire pastry crust so pulled some old puff pastry out of the freezer. A good idea in theory, but the pastry (obviously) puffed up and expelled the egg-mixture all over the pan it was resting on (not the easiest cleanup). Aside from that though, the tart had an inedible quality to it. I was planning on bringing it to a party, but abandoned that idea and brought Jamaican Red Stripe instead. I tried it again the next day, hoping to pinpoint exactly what turned me off to the tart, but it wasn't worth discovering and I just spit it into the trash. Sigh. I can't wait for tomatoes.

Friday last week became one of those days on which nothing goes right, until I came back from a meeting to find Tender by Nigel Slater sitting on my desk chair. The tome is beautiful (a tome it is, the cookbook has more than 400 recipes in 500 pages). It's filled with artsy pictures of vegetables from Slater's garden in various stages of production. The photos aren't even needed with how Slater describes the food--my words feel pathetic in comparison.

Hail the Conquering Hero

I hate to prematurely toot my own horn, because this cake has yet to be cut into and eaten, but this photo at least proves that a cake I made and frosted existed in a perfect form. Once it was iced, I admit I started to get a little paranoid about inadvertently destroying it. I thought, "What if the roses have bugs in them that come out of the petals during the night and devour the cake?" Then when I was carrying it out the door of my apartment, down the steps, opening the garage (yikes) and placing it in the passenger seat, I imagined dropping it flat on its beautiful face.

The cake is currently safe and sound in my parents' fridge (in anticipation of my sister Allison's going away party tonight), that is until my sister Emily wakes up and runs her little fingers through the icing. She's probably doing it right now! She did. She licked it. Supposedly, you can't tell. Now if she could only resist taking another taste for the next eight hours--it's impossible. Once Allison wakes up, she'll try it. And then once my mom gets home from work, she's going to lick it too. These people have no control! The cake will probably be gone by the time the party starts! Because the cake is that good.

I made the same batter recipe as last time because it was just that splendid--just barely flavored with almond and orange, barely barely sweet. A couple days ago, I caved and bought Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook. This time, for the frosting, I followed the directions exactly. I read the recipes in advance and purchased two dozen eggs in order to have enough for the batter and the frosting. I heated the egg whites in a double boiler, using a candy thermometer to exactly 160 degrees and to the point at which the sugar had completely dissolved. I transferred the egg-sugar mixture to the KitchenAid and mixed until it doubled in size and fluffed out. The sugar gave the whipped egg whites a glistening sheen. It became sticky and gooey, sort of like a marshmallow. Adding the butter, tablespoon at a time, the frosting went from goo to cream. Soft, smooth, not-too-sweet. Completely glorious.

Those of you who aren't fond of cakes--you haven't had this cake. Martha Stewart and her team of chefs are genius. I was having a borderline spiritual experience in the kitchen last night, whipping butter, egg whites and sugar into submission. It was like the clouds parted and angels burst out in the Hallelujah chorus. The cake held the frosting, nothing broke, melted or crumbled to pieces. Swirls of spackle held the layers together, enticing onlookers. This cake wants to be licked, cut apart and enjoyed. It wants to be eaten.

Swiss Meringue Buttercream Frosting: from Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook

4 egg whites

1 1/4 cup granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups unsalted butter (at room temperature)

1 teaspoon vanilla (I also added almond extract)

Bring a pot of water to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. In a separate heat-proof bowl combine egg whites and sugar. Place heat-proof bowl in the simmering water. Begin whisking and do so continuously until the sugar has dissolved. Using a thermometer, whisk until the egg mixture reaches 160 degrees. Remove from heat. Using the whisk attachment (still obsessed with my KitchenAid), beat the egg whites until they are stiff but not dry and let cool while you're mixing (takes about 6 minutes according to Martha's directions).

Switch to the padder attachment on the mixer. Mix in the butter a couple tablespoons at a time until the frosting is creamy and smooth. Martha directs that if the butter separates from the whites, kick up the mixer speed until it unifies. Before finishing, turn the mixer on the lowest speed to remove air bubbles. Before icing the cake, mix with a spatula to remove more air bubbles. Expect the frosting process to make quite a mess--this means you've done a good job.

More Kale Please

Summer hit like a slap in the face. Last week, I went camping with friends to glorious, wooded, rocky, redneck southern Missouri--Thursday, it rained all day, Friday, it was sunny and 75, and then Saturday, bam, it was 90. And I love it. Love it. I have a theory or life philosophy that you can't complain about the weather being hot and about it being cold--you have to pick one or the other. It's supposed to get up to 90 degrees today and guess who still doesn't have their air conditioning on? This guy.

It's time to swim at the pool, go camping and fishing, turn off the oven and toss together salads (except for next week when I master the cake--I am determined to succeed, so get excited readers). I cannot wait until the tomatoes come in and I can make this salad. In the meantime, I discovered roasting greens until they're crisp. So it does involve an oven. But if fall is about soups, winter is about stews and spring is ... I don't know what spring is, recovery from winter? Then in summer, I'll keep it simple: crackers, soft goat cheese and kale chips drizzled with olive oil and salt roasted for 15 minutes at 350 degrees. I suppose we're still technically in spring, but I mean, once people start turning on their ACs and leaving them on, I think it's transition time.

I can barely remember this day back in February when my world was buried in three-plus feet of snow and it seemed like it would never melt. But Omaha in summer totally makes up for the howl of a Nebraska winter. I've already done the Wabash Trace Taco Ride once, in fact, I've been riding my bike about Midtown and Dundee for the past month or so. The farmer's markets have started, some even a few weeks ago. The College World Series will be here in a month, bring thousands of fans to the steamy hot grandstand at Rosenblatt. And then there's Shakespeare on the Green and, my favorite, the Summer Art Festival. Outdoor concerts featuring the Old 97s, the Faint, Spoon, Superchunk and the Morning Benders. Now if only I could round out the season with a summer fling.

The Meltdown

I'd like to blame some abstract cosmic force who is obviously working against me in the kitchen, but it's me. It's all me. I have an inability to follow directions. I don't plan on it. It just happens. I get to the bottom of the ingredient list and think "SIX egg whites! I have this meringue powder that should be a perfect substitute." And there it is. I've strayed ever so slightly from the instructions down the precipice and into the canyon.

Difficulty arose with my stubborn refusal to make another batch of hideous frosting. That buttercream frosting truly makes me want to yack. There was no way I was going to make an entire cake that I didn't want to eat. So I went to who we all know is the master of home baking: Ms. Martha Stewart. I decided upon her orange-almond cake with Swiss meringue buttercream--a buttercream recipe that calls for actual butter not Crisco. Using my new KitchenAid mixer (!) I whipped up the most delicious batter. The recipe calls for folding in egg whites--who knew how glorious egg whites could be when whipped to a frothy tower! So easy with the KitchenAid. The orange gave just a touch of zing to the moist cake littered with barely noticeable crunches of almond. For a filling, I used the remainer of the strawberry-peach-orange jam I made last summer.

I made an orange-flavored crumb coat, and moved on to the frosting while the crumb coat dried. We already know I substituted meringue powder for egg whites in the Swiss buttercream recipe--to my eventual detriment. But the frosting went on fairly smoothly, plus it's edible. A touch on the too-sweet side, but a fine balence when teamed with the cake. And I made the traditional buttercream frosting for the decorating portion of the cake--thank goodness. My sister Allison was standing by in case disaster struck but more to witness an emotional breakdown.

I carefully hauled my cake to the decorating class, taking every turn at calculated pace. One member of the class was not so lucky as I. By the time I waltzed into the classroom cake in hand, Desiree was red-faced and grumbling. Her cake broke en route--the top separated from the bottom and she was busy spackling it back together with the loathed buttercream. I offered a simpathetic glance and we mumbled about how horrible the frosting tastes--her fix was to substitute lemon juice for the water in the recipe (an excellent idea).

Together I and Desiree (my cake-decorating kindred spirit) fumbled through the final session. Once I coaxed my icing away from neon hues, I aced the roses. Desiree struggled with cabbage-like constructions until the light bulb clicked, and she got it too. I mastered the sweet pea, the simple rose bud, the leaf and the ribbon with almost no tribulation. Transferring my skills to the cake was more of a challenge, but it came out pretty well. I was the first one in the class finished with my cake, received my "diploma" and headed out to meet up with friends. I would trade my spendid cake for a meal of stir-fry.

I precariously balenced my cake in the front seat next to me and drove off. A little frosting transferred to my purse, so whilst driving I lifted the cake and balenced it in my right hand and steered with my left. There I was driving down Center Street with a cake in one hand. Not five minutes into the drive, I noticed that the butter-based icing was indeed melting in the 85-degree evening heat. My green-dot border was not-so-slowly sliding down the side of the cake and onto the stand and my arm. At a red light, I placed the cake back in the passenger seat. I couldn't have cried--it was too funny. I'm a lost cause with the cakes. If only Desiree could have seen me, she would have felt so much better about her own cake. I parked quickly at Dan's and ran up without even grabbing my purse. Once inside, Laura and Adam licked off the dripping frosting with their fingers while Dan snapped a quick photo (below). Such a delicious disaster.

Here are only the successful portions of the recipes, including the buttercream, which does taste horendous but works great with the roses.

Orange-almond Cake:

1 cup butter plus more to grease pans

1 1/2 cups flour (sifted)

1 cup plus 3 tablespoons sugar

6 large eggs, separated

orange zest from 2 oranges (I skipped this)

2/3 cup orange juice

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup coarsely ground almonds

pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 350. Grease two 8- or 9-inch baking rounds and sprinkle with flour (that's a new trick I learned). Set aside.

In a medium or large bowl, beat together the sugar and egg yolks until light and fluffy with the whisk attachment (because I have that now!). Add the orange juice and zest and both the extracts and mix well. Using the paddle attachment, gradually mix the almonds and then the flour into the batter until combined. Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk egg whites until soft peaks form. Add the salt and the last 3 tablespoons of sugar. Beat until stiff but not dry. Set aside.

Melt the butter. Fold the butter into the batter using a spatula. Then gently fold in the egg whites, being careful not to deflate the whites. Pour batter into the two pans and bake for about 35 minutes, until cooked through. Let cool for 15 minutes. Turn out on a wire rack to cool completely.

Crumb Coat:

1 cup powdered sugar

orange juice

Put powdered sugar in a small bowl. Pour orange juice into the bowl one tablespoon or so at a time (very slowly). Mix with a fork between each tablespoon. Add enough liquid to make the icing runny, but still viscous. It should be about as thick as corn syrup. Pour onto the cooled cake that has already been stacked (if it's a two- or three-layer cake). Let dry.

Buttercream Frosting:

1 1/3 cup vegetable shortening

2 tablespoons meringue powder

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon butter flavoring

1/2 teaspoon salt

5 or 6 tablespoons water

2 pounds powdered sugar (!)

In a mixing bowl, cream the shortening with the paddle attachment of a standing mixer (or just any old attachment for you commoners without a KitchenAid, yes, I'm already a snob). Add the meringue powder, vanilla and butter flavoring, salt and 5 tablespoons of water. Mix until smooth consistency. Add the powdered sugar one-third at a time. I left out probably 1/2 to 1 whole cup of the directed amount of powdered sugar and the consistency was totally fine (this was according to some tips from one of my aunts).

Add more water as needed to get the right consistency to frost a cake and/or make silly decorations like the roses and leaves (don't even ask me how to know what consistency is right).

The Coolest People I Know

It only took 23 or so years for me to realize how truly amazing my parents are. Before moving to Thailand, all I wanted to do was get away from boring America, boring suburbia, boring parents. One of the things I learned in Thailand and through coming home is that life is only as boring as you let it become. My parents, who I once thought were the epitomy of predictability, are shining examples of people who have found contentedness in everyday life. Sure not every day is a breeze, but at the risk of my own "hip" reputation, these people are cool.

Now that my sisters and I are older, they have a lot more time to pursue their own interests. They've been married 32 years now and are still totally in love--they still hold hands people! They are obsessed with playing tennis. I would often call their house on a Friday evening to catch Emily home alone because Mom and Dad were out with their tennis team. My mom gardens, which is something I would have thought to be the most boring, suburbanite thing one could do back in my high school years. In the summer, they ride their bikes from Millard to Dundee (probably 10 to 15 miles) eat dinner at the Dundee Dell and ride home. They go skiing on vacation or canoe the Boundary Waters. And my dad is an amateur carpenter. He made the table pictured above and below with his own two hands and a few saws. He makes furniture. And not just any old furniture, really really nice furniture. Furniture I would never be able to afford. So far, he's made me a desk, bookcase and now this 6-foot-long dining room table. My parents' entire house is furnished probably 50 or 60 percent with stuff made by my dad. That is cool.

Every Rose

Cupcake decorating went way way way better than the cake decorating near fiasco. There were no bag explosions, no meltdowns. And look what I can do. I can make a rose out of sugar and Crisco. And it actually looks alright. Again, I won't vouch for the taste. I couldn't eat even one cupcake. Too sweet. But my friends, thankfully, finished them off.

At the third session in the four-week cake decorating class, I learned to make a shell border (sort of), a number of different flowers and should anyone be in need of a cake topper in the shape of a clown, I can do that too, but that one will cost you.  

Megan and Eric were packing up their stuff all day last Monday before they left on Tuesday. After a long sweaty day, we met up for the last drinks with friends at the Dundee Dell. Our whole little group of friends came to hang out with only a half-hour notice. It's surreal to be saying goodbye to Megan. It's sort of like a chapter closing on life.

Back in Gear

I coach this high school lacrosse team, which is quite possibly the sweetest, most fun group of teenage girls one could encounter. It's been a great season, though incredibly time-consuming for me. My weekends are sucked away travelling to out-of-town tournaments--because I coach the only girls lacrosse team in the state of Nebraska, we have to travel at least two hours to play someone. There are two to three practices a week, plus pasta dinners and I haven't gone to one single pasta dinner. I scheduled them all, but I bow out every time. I'm trying to grasp onto a shred of sanity, and that involves making time to cook. Yesterday was the last pasta feed of the year (minus the end-of-the-year party), and the girls were asking "Oh Lainey aren't you going? We made the best cake ever! You have to try it." I was tempted to go, I really was, but this tart was calling my name all the way from my home in Dundee to way-out West Omaha. After a day spent indoors, doing a number on some flour with a pastry blender and chopping some vegetables to bits is how cope with the overabundance of fluorescent lighting in my life.

Once I got home, I realized I didn't have enough flour. In typical fashion, I substituted polenta for what I was missing. This didn't quite work out. It wasn't bad per se. I didn't realize until the tart shell was browning in the oven that corn meal polenta isn't exactly interchangeable with flour. Now I know I should have just cooked the polenta the way you're supposed to cook polenta, which is with boiling water to dissolve the larger, crunchy bits of corn. It's fine though, this crust is a tad on the too-crunchy side for my preference, but everything else, the wilted kale, pancetta and the creamiest feta cheese I've ever eaten, made up for it. By the time the savory tart was finished, it was nearing 9 p.m., and being no European, I was practically gnawing my arm off. I downed at least one-third of the pie while watching Hulu and finished the night off with some amazing gelato from eCreamery. Ah life, I'm back.

Savory Tart with Kale and Pancetta: from Tartelette (tart shell recipe not included here)

1/2 onion, chopped

big bunch of kale, chopped (any green will do here)

2 ounces pancetta, chopped

3 eggs

2/3 cup milk

salt and pepper

1 teaspoon nutmeg

crumbled feta cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil in a skillet. Once it's hot, saute the onions for a couple minutes until they're a bit translucent, then add the kale and saute until it's wilted and turned a brilliant green. Remove from heat. Saute the pancetta for a few minutes to crisp.

In a small bowl, combine eggs, milk, salt, pepper and nutmeg. Whisk to blend. In a nearly finished tart shell (I recommend following the shell recipe on Tartelette, linked above, for a regular shell or here for a polenta shell). Arrange the kale, onion and pancetta on the tart shell. Pour the egg mixture over the top. Sprinkle with crumbled cheese. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until the egg has set completely.