Dunk & Crumble

Snacks

Ben’s Berry Smoothie

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The best part of having a sister who’s getting married in September is that she will invite you to join her cake tasting committee.  To “help.”  (You’re so helpful!)

Also that she has found her match and will embark upon a new and happy phase of life with him by her side – that part, yes, is a pretty good part of the general your-sister-is-engaged situation.  But getting invited to the wedding cake tasting is, you know, right up there.

So maybe you spent the whole weekend eating cake?  And dark ganache and smooth fruit curds and various flavors of buttercream?  (Thanks, A Cupcake Wonderland.)  So what?

This morning, like pretty much most other mornings since you bucked up and bought a blender, you will be awoken to the sound of loud things crashing around inside that machine.  On the one hand, you’ll be annoyed — in a bleary-eyed, frizzy-haired and too-tired-to-actually-get-annoyed sort of way.  You’re pretty sure you were just sleeping, quite soundly, a minute ago.

On the other hand, breakfast in bed!  It’s a trade-off, really.

A fruit-and-yogurt-packed smoothie rights all wrongs.  It erases all traces of errant cake crumbs and swipes of buttercream.  It makes you feel okay about that extra spoonful of salted peanut ganache.

Is that sort of logic foolproof?  Will it hold a bunch of water?  I mean, probably not.  Do I still want to jump on the breakfast smoothie bandwagon?  You bet your frozen berries I do.

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Chocolate Spring Flower Cookies

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I’ve been feeling weird lately, and also having some bizarre dreams.  I don’t know what it is, but I kind of feel like I’m paddling around in what I think is my Grandma’s pool but is actually the ocean?  Like my body and mind are out of sync, maybe.  Generally just kind of off my game, as of late.  Does that ever happen to you?  

Could that bit of bad ricotta be to blame?  Or maybe the full moon?  Newman?  Maybe the news of Wisconsin’s first-round loss in the (NCAA basketball, for all of you normal unfortunate people without a Badger-obsessed father) tournament is responsible for my funk.  My own personal sort of March Madness.  I don’t know, but it’s weird, this feeling, and I need to figure out a way to shake it.

I’m a list-maker; the process of writing lists helps me feel in control of my own destiny (even if I don’t check off every last thing on it, the act of writing organizes my brain, I think).  In that vein, here is a list of things to help beat the occasional funks:

  1. Chicks in top hats.
  2. Phone calls with sisters.
  3. Brisk walks along the water (bonus points for a walk that ends with a trip to Swensen’s for ice cream).
  4. Easter cupcakes.
  5. I hate to admit this, but green juice.  It makes us feel good.  And until we buck up and spring for a juicer, $9 for “local, organic, cold-pressed” juice will have to be acceptable.  …Yes, I too can hear myself.  Oy.
  6. (Finally!) Starting season 1 of Downton Abbey.  Lord Grantham rules.
  7. Instagram.  Can’t get enough.  Sorry I’m not sorry.
  8. Bake-spiration, mostly here.
  9. Baking cookies with a fabulous friend.  Chocolate ones, all dolled up for spring.

Alright, funk.  We’ve got cookies now.  Get lost.

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Hazelnut Marmalade Linzer(ish) Tart

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The other day I ate bad ricotta.  Not like, “I’ve had better ricotta before, this is kind of meh-tasting.” Nope, I mean I ate bad ricotta.  I’m talking well past the expiration date and straight-up funky.  I ate kind of a lot of it, too, before realizing.

How does a person do this, you might ask?  Well, I can confidently state that if you are feeling sort of sniffly and put rancid ricotta on a toasted English muffin and then top it with a fried egg, chances are high that you will eat the whole effing thing before realizing that the ricotta has gone the way of one of Michael Jackson’s most popular songs.

Ugh.

But!  Turns out I’m fine.  Aside from being generally disgusted, I felt no ill effects of the naughty ricotta cheese.  And then I found food redemption in a jar of Seville orange marmalade for $3.50 from Trader Joe’s.

YES.

Sweet, bitter, and versatile on toast or tarts, this marmalade is one of my favorite finds of late.  And the best part?  Marmalade doesn’t go bad.

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Shamrock(ish) Shakes

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I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m not that into St. Patrick’s Day.  I mean, I don’t even know the guy.  I don’t own a green plastic hat, have never gotten belligerent with green beer or even a real Shamrock Shake, if I’m being honest.  (McDonalds isn’t really my thing.)  (But I’d eat their fries if you gave me some.)  (Also maybe a McFlurry.)  (Gross Yum.)  (I can only assume that a Shamrock Shake is sort of like the Harlem Shake, only minty-er.)

Still, there are aspects of St. Patrick’s Day I can get behind.  Mostly Irish Soda Bread, with extra salted butter.  Jameson, maybe.  But a glassful of cool, minty, blended vanilla ice cream topped with fresh whipped cream and shower of dark chocolate cookie crumbs?

Well, yes.

If I could have one of those in the name of St. Patrick, whoever he might actually be, then absolutely.  Let’s Paddy it up.  A toast to St. Patrick!  Happy day of milkshakes him.

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Gluten-Free Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies

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Hello, friends!  A lot’s been going on over here.

Firstly, I got contacts.  For my eyes.  I’d been avoiding it for awhile, but the necessity of fixing my terrible vision made itself clear last week when, during a game of pick up field hockey on some multi-purpose turf fields, I yelled over to a guy on the sidelines, ostensibly waiting his turn to join the game — “Oh, hey, do you want to sub in?”

Which really would have been fine and rather accommodating, except for the fact that, upon closer inspection, the guy turned out to be a 14-year-old boy in a baseball uniform waiting for his mother to come pick him up, looking at me like I’d just sprouted another head.  Oops.

Contacts!  Fine.

The second thing that happened this week was the official one-year anniversary of my cross-country move to SF.  One whole year!  A year ago, I was packing up all of my things and eating oreo cake and taking a nervous flight, and then unpacking all of my things in a new and small and lovely apartment.  With a boy!  I mean, whoa.  The whole living-with-a-boy reality was hard to grasp at first, but it set in firmly that first morning in our new place, when I abruptly discovered that we were out of toilet paper.  Who doesn’t buy extra rolls of toilet paper?!?

Boys, that’s who.

I learned that lesson quickly, and Ben and I haven’t had any (fine, many) issues (toilet paper-related or otherwise) since.  It turns out that this boy is an expert pasta maker, a skilled note-leaver/cartoon draw-er, the dapperest of dance partners, and an enthusiastic helper in the effort to ration our newly acquired boxes of Girl Scout cookies.  A good man, clearly.

Thirdly, this week was K.Gro’s birthday!  For those that don’t know her, K.Gro is special. She is a bff/cousin extraordinaire and a recent inductee into the ranks of the gluten-intolerant. Happy gluten-free birthday, K.Gro!  Naturally, I thought some cookies were in order.  They’re my first foray into gluten-free baking and I have to say, all gluten aside, these are good.  Their texture is perfection: crispy-shelled and soft-and-chewy-crumbed.  Flavor-wise, these are deep and full of chocolate – not quite as peanut buttery as I’d prefer, but I’m the kind of person who’d prefer everything to taste more like peanut butter, so that should come with a grain of (sea) salt.  Which is also essential to the recipe.

So tell me — have you tried gluten-free baking yet?  What are the tricks of the gluten-free trade?  Leave word in the comments — inquiring (and cookie/cake/bread-loving) minds want to know!

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Little Cornmeal Cookies

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They’re  not entirely much to look at, these little cornmeal cookies.  I mean, they’re cute.  Ish.  A nice yellow color.  But no flashy icings or drizzles or nutty mix-ins.  No chocolate to speak of.  These cookies, though, they’re keepers.  They’re interesting (in a not-at-all-snarky way, I mean).  They’re not entirely sweet, but they’re not entirely savory.  More cookie than cracker, but just barely.  Not even close to entirely spiced.  Hints of ginger and cinnamon, but only hints, not slaps.  Because these cookies don’t slap you until they slap you.

You’ll be sitting there on the couch, contemplating washing your hair and wondering why you ever choose a nail polish color other than Essie’s Lollipop (because it just makes you feel the best about life), and you’ll be cautiously sipping your too-hot cup of tea and planning out your grocery list for tomorrow and you’ll want a snack.  Just a little something, to go with your steaming tea.

So you’ll toss a cornmeal cookie in your mouth.  A whole one, because they’re quite small and because who says you have to be dainty, anyway, while you’re sitting on your own couch with crazy hair and tea?  And you’ll start to chew, still thinking about groceries, but then the tiny grains of cornmeal will pop gently under your teeth and the cookie’s soft crumb will yield perfectly and your tongue will do dances with butter, with faint sweetness and traces of spice, and so you’ll stop.  You’ll stop everything but the chewing, reveling in this wondrous little cookie, and when you swallow you’ll feel both happy and forlorn.  So you’ll pick up another cornmeal cookie, and the process will repeat itself.  Again and again, amid sips of hot tea.  Until all of the tea, or possibly all of the cookies, are gone.

Or until somebody rudely (wisely?) snaps shut the lid on the cookie tin (ahem, Ben.  I both thank and resent you.  …Thank you).

Do you prefer your cookies entirely sweet?  Must you always have some chocolate?  Do you even drink tea?  And would you make an exception for a humble little cornmeal cookie?

So many questions.  So many cookies.  The answer, I’m pretty sure, is yes.

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Cocoa Date Truffles

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For you!  Just in time for Valentine’s Day.  I’m setting you up with a date.

I saw that eye roll, missy.  Don’t worry!  This date won’t be boring or bland or jealous of your Days-Of-The-Week underpants.  Nope.  This date is sweet and adorable and unexpected.  Also, this date smells like chocolate.  (Is it just me or does anyone else think I’ve just described the perfect date?)

(Just checking.)

Alright.  I’m tired of date puns.  Let’s just talk about truffles, okay?  I won’t lie to you — if you’re looking to get your deep dark chocolate on this Valentine’s Day, these little babies won’t cut it.  They just won’t.  Why?  Because these truffles are made primarily with dates, not chocolate.  True, they’re rich and luscious and yes, they do take a tumble with some cocoa powder, but I’m just trying to tell you straight — dates are no replacement for chocolate.

If you’re looking for some true chocolate action on the 14th, get into this Flourless Chocolate Cake, or whip up a Brownie Berry Tart.  Maybe make some Devil’s Food Raspberry Drip Cakes?  Chunky Peanut Butter Brownies?  Ooh, or World Peace Cookies!  Chocolate Heart Sandwich Cookies with Whipped Espresso Ganache?  The point is, we’ve got options.

These Cocoa Date Truffles are something different.  They keep us on our toes.  They’re sweet and decadent, dark and yielding, fudgy in texture and complex in flavor.  And so clever, what without any added sugar and all.  (I love sugar, but I’m just saying.)  (I also really love parentheses today, apparently.  Apologies.)

Try it out!  Put yourself out there for a date.  Who knows?  Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised (and like, totally fall in love and have babies and puppies and stuff).

(Sorry.  I’m stopping now.)

(Seriously.)

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Devil’s Food Raspberry Drip Cakes

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I mean.  Can I get a yeah girl?

YEAH GIRL.

The day I made these drippy little drip cakes was a day full of lessons.

Lesson 1: Don’t get greedy with the batter.  Stop just over halfway.  Don’t you creep to three-fourths!  Overfilled cupcake tins make everybody sad.

Lesson 2: If your fresh raspberry frosting wants to be thin and loose instead of thick and fluffy, don’t yell at it, alone in your kitchen.  It won’t help and it’s embarrassing.  New strategy: dub the cupcakes “drip cakes” and the runny frosting will look clever and purposeful!

Oh, that?  That’s just my genius at work.  On purpose.

Lesson 3: Nothing tastes better than warm, homemade chocolate ganache.  This lesson takes many, many licks to learn proper.  I love learning.

Lesson 4: Finding streaks of dried cupcake batter on your arm 3 hours later is okay I guess.  Baker’s tattoo.

Lesson 5: Find someone to take these away from your kitchen and home and general mouth area soon otherwise you are in trouble.

Just a few lessons in life, love and cupcakes (redundant), from my little kitchen to yours.  Happy weekend!

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Deeply Pecan Pie

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This pie.

You will want to make it.  You will be proud to partake of it, even.  It’s rich and toasty, sweetly mapled, faintly caramel-ish – it is deep, this pecan pie.  Deep in the maple/brown sugar/molasses, complex-and-nuanced sort of way, not in the literal depth sort of way.  You know.  It’s like, deep, man.

I ate this pie straight out of the dish while the rest of my family was too ill for solid food at Thanksgiving.  I sat at my parents’ kitchen counter with a fork and an entire pie.  And the crossword.  I sat there for awhile.  Just how long, well – there’s no way of knowing, really.  Does it matter?  It was gleefully guilt-inducing.  Sorry I’m definitely not sorry.

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Chocolate Frosted Bundt Cake

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This is not a celebration cake, strictly speaking.  I didn’t make it for anyone’s birthday, didn’t stick it through with candles or banners or sparkly sparklers (though it would look sort of adorable with the formers and latters, let’s be clear).

This is a straight up “I need chocolate cake” situation.  The sprinkles are a ruse.

Do you get this situation?  The “I need chocolate cake, preferably now and not later and also definitely with frosting” one?  I bet you do.  I mean, you’re human (you are, aren’t you?).  And let’s look at the facts: the east coast has had a rough Sandy week.  I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  The election is tomorrow.  It is tense around here, people (by “here” I mean “America” and “in my head”).

Let’s cut that tension with a cake knife.  We’ll eat a slice, and then another, and we’ll be thankful – for warm blankets, batteries, democracy, and chocolate.  With sprinkles on top.

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