Rosemary Walnut Shortbread

This rosemary walnut shortbread is a bit different from the usual holiday cookie, which is typically very sweet and bedazzed with sparkles and frosting. I like them because as much as I adore cookies and fudge and cake, as I've gotten a bit older, I crave something less sweet after dinner. These are nice because they are still a little sweet, have a lovely slightly sandy texture from the sugars and ground walnuts, and are really nice to eat one after another with the remnants of whatever was in your wine glass or a nice tumbler of cognac. 

Normally I fashion these into logs and do the slice and bake thing, preferring the round, minimalist cookie to something more adorable. But today it seems like what the world really needs is love. So hearts there are, dozens and dozens of hearts. 

Rosemary-Walnut Shortbread
1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup finely ground walnuts
1 1/2 teaspoon finely chopped fresh rosemary
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon raw sugar for sprinkles - optional but lovely

Preheat oven to 300
Whisk flour, nuts, rosemary, and salt. Place butter and sugars in a bowl. Mix on medium speed until light, about three minutes. Mix in vanilla. Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture and mix until the dough comes together and is smooth, about three minutes. 

Turn out dough into parchment and fashion into a 1/2 inch thick log (if you want slice and bake shortbread) or a disc (if you want to roll and cut cookies). Refrigerate until firm, about 30 minutes, or place in freezer for a week. 

Before baking, remove dough from fridge or freezer and let it warm up just a bit. Slice into cookies or roll out and use cookie cutters to cut into desired shapes. Sprinkle with raw sugar and bake until just golden, 15 to 18 minutes. Makes about two and a half dozen cookies. 

Here's a tip: As I said above, I typically fashion the dough into logs and pop them into the freezer in early December. When I'm ready to start my holiday baking, the dough is finished and ready to go -- all I have to do is slice and go (and maybe add 2+ minutes to the bake time if the dough is really frozen). 

Another tip, just because: These cookies are a fantastic hostess/neighbor/yoga teacher/bookstore owner gift. I like to wrap mine in small boxes or little cellophane bags. Tying them up with that sweet red & white baker's twine is a must. 

Capturing Fall: The Other Side

All you really need to know is that Tara sent me gorgeous Seattle leaves in the mail. 

Ok, I could tell you a little more. Like how once, in college, I boy I liked very much and who I had liked very much for a very long time brought me a whole bag of autumn leaves that he had collected. It sounds really romantic, right? Nothing else happened. 

Or,  how the day that I got the leaves was Sunday, not a weekday because we had been in LA for Thanksgiving with Sean's mom who is very, very sick. 

And on Sunday when we got home I was bustling around trying to make the house warm and cozy, and I must have gotten a bit too zealous because I slipped in the kitchen (new boots, wet floor) and fell and hit my head hard on the counter. And I didn't cry because it was one of those days that if I cried I would really cry (like, buckets and buckets of tears). And Sean thought this was very weird, so he left me there on the floor, in the kitchen, and just said, "Take it easy, ok?" as if he really didn't know what to do with me at all. 

So a bit later, while fingering the large tender lump on the side of my head, I decided to open my mail. There was a big stack of it: catalogues, bills, a few belated birthday gifts, and a small package from an address in Seattle I couldn't quite place. 

Tara had said she was going to send me leaves. And it sounded charming but I didn't quite believe it. I've only met her once, in a bookstore, in Seattle when I was promoting my book. It was a great conversation, but hardly the stuff that inspires such thoughtful gift giving. 

But here they were. Tara sent me gorgeous Seattle leaves in the mail, and they arrived on an afternoon when what I needed most was color and warmth and friendship. 

The leaves maintain their natural hues because they've been carefully dipped in wax, a process you can read more about here. And what's great about this is that means I can save them, packing them carefully  in the box they arrived in and squirreling them away till next autumn. 

It's just the kind of reassurance I need right now. 


***
P.S. And because this got a little (ok, a lot) deep and you might be feeling a bit mournful, I thought I'd pass along a recipe for pie! Pumpkin pie with pecan brown butter strusel! This was my favorite dessert on the Thanksgiving table and quite possibly my most favorite pumpkin pie ever. Make it. Feel better. The End. 

The Summer Do List

The moment the calendar flipped over to August I was struck with a level of panic that's normally reserved for small school children. I know summer isn't technically over yet, but there's no more vacations on our horizon and there's a half-dozen zucchini in every CSA box we get. Not to be dramatic, but the end is near.

The finish of summer is particularly painful because we don't really get what I consider a "real" summer in San Francisco. We can usually sleep with the windows open, but there are no chirping crickets, no hot mornings that require tank tops and iced coffee, and very, very few sunburns. 

Thus, the End Of Summer Do List. It's -- you guessed it--  my attempt to make sure we do some of those things that all of you living in sweltering temperatures do without even thinking about it. Things like eating popsicles and grilling peaches. Things that should be obvious summer goals to hit, but are occasionally hard to accomplish when the fog begins to roll in at 4PM and the August daytime high is a balmy 64 degrees. 

Here are a few of the things on The List:

Eat an It's-It in the back yard on a sunny afternoon. 

Can tomatoes. 

Make another batch of jam. (I made strawberry-vanilla in July, but I'm dreaming about stone fruit. Apricot? Plum?)

Grill anything that can be grilled instead of cooking inside. 

Dine alfresco. 

Drink more rose. 

Do yard work.

Play hooky and go to the Coppola Pool. 

Bake with blackberries. 

Make ice cream. Maybe this recipe? Or this one? 

Ultimately this is a very quotidian to-do list, one that should be easily accomplishable in summer's remaining weeks. Meanwhile, I'll keep on living the everyday, and that means finding things to do with all that August zucchini. This zucchini-orange marmalade tea cake is a start. The recipe is from Tartine Bakery, which is  only a couple of miles from our house. Even though the cases at the bakery are filled with all kinds of pastry and creme and confection, this humble loaf is usually what catches my eye. It's a super moist cake (and yes, I know people hate that word but saying damp just won't do). Those of you who like not-too-sweet cake will find it really hits the spot. 

But, I digress -- and my numerous digressions are part of what leads to the necessity of the End of Summer Do List. So -- get out there and conquer summer. Make a list. Eat ice cream. Because this pang in my heart tells me it's all going to be over before we know it. 

Zucchini and Orange Marmalade Tea Cake
From Tartine Bakery, San Francisco

1 3/4 cup + 2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup orange marmalade
2 1/2 cups grated zucchini
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted and coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9 x 5 inch (23 x 12 cm) loaf tin.  Set aside.  Sift the flour, baking soda, baking powder and cinnamon in a mixing bowl and set aside.  In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, oil, sugar and marmalade until just combined.  Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the flour until just combined.  Add the nuts until incorporated.  Pour into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the top.  Bake for 60-70 minutes until a tester comes out clean.  Let cool on a wire rack for 20 minute, then turn out to let cool completely. Keeps well, up to five days. 

Dolly's Milk Chocolate Brownies

I've been cooking a lot of repeat meals lately. Huge batches of coconut-cranberry-cashew granola to fuel our mornings. Dinners of coconut-cilantro rice with braised greens or steamed broccoli beside sauteed shrimp or roasted salmon. Chard and white bean tacos. Brownies. Lots of brownies.

It's been fun because I'm beginning to see my blog as a bit like a modern recipe box. Just like a collection of handwritten favorites, it's an archive of the meals I made and loved. But this one is online. So when I'm away from home and I need to make a quick meal for my best friend who just had a baby, or whip up brownies to take to a Mother's Day brunch in LA, my recipes are right there.

But that doesn't mean these tried-and-true recipes can't be improved on. Take these brownies. I love them just the way they are: Rich, chocolatey, salty, fudgy. Insanely easy to make. But they require bitter or semi-sweet chocolate and vanilla. And when I was out of both on Saturday night, there was nothing to do but improvise.

I used milk chocolate, lowered the amount of sugar, and added almond extract instead of vanilla. I also lined the pan with parchment paper and then greased it before adding the batter. And people, this parchment paper move was a real game changer. These brownies, which taste so good but aren't much to look at because they are so moist and crumbly, came out of the pan so beautifully we packed them up and took them on a picnic the next day. {Side note: See that crappy i-photo? That's what happens when the sun is so bright out you can't even see what you're taking a photo of. Love!}

Much sweeter than the original, we probably didn't need to walk to the corner store to buy vanilla ice cream to eat them with, but we did. The result was a truly toothsome dessert that had me thinking of Dolly Parton in "Steel Magnolias." Dolly played Clairee, the blushed, hairsprayed, bedazzled beauty salon owner. When she's pressed to share the recipe for her famous Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa she spouts: “Oh hell, Clairee, you don’t need a recipe.  It’s just a cup of flour, a cup of sugar and a cup of fruit cocktail WITH the syrup, stir and bake in a hot oven ‘til golden brown and bubbly.  I serve it with ice cream to cut the sweetness.”

Yep. Ice cream to cut the sweetness. 

Dolly's Milk Chocolate Brownies
Adapted from this recipe, which was adapted slightly from:
With A Measure of Grace: The Story and Recipes of a Small Town Restaurant

4 ounces (4 squares) milk chocolate
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
2 teaspoons almond extract
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt -- use fleur de sel if you can, or fine sea salt
1/2 cup flour
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line with parchment and then grease an 8x8 pan (you can try just greasing and flouring it very well but be warned, these brownies tend to stick)
Melt chocolate and butter in a heavy bottomed saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly until mix is smooth. Remove pan from heat and set aside to cool. Add almond extract, sugar, eggs, and salt to the chocolate mix and beat until combined. Next add flour and stir till mixed.
Scrape batter into prepared pan. Bake for about 40 minutes, until top is dry and a tooth pick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Do not over bake these brownies!
Let cool, then cut into squares.

Busy Day Banana Cake with Rum Icing

This cake began as something far more humble. With a pile of bananas turning slowly black in a bowl, it was about economy not indulgence. Banana bread, I thought, was a way to use up the soft fruit while still having something sweet (and maybe just the tiniest bit healthful) to snack on during the week.

Sure, I could of popped the bananas in the freezer and saved them for morning smoothies or another week. A week, perhaps, where I hadn't eaten restaurant meals almost every day, had far too many glasses of wine, pints of beer, and strawberry pie for breakfast. That would have been the prudent thing to do.

Instead I set out to make something that embodied my life at exactly this moment. The soft, black bananas? They are a symbol of economy, yes. But also of a ballooning list of things to do and things left undone. The wheat flour and the olive oil and the Greek yogurt are a nod to health. To balance, to clinging to the notion that no matter how stressful life gets there's no need to completely let yourself go.

The rum? The rum came in when I discovered I forgot to buy lemons, had no lemons in the house, and wasn't going out again. The chocolate chips were supposed to be dark chocolate slivers and were supposed to be left out (remember that nod to personal health?) but were tossed back in at the last minute when a half bag of semi-sweet chippies were discovered hiding in the bundt pan. Of course.

Because there was no lemon in the house there could be no lemon in the frosting to top the cake. (The frosting I was going to leave off because I'm healthy, remember?) And since thanks to the rum and chocolate chips it was indeed a cake not a bread, I decided to really go for it and put rum and a few teaspoons of half-and-half in the icing.

And there you have it. It's my my busy day cake. It's my life (it may be kind of crazy right now but perhaps I can try and have some fun) made real in a piece of banana bundt cake.

I am happy, however, to report that when I cut into this cake I was pleased to discover something. It wasn't over-the-top with boozy, sweet, richness. Instead it was a dense and moist, and not too sweet. It's far more like a bread that's been amplified with chocolate chips and sweetened just a bit by the slightly kicky frosting.

Perhaps it's a symbol of the idea that even when life runs a bit off course, it still more or less turns out ok?

Busy Day Banana Cake with Rum Icing
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks, who adapted it from a Melissa Clark recipe in Cook This Now

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup / 4 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate (or substitute a generous amount of semi-sweet chocolate chips)
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 cups mashed, VERY ripe bananas (~3 bananas)
1/4 cup plain, 2% Greek yogurt
1 teaspoon rum
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the icing:
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon rum
3+ teaspoons half and half (add half and half as needed to create the icing consistency you prefer. I wanted mine a little runny)

Preheat the oven to 350° F, and place a rack in the center. Grease a 9- by 5- inch (23 x 13 cm) loaf pan, or equivalent -- I used a bundt.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, sugar, baking soda, and salt. Add the chocolate pieces and combine well.
In a separate bowl, mix together the olive oil, eggs, mashed banana, yogurt, rum, and vanilla. Pour the banana mixture into the flour mixture and fold with a spatula until just combined. The batter will be thick. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake until golden brown, about 40-50 minutes. You want to get that beautiful color on the cake, but at the same time you don't want to bake all the moisture out of it. Watch carefully towards the end. The recommended baking time was 50 minutes, mine was done about 10 minutes sooner.
Transfer the pan to a wire rack to cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn the loaf out of the pan to cool completely.
While the cake is cooling, prepare the glaze. In a bowl, whisk together the sugars, the rum, and the half and half until smooth. When the cake is completely cool, drizzle the glaze on top of the cake, spreading with a spatula to cover.

Serves 10.

Mini Black Bottom Cupcakes & A Winner!

{First, an announcement: wegarden is the winner of Small Sweet Treats! Email me at writtenbyaz@gmail.com with your name and address and I'll send you the book!}

I can remember making these tiny black-bottom cupcakes as a child to wrap up and distribute to teachers and neighbors at Christmastime. Our yield was pretty carefully allocated, but if I was lucky, I got a cupcake or two to eat and use as a snack for a tiny doll tea party. I especially liked biting the top half of the cupcake off. This perfect bite, stuffed with mini chocolate chips and creamy cake, was exceptionally decadent.

Decades later, not much has changed. This time it was my kitchen and my cooking project.  I was baking late at night and packing up the just-cooled cakes into a pretty package. And just like before, I was biting the top off the cupcakes. This time it was a wacky attempt at portion control {you see, I'm only eating the part I want} and sending the rest to work with Sean.

That's what I love about cooking: the way it bridges the old and the new. The way that it allows you to both remember and experience at the same time.

Black Bottom Cupcakes
From: More from Magnolia by Allysa Torey
cream cheese filling:
3/4 pound (one-and-a-half 8 oz. package) cream cheese -- not softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 large egg, at room temperature
1/3 cup mini semi-sweet chocolate chips or chunks

cupcakes:
1 and 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup unsweetened dutch process cocoa
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
1 cup buttermilk
2 teaspoons vanilla

Preheat oven to 350. Line mini-muffin tins with small cupcake papers.
Make cream cheese filling: In a medium sized bowl beat cream cheese until smooth. Add the egg and beat well. Stir in the chocolate chips. Set aside.
Make cupcakes: In a small bowl combine flour, cocoa, baking soda, salt. Set aside. In a large bowl, on the medium speed of an electric mixer, beat together the oil and sugar. Add the dry ingredients in two parts, alternating with the buttermilk and the vanilla, making sure all ingredients are well blended.
Carefully spoon cupcake batter into liners, filling about 2/3 full. Drop a small scoop of the cream cheese filling on top of each cupcake. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center of the cupcake comes out clean. Cool in the tins for a few minutes before removing to cooling racks.
Yield: 3 dozen mini-cupcakes

My Habits, My Banana Bread

I am a creature of habit. I wake up at the same time almost every day and regularly eat the same breakfast for mornings in a row. My lack of variation becomes even worse at lunchtime. Nearly every day at noon I eat this: toasted Acme walnut bread spread thick with avocado. Sometimes there is hummus, occasionally soft egg on top or green salad on the side. But I never manage to get too far from the original. It's simple and satisfying. It works.


It's this habit to be habitual that led me last week to banana bread. Banana bread, you say? But it's August. Shouldn't you be making something with berries or peaches?

The simple answer is yes. The more complicated answer involves the late hour and the understocked pantry. We were out of bread and the only things I had on hand that would help make something satisfying and toastable for the morning were baking basics and a lone banana. So I did what I always did in a similar predicament. I made banana bread.

As I was working, melting and sifting, I heard a strange noise and looked up to see a dog in the kitchen. Bowie, the upstairs pet, had poked his grey and white head through our apartment's unused pet door and decided to climb on through. We stared at each other tentatively.

Bowie spends much of the day barking at the mailman, the fedex guy, and me. I wasn't sure quite what would happen when he realized he wasn't in the right kitchen. In my surprise, I dumped the melted butter into the dry ingredients and began stirring madly, forgetting the egg and the greek yogurt and everything else that was wet. I laughed while Bowie watched and sniffed at my feet.

The resulting banana bread (put into bake after luring Bowie outside) was just fine, even though I'd entirely messed with the method. The bread itself is not very sweet, which we liked, and is ok because it has a crumb topping.

Normally, I'd stray away from a crumb top. I like my bread simple and nutty not crunchy and sweet. But since I've been thinking a lot about my habits, and trying to shake them up a bit, I tried something new. I know, I know... since when is a different banana bread trying something new? But it's a process, right?

The point is, I think, that you can have old habits and new habits at the same time. Your go-to banana bread becomes something new thanks to the crumb topping and the greek yogurt in the batter. Your regular world gets shaken up a bit by the presence of a shaggy dog with bright blue eyes.

Be they little movements or big ones, it's all motion.

Banana Bread with Crumb Topping
1/2 cup white flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
4 tbsp. (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1/3 plain greek yogurt (non-fat ok!)
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 ripe banana, mashed
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Crumb Topping
1 tbsp. flour
1 tbsp. butter at room temperature
1 tbsp. brown sugar
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
Pinch of nutmeg
Pinch of salt
1. Preheat oven to 300°.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
3. Stir in the melted butter and the greek yogurt Add egg and stir until well combined. Add banana. Stir until well combined. Spread the batter into pan.
4. Make the crumb topping by mashing together butter, flour, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Distribute topping evenly over batter. Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 min, then allow to finish cooling on rack.

Recipe adapted from Mag Hungry

Drinking Chocolate

I think this drinking chocolate would be perfect for an anniversary or Valentine's Day. It might even be perfect for an ordinary Friday night -- the kind of Friday night that hits you after a long, hard week. The kind of Friday night where you want to eat pasta dripping in olive oil, with fat chunks of roasted squash and fried sage. The kind of Friday night where you watch mindless tv because it feels so decadent, and make drinking chocolate, and pull shortbread cookies from the freezer only because the meal you had just wasn't enough (even though it should have been).

I find myself craving sugar and caffeine all the time right now. I'm completely restless with stress and excitement over the book (I got my first review!) and I'm working very intensely on three big projects. I'm trying to cut it out, to quit thinking about new things to bake and my mounting cake craving. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn't. But I'll tell you what, when there's a mid-afternoon chocolate beast that must be filled, this drinking chocolate -- served hot or cold -- sure hits the spot.

It's called drinking chocolate, because it makes regular old hot chocolate seem like a silly gateway drink. This stuff is a mix of heavy cream, milk, melted chocolate, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. The day after I made it, when I was scooping it, spoonful by spoonful, from the fridge I though it tasted just like melty chocolate ice cream. Then I realized it is, essentially, melted chocolate ice cream that just missed the freezing step.

Next time I might add cinnamon, or not. I'm really trying to focus on what I've got, and remember that no matter what happens next, this is more than good enough. 

1/2 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 cups whole milk
1 cup whipping cream
6 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1. Combine sugar and salt in the top of a double boiler. Slowly whisk in the milk, scraping the bottom and sides with a heatproof spatula to incorporate. Place over gently simmering water and stir occasionally. After about 10 minutes, when the milk is warm, but not boiling, add the chocolate. Continue stirring for about 2 to 4 minutes, or until the chocolate is melted and smooth and the drinking chocolate is warm but not scalding. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla.
2. Strain through a fine-mesh strainer (or skip this part and serve straight into individual cups.)

P.S. Are you interested in a book giveaway? Or perhaps a gift that comes with proof of pre-order? Say yes, please in the comments and I'll get to work.

Southern Butterscotch Pie

After M.F.K. Fisher became a mother, she occasionally had to turn down writing gigs because juggling two girls and writing was too much. Other times she made it work, writing outside the lines in typically grand Fisher fashion.

For instance -- she was once asked to write a piece about dining in San Francisco, but she hadn't been to San Francisco recently, and a trip wasn't in the cards. Instead she wrote a piece about all the places she would eat in San Francisco if she were there: dumplings in Chinatown, crab on the wharf, an Italian restaurant tucked away in North Beach.

Smart woman, M.F.K. Fisher. And I happily steal from her playbook.

Things have been kind of crazy here and it feels like we've been eating out a lot. In just the past week I've had meals at Bar Tartine, Bar Agricole, and Local (brunch and dinner). And then there was last night.... We had dinner at a neighborhood restaurant that shall remain nameless, but wins the award for the worst meal I have ever had in San Francisco. Ever.

I feel it in my bones, it's time for some home cooking: a relaxed weekend culminating in a lazy Sunday supper, eaten a little on the early side, so as to have time for a stroll around the neighborhood and a big old slice of pie.

Here is the recipe I would make. I found it on The Kitchn, but the recipe is originally from a book by Nancy McDermott called Southern Pies. I made this pie in December and it won second place in Sean's work party/holiday bake-off. It is the quintessential southern dessert: sweet, and a little boozy from the addition of whiskey to the whipped cream (my tweak).

The mere thought of it makes me feel like unpacking my grandmother's fancy china, finding a white lacy tablecloth, and summoning everyone to the table.

Join me?

Southern Butterscotch Pie
For the pie crust: I used a Joy of Cooking recipe for an oil based pie crust. It was quick, simple, and is perfect for custard based pies or pies that don't spend too long in the oven (cooking the oil for too long can impart an "off" taste).
Preheat oven to 425 degrees
Combine:
1 and 1/3 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
Mix in a cup until creamy:
1/3 cup plus 1 Tablespoon vegetable oil
1/4 cup cold milk
Pour the oil mixture over the dry ingredients and stir with a fork until blended. Combine dough into a ball. Roll the dough between two pieces of waxed paper then flip the dough into a 9 inch pie pan, using fingers to crimp the edges. Prick the sides and bottom with a fork. Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 12 to 18 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool.

 For the filling
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar, packed (make sure it is dark brown, it will give the filling that deep brown color you want)
1/4 cup cornstarch
3 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 (12 ounce) can evaporated milk
1/2 cup milk (I used 2%)
4 egg yolks, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon bourbon whiskey

For the whipped cream
1 cup heavy whipping cream
3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
1 tablespoon whiskey (or to taste)

To make the filling
In a medium saucepan, melt butter over medium heat. Cook until lightly browned, stirring occasionally, approximately 10 minutes. Add brown sugar to butter and cook until sugar is melted and a paste is formed.
Combine evaporated milk and regular milk and pour into the butter/brown sugar mixture. Bring to a simmer and stir until it is smooth and the sugar is completely dissolved.
In a separate bowl, combine cornstarch, flour, and salt. Pour 1/ 2 cup of the milk/butter/sugar mixture into the cornstarch mixture and whisk until smooth. Pour the smooth cornstarch mixture back into saucepan, stirring constantly. Cook for approximately one minute, until just thickened (cooking the cornstarch much longer can actually cause it to lose its thickening ability).
Stream 1/2 cup hot milk/butter/sugar mixture into the egg yolks, stirring constantly. Pour this mix back into the saucepan. Cook for approximately 30 seconds to one minute, and then remove from heat. Stir in whiskey. Allow to cool until warm, about 10 to 15 minutes. Strain filling through a fine mesh sieve and then pour into cooked pie crust.
Press a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the pudding in order to prevent a skin from forming. Chill overnight, or until firm.

To make the whipped cream
In a medium-sized bowl, whip the heavy cream with an electric mixer until foamy and starting to thicken. Add confectioners’ sugar and bourbon whiskey and continue to beat until soft peaks are just formed.
Top with whip cream, slice and enjoy.

Fudgey Brownies for when Baby has the Blues

 

Book writing is a challenging, isolating job to have. I spend hours alone, usually in my pjs or yoga clothes. Inevitably, just when I think I'm done with a task, another email arrives telling me to tweak this, or that, or toss it all and begin again.

I love it, though, and most days I can't believe my luck. I am thirty-three years old, about to publish my first book, and doing exactly what I dreamed of as a little girl. Still, there are bad days. And on those days, there's nothing I want more than Mom: her dinners are healthy and delicious, there's always milk in the fridge and a pantry stocked with snacks, and in a pinch, she knows that chocolate cures everything.

Just the other night she made me a pan of brownies at 10PM. It had been a day filled with BS (Book Stuff) that left me exhausted and, for the first time, wondering why I'd ever believed being an author was a fun idea.

A brownie topped with vanilla ice cream didn't fix it, but it did make me feel better, which, I think is the point of both mothers and rich, fudgey, just-a-little-salty, brownies.

This isn't my mom's recipe, but it is my favorite brownie for a bad day or (hypothetically) the week where you just can't find your camera charger or a clean set of sheets. In fact, these dark things are aptly called "Baby's Got the Blues Fudge Brownies," in one of my all-time favorite cookbooks: With A Measure of Grace: The Story and Recipes of a Small Town Restaurant.

With a lot of chocolate and a kick of salt, these little things will cure anything. Just like mom. 

Baby's Got the Blues Fudge Brownies
Adapted slightly from With A Measure of Grace: The Story and Recipes of a Small Town Restaurant

4 ounces (4 squares) semi-sweet chocolate
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt -- use fleur de sel if you can, or fine sea salt
1/2 cup flour
Preheat oen to 350 degrees. Grease and flour an 8x8 pan (grease and flour it very well, brownies tend to stick)
Melt chocolate and butter in a heavy bottomed saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly until mix is smooth.
Remove pan from heat and set aside to cool.
Add vanilla, sugar, eggs, and salt to the chocolate mix and beat until combined. Next add flour and stir till mixed.
Scrape batter into prepared pan. Bake for about 40 minutes, until top is dry and a tooth pick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Do not over bake these brownies -- !
Let cool, then cut into squares.
Makes enough for one very bad day.

Pear Pie with Crumble Topping

I know what you're thinking. Do I only eat pears? Not really, though I did just finish a bowl of oatmeal topped with pear compote. Man, was it good.

I am in a bit of a pear phase, however. Part of it has to do with the surplus of pears still hanging around after I finished house sitting. Part of it was realizing that home cooked pears are nothing like the pale, vaguely sweet canned pears my mother used to serve me on a bed of lettuce, topped with a scoop of cottage cheese. I liked those pears just fine as a child, but they did nothing to endear me to the fruit.

The real reason for this pear frenzy, however, was that I'm moving. Moving requires a pantry and fridge deep clean, which means I've eaten pears on top of cereal every morning for.... weeks. And I used the last seven pears, the ones that were a tad mottled and scraped, to make a pear pie.

Who makes pie while packing and moving, you ask? Apparently I do. In a fit of reverse nesting, I made pie, apple sauce from foraged apples, and served a week's worth of insane meals built from leftovers stashed in the freezer: tomato artichoke soup; pork chops and roasted butternut squash; shrimp, peas, and sauteed zucchini with lemon and paprika; pasta with creamy tomato sauce.

And I used the frozen pie crust purchased at Healdsburg's Downtown Bakery and Creamery so many months ago, when in a fit of nesting and wooing, I thought about making a pie in the tiny, cold kitchen of a Dry Creek Valley love shack.

That pie never happened, but this one did. Caramelized pears with lots of cinnamon, nutmeg, and a little heat from the allspice. A crunchy, buttery crust that compels one to sneak nutty nibbles while waiting for the boyfriend to come home one evening.

A pie so good that I almost want to make it again for Thanksgiving next week, but I won't. Because packing and cleaning and nesting and moving is all about the new in life. Meaning, I'm on the hunt for another pie.

Pear Pie with Crumble Topping
Adapted from Caprial's Desserts.
FYI: I used a pre-made pie crust, and it worked great, but was totally dependent on the excellent, quality of the crust from the Healdsburg Bakery and Creamery. If you choose to not make your own crust, just prepare filling and topping, and bake according to directions.

7 firm pears, peeled, cored, and cut into 1/4 inch thick slices
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/4 cup flour
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp allspice
Pâte Brisée (recipe follows)
3 tbsp unsalted butter, diced
Streusel Topping (recipe follows)

In a large bowl, toss the pears with the brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice; let sit for about 15 minutes to give the pears time to get juicy.

Preheat the oven to 350F.

On a well-floured board, roll the dough out into a 10 inch circle. Fit the dough into a 9 inch pie plate, fold the edges under, and flute. Pile the pears onto the crust, dot with the butter, and top with the streusel. Bake until golden brown and bubbly, about 1 hour and 15 minutes. Let cool for about 20 minutes before serving.

Pâte Brisée

Makes enough for a single-crust pie or a 9 to 10 inch tart.

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
3 tbsp (39 g) shortening
1/2 cup (4 oz) cold unsalted butter, diced
1/4 cup ice water

Place the flour, salt and sugar in the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on low speed to combine. With the mixer on low speed, add the shortening and better and mix just until the mixture resembles a coarse meal. Add the ice water and mix just until the dough starts to come together. Turn the dough out onto a well-floured board and form it into a disk with your hands.

Streusel Topping

Makes about 2 cups

1/3 cup brown sugar
2 tbsp granulated sugar
1 cup old fashioned oats
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 cup flour
pinch of salt
1 Tbl. pure maple syrup
1/2 cup (4 oz) unsalted butter, diced

Combine the sugars, oats, cinnamon, flour, salt, and butter in a bowl, and use a fork to mash ingredients together into chunky, granola like consistency. Dribble maple syrup over strudel, and use fork to incorporate maple syrup. It will be crumbly, but that's the point! The streusel will keep refrigerated, for up to 1 week.

Zucchini Pear Tea Cake

There are times I think I should blog more or not at all. Other days I think I should have a baking blog. Then I remember everything I own related to baking (muffin pans, loaf pans, cookie sheets, spatulas) is still stuck in storage. And then I get really riled up.

At least I wrote a book.

And I have friends, good friends, who loan me their apartments with sweeping views of the city, pear trees, and all the baking supplies a girl could ever need.

All this was important a few weeks ago for reasons I'm having trouble articulating. It was Friday. It was raining. My lunch date was postponed. I wanted to stay at home and make something so badly (you know the feeling, yes?) but there were things I had to do.

Still, I decided to make some quick bread, knowing I'd never have time to bake the bread, hoping I'd get around to it fairly soon.

I grated some zucchini. I tossed it with eggs, oil, sugar and some of the pear sauce lurking in the fridge. I dumped in the dry ingredients. I covered it, put it in the fridge, and walked away.

Here's what happened next: I was in a dark bar with my boyfriend, and ran right into someone I used to be very, very in love with. It made my heart hurt a little, and my stomach and my head hurt even more. New love was introduced to old love and we awkwardly bantered. It seemed particularly cold, and rainy, when we finally exited the bar.

Not even record shopping helped. We drove home, quietly, in the rain. When we walked in the door, the first think I did was turn on the oven. I haphazardly cut parchment and hurtled the batter into the pan. I drank another glass of wine, and I drank it quickly.

An hour later, after checking the oven way too many times, it emerged. Brown, sweet, redolent with cinnamon.

We ate it hot, big hunks of cake topped with butter pecan ice cream. It really did make everything better. But more than that, the meal reminded me that home is where you make it.

And I am making it here. And now.

Zucchini Pear Tea Cake
Adapted from Tartine Bakery's recipe for Zucchini orange marmalade tea cake, which is amazing. 

Line a 9x5 inch loaf pan with parchment and set aside. Preheat the oven to 350.

1-3/4 cups + 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt

2 and 1/2 cups grated zucchini (about 3 small ones)

1/2 cup chunky pear sauce 

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 large eggs

1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted and coarsely chopped (optional)

Combine dry ingredients in a small bowl and set aside. Next mix wet ingredients in a separate bowl, mixing gently.

Sift the dry ingredients into the wet and stir until just combined.  Add the walnuts, if using. Pour into the prepared loaf pan. Sprinkle the top with demera sugar, if desired.

Bake for 60-70 minutes or until a toothpick in the center comes out clean.

Chunky Pear Sauce

I've been feeling a bit frantic lately. There's a lot of little things to do, a few big things to do (book proofs, anyone?) and a few things that I want to do, but don't know if I can do. The combination keeps me scurrying from desk to couch to coffee shop, and the coffee keeps me up at night. It's a dreadful combination, really.

Thank goodness, again, and again, for the forced slowness of cooking. Because much like the summer plums, this last week of October, I've had pears staring me in the face.

These pears were from a friend, a friend who had to go dashing off to Paris (the nerve!) and leave bushels -- and I don't think bushels are an exaggeration here -- of pears behind. She suggested making compote, which seemed like a fine idea, except for I never got around to finding the perfect compote recipe.

This is ironic, because not only is a good pear compote recipe not that hard to find, I was also house sitting for the pear giving friend, who has an amazing, covetable cookbook collection. But as I mentioned before, I was lost in manuscript proofs.

So instead this is what I did: Washed the pears, some green, some ripe to the point of rotting, and cored them and cut them into chunks, nearly slicing off my finger as my brain pondered sentences to rework, and book ideas, and love.

Next I put all the pear chunks into a huge pot. I added a little water, a little cinnamon, a little nutmeg, and some vanilla. Then I turned up the heat and walked away, back to desk and computer and to-do list. Soon the spicy smells started to penetrate the house. I tasted, added a bit more nutmeg, and a small amount of sugar.

Under heat, the pears were starting to soften and turn a lovely golden brown. Their flavor intensified, and they became buttery and caramel like. I cooked them some more, and then even a little longer, till I had a chunky sauce.

This chunky sauce was stirred into oatmeal, put on top of milk and cold cereal, served alongside after dinner cheeses, and warm gingerbread cake. This morning I fried a couple of sliced of seed bread, spread them with peanut butter, and topped them with pears.  An unbeatable start to the day.

I've never been a fan of applesauce, but man, this stuff was good, inspiring twice a day servings, and the occasional swiped spoonfuls from the jar. I pureed one batch, but I wouldn't do that again.

There's something about the imperfection of the chunks I love. It's rustic, fallish, perfect in its imperfection. Kind of like life right now. 

Chocolate Dump-It Cake

This cake is the reason my skinny jeans are now feeling a little more like hipster tight denim. This cake, plus the homemade ravioli, the shrimp burrito, the chocolate croissants, and the six (seven?) course pasta tasting menu at Mozza in L.A.

It was a carbohydrate fueled train into a new decade for my now-forty-year-old mate, and I happily climbed aboard.

Let's rewind a bit, though. I stressed over this cake long and hard. At moments the dessert, which had to serve at least two dozen people and be transported, by foot, to the party site, was imagined as mini chocolate mousses, cupcakes, lemon bars, and -- at one bad moment-- rubbery flan with a single candle on top purchased from the Mexican join that was housing the party.

There were so many considerations. 95% of my belongings, and 100% of my cooking things are still in storage from my impromptu move last year. Thus, I had no cake pans, no cupcake pans, no hand-held mixer. Dessert had to be made with a mixing bowl, IKEA spatula, and set of mixing bowls and spoons. If I purchased new cookware it had to be just that: new! An addition to my existing collection, not a replacement.

I thought about making my mother's famous Texas Sheet Cake, but wasn't sure if it would do well in a layered version -- the batter is thin and the frosting poured on hot. I could just picture it all sliding off onto the dirty Mission sidewalk.

Next, I scoured the internet for two hours and, after asking the birthday boy what kind of cake he wanted, finally decided. I would bake Amanda Hesser's Chocolate Dump-It Cake from her book, Cooking for Mr. Latte.

I own this book, but it's in storage (sniff), so I was sure the recipe would be good. The cake and frosting were both very simple, nothing special required. Megan had baked the cake too, which looked towering and chocolate riddled, two requirements for the cake.

I made two versions of it last week-- one layer, one sheet -- and in the seven days since, have gotten several emails gently querying for the recipe. So, here it is, with a few minor tweaks and one warning: find your stretchy jeans.

Chocolate Dump-It Cake
Adapted from Amanda Hesser
A note: The sifting here is important. Don't forget to sift!

2 cups sugar
4 ounces unsweetened chocolate
1/4 pound unsalted butter (1 stick), plus more for greasing the pan
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting the pan
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon semi-coarse sea salt or kosher salt
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon cider vinegar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups Nestle semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups sour cream, at room temperature
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Directions
1.    Preheat the oven to 375 degrees, and place a baking sheet on the lowest rack, to catch any drips when the cake bakes. Put the sugar, unsweetened chocolate, butter and 1 cup of water in a saucepan. Place over medium heat and stir occasionally until all of the ingredients are melted and blended. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly, 15 to 20 minutes.

2.    Meanwhile, sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. In a small bowl, stir together the milk and vinegar. Grease and flour a 9-inch tube pan. (If you prefer, you can grease it, line it with parchment and then grease and flour it. This is not necessary, but parchment does make getting the cake out easier.)

3.    When the chocolate in the pan has cooled a bit, whisk in the milk mixture and eggs. In several additions and without overmixing, whisk in the dry ingredients. When the mixture is smooth, add the vanilla and whisk once or twice, to blend. "Dump" the batter into the tube pan and bake on the middle rack until a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean, about 30 minutes. I baked this cake in two 9 inch rounds with great results. The cake was done in about 25 minutes. I also baked it in a 9x13 pan, and it was marvelous -- done in about 40.
If you bake it in the tube, let the cake cool for 10 minutes, then remove from the pan and cool on a rack. (This can be tricky, so if someone is around, enlist them to help. Place a ring of wax paper on top of the cake so you have something to grab onto when turning it out.) Let cool completely.

4.    Meanwhile, melt the chocolate chips in a double boiler, then let cool to room temperature. It is very important that the chocolate and sour cream be the same temperature, otherwise the icing will be lumpy or grainy. (Test it by stirring a little of the sour cream and chocolate together in a bowl; if it mixes smoothly, it's ready.) Stir in the sour cream, 1/ 4 cup at a time, until the mixture is smooth. Taste some! It's good. If you prefer a stiffer frosting, add 1/2 cup powdered sugar till you have the chocolate peaks you desire. If you want to add a whisper of cinnamon, now is a good time.

5.    When the cake is cool, you may frost it as is or cut it in half so that you have two layers (when I do this, I use 2 cups chocolate chips and 2 cups sour cream). My mother uses any leftover icing to make flowers on top. She dabs small rosettes, or buttons, on top, then uses toasted almond slices as the petals, pushing them in around the base of the rosette.

Makes 10 servings. (My mother kept it in the fridge, and it is sublime even when cold.)

Daily Cake: Berry Buttermilk

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who could happily eat cake every single day, and those who save it for special occasions. I am of the eat cake today! variety, though I aspire to be a bit more measured in my approach to slabs of the soft, dense, sweet stuff.

(Of course I also hope to have enough family, children, friends, and hangers-on around that I could make magnificent cakes with piles of frosting weekly, and they would all disappear with me only having eaten the perfect bite or two. But that's a big fantasy....) 

Perhaps it is the seasons starting to change, but my hunger for cake has been pronounced. It has taken all forms: birthday cake, chocolate cake, muffins, tea cakes, pillowy scones. And most days, I've given in. It's been a bit of a carbohydrate fueled dream around here, though I've tried to slice a peach on top and call it shortcake, or douse a slice with ice cream just for good, summery measure.

Here is the cake that started it all: a Berry Buttermilk Cake borrowed from 101 Cookbooks. I made it for a friend's birthday picnic, and was purposefully restrained in my approach to this celebratory number. We were moving from picnic and wine tasting to dinner, and I knew there'd be a gussied up, candle flecked chocolate number to steal the show at the end of the night.

I wanted something vaguely sweet, that could sit alongside bread and cheese, and not mar the final sips of wine. Oh, and it had to travel well, because no one likes a cake that shows up slumped and tired looking.

This cake fit the bill -- and almost fit it too well. It is a decidedly every day cake. It begs for a dressing of some sort: I dreamed of whole milk yogurt, ice cream, or whipped cream would do too. Far from showy, it is a stable cake, more like a large, stoic scone than a dense, moist buttermilk shortcake.

I carried home half the cake at the end of the night, and the next day is where I discovered the glory of it all: crumbled on top of my morning yogurt, a slender slice mid afternoon, even a bite or two before dinner.

An every day cake! Eat cake every day? Yes!

Berry Buttermilk Cake, Adapted slightly from 101 Cookbooks. 

2 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 cup fine-grain natural cane sugar (or brown sugar)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup butter, melted and cooled a bit
zest of 2 lemons
1 cup + berries (mixed or strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, alone. The berries add some needed moisture, so don't go too over the top, but be liberal. You'll be glad.)
3 tablespoons large grain raw sugar

Preheat oven to 400F degrees, racks in the middle. Grease and flour (or line bottom with parchment paper) one 11-inch tart/quiche/pie pan.
Combine the flour, baking powder, and sugar and salt in a large bowl. In a separate smaller bowl whisk together the eggs and the buttermilk, whisk in the melted butter, and the lemon zest. Pour the buttermilk mixture over the flour mixture and stir until just combined - try not to over mix.
Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, pushing out toward the edges. Now drop the berries across top. Sprinkle with the large grain sugar. Bake for about 20-25 minutes or until cake is set (or a toothpick in the center comes out clean), and a touch golden on top.
Heidi estimates it serves 12, in my opinion that was ambitious, unless your heaping on ice cream or dealing with light sweet eaters.

Strawberries in July for M.F.K. Fisher

July 3rd was M.F.K. Fisher's birthday. This year she would have been 102.

I celebrate the day every year, or at least I have for the past five years, ever since my interest in her and her life turned from passing fancy to full-blown obsession.

The first year I made vanilla ice cream. It was a hot summer day in Portland, and we topped the melty vanilla mounds with fresh blueberries, oohed and ahhed with every bite, and then went to a baseball game.

The next year I made a caprese salad mixed with fresh pasta. It was a simplistic ode, because I'd spent all day getting lost in M.F.K. Fisher land. We drove through the yellowed hills of Sonoma, scooting along old highways until I spotted the outline of her house,  her "last house" in the distance. The sign outside read: Trespassers Will Be Violated. I stood on the side of the road with goosebumps that had somehow cropped up in the hot July sun.

In subsequent years I wrapped white fish in thin strips of zucchini and made a rhubarb lavender crisp. There were bowls of freshly shelled peas, gently steamed, and dressed in lots of butter and salt. There was plenty of wine, all French.

Each celebration has been good, and each passing year has seemed to mark the evolution of what was, once, a small interest in M.F.K. Fisher, and is now a book. An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher will be published by Counterpoint Press in February 2011.

This year I made dinner for friends. Compared to previous years it was a haphazard party, with last minute guests, and an entire menu developed mid-afternoon while watching a World Cup game.

But the evening was perfect. It was a magically warm San Francisco day. The chicken roasted in the oven, there were green and bean salads, bread, cheese, and tiny French olives. There was champagne, then pinot noir, and then finally another bottle -- what was it?

It was good. But the part everyone raved over was dessert: strawberries with vanilla syrup.

Make this soon, before strawberry season is over. It was so easy, and so divine. It was pretty amazing for breakfast, too, which is when this photo was taken.

Strawberries with Vanilla Syrup, adapted from the June 2010 Martha Stewart Living Magazine
1 pound strawberries (halved if large), stems left intact (optional)
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 strips (each 2 inches long) lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon whole black peppercorns, lightly crushed
Combine strawberries, water, sugar, vanilla, lemon zest, and peppercorns in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer, and cook for 1 minute. Let stand until cool, about 15 minutes; refrigerate till ready to spoon over whole milk plain yogurt.

The Best Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookie Around

Truth be told, I am finding that I am not very good at this locating recipes, gathering ingredients, making and then taking photos before eating, thing. I like to eat too much to stop to take a photo just when things are getting good. But it's also, perhaps, that my style of cooking has changed in the past year.

Last July I don't think I was cooking much at all, and if I was, I was cooking to impress. It didn't work; I had lots of pretty photos of food, but I was almost always hungry. Now I am full, so full.

Dinnertime comes and I dash around the kitchen and somehow, I make something out of nothing. Last week it was pan roasted chicken thighs from the freezer with a sauce made from dried mushrooms soaked in warm water and wine. I added the mushrooms to the frying pan along with chopped shallots, butter, olive oil, and at the very end, a handful of peas.

It was pretty and tasty, but there was no recipe. I made it up, and it was good. We ate it with a big salad, and large chunks of bread to soak up the soupy bits and we drank a white wine from the Jura region of France called Arbois. I think the meal ended with a bite or two of cheese. It was perfect. It was a Wednesday night.

I have always dreamed of cooking like this. My mother used to tell me: "cook enough and you'll just know what to do." But I never did, and for years I was easily intimidated by the idea of standing in the kitchen with and serving dinner to someone who had worked in a professional kitchen. Someone who knew (or it seemed like he knew) everything at all.

Now my days are much more free form. I'm laughing more, writing better, and most days I don't care that 90% of my belongings have been in storage for almost an entire year. Turns out I don't need them.

Except for those cookbooks. Because today I wanted to make my Dad cookies for his birthday. But my cookbooks are still packed. So I googled "best chocolate chip oatmeal cookie" and I randomly found a recipe which looked ok, and I decided to make them.

And guess what? They were really good. The best part was that they were super soft, even with a little bit of wheat flour tossed into the mix. Their softness made them seem pretty damn near perfect to me -- I am not so fond of the overly crisped oatmeal cookie.

Along the way I took some photos. Not fancy photos where I clean the countertops and adjust the light and wish I had better dishes. Just photos of me and the mixing bowl making birthday cookies for Dad.

I'm beginning to think that if I kept cooking the way I have been for the past few months I'd be very content. It turns out cooking (and living) without a recipe is easier, and much more fun, than I ever imagined it could be.

The Best Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookie Around:

1 cup butter, room temperature

1 cup sugar

1 cup brown sugar

2 large eggs

2 tbsp half and half

2 tsp vanilla extract

1 cup wheat flour and 1 cup white flour

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

2 1/2 cups oats (rolled or quick, not instant)

2 cups chocolate chips (about 12-oz.)

Preheat the oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a large bowl, cream together the butter and the sugars until mixture is light in color. Beat in the eggs one at a time, followed by the half and half and the vanilla extract.
In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Either by hand or with the mixer on low speed, gradually beat the flour in to the sugar mixture until just incorporated.
Stir in the oats and chocolate chips by hand.
Drop 1-inch balls of dough onto the cookie sheet, placing about 1 1/2 inches apart so they have room to spread.
Bake at 350F for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown at the edges and light golden at the center.
Cool on baking sheet for at least 1-2 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely.
Makes 4 dozen. 

I Leave You With Lemon Curd

Lemons. My roommate brought home a fresh bag full of them the other day. This was good, since we were down to our final two or three. I wasn't rationing them, more wondering what I'd do when they weren't around to grab.

In addition to lemon juice in fresh vinaigrette and lemon juice squeezed into mint tea and topped with lots of honey to ease an aching throat, I've been making (and eating) a lot of lemon curd.

Lemon curd wasn't something I made or thought much about. A few summers ago I made a batch to slide across round yellow cakes that were topped with blueberries and served at a friend's bridal shower. It was easy, and good, and I always thought I'd make it again.

But I didn't. Maybe because unlike the Brits, I don't love lemon curd on toast or scones. I think its pretty perfect eaten alone, spoonful by guilty spoonful, or in a pie, or tart, or cake, or something equally decadent. Perhaps spooned over a pile of berries, if I was feeling more pious? But I am hardly ever feeling that pious, so I hardly ever made lemon curd.

Until this spring. The availability of lemons and the ease of making it lead to an intoxicating combination. I could easily sneak into the kitchen, and a few minutes later have a jar of bright yellow curd cooling in the fridge. It never lasted more than a day or two, maybe three if I was distracted by something different.

I found David Lebovitz's recipe amazingly easy. There are all sorts of lemon curd recipes that call for double boilers and the like. David's doesn't. I love it for this simplicity, and because it works, producing tart-sweet, curstardy curd perfect for eating on sunny San Francisco afternoons, when getting outdoors just isn't an option.

Lemon curd, my perfect book writing escape.

What Finishing a Book Looks Like

Stacks. Piles. Stacks and piles. Coffee mugs, crumby plates, discarded napkins. Yoga pants, comfy shirts, glasses and stretchy head bands all day long. It's a glamorous life, no?

And now it is almost over, at least this part. The manuscript will be sent off to its new home by the end of the week, and I'll have the entire long weekend to... Relax? Cook? Balance my checkbook? It will be a strange, strange thing.

Last night I left my desk for a few minutes to see Kim Boyce of Good to the Grain fame speak at Omnivore Books. Admittedly, I went mostly to escape the house. But once there I fell head over heels for her philosophy: whole grains, when used properly in baking, can enhance seasonal fruits and vegetables and produce delicious flavor profiles. We're talking rustic rhubarb tarts, olive oil rosemary chocolate chunk cake, and muffins galore. I cannot wait to dig into this book.

Her talk made me feel like baking. I know, I should have gone directly to the store for some spelt or buckwheat flour. But I don't have time for such things this week. So instead, I ran home and pulled out the usual pantry baking staples: butter, sugar, eggs, flour, and chocolate.

I almost never make brownies. I love rich, chocolate desserts but brownies seem so ordinary. When I was a little girl my mom regularly made a small pan after dinner. She somehow managed to put nuts in half, and leave them out of the other half, so that adults and children were happy. We'd eat them warm, ideally with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. Perhaps if we were lucky there would also be a drizzle of Hershey's chocolate syrup involved.

Making brownies is so simple: one bowl, one pan, thirty minutes in the oven and you've got something gooey and delicious. I used the recipe on the back of the chocolate tin (Ghiradelli's mix of cocoa and ground chocolate) and didn't think much about it.

It wasn't about the recipe or the method. These brownies didn't have to be the best I'd ever eaten. They just had to be good: warm and comforting and there in my kitchen on the last Monday night before I turn in the manuscript of my first book.

This was about cooking and eating for pleasure. And as I stood in the kitchen, scraping clandestine dark ribbons of brownie batter from the bowl and licking them from the spatula, I was very, very satisfied.

Leftover Rice Pudding

On Tuesday it rained and rained. I stared into the fridge and the only thing I saw was a huge pot of white rice, leftover from a weekend dinner party. Longing to feel productive, I pulled the pot from the fridge to the stove and got to work, adding milk, an egg yolk, butter, a whisper of whiskey, and lots and lots of cinnamon. In minutes I had hot rice pudding.

Now here's the thing: I don't really like rice pudding. Rice, yes. Risotto, yes. Puddings and custards, oh yes. But rice pudding? It has never been my favorite. I made it simply because I wanted to feel accomplished: a glug of milk, a few shakes and stirs, and something warm and delicious was smelling up the house. I washed the dishes, stared at enough rice pudding to feed eight people, and felt very satisfied.

But then I had to try it. A bite to make sure it was laced with just enough cinnamon. And then another bite after I'd added a bit of salt to bump up all the other flavors. And before I knew what was happening, I had a steaming bowl of rice pudding topped with walnut pieces and segments of tangerine and was eating it for dinner. For dinner! I did it again last night.

Do I like rice pudding? I'm not really sure. But I am loving the decadence of eating it, bowl after bowl. Now, for the rest of my life, I will see rice pudding, pale and gloppy on deli shelves and think of it fondly: 'Oh yes, rice pudding,' my mind will say. 'It sustained me through one very tough week of book revising.'

And the memory will be warm, and comforting, and sweet.

The photo and the ratios for making rice pudding from leftover rice were found here. Not wanting to measure how much rice I had, I simply added several cups of milk along with a beaten egg yolk, whiskey, and cinnamon, and cooked it on medium heat for about 25 minutes. I tasted for flavor, added a bit more milk, and then finished it off with a couple tablespoons of butter, some salt, and even more cinnamon. I think it is supposed to be served cold, but I eat it warm, oatmeal style, with dried fruit and nuts. My roommate tops it with honey. It is perfect for a rainy April day.