For a long time, I’ve wanted to live in a city.

Two semesters in college have confirmed this. Sometimes I think Boston won me over just as much as the college tour. I see the parks as my quad, the neighborhoods as my library. When the sun dips, I love walking down the endless streets – light concentrates in the spaces between brick buildings, bathing the whole city in gold.

I like the way the sidewalks breathe at night. Even in the dark, people are everywhere, and insect wings glint under the streetlights. I love the way honking cars and buzzing neon signs become lullabies. In the morning, I wake up with the city. The bus exhales beneath my seat and happy smells waft out of the bakeries. Every day is new and full of possibility, of discovery and change. I feel alive.

My boyfriend I- isn’t like this. He appreciates the pizza parlors open until 2 am and enjoys late-night photography in Chinatown. But in the “real world,” he could never live somewhere with that many cars, with so many people.

He visited Seattle for the first time last week. I made sure we checked out downtown record shops and college student hangouts. But I-’s favorite things about Washington?

He loved driving east towards Fall City, where thick trees threaten to swallow the road. He’ll remember Snoqualmie Falls, the semi-decayed bridge we were too scared to cross, and the pie we ate at a tiny North Bend diner. He was impressed with rocky Mount Si and snow-capped Mount Rainier. And he liked our floating bridges.

He also liked my backyard. It’s large in proportion to our little house, wrapping around three edges of our home. One section is a grassy stretch, another features the stone path and garden Mom and Dad built two years ago, and the third area holds our herbs and vegetables.

There’s something magical about growing our own produce. Since our lettuce heads unfurled, I’ve eaten more salads than ever. We get on our knees to find the ripest strawberries, which are more tender and sweet than any grocery store berry. I like slicing them in half, pouring coconut milk over them, and sprinkling the top with raw oats. Food tastes better when it’s just picked, still sun warmed, still breathing.

Before we planted them in our garden, I’d never thought about red currants. Each berry is tiny, translucent, and unbelievably crimson. They’re a little sour and pop between your teeth. The morning every berry suddenly turned ripened, I picked currants until my fingertips and lips were perfumed red.

I have to admit that I don’t really know what to do with them. My mom and I picked every currant in a race against the birds, and now we have cups and cups of a fruit that remains a mystery to both of us. Our batch is a little too tart to eat raw but we don’t have any experience with cooking them. Mom simmered some into a syrup, and I swirled some into ice cream.

I dropped a tiny strawberry into the point of each cone (to seal the bottom.) The result? The last bite of ice cream cone includes a vanilla cream soaked berry. Amazing.

It takes a lot of currants to make not-so-much puree. I threw in a few of our strawberries to add sweetness, and some honey when strawberries weren’t enough. I layered the red berry puree with my favorite vanilla ice cream. The berries are so deep and vivid against the creamy white, freckled with black seeds, that I see galaxies and constellations in every scoop.

I spent an afternoon making gingersnap ice cream cones, and after an hour in the kitchen I was ready for fresh air. I went into the backyard to photograph them, and realized I didn’t want to go back in. The ice cream just tasted better outside. It made the berry swirl brighter and the vanilla more exotic, standing in the sun without a skyscraper or printed ad in sight.

I miss the bustle of living downtown, but I’ve learned something else. I want to eat like I’m tucked deep in the country. I don’t know how I’m going to make it work back in school, without soil or farm-fresh produce in sight.

For now, I’ll keep eating lunch outside, listening to the leaves rustle and feeling more alive than I have all summer.

This was my first time making ice cream cones! I made my own mold out of a semi-circle of cardboard, taped into a cone shape and wrapped in aluminum foil. The tuile batter is easy to make and pretty simple to bake. The hard part? Rolling them into cones.

The cookies were so hot when they came out of the oven, I could barely roll them around the mold. I tried wearing oven mitts, but really – you might as well not have fingers when they’re under that much fabric. In the end, I had some really tasty gingersnap cones that were completely open at the bottom. I dropped a tiny stemmed strawberry into the cone before topping with ice cream, and when I got to the last few bites, the vanilla cream soaked berry was magical.

Red Berry Swirl Ice Cream
Adapted from David Lebovitz
Makes a quart

Vanilla Ice Cream
1 cup (250ml) whole milk
A pinch of salt
3/4 cup (150g) sugar
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
2 cups (500ml) heavy cream
5 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Red Berry Swirl
8 oz red berries (I used 5 oz red currants, 3 oz strawberries)
1 1/2 tablespoons of honey (to taste, may be more or less)

First, make the vanilla ice cream. Heat the milk, salt, and sugar in a medium saucepan. (I waited until I saw the liquid steaming.) Scrape out the seeds of the vanilla bean with a paring knife and add to the milk, along with the bean pod. Cover, remove from heat, and let infuse for an hour.

Set up an ice bath by placing a 2 quart bowl inside a large bowl partially filled with water and ice. Put a strainer on top of the smaller bowl and pour in the cream.

In another bowl, stir the egg yolks together. Reheat the milk until warmed, then gradually pour some hot milk into the yolks, constantly whisking to keep the eggs from scrambling. Once the yolks are warmed, scrape the yolks and milk back into the saucepan and cook over low heat. Stir constantly and scrape the bottom with a spatula until the mixture thickens into a custard that coats the back of the spatula.

Strain the custard into the heavy cream and stir the mixture until cooled. Add the vanilla extract and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, preferably overnight.

Meanwhile, make the red berry puree. Combine the berries and honey in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir and mash with a spoon, bringing the mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and continue to cook until the berries are soft, about 10-15 minutes.

Press the puree through a very fine sieve into a bowl. Press down to get all the juice out, leaving behind the seeds. Cool to room temperature and store in the fridge in an airtight container until ready to use. (It’ll keep this way about a week.)

When you’re ready to churn the ice cream, remove the vanilla bean from the custard and freeze in an ice cream maker. Pour a third of the churned ice cream into a container, smooth the top with a spatula. Spread 1/2 of the berry puree over the ice cream. Top with half the remaining custard. Smooth the top and spread the remaining berry puree over it. Finally spread the last of the custard over the puree.

Freeze the ice cream until solid. When you drag the ice cream scoop through the container, the layers of berry puree will swirl through.

Printer-Friendly Version – Red Berry Swirl Ice Cream

Gingersnap Cones
Just barely tweaked from David Lebovitz
Makes eight 6” cones

1/4 cup (60 ml) egg whites (about 2 large egg whites)
7 tablespoons + 1 teaspoon (90 g) sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ginger
1/4 tsp nutmeg
2/3 cup (90 g) flour
2 tablespoons (30 g) unsalted butter, melted
1 tablespoon mild molasses

Preheat the oven to 350 F.

Combine the egg whites, sugar, and vanilla in a small bowl. Stir in the salt, spices, and half of the flour. Mix in the melted butter and molasses, then stir in the rest of the flour until smooth.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Use a small offset spatula to spread 2 level tablespoons of batter into a circle with a diameter of 6″ (15 cm). I traced the circles onto the underside of the parchment to get even circles, and I was able to bake two per sheet. The smoother and more even your rounds, the prettier your cones will look.

Bake one sheet (two cones) at a time. Start checking after 10 minutes, but depending on your oven, the baking time will be 10-15 minutes. The cookies will be golden brown throughout, with some lighter and darker spots.

Pull the sheet out of the oven and run a thin metal spatula under a circle to loosen the edges. Quickly flip it over and roll it around the cone shaped mold. Press the seam firmly against the counter to close the sides of the cone, and press the bottom together to pinch the point at the bottom. Let the cone cool slightly on the mold until it keeps its shape, then let it cool completely in a tall glass. Roll the other cone (if the cookie has cooled too much to roll, return the sheet to the oven for a minute.)

Continue to bake and roll cones with the remaining batter.

Printer-Friendly Version – Gingersnap Cones

I spent my last day in Seattle with my parents. We woke up early and got pancakes at one of our favorite dives, a run-down little restaurant near the airport. I spent the afternoon at home with Dad and the dogs, looking through old photo albums. We shared some good sushi for an early lunch, and ice cream sundaes for dessert. Even though sleet fell and dirty puddles collected, damp leaves sticking to our soles, I couldn’t have felt happier about my last afternoon.

At home after dinner, I watched my mom boil water for tea, facing away from me. I sat at the table and checked my email as she talked, only half listening. She stopped mid-sentence, and I finally noticed that she’d been crying – so quiet I hadn’t heard from three feet away.

She left the kitchen and I heard the closet open down the hall. She came back with a white cloth napkin with sky blue trim. “Recognize this?”

The last time I saw my parents before winter break was in Boston, a few days before classes started. We had dinner at a fancy seafood restaurant in the North End, a light meal before I left in near tears and caught the next train to my dorms. We didn’t say goodbye for very long because I didn’t want my parents to see I was upset.

“After you walked out, I started crying,” my mom said. I unfolded the napkin and turned it around in my hands. It was so neatly folded and wrinkle-free that it looked new.

“Your father and I left soon after you. We walked down the street and he gave me the napkin – he stole it from the restaurant. He said he thought I might need it.”

And here it was now, a seeming lifetime later, in our chipped little kitchen.

“We walked a little further and went into some of the stores. Your dad, he picked up this jar of something and said ‘Oh – Elissa would really like this.’ He just kept looking at it and finally he bought it. He said, ‘We should give it to her.’”

“The fig spread?”

I remembered this. I thought I’d said goodbye to my parents for the last time, but later that night, my dad stopped by the lobby of my dorm. He had a box of water crackers, a thick wedge of creamy brie, and a small glass jar of an incredible fig jam. It was the last real quality food I had before I settled into my routine of café sandwiches and dining hall chicken fingers. It was the last little bit that felt like Seattle as I settled into Boston.

The first week of school, I passed it around the common room and shared it with my floor. Nobody had eaten anything like that fig spread before, and I saw people right, left and center falling in love. Between my roommate E- and I, the jam lasted a few weeks. When it was gone, I washed out the jar and set it on the windowsill. That’s where it is now, catching the fleeting light that filters into my room.

When it was gone, I craved more, but I wasn’t about to buy more on my college student budget. One afternoon E- came into the room with a grocery bag. She pulled out a package of crackers. “I keep thinking about that fig spread,” she admitted. With or without it, the crackers satisfied us, and now our room is always stocked with a box or two.

(Left to right: Parmesan Cheese Crackers, Orange Sugar & Spice Crackers, Lime Thyme Crackers)

Mom was smiling now. “After the hard time your dad gave me about being upset, he was the one buying stuff for you half an hour later. He said we should go to Whole Foods and get something to go with the jam. I thought he was being ridiculous but he was so stubborn about the idea.”

They didn’t know where Whole Foods was, but they took a train and managed to find it. I can picture Dad walking up and down the cheese aisle, like he used to when we shopped together, looking for the particular brie I’m so smitten with. I imagine him looking at shelves and shelves of crackers, deciding which box would go best with the spread.

As I thought about all the work behind that simple gesture, a paper bag with a last-minute snack, I started to feel sad for the first time about winter break ending. I gave my mom a long hug and told her not to cry. I folded up the napkin, following the creases, and handed it to her.

“Hang onto this. I’m serious. Keep this forever, okay?”

“Okay.” She paused, and then smiled. “I’ll use it at your graduation.”

She put the napkin back in the linen closet, Dad came and sat down, and the two of them talked at the dinner table as I finished packing.

Boston, here I come.

Homemade crackers are the kind of thing that look and taste ultra-fancy and gourmet, but really, they’re pretty easy. This recipe is flexible, forgiving, and addictive. It’s as simple as combining a few ingredients in a bowl, letting the mixer do the work, and getting creative with toppings. Indecisive as ever, I made three different crackers. The first batch I sprinkled with lime zest, lime thyme, and black pepper. The second batch got grated parmesan cheese, cayenne pepper, and a healthy dose of salt. I made a sweeter cracker with the last batch, topping them with orange zest, vanilla sugar, ground ginger, cinnamon, chili powder.

The three varieties were all different and all good. The one thing they had in common was a thin, crispy texture, and a tendency to disappear fast. They’re good with all sorts of dips and spreads, like hummus, and a whole lot of toppings, like brie and fig spread.

Crackly Crackers
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks
Makes roughly a dozen extra large crackers

1 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
1 cup warm water
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
Toppings for sprinkling (ex: salt, pepper, grated cheese, dried herbs, spices, citrus zest, seeds, flavored oils, etc)

Whisk the whole wheat flour, all purpose flour, and salt together in the bowl of an electric mixer. Add the water and olive oil. Mix the dough with the dough hook attachment at medium speed for 5-7 minutes, or simply mix and knead by hand on a floured surface. The dough should be slightly tacky – add water if the dough is too dry, add flour if the dough is too sticky.

Form the dough into a ball and cut it into a dozen equal pieces. Gently rub each piece with some olive oil, shape into a ball and set on a plate. Cover the plate with plastic wrap or a clean dishtowel and let the dough rest for 30-60 minutes at room temperature.

As the dough rests, preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Add a pizza stone if available.

After the dough has rested, flatten a ball of dough into a flat strip. Use a rolling pin or a pasta machine to make the dough as thin as possible. You can use your hands to pull the dough out afterwards, getting it a bit thinner. Cut the dough into whatever shape you want the crackers to be (I baked mine in large, freeform shapes and broke them into smaller crackers afterward.)

Place the dough on a floured baking sheet and poke the crackers all over with a fork. Add any toppings (see above for suggestions) and bake in the oven (or on the pizza stone if you have it) until deeply golden brown. The time will vary depending on your oven and the thickness of your crackers, mine took 5-10 minutes. Let the crackers cool before eating so they reach their full crispy potential.

Printer-Friendly Recipe – Crackly Crackers

I’ve missed this. I’m sitting on a Greyhound bus, long after sundown, and all I can hear is the quiet murmurings of other passengers and the soft clicks as I tap my keys. For the holidays, I’m heading to New York City, and then Pennsylvania, where my uncle and aunt and cousin live. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve had some quiet time to myself, without an assignment or shift or appointment. I’ve missed being able to sit alone with my thoughts and write.

Classes ended this afternoon, and it was unusually quiet on the floor today. Everyone was packing up, unplugging their lamps and emptying their fridges, stopping at every room down the hallway to say goodbye. We’re spreading out from California to Maine, retreating back to where we came from. It’s Thanksgiving break, and even though I’m not flying back to Seattle, it’s got me thinking about home.

I haven’t been in a bus or car in a long time. Back home I used to love, love, love driving alone at night – the way every turn of the car feels smooth and controlled, the open silence on the road, and the glittering pairs of lights in every direction, like cat eyes. Right now, in the dark, it’s easy to imagine I’m in Seattle. I look out the window and realize we’re on I-90, and that if we just kept driving west on this freeway until we hit the opposite coast, I’d be back.

It’s not that I’m homesick, because I’m truly not. There’s a soft spot in my heart for Seattle, but at the same time, home is in people, not places. Home is my mom, drinking jasmine tea on our patio. It’s my dad, who’s flying to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. And it’s the people on my floor. I can feel myself falling for the incredible people I’ve met here, and as everyone moves out, I can feel bits of my home scattering across the country. I’m reluctant to leave them, even for a week.

But I see the details of my old life everywhere. It’s begun to rain in Boston, a damp downpour that feels like hot breath on your neck. It makes me think of how green the air smelled and how dark the pavement became in Seattle. Sometimes, in line at Starbucks, I forget where I am. Then I step outside and suddenly realize I’m far away… watching the trees exhale burnt orange and crimson, the kind of seasonal change I always said I wanted to experience.

The other night at the restaurant, I decided to make small talk with one of my tables. They said they were just visiting Boston, and that they’d flown in from – Seattle. We talked a little longer and discovered that we live in the same region. In fact, their daughter goes to my old middle school, is in my gifted program, and is learning from my old teachers. I’d have never known, if they hadn’t sat at this restaurant, at this time, in my section.

I’m excited to spend time with my family, especially since I don’t frequently see my relatives on the east coast. I can’t begin to describe how excited I am to eat some real food. My college has been hosting Thanksgiving themed dinners, and somehow their canned cranberry jelly and paper-dry turkeys don’t do my favorite holiday justice.

And I’m ecstatic about getting some baking done.

Even though I have all my tools and supplies, and even an oven if I walk to another dorm, I haven’t had time to buy ingredients or spend time in a kitchen. It’s strange that people here are getting to know me without baking being a huge factor in my life. Maybe at the end of this weekend, I can bring a box of sweets back to my floor.

I’m thinking whoopie pies. I’ve met plenty of New Englanders here who are dead serious about the whoopie pie. Every time I hear someone get defensive about the dessert’s origin or characteristics, I can’t help but smile.

There aren’t a lot of whoopie pies on the west coast. Plenty of people don’t know what they are – just two soft cake-like cookies with some sort of filling sandwiched in between. While I’ve never had a “real” whoopie pie, I can tell you that these ones taste pretty incredible. Especially after a chill in the fridge, with a tall glass of cool milk, a scattering of crisp leaves at your feet and a friend at your side.

I made these pumpkin whoopie pies with chocolate cream cheese filling before I left for college, and they strike such a great balance of richness and spice. The pumpkin cookies are soft and tender, dense, dark with spices, like autumn in your mouth. As for the chocolate, I just can’t get enough, and the cream cheese filling adds a bittersweet tang to complement the cookie.

If I make these again this week, it’ll probably remind me like crazy of Seattle. I’m not sure yet if that’s a good or bad thing. Whatever the case, it’ll cheer up my floormates, and bring a little bit of one home to another.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The first time I made these, I thought the cookies came out a little too soft and tender, so I baked them another 10 minutes and they were great. I liked sneaking them out of the fridge, eating them chilled with cold milk.

Pumpkin Whoopie Pies with Chocolate Cream Cheese Filling
Adapted from Martha Stewart
Makes 2 dozen sandwich cookies

Whoopie Cookies
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 cup firmly packed dark-brown sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups pumpkin puree, chilled
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Dark Chocolate Cream Cheese Filling
1 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 tablespoon milk

To make the whoopie cookies: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and line two half sheets with parchment paper or silpat baking mats.

In a large bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients: the flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. In another large bowl, whisk together the dark brown sugar and the vegetable oil until well combined. Whisk in the pumpkin puree, then stir in the egg and the vanilla extract. Stir in the dry ingredients until just combined.

Drop the batter by the heaping tablespoon an inch apart on the baking sheets (I used a little ice cream scooper to get evenly sized whoopie pies.) Bake until the cookies just start to crack at the top and a toothpick comes out clean, about 15 minutes (mine took 20-25 minutes.) Let cool completely on the pan.

To make the dark chocolate cream cheese filling: Sift the powdered sugar and cocoa powder into a bowl and set aside. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter and cream cheese until very smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the powdered sugar and cocoa powder on low speed until incorporated, then mix in the vanilla extract and milk until smooth.

To assemble the whoopie pies: Spoon some filling into a piping bag fitted with a large round open tip. Pipe a dollop of filling onto the flat side of one whoopie cookie and top with another. Refrigerate cookies until ready to eat and keep in the refrigerator, covered with plastic wrap, for up to three days.

Printer-Friendly Version – Pumpkin Whoopie Pies with Chocolate Cream Cheese Filling

It’s hard to believe that only one week ago, I was between homes.

My parents and I flew red eye. As we made our way to the airport, I kept my face turned towards the car window. In the struggle to pack every suitcase into the trunk and leave nothing behind, I’d forgotten to take one final glimpse of my house, the garden, or my room. I felt uprooted and uneasy. I spent my last hour in Seattle trying to drink in the mountains, the water, the evergreens made silhouette-black by the twilight.

By the time we boarded the airplane, the sun had set completely. I spent the flight between sips of ginger ale and bouts of restless sleep. But when I awoke five hours later to the pilot’s voice, crackly as crepe paper over the speaker, the aisle was flooded with light. Boston woke up that morning to a lavender sky and a molten orange sun, one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve ever seen.

I can’t pretend that my first days in Boston were without fault. It was uncomfortably hot and humid upon our arrival. On our first day we walked and walked and walked, until finally I nearly threw up in the sweltering subway station. And I was terrified. One of the first to move into the dorms, as soon as my parents left me alone to run some errands, I sat on my new bed and cried. It was just an accumulation of all the stresses, and you know I’ve never been good with change.

But I unpacked, and everything found its place. I fitted the bed with my old sheets and blankets, so it felt familiar. By the time my roommate E- arrived, I was ready to meet her, and that night I slept easily in my new room.

My parents left a couple days later. I met them at Neptune Oyster on their last night, where we had some really excellent calamari, smoked tuna, and raw oysters. I went through the motions of dinner like some weird dream, and fought tears when I hugged my mother and walked out. I slipped onto the T, rode home, and smiled at E- when I got back to my room.

I’m sure that my school is the best school in Boston, maybe even the best school in America. (Half kidding.) The energy and passion here is honestly infectious. The people here are spirited, talented, and friendly to a fault. I’ve been to so many orientation events and activities that I can’t keep them all straight. I’ve met so many people that when I recognize a face, I don’t know whether it’s from an icebreaker game or the dining hall. And I love it.

Even though it’s only been a few days, I’m already in love with this dorm building. I love the creaky elevators and the beautifully detailed ceilings. I love my roommate, who is funny and outgoing and open as a book. I love my 7th floor – where to even start? On the first night, when we played a 30 person game of musical mafia? Two nights ago, when we sat beneath the purple sky in the Boston Common? Maybe yesterday, when we went to the Quincy Market together and sang “Stand by Me” with one of the street performers.

There’s P-, who is all too humble about his guitar and singing talents and wears funny shoes. There’s J-, who sounds EXACTLY like Michael Cera if you close your eyes. H-, who I shared an impromptu hug with in the elevator, S-, who looks like Mark Ruffalo, and C-, who has posters of Elvis around her bed. Is it possible that they already feel like family?

I love the city of Boston. The way the squirrels in the Boston Common come right up to your feet. I love that everything is within walking distance, from the seedy grocery store in Chinatown to the fresh produce in Haymarket Square. My favorite place so far is the North End, where I like to walk alone through the winding cobblestone streets and carry a twine-wrapped box of cannoli.

Although I’ve tried plenty of good food here, the one thing I haven’t done yet is bake. This dorm building doesn’t have a real kitchen, and anyway, I don’t have any ingredients or supplies at this moment. My schedule’s been so hectic that I haven’t craved it yet, but I will. I can’t picture my life without mornings at the kitchen counter. I don’t know yet what will happen, but I know I can make it work.

These pretzels were the last thing I baked. It was the weekend before Boston, and my mother and I kneaded and twisted in the soft Seattle light I already miss. Neither of us had ever made pretzels before, and it was a bit of an experiment. We fumbled with the boiling water and had no idea how to form the shapes. But when the pretzels finally came out of the oven, soft and golden-brown, we couldn’t wait to take the first bite.

My life right now is anticipation. I can’t wait to bake again, and to start classes this week. I can’t wait for the leaves to turn crimson and gold in the October breeze. I can’t wait for snow in December, by which time I’ll probably be missing the August heat, and planning my first flight back to Seattle – a trip from one home to another.

[PS: If you're interested in hearing more about my day-to-day college experiences in Boston, follow me on Twitter!]

[PPS: Would anyone be interested in a no-recipe, no-food post with just photos of Boston? Remember, though, I have enough food photos and recipes stocked up to last the year!]

Soft Pretzels
Adapted from Martha Stewart via Smitten Kitchen
Makes 16 full sized or 32 mini pretzels

Pretzels
2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon + 2 tablespoons sugar
1 packet active dry yeast
5 to 6 cups all purpose flour
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons canola oil
¼ cup baking soda
1 large egg

Toppings
Sea salt or pretzel salt
Cinnamon sugar (mixed to taste)
Grated Parmesan cheese
Brown sugar mixed with water and chopped almonds

Add the warm water and 1 tablespoon sugar into the bowl of an electric mixer. Use the dough hook and stir to combine. Sprinkle the yeast on top and let it sit for 10 minutes, until the yeast is foamy.

On low speed, mix in 1 cup flour until combined. Mix in the salt and four more cups of flour until combined, about 30 seconds, then beat on medium-low speed for 1 ½ minutes until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl. Knead in another ½ cup of flour for a minute on low speed. Depending on your dough, you can knead another ½ cup of flour. Knead for 30 seconds, until combined, then transfer to a floured board and knead 10 times until smooth.

Coat the sides and bottom of a large bowl with oil. Transfer the pretzel dough to the bowl, turning it so that all sides of dough are coated with oil. Cover the bowl with a clean kitchen towel and let rise in a warm spot for an hour, or until the dough doubles in size.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Line two to three baking sheets with parchment paper, or spray with cooking spray.

Punch down the dough. Knead it once or twice on a lightly floured surface, then divide into sixteen 2 ½ ounce pieces. Keep the pieces wrapped in plastic so they don’t dry out.

Roll each piece of dough into an 18 inch long strip and twist into a pretzel. Place on the prepared baking sheet and cover with a kitchen towel. Let the pretzels rest for 15 minutes.

Fill a large, shallow pot with a couple inches of water and bring to a boil. Add the baking soda (it’ll foam up) and the last 2 tablespoons of sugar. Reduce to a simmer and poach the pretzels – cook 3 to 4 at a time, a minute on each side. Transfer to the baking sheet with a slotted spoon.

Beat the egg with a tablespoon of water and brush over the poached pretzels. You can sprinkle them with toppings – grated cheese, cinnamon sugar, salt. My favorite pretzels were almond. I mixed a few spoonfuls of brown sugar and water, and added chopped almonds. Bake the pretzels until golden brown, 12-15 minutes, and cool on wire racks. I thought they were best warm and fresh, but you can keep them uncovered for up to two days.

Printer-Friendly Version – Soft Pretzels

In 8th grade, my middle school French class took a trip to Paris. Back then I wasn’t interested in food the way I am now, so I didn’t take advantage of the streetside crepes and Fouchon bakery. Instead I remember how the cobblestone streets felt through the thin soles of my sneakers. The Eiffel Tower electric with lights. The fear I felt in the damp, windless corridors of the skull-lined Catacombs. And the grey parchment paper sky, wisps of clouds and the promise of rain.

Even as the trip unfolded, I knew I was making memories I wouldn’t want to forget. Every evening we’d return to our rickety two-star hotel, with bars on the windows and a spiral staircase that went up and up and up. I’d collapse onto the bed, shoes still laced. Then my friend K- and I would pull out our journals. Neither of us enjoyed updating them, but we both wanted to remember every moment of this adventure. The magic was in the details.

On our last night, we thought it would be fun to exchange journals and see what the other person had written. After all, we’d done all the same things – wouldn’t it be cool to see what each person had taken from the experience?

I giggled when I read K-’s entries – they were as practical and logical as she was. She’d dutifully recorded all the sights we’d seen and places we’d visited. She listed out every meal, every souvenir (including how much she paid) and the method we traveled. When I handed her journal back, I saw bafflement on her face.

“You wrote about such weird stuff,” she admitted. “How is this going to help you remember anything important?”

Suddenly self conscious, I flipped through the pages. No, I hadn’t listed all the monuments and souvenirs, but the information was in there if you read through it all… I’d written about my failed attempts at conversation with a cheerful woman on the subway (I later found out I’d been talking about fishbones and stars, to her amusement.) The French perception of America I’d observed, from strange fashion posters to chit chat in the park. And most importantly, every emotion, whether good or bad, I’d experienced on our trip.

I simply wrote about what I always notice – the people and the emotional connection around me. It felt more like Paris to me than any arch or shopping complex. To me, that’s what’s important – that’s what I want to remember. To me, everything is personal.

Like always, food is no exception. When I visit a farmer’s market, I am as interested in the growers themselves as I am in the produce. I always like to strike up conversation with the artisan bread bakers and chocolatiers I meet – doesn’t learning about their hard work and passion make their food taste even better?

Writing these blog posts often feels a lot like writing in a personal journal. And while food is a thread that weaves through everything, I find that I’m often not writing about baked goods at all. It’s about my mother’s smile when the ciabatta sounds hollow inside, and my father holding his fork just so, right before I snap the photo. It’s about the serenity of sprinkling dough with cinnamon sugar, the way everything has quietly become clear. Food is personal, and there’s no separating it from the rest of your life.

The recipe for these Orange-Cinnamon Sticky Buns came from Lorna Yee’s The Newlywed Kitchen. Lorna’s a friend, a fellow blogger, and a Seattle Magazine food writer. I usually don’t accept free products to blog about, but when Lorna asked me to review a copy, I couldn’t resist. I knew I was glad to have accepted when the book arrived at my door, glossy and making me hungry already.

What I really liked about this book, besides the recipes and vivid photography, was how personal it felt. Every few recipes, the book interviewed famous foodies, describing the story of how they fell in love. Where she met him, what he cooked for her, the role that food plays in their marriage. Besides being incredibly sweet and chock-full of cooking tips, every story made the distant chef feel a little more approachable and the recipe a little more familiar.

Isn’t that the ultimate purpose of food, to tell a story and bring us closer?

The story behind these sticky buns is simple. I remember the fragrance of orange oil left on the zester, and the painted texture of melted butter brushed on dough. My mother coming home and gasping, “Oh, what did you make?” and timing the buns to come out of the oven just as Dad was home. I remember telling him about the sticky glaze: “Walnuts, orange juice, honey, brown sugar, cream, and butter… It’s good stuff.” And his response: a hearty laugh that pushed up his cheeks, and “No, it isn’t!” as he took another bite.

I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything essential.

[PS: As we near the 4th of July, I thought I'd remind you guys of the flag cake I made last year! You might have seen this cake floating around the internet or even watched me make it on tv (you don't even know how nervous I was filming that. You don't even know.) This one's the original!]

Oh, I guess I could also talk about the buns themselves. It’s embarrassing how quickly we devoured the whole pan, but can you blame us? The dough itself is wonderful. When I was rolling it out, I was struck by how soft it was, like baby skin. I could see the flecks of orange zest, and the whole sheet of bread was incredibly fragrant. After a layer of butter and thick sprinkling of cinnamon sugar, the dough is rolled and sliced into buns.

The glaze is so sinful but so good. All those bad-for-you ingredients come together in a thick, sticky sauce – nutty and buttery and deep. It’s poured into the pan and the buns are snuggled right on top. Then you pop the pan into the oven the next morning and wake up to a honey and citrus spiced kitchen. You couldn’t ask for more.

Orange-Cinnamon Honey Sticky Buns
From The Newlywed Kitchen
Makes 14 sticky buns

Dough
7 tablespoons butter, room temperature, plus 1 tablespoon for greasing the bowl
1/4 cup warm water (105ºF to 115ºF)
3 teaspoons instant dry yeast
1/3 cup sugar, divided
1 1/4 tsp kosher salt
1 large egg, slightly beaten
1 egg yolk
2 heaping tablespoons freshly grated orange zest (about 1 medium orange)
1 cup whole milk or buttermilk, room temperature
4 1/4 cups flour, divided

Filling
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter, melted and cooled
2/3 cup packed light brown sugar
3 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Glaze
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cups chopped pecans or walnuts
2 teaspoons freshly grated orange zest (about 1/2 medium orange)
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice
1/4 teaspoons kosher salt

To make the dough: Lightly grease a large bowl with 1 tablespoon of the butter and set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer combine the water, yeast, and 1 teaspoon of the sugar. Stir to dissolve and let stand until foamy (about 5 minutes.)

Add the remaining sugar, the salt, the remaining butter, egg, egg yolk, orange zest, milk, and 3 cups of the flour. Mix on low speed until combined. Switch to dough hook and continue mixing on low speed, slowly adding the remaining flour ¼ cup at a time. Increase the speed to medium and mix until the dough looks silky smooth and a bit tacky, but not too sticky. If the dough is too wet, add another tablespoon or two of flour. Continue mixing for 3 to 4 minutes. Turn the mixer off, and shape the dough into a ball.

Put the dough in the greased bowl, turning it so that it is completely covered in butter. Lay a sheet of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the dough, patting it down lightly around the edge of the bowl so that the dough is not exposed to too much air. Let the dough rise in a warm spot until it doubles in volume (about 2 hours.) After the dough has risen, punch it down, discard the plastic wrap, and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. With a floured rolling pin, roll the dough into a rectangle measuring 18 by 9 inches.

To make the filling: brush the dough with the melted butter and sprinkle evenly with the brown sugar and cinnamon. Roll up the dough from one long end, so it forms a cigar-shaped, cinnamon-spiral log. Arrange the log so it rests seam side down, then slice it into 14 equal pieces. [I made 12.]

To make the glaze: Combine all the glaze ingredients in a small saucepan and heat, stirring, just until melted. Pour the glaze into a 13 ¾ by 9 ¾ inch baking pan. [I used a 13 by 9 inch pan and it worked out great.] Arrange the sticky buns in the pan (there should be a little bit of room for them to rise.) Cover the pan with plastic wrap, and place in the refrigerator overnight.

The next morning, preheat the oven to 350ºF. Remove the plastic wrap from the pan and bake the sticky buns for 25 to 30 minutes, or until they are golden brown. [I used a glass pan, and I had to bake for about 40 minutes. If your pan is glass I recommend increasing the temperature to 375, or simply baking longer.] Let the buns cool for 5-10 minutes before turning them out onto a large baking sheet. Let them cool for another 10 minutes before serving. [I ate the buns right away. I didn't turn them out, just lifted out pieces with a spatula and used a spoon to pour over the glaze. So good!]

To revive a day-old bun, just pop it in the microwave for 30 seconds.

Printer-Friendly Version – Orange-Cinnamon Honey Sticky Buns

Today was my first day back at school after our mid-winter break. Some of my friends flew to China, spending the week amongst hazy neon billboards and frigid vendor’s markets. Another friend passed the time in a bitter whirl of snow that could not dampen his thrill to be in New York. One of my best friends, promising to send a postcard, vacationed in Hawaii. Even without a letter, I could imagine her snorkeling through murky waters that cleared into brilliant clouds of fish.

But me? I stayed home alone most afternoons, not even reaching out to the friends who were still in the area. I watched an embarrassing amount of The Office (my new obsession) and refreshed my Facebook page until, with a pang, I realized that I was the only person online.

This happens to me all too frequently when I am left to my own ways at home – I slip into inevitable boredom. It seeps from the dim lighting and wheezy exhalations of my laptop into my very bones. I feel burdened with the monotony. It feels heavy, like overripe fruit, stifling my motivation. I just don’t feel like doing anything.

After my second consecutive day spent in teddy bear print pajamas, I stopped even using my laptop. I had headaches that throbbed too much when I tried to fix my eyes on a screen, but I couldn’t find anything else to do. I didn’t even want to bake.

My dad urged me to go out on my own, even if my friends were out of town. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he kept asking, like he couldn’t quite believe it had come to this. “Take the car. Venture down roads you’ve never explored. Look around downtown Seattle. Bring your camera. Get out.”

Despite all my general bravado about leaving the west coast, experiencing new things on the other side of the world, exploring everything there is to see – I resisted. I wasn’t in the mood to get lost or sing along with the radio. But finally, sick of stagnation, I swept my hair up and pulled on some boots. I cradled my camera and locked the empty house behind me, head still pressured by migraines.

Despite my mood, I was out of the house, wearing real clothes with texture and color and substance instead of shapeless sweats. The moment the door closed, I felt the brittle February air break into my lungs. It was more invigorating than any Tylenol or television show.

At first I drove aimlessly with the sole purpose of burning gas. I discovered a new way to drive downtown. I made wide, comfortable loops that took me towards and away from my house with little thought. That’s when I saw the blueberry farm and reacted before my mind had caught up. I heard the dull crunch of my car pulling onto the gravel driveway, the slam of the door and the sound of the breeze picking up before I’d fully registered. I didn’t even bring my camera.

It wasn’t anywhere near blueberry season. The blueberry plants were trimmed down and leafless, kept in neat rows that stretched out as far as I could see. The trees along the horizon were velvety dark at this distance, and the sun shone through their peaks in solid, separate rays. As I walked, the footprints in the dirt behind me slowly filled with water. I shivered a little at first, my hair whipped across my cheeks, and a smile emerged like a midwinter sunbreak.

Sometimes, I think the simplest things can be the best medicine. A walk through an icy, empty blueberry farm without a trace of technology or a thought in my mind. A creased postcard with sea turtles and butterfly fish on the front. Or a genuine “Thank You” and a plate stacked high with sugar-shelled chocolate crinkle cookies, baked with love and devoured quickly.

[PS: Still collecting questions for a future FAQ post, so leave a question for me if you'd like!]

Frankly, I don’t always enjoy making cookies because of the repetition involved. But these cookies come together very quickly, and the results are so good that they’re worth a palm coated in batter and a couple powdered sugar sneezes. They’re almost brownie-like in texture: thick, indulgent, and a little chewy with good chocolate flavor. They get a good, slightly crisp outer crust and soft center.

I liked the powdered sugar, but I also tried rolling cookies in cocoa powder, shredded coconut, cinnamon sugar, sprinkles, raw sugar, and sanding sugar. I liked the cinnamon sugar cookies a lot, maybe more than the original. I’m always a fan of simple recipes that are open to lots of variation! Maybe next time I’ll try cinnamon or coffee in the dough itself.

Chocolate Crinkle Cookies
From All Recipes
Makes about 7 dozen cookies

1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar

In a medium bowl, mix together cocoa, white sugar, and vegetable oil. Beat in eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla. Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt; stir into the cocoa mixture. Cover dough, and chill for at least 4 hours.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper. Roll dough into one inch balls with lightly oiled palms. I used a size 50 cookie scoop to portion the dough, a tablespoon or rounded teaspoon would also work depending on what size you like. Coat each ball in confectioners’ sugar before placing onto prepared cookie sheets. [Alternatively, try other ingredients like cinnamon-sugar or sprinkles.]

Bake in preheated oven for 10 to 12 minutes. Let stand on the cookie sheet for a minute before transferring to wire racks to cool.

Printer-Friendly Version – Chocolate Crinkle Cookies

When my DSLR camera arrived in the mail, matte black and quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, the first place I went was the kitchen.

Up until then, I’d been using a small, compact digital camera to take my food photos. While I was satisfied with the results, I knew I wanted something more. I wanted a camera that caught the rich sheen of chocolate glaze, the buttery crumble of shortbread, and the vivid colors of buttercream frosting. And while my digital camera could take a photograph of a dessert, it didn’t capture the real essence of what made each dessert truly, fork-halfway-to-your-mouth delicious.

But with my new Canon Rebel XTi, I felt sure that everything was about to change. I lifted my camera to my cheek, felt my eyelashes brush against the viewfinder, and pressed the button gently. My first photograph was a basket of green and gold apples in a woven basket, steeped in the most beautiful afternoon light I’d ever seen. I actually set the camera down to do a little dance right there on the kitchen tiles, feeling utterly radiant.

Coconut Lemon Brigadeiro

Since then, taking photographs has become just as fulfilling as baking a creamy, uncracked cheesecake or writing a seamless short story. I take long walks around the neighborhood with the Canon around my neck, glancing everywhere like I could take a picture with my eyes. I look for the extraordinary in the details, for interesting shadows and whimsical patterns.

Every time I check the photos I’ve taken, it’s a mixed bag. There will always be a couple that are slightly out of focus or didn’t replicate the view in my head. I don’t think a good camera makes a photographer. But when I get a shot that makes me as giddy as that beautifully simple photo of a basket of apples, I feel like a life spent seeking breathtaking photos would be a life well spent.

I sent that photograph of the apples to my dad the day I took it. I included a brief, but cheery message with it: “Look!!! This is unedited, straight out of the camera! I think I’m just going to have to send you a photo every single day.”

And you know what? I didn’t think much of that last sentence at the time, but it’s been nine months and he’s kept me to it.

Cayenne Cinnamon Brigadeiro

Every day, whether the sky releases a torrent of rain or I get home at nine with a headache and a temper, I send a daily photo. It’s a different image every day… pastel sunrises, wrought-iron fences, even self-portraits if I’m feeling ambitious. And though it isn’t always easy to come up with a new photo, it keeps me photographing the way 17 and Baking keeps me writing.

As it turns out, I love photographing almost anything – people, dilapidated houses, animals, unusual textures – more than food.

There is a side effect to the daily photos, though. I don’t like my dad to look through my camera. I love surprises. I love being surprised, I love planning surprises, and I definitely like surprising other people, so I always want the daily photo to be new when my dad checks for it every night. Unfortunately, I think I care more than he does, so sometimes we fight over the Canon.

“Dad. Seriously. Don’t look through it. I just got back from downtown and there’s a lot of daily photos in there.”

“Good!” He’ll press the buttons to look through the saved photos, a thoughtful look on his face before I’ll try to snatch the camera back.

“It should be a surprise!” And then I’ll get served with the roll of his eyes, his mild annoyance, and that too-familiar face that says “Oh please.” But I always persist.

But after we made this brigadeiros – Brazilian fudge truffles we made at the request of a reader – I surprised both of us by being somewhat open. I normally make him leave when I photograph food, preferring to be alone to avoid the pressure of his presence as well as his advice. But that day I let him stand off to the side as I adjusted settings, taking the same photo over and over.

When he asked what I was doing, I even turned over the camera to show him. Who knows. Surprises are important, but maybe a little family time with five dozen truffles and a set of pretty photographs is kind of important too.

Tangerine Brigadeiro

I’d never heard of brigadeiros before, but when someone asked for them through a comment on an old post, I was tickled. Dad and I looked them up together and realized that they were a snack his grandmother had made for him when he was a little boy, exactly the same. Whether they evoked memories or not, though, they were my first request and I didn’t even consider not making them.

With Dad’s help, we decided on five variations: coconut lemon, cayenne cinnamon, tangerine, hazelnut-nutella (think Ferrero Rocher), and white chocolate-dipped lavender almond. It may sound like a mouthful, but actually, this might be the easiest thing I’ve ever made. To make five dozen truffles, including five different variations and a trip to the grocery store, the entire process took us two hours.

The base is only 3 ingredients, but gosh, these are delicious. The entire week we’ve said, “Wow. We need to give these away.” But we haven’t. We just keep eating them. For once, I don’t feel like the photos do the brigadeiros justice.

White Chocolate-Dipped Lavender Almond Brigadeiro

[PS: I'm thinking about doing a frequently-asked questions post, so feel free to leave a comment with a question for me. I'll pick out some questions and answer them in a later post. You can ask about anything, food-related or not, and I might answer it! :) Hope you all had a great valentine's day. I spent it eating brigadeiros.]

Hazelnut-Nutella Brigadeiros

Three ingredients and endless possibilities! You can be so, so creative with the brigadeiros. And you positively cannot go wrong with cocoa powder, butter, and sweetened condensed milk.

Frankly, I might call the white chocolate-dipped lavender almond brigadeiros a failure because the lavender wasn’t very prominent. But even so, they were delicious. It was impossible to pick a favorite in my opinion. My dad’s favorite was the tangerine, because the flavor was so bright and sunny. But I know he also really liked the hazelnut and the cayenne.

“Truffle” is a little misleading, but “fudge” isn’t quite right either – both together are a little more accurate. Once chilled, the brigadeiros have the texture of a very thick caramel, but without the super stickiness. They’re rich and creamy and chewy. They’re really divine, so thank you to the reader who asked for them! They were delicious and I would completely make them again.

I’d love to try even more flavor possibilities. Maybe roasted banana, grapefruit, lemon and mint, walnut and maple?? Any extract, liquor, spice, or ingredient can probably be incorporated. Of course, they are also quite good as is, no variation required.

Assorted Brigadeiros (Brazilian Fudge Truffles)
Makes 5 dozen total (can be halved)
Makes a dozen of each of the following: white chocolate-dipped lavender almond, coconut lemon, tangerine, hazelnut-nutella, and cayenne cinnamon.

Base Brigadeiro Dough
2 (14 oz) cans of sweetened condensed milk
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons cocoa powder
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature

White Chocolate-Dipped Lavender Almond
Scant 1/8 tsp almond extract
1/2 tsp culinary lavender
2 oz white chocolate chips

Coconut Lemon
Scant 1/8 tsp lemon extract
Shredded coconut, for rolling

Tangerine
Zest of half of a tangerine/small mandarin orange, plus more for decorating
1/4 tsp Grand Marnier
Chocolate sprinkles, for rolling

Hazelnut-Nutella
12 whole hazelnuts
2 tablespoons nutella
Chopped hazelnuts, for rolling (preferably toasted and skinned)

Cayenne Cinnamon
Scant 1/8 tsp cayenne powder, plus more for decoration
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon

Combine sweetened condensed milk, cocoa powder, and butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir constantly until the mixture comes together into a thick batter. [Really do stir constantly. It'll take 10-15 minutes and you might want to have a book or something.] When you tilt the pan, the mixture should not stick to the bottom of the pan, but slide cohesively like a dough. Cook further for another minute or so.

Remove from heat and divide amongst 5 bowls, about 1/2 cup dough each. [You might want to grease the bowls first, but I didn't, and didn't have any problems.] In your first bowl, add the almond extract. In the second bowl, add the lemon extract. In the third bowl, add the tangerine zest and the Grand Marnier. In the fourth bowl, add the cayenne powder and the cinnamon. And leave the fifth bowl untouched (for the hazelnut-nutella). [You could mark the bowls, or identify through taste.] Let cool to room temperature.

Meanwhile, for the hazelnut brigadeiros, roll a dozen whole hazelnuts individually in a bit of nutella. Just try to coat them evenly. Put them in the freezer. These will make it easier to get the hazelnut, and a layer of nutella, inside the brigadeiros.

For the white chocolate-dipped lavender almond brigadeiros, melt the white chocolate either in a double boiler or using the microwave. Stir in the culinary lavender and keep warm.

Using a small cookie scoop, teaspoon, or melon-baller, scoop out the dough and roll it between lightly-greased palms. You can make any size you want, mine are about an inch in diameter. I would work with one flavor at a time.

Dip the almond brigadeiros in the white chocolate, then place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roll the lemon brigadeiros in shredded coconut before placing on the sheet. Roll the tangerine brigadeiros in chocolate sprinkles, then top with zest. Top the cayenne brigadeiros with a bit of cayenne powder. For the hazelnut brigadeiros, flatten the ball into a disk and wrap around the chilled hazelnut/nutella, then roll in chopped hazelnuts.

Eat immediately, or chill brigadeiros.

Printer-Friendly Recipe – Assorted Brigadeiros

Disk of brigadeiro dough with a nutella-coated hazelnut

As most college deadlines draw near (January 1st), the flurry of college applications is drawing to a close. One of the coolest things about this entire process has been watching my friends go through it – not because I like to watch them agonize over their essays or anxiously stress over early decision emails. No, I like seeing my friends pick out the colleges that are right for them based on their unique interests.

In middle school, we were generally the same. Some of us were more inclined towards English and social studies, whereas others were more talented in math and science (I knew right away that I was not a math or science person). But when it came down to it, we were interested in the same classes, depending on how cool or funny the teacher was.

But now, after four years of high school, we aren’t so similar anymore. Slowly, quietly, I’ve watched my friends develop their real joys and callings in life. I’ve seen their passions burst forth like the cherry blossoms in spring, and I’ve seen the unfiltered pleasure on their faces when they are doing something they love. And even though I don’t share their interests, I know exactly how they feel.

One of my friends, M-, is an amazing artist. She loves the beautiful, the romantic, the optimistic, and her art is visual poetry. She uses soft, bright colors and gentle swirls of paint to compose half-opened flowers, graceful ballerinas, and sweeping landscapes reminiscent of Thomas Kinkade.

When I look at her work I can’t turn away. Her paintings seem to fill me with liquid sunshine from my shoes up, they’re so light and dreamy. The beauty and inspiration on her canvas reflects what a beautiful and inspiring person she herself is. Every work of art is a confession, and every confession is exhilarating to see.

Another one of my good friends, C-, has found that he was meant to play the cello. Although he was technically “late” to the music scene, not starting when he was very young, his gift is undeniable. C-’s dedication is astounding – some days he goes to orchestra during school, attends two cello lessons outside of class, plays at a symphony in the evenings, and then practices again upon arriving home.

As I don’t play an instrument myself, my ear is untrained and naive. But when I hear him play, even if I cannot recognize the composer or identify any incorrect notes, I can feel the emotion. It runs up my spine in slow, deliberate waves, totally at the command of his bow. He closes his eyes when he plays, and I have a feeling the music envelopes him completely – mind, body, and spirit. [It was he I made the Cello Birthday Cake for.]

I could go on and on. The talents of my friends would fill up not one, but many long winded posts. My friend M- is a skilled badminton player, A- makes gorgeous dresses out of trash bags (as well as art of all mediums), K- is passionate about math (MIT, congratulations!), and E- finds peace when she runs.

I guess it’s not hard to conclude what I’ve found my greatest enjoyment to be too – baking, of course. While I could never work on a piece of art for hours, or play a musical piece over and over until callouses formed on my fingertips, I can spend an entire afternoon in the kitchen. As a matter of fact, it took days and hours of work even with help (thanks, E-!) to complete this Gingerbread Igloo for the Daring Bakers.

But it was a labor of love – from cutting out every one of the individual gingerbread bricks, to making 3 pourable fondants because they all failed, to piping out the pine trees. And I don’t know how many of my friends could stand doing that.

But for me, the best things about these passions my friends and I have developed is this: they do not solely define us. I don’t want to walk around school being called “The Baker” without any more dimension to me. I have dreams and ambitions that go beyond the kitchen, even though a piece of my heart will always rest between the KitchenAid and the sugar bin. I am a writer, a poet, a photographer, a thinker.

M- is not simply the artist. She is considering a career in medicine, she leads the school through student government, and she likes working with the school district. And C-, though he plans to go to music school, plays frisbee and can’t deny his interest in chess and cross country.

I love that we have found something that helps us discover and understand who we are, something that brings happiness and relaxation. But I am also grateful for how rounded and open-minded my friends are. They are multifaceted and flexible, and I can’t wait to see how far they all go in college and in life.

The December 2009 Daring Bakers’ challenge was brought to you by Anna of Very Small Anna and Y of Lemonpi. They chose to challenge Daring Bakers’ everywhere to bake and assemble a gingerbread house from scratch. They chose recipes from Good Housekeeping and from The Great Scandinavian Baking Book as the challenge recipes.

To make the igloo, I baked a lot of small rectangular “bricks” from the gingerbread. I used a bowl as a guide as I assembled it, and used royal icing to cement it. I used poured fondant to coat the top of the igloo, and sprinkled it with powdered sugar, shredded coconut, and blue sugar for “snow.” I made a sled from candy canes and a gingerbread square, and a fire pit of chocolate graham crackers with a swedish fish roasting on top.

As many of the Daring Bakers admitted, this recipe was not very tasty. I don’t plan on eating the igloo or any of the decorations (except, perhaps, the snow.) My dad and I agreed that the gingerbread tasted like pasty graham crackers, and after a few bites we pronounced it disgusting.

On the other hand, my mom adored this recipe. Too often she finds desserts too sweet and too rich, and she thought the gingerbread was a great snack. She ended up eating all of the leftover bricks.

And since I give credit where credit is due – the gingerbread igloo was my dad’s interpretation of the gingerbread house challenge. But I’m the one who carried it out! :) The trees, which drew much praise from my parents, was probably the easiest part. You simply pipe very extended stars on to ice cream cones. You can see the full steps on Sweetopia, the blog of the very creative and talented Marian.

Here are the instructions as given on the Daring Baker site. Since I didn’t particularly like it, I’m not providing a printable version, or a recipe for the poured fondant. If anyone really wants instructions on the igloo, leave a comment and I’ll go back and put it in.

Scandinavian Gingerbread (Pepparkakstuga)
From The Great Scandinavian Baking Book by Beatrice Ojakangas

1 cup butter, room temperature [226g]
1 cup brown sugar, well packed [220g]
2 tablespoons cinnamon
4 teaspoons ground ginger
3 teaspoons ground cloves
2 teaspoons baking soda
½ cup boiling water
5 cups all-purpose flour [875g]

1. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar until blended. Add the cinnamon, ginger and cloves. Mix the baking soda with the boiling water and add to the dough along with the flour. Mix to make a stiff dough. If necessary add more water, a tablespoon at a time. Chill 2 hours or overnight.

2. Cut patterns for the house, making patterns for the roof, front walls, gabled walls, chimney and door out of cardboard.

3. Roll the dough out on a large, ungreased baking sheet and place the patterns on the dough. Mark off the various pieces with a knife, but leave the pieces in place.

4. [I rolled out the dough on a floured bench, roughly 1/8 inch thick (which allows for fact that the dough puffs a little when baked), cut required shapes and transferred these to the baking sheet. Any scraps I saved and rerolled at the end.]

5. Preheat the oven to 375′F (190′C). Bake for 12 to 15 minutes until the cookie dough feels firm. After baking, again place the pattern on top of the gingerbread and trim the shapes, cutting the edges with a straight-edged knife. Leave to cool on the baking sheet.

Royal Icing

1 large egg white
3 cups (330g) powdered sugar
1 teaspoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon almond extract

Beat all ingredients until smooth, adding the powdered sugar gradually to get the desired consistency. Pipe on pieces and allow to dry before assembling. If you aren’t using it all at once you can keep it in a small bowl, loosely covered with a damp towel for a few hours until ready to use. You may have to beat it slightly to get it an even consistency if the top sets up a bit. Piped on the house, this will set up hard over time.

Hey all! I hope you guys had a wonderful and relaxing Thanksgiving!

Up until a few years ago, Halloween was my favorite holiday. It was nice to have a Thanksgiving break and some good food, but I wasn’t really involved in the whole process. My grandpa, who was a great cook, always made the meal. My dad would watch the football game while my mom and grandma talked. And me? I didn’t really have any Thanksgiving traditions at all, besides always having a second helping of mashed potatoes and gravy.

This year, though, marks the second year where I’ve helped prepare the meal. Last year, newly interested in cooking, I wanted to be a part of the entire dinner. With some help from my dad, I basted the turkey, simmered the cranberry sauce, mashed the sweet potatoes and wilted the spinach. I also made dessert, a pumpkin pie that survived everything, including the death of my oven halfway through baking. This year, in spite of college applications and a time-consuming internship, I knew I wanted to do it all over again.

A couple of things made it back to the menu. Last year’s turkey came out so perfectly I swore it was beginner’s luck, but I still reached for Martha Stewart’s recipe again. I also made these Vanilla Mashed Sweet Potatoes from 101 Cookbooks, which were popular across the entire table a year ago. I also searched half an hour to find last year’s cranberry sauce, made with ruby port and tangerine juice. But for dessert, I decided to tackle something completely new. I envisioned an Autumn S’more – made with cinnamon-sweetened graham crackers and springy pumpkin marshmallows.

We spent Thanksgiving at a friend’s house, equipped with a bigger kitchen, a bigger dining area, and prettier dining ware. The table was beautifully set, and there was so much color that every plate seemed a mini feast. Mom’s three-leaf-clover rolls were passed around the table first, followed by dark green and maroon Swiss chard. Sparkling cranberry apple cider glimmered like garnets in the glasses, matching the ruby-red cranberry sauce. The sweet potatoes were a creamy pale yellow, and the glazed carrots brought bright orange to the table. With the fancy plates and faceted cups of wine, it felt like Thanksgiving dinner from a magazine.

Not everyone could stomach dessert, and the night ended soon after dinner. We packed all our equipment, ingredients, and leftovers into our car and drove back home, drowsy and stuffed.

As can be expected from a family of foodies, we talked about the meal afterward. We discussed the merits of the Swiss chard and described how tender, juicy, and succulent the turkey came out. Dad explained why he didn’t care for the sweet potato dish that I adored, and Mom praised how beautifully the cranberry sauce came out. We like food, and we wanted to share it with each other.

Tonight, my parents started up a campfire in the fire pit we built two years ago. Remembering the mostly-forgotten dessert, I grabbed the graham crackers and marshmallows. Dad found a perfect stick, sturdy and straight, and roasted a marshmallow across the flames. He pulled it off the stick with his teeth and chewed. “It tastes awesome, right?” I was mostly kidding. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to pull out the proper words to describe the taste and texture. Finally, a smile on his face, he agreed: “They’re just awesome.”

For all my descriptive words, these marshmallows escape description. I can’t properly convey how fantastic they were. On their own they were lighter than air, with a bouncier, fresher texture than store-bought marshmallows. The pumpkin was subtle and the flavor was prominently spiced. I cooked a few with the flames from my stove, and they toasted and oozed beautifully, but there is no comparison to roasting them on a branch over a flickering fire. The outside crisps and bubbles burnt gold, while the inside becomes creamy, gooey, and pumpkin-y. With chocolate and a crisp graham cracker, they were irresistable.

As it turns out, I’ll remember one of the nicest Thanksgivings I had not by the fancy meal and the pretty decorations. Instead, I’ll remember my mom, dad, and I sitting around the fire in lawn chairs in the pitch black. I’ll remember my mother’s stunned face as she tried the first marshmallow tentatively, then practically lunged for another one, ending up with molten pumpkin marshmallow all over her chin. I’ll remember my dad trying to describe how awesome the marshmallows were, how the pumpkin flavor was really elevated after roasting, and how the texture could only be described as perfect.

I’ll remember jumping into the car on a whim to rush and buy hot dogs, just so we could stay outside a little longer. We kept adding logs to the fire, each thick piece of wood sending up sparks that swirled up like fireflies. And we stuffed ourselves with so many marshmallows that our fingers grew sticky, and each of us had developed a unique toasting style over the course of the evening.

And after everything, I think I may have created a new family tradition after all. :)

Please, please make these. I can’t say enough how wonderful they were.

I found a recipe for marshmallows that didn’t involve egg whites, since I have bad luck with recipes that call for hot liquid to be poured into beaten eggs (think classic buttercream.) Instead, this recipe couldn’t have been easier, just a matter of turning on your mixer. The one issue? The marshmallows were incredibly sticky. They broke two of my rubber spatulas as I tried to transfer them to the pan. I accidentally stuck my finger in, and as I pulled it out, a floss-like strand stayed glued to my hand no matter what.

A slight challenge, maybe. Hilarious, very. I’ll make a video when I make these again, because it was too funny to miss. But after I folded in the pumpkin puree, the sticky marshmallows became much easier to handle. And in the end, it was worth it.

The graham crackers were also a success, though I slightly overbaked mine and they came out extra crispy. Still, they had a nice flavor and I wouldn’t change a thing. I made 2″ squares to make a more manageable s’more, and the size was perfect. Everyone’s oven is different, so watch the time, and I found that the thinner the cracker was rolled, the better.

Graham Crackers
Adapted from Nancy Silverton via Smitten Kitchen
Makes 48 two inch squares

2 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons (375 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour (can swap 1/2 cup for whole wheat flour, or 1 cup for whole wheat pastry flour)
1 cup (176 grams) dark brown sugar, lightly packed
1 teaspoon (6 grams) baking soda
3/4 teaspoon kosher or coarse sea salt (4 grams)
7 tablespoons (3 1/2 ounces or 100 grams) unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch cubes and frozen
1/3 cup (114 grams) mild-flavored honey, such as clover
5 tablespoons (77 grams) milk, full-fat is best
2 tablespoons (27 grams) pure vanilla extract

Optional Topping (I left this out)
3 tablespoons (43 grams) granulated sugar
1 teaspoon (5 grams) ground cinnamon

Pulse the flour, brown sugar, baking soda, and salt in a food processor to incorporate. Add the butter and pulse on and off on and off until the mixture is the consistency of a coarse meal. In a small bowl, whisk together the honey, milk, and vanilla extract. Add to the flour mixture and pulse on and off a few times or mix on low until the soft, sticky dough barely comes together. Lay out a large piece of plastic wrap and dust it lightly with flour, then turn the dough out onto it and pat it into a rectangle about 1-inch thick. Wrap it, then chill it until firm, about 2 hours or overnight. Meanwhile, prepare the topping, if using, by combining the sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl and setting aside.

Divide the dough in half and return one half to the refrigerator. Sift an even layer of flour onto the work surface and roll the dough into a long rectangle about 1/8 inch thick (thinner is better). The dough will be sticky, so flour as necessary. Cut the dough into 2″ squares using a fluted cookie cutter or rolling cutter.

Place the crackers on one or two parchment-lined baking sheets and sprinkle with the topping. Chill 15 to 20 minutes in the freezer. Repeat with the second batch of dough. Finally, gather any scraps together into a ball, chill until firm, and re-roll.

Adjust the oven rack to the upper and lower positions and preheat the oven to 350°F. Prick the crackers with a fork or wooden skewer, then bake 15 – 20 minutes, or until golden brown, rotating the pans halfway through. The cracker will not seem completely firm, but will harden as it cools. You might want to test out a few crackers to see what time works best for you.

Pumpkin Spice Marshmallows
Adapted from Cooking for Engineers
Makes a 9″x13″ pan, about 40 large marshmallows

3 envelopes of unsweetened, unflavored gelatin (3 tbsp or 21 g)
1/2 cup (118 g) cold water
2 cups (400 g) sugar
2/3 cup (240 g) corn syrup (I used light corn syrup)
1/4 cup (60 g) water
1/4 tsp salt
1 tbsp (13 g) vanilla extract
1/2 cup (122 g) pumpkin puree
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground ginger
Pinch of allspice
Pinch of ground nutmeg
Powdered sugar and cornstarch, for dusting

Grease a 9″x13″ glass pan – grease it really, really well. Dust the whole thing with sifted powdered sugar (or cornstarch).

Pour the 1/2 cup cold water into the bowl of a mixer. Sprinkle the gelatin over it and let bloom for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, combine the sugar, corn syrup, and 1/4 cup water in a medium pan. Bring to a boil until the mixture reaches 250 degrees F on a candy thermometer, or the hardball stage. This means the sugar, when dropped into water, will form a hard ball that keeps its shape.

Turn on the mixer to low speed. Slowly pour in the hot sugar mixture into the gelatin/water mixture. Add the salt and turn the mixer up as high as you can without hot sugar splashing out (medium speed for me). Gradually work up to high speed. When the marshmallows stop increasing in volume, add the vanilla extract and beat until combined, then stop the mixer.

Whisk together the pumpkin, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and ginger. With a rubber spatula, fold into the marshmallow mix. This may be difficult because of how sticky the marshmallow is, but some streaks are fine. Pour the marshmallows into the prepared pan and smooth the top with a spatula. Let sit, uncovered, overnight.

Turn the pan out onto a surface dusted with powdered sugar – I pulled on a corner of the marshmallow and it all came out. Cut with a thin, sharp knife, a pizza roller, scissors, or cookie cutters. Whatever you use, dust it with powdered sugar frequently. Once all the pieces are cut, pat cornstarch into the sides until marshmallows are no longer sticky.

Printer Friendly Version – Autumn S’mores

P.S. I’ve realized that many of my readers don’t use American cups. I’m trying to include grams/ounces with my recipes, but the conversions are still unfamiliar to me. Please let me know if you see any mistakes, and I’m doing my best! :)

Last week I turned in my senior quote. I did a slight twist on Harriet van Horne’s quote and submitted, “Baking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon, or not at all.” Every aspect of my life, baking no exception, intertwines with heartfelt emotion, passion, and optimism. I have always been, and will always be, a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I’m the kind of person who is confident about true love, believes that all people deep down are born good, and can’t help but suspect that karma really exists. I have never been someone who places priorities on logic and cold hard facts, but instead intuition and what your heart is telling you.

English, history, and topics involving different cultures and philosophies are predictably my favorite classes. I despise science and math. To me, those subjects emphasize a detachment that I can’t get past. I don’t see the beauty in numbers and unchanging, unemotional laws.

It seems that I would see baking the way that I see everything else – throw my soul into it, use feel instead of precise measurement, and consider recipes more like suggestions. There’s such a romance to imagine being in the kitchen without notes, just using your heart to produce something beautiful, and yet, it’s just not how I work.

On Halloween, my friends D- and M- came over to bake. If they were expecting me to approach baking the way I see the rest of the world, with a carefree attitude and sentimental lightheartedness, they were surprised. They did all the measuring and mixing themselves, but they had to be as precise as my standards. As M- measured out the flour, I showed him how to fluff it up in the bin, fill the cup using a spoon, and level it off with a knife. I showed D- how to use the scale when portioning the cream cheese.

M- began to use the wrong side of the knife to level the sugar, using the curved edge and measuring out less than the full cup. When I pointed this out, he rolled his eyes and said, “Jeez, Elissa, baking isn’t a science.”

Without even thinking, acting on pure instinct, I told him, “Yes it is.”

Yes, there is a romance to imagine someone working without recipes, knowing the exact feel of the dough. But I’m not experienced enough to know everything by feel and create recipes in my head. And while I’ll frequently swap ingredients in recipes to match my preferences, I am as exact and scientific about measuring as possible. While it doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of my outlook on the world, it works for me.

In science especially, I find the need for precision exhausting. I’m not patient enough to pipette liquid into a beaker drop by drop to get exactly 30 ml. I just get bored repeating the same experiment five times to get enough trials for an accurate average. But weirdly enough, this is one of my favorite parts of baking.

When I chop and measure out exactly 4 ounces of chocolate, using my little scale, I focus so intently that I don’t think about anything else. Classes, college apps, my social life – none of it even makes an appearance when I bake. It’s not possible for my mind to totally clear while I have so many responsibilities, but there isn’t much room left over to think about my grades while I’m weighing 100 grams of sugar.

It was weird to realize that I see baking as a science, but I stand by it. I love knowing how the ingredients work together, seeing how a slight change in ingredient or technique can drastically change a dessert. Even though I love the idea of an Italian grandmother making gnocchi by memory, or a patient baker kneading dough entirely on feel, I also love the way I feel when the scale reads exactly three ounces. Somehow, I can see a beauty in that too.

The pumpkin bread that I made with D- and M- was devoured in minutes that night at a Halloween party. When I arrived with the warm loaf, only one person was hungry enough to cut a small slice. But when he went back to practically inhale another, everyone followed, and the loaf was cut into huge square chunks until every last crumb was gone.

I’ve made this pumpkin bread every autumn since 2005. I still have the same recipe that I printed out in 7th grade, and it hasn’t changed a bit (besides an orange smudge in the corner.) It’s just that good. This pumpkin bread is very moist, with just enough spice and pumpkin flavor. The cream cheese ripple is so, so good – if I would change anything, I might double the cream cheese filling.

Everyone at the party liked the still-warm loaves, but I happen to like the texture and flavor after the bread has aged a few days. The recipe makes two loaves, so you can find out for yourself or give one away to a friend. What do you think I did with the second loaf, after I brought the first one to the party? :)

Cream Cheese Rippled Pumpkin Bread
From Joy of Baking
Makes two 9″x5″ loaves

Cream Cheese Filling
8 ounce package (227 grams) cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 cup (100 grams) granulated white sugar
2 large eggs
1 1/2 tablespoons all purpose flour

Pumpkin Bread
1 cup (110 grams) toasted pecans or walnuts [optional, I leave them out]
3 1/2 cups (450 grams) all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
4 large eggs
2 cups (400 grams) granulated white sugar
1 cup (226 grams) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 – 15 ounce (425 grams) can pure pumpkin
1/2 cup (120 ml) water
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and flour two 9″x5″ pans.

For the Cream Cheese Filling: Beat the cream cheese just until smooth in a stand mixer or food processor. Add the sugar and process just until smooth and creamy. Add the eggs, one at a time, processing just until incorporated. Do not over process. Stir in the flour. Set aside.

For the Pumpkin Bread: Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg in a large bowl and set aside. In another large bowl, whisk together the eggs until lightly beaten. Whisk in the sugar and melted butter, then stir in the pumpkin, water, vanilla extract, and (optionally) nuts.

Stir the flour mixture into the pumpkin mixture, being careful not to overmix. A few streaks of flour are fine. Divide the batter in half. Take one half and divide it between the two pans. Pour half of the cream cheese filling into each pan, then top with the remaining half of batter. Smooth the tops and bake an hour, or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Cool pans on a wire rack for 10 minutes, then turn out and cool loaves to room temperature.

Printer Friendly Version – Cream Cheese Rippled Pumpkin Bread