Dunk & Crumble

Snacks

Owl Cakes

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I mean…

Do I even need words for these?  How dang CUTE is he?

I could just eat him up.  Which, in fact, is exactly what I intend to do.  So.

Sorry I’m not sorry.

Here’s a checklist for owl cakes of your very own:

  1. cupcakes (from scratch or some sort of box mix, no judgement here)
  2. frosting (I will only sort of judge you if you use pre-made frosting)
  3. Oreo cookies (for owl eyes)
  4. Reese’s pieces or M&Ms (orange for beaks, brown or green or blue for eyeballs)

The little kiddos and I made these in cooking class today; they are, I think you’ll agree, a real hoot.  Happy almost-Halloween!

Baked Cinnamon Sugared Pumpkin Doughnuts

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These doughnuts are baked and not fried, cinnamon-sugared and not plain, eaten and not saved.  Both dunked and crumbled.  Take the leap!  Make some doughnuts.

Other leaps worth taking, while we’re on the subject:

Write things, even if you feel silly writing them.

Get up and out of the house.  Take a walk.  Wander.  Travel somewhere far!  If you can.

Send somebody a letter.  Like, in the mail.  (The mail, mail.)  What’s better than getting a nice letter written by hand?

Talk to that guy you think is so-o-o-oo cute.  Call him maybe.

Pause for a minute.  Look around.  Ok, go.

Wear something you think you can’t pull off.  If you’re wearing it (and walking tall in those boots), you’re pulling it off.

Use real butter.  Just, please do.

Be a friend.  A real one.  Everyone needs those.

Just a few leaps to keep in mind.  Mostly reminders to put yourself out there – socially, personally, professionally.  Mentally?

Sometimes I need a little extra push, a voice that says “go!” and “YOU can do it.”  Because things don’t always work out, but sometimes they do.  When they do, you’ll be glad you wrote that letter, or wore that skirt.  And when they don’t?  Well, then we get up, dust off, move on.  And either way, there are doughnuts.

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Nana’s Cheese Biscuits

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I spent the weekend in Tennessee, near Chattanooga; it’s where Ben’s Nana grew up.  We were there to celebrate the life of this amazing Southern lady, to smile at her kindness and spirit, to cry because we’ll miss her.

When I met Nana, she was 92.  Her hands were pale and fragile, but her eyes sparkled and her smile came warm and easy.  At the sight of Ben, her face lit up like fairy lights at Christmas time; though Nana was once a Lookout Mountain cotillion queen and a sharp and witty newspaper columnist, her very favorite role was that of unconditionally doting Grandma.

Much like someone else I know (hint: me), Nana showed her love through cooking.  A cake for every birthday, a feast for every Friday, a cookie (or four) for every little thing.  A true southerner and generous in every way, her recipes weren’t complete without multiple sticks of butter, shortening, cream.  She made a habit of tall and creamy pies, fried chicken, cheese biscuits, lush layer cakes, cornbread.  Her recipe journals are rich and full of whimsy — reading them helps to fill in the gaps for me, a friend who came late into her life.  Her jaunty words help to paint a picture of the vibrant and gracious woman responsible for bringing “Elegant Sour Cream Pound Cake,” “Truly Southern Pecan Pie” and “Especially Good Corn Pudding” into the lives of all she loved.  The notes for her lime chiffon pie recipe read as follows:

“Lime Chiffon Pie is such a special favorite of my family, and even many friends.  It is so delightful on steamy summer nights to end a dinner filled with recipes renowned in the South – of vegetables, just picked from the garden.”

I knew Nana for one year of her 92 total, so it’s fair to say I missed a lot.  But I’ve made her lime chiffon pie, I’ve made her cheese biscuits and apple cake.  I’ve got her words and stories to keep me company as I sift flour, roll out dough, melt another stick of butter. And for this I feel so lucky.

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Salty Caramel Thyme Dip

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I’ve been wanting to tell you about this caramel recipe for awhile, but then it was suddenly upwards of 90 degrees here and I was too busy panting my way up the stairs (four flights, come on!) and standing directly in front of the table fan.  Which took hours, you understand.

But!  The caramel.  It is good.  And now it’s starting to feel appropriately fall-ish here in the Bay.  I’ve got sunflowers in miniature vases and miniature pumpkins on the coffee table.  I’m into miniatures, apparently.  Also caramel.

Do you say cah-rah-mel?  Car-mel?  What’s the appropriate pronunciation, anyway?  It’s probably best to just eat it, and leave the pronouncing to someone else.  Is what I always say.

This caramel is for dipping and dunking and eating straight off the spoon.  The thyme gives it a subtle and pleasant earthiness, and the addition of cream cheese (a happy accident, the result of not having any heavy cream in the refrigerator and needing a suitable replacement) results in a creamily thick, smooth, and subtly tangy caramel.  Car-mel.  Whatever.  Lay off.

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Chewy Granola Bars

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September is upon us, all of a sudden.  Doesn’t it always seem to slap you in the face with a Jansport backpack?  I mean, a few days ago I was drinking pink wine and talking about my favorite bathing suit cover-up, and today I had to go to the dentist and sharpen all of my pencils.  School buses are toting kids around as we speak.

So, fine, maybe I didn’t actually sharpen all of my pencils today, but can’t you feel it?  That shift from August to September, when everything starts to get serious and real and “back on track”?  You can.

There are pros and cons to this shifting paradigm.  My inner lazy lady mourns the loss of the slow summer months, but my typical oldest-child-type-A-eager-to-please-ism secretly heralds the crisp structure of autumn.  Let’s compare:

We’ll start with September’s cons:

  1. My birthday is not in September.
  2. Peach season is almost over.
  3. It’s now no longer appropriate to wear white pants.

And the pros?

  1. We can start legitimately thinking about Halloween costumes.
  2. After school snacks!
  3. It’s now no longer appropriate to wear white pants.

I’d like to call attention to the point about after school snacks.  Let’s make granola bars from scratch!  

I’d never thought about homemade granola bars before, and was entirely pleased with myself when I pulled these out of the oven.  I ate them happily, thinking myself the picture of sensible snacking health, until Ben pointed out that these are pretty much just cookies.

To which I replied, “so?” to which he replied “just saying,” to which I replied “SO??”

And then we dropped that issue.

Homemade granola bars!  Like cookies, only not.  Perfect for September.

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Squash Blossom Frittata

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Flowers in my eggs?!

It’s true.

Squash blossoms have been all over the Bay Area farmer’s markets lately, so when I saw some beauties by the Ferry building this weekend, what else could I do but scoop some up and bake them in a frittata with ricotta and goat’s cheese?  Any logical person would have done the same, I think.

Now, I realize that there are those of you who are perfectly logical, thank-you-very-much, but who perhaps haven’t yet come across a squash blossom at the market or in the kitchen, and maybe wouldn’t even know what to do with one if you saw it, and so to you, Miss or Mister logical-but-squash-blossom-less, I say: that’s okay.  Here’s the deal: squash blossoms are the dainty and edible flowers of young summer squashes (usually zucchini).  They are bright orange, tinged with green, and sold at farmer’s markets alongside (and sometimes attached to) fresh, tender little squishes.  Squashes.  Squash.

Squash blossoms are usually stuffed with cheese and fried, which is a perfectly amazing way to enjoy them, but they can also be steamed or baked and thrown into soup, salad or pasta.  Or you could bake some in a fabulously herby frittata with ricotta and goat’s cheese.  Entirely up to you.

(I’d go with the frittata).  (But really, it’s up to you).

(Frittata).

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Brownie Berry Tart

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Lots of things happening over here, people!  Firstly, my nails are painted a color called “marshmallow.”  Clearly, good things, they are happening.  There are new projects to think about, bright yellow sneakers to wear, picnics to be eaten at the beach, and cross-country flights to take for the 4th of July.  My head is excited.

So let’s celebrate and get patriotic with this thing.  What’s more American than a brownie?  I mean, besides Tim Tebow and pie and manifest destiny and stuff.  Brownies!  Maybe we’ll bake them up in a tart pan, and infuse them with fresh raspberry.  And if we pile them high with  fluffy, white whipped cream and bright red and blue berries, well, then we do our forefathers proud.  Here’s looking at you, Thomas Jefferson.

Happy Independence Day, Amurica!  I made you a brownie.  You feel like home to me.  You have your issues, but really, who doesn’t?  On the whole, I think you’re pretty wonderful.  Covered with berries and cream.

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Cool Tomato Sandwich

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Happy first day of real summer!  Rumor has it you east coasters are hot today.  Damn hot.  Real hot.  Sticky, drippy, lung-crushing hot.

So, basically, hot.

It’s a perfectly breezy 74 degrees here in San Francisco, but I’m not just going to go telling you that.  I mean, why would I?  To make you jealous?  Encourage you to shake your sweaty fist at me?  That wouldn’t be nice, no sir.  Instead, I’m going to tell you how to master the art of the sandwich of summer sandwiches, that coolest of hot-weather cool, the classic: tomato sandwich.

It’s really quite simple.  The principles of this sandwich are fourfold:

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Oatmeal Double Chocolate Chip Cookies

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Today is a grumpy day.  A scowling, brooding, arms-crossed sort of day.  Why?

No good reason.

You’ve heard of these days?  The ones where you wake up on the wrong side of the bed and everything and anything is just sort of annoying?  That dust on the bathroom window sill?  Dumb.  Your morning workout?  Ugh.  Dumb.  This bowl of blueberry yogurt?  So dumb.

Okay.  Let’s snap out of it.  Snap snap snap.  We are not grumpy.  We are lucky.

So lucky!  Lucky to live in California, where the sky is blue and the peaches are already in season.  Lucky that our kitchen cabinets are painted purple, and that there are fresh flowers in our brand new bud vase.  Lucky for our families.  Our friends and our Bens.  Lucky to be healthy and alive and wearing neon yellow sneakers.

And lucky for the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

On a day like this, one of these (multiples of these, I think we can agree), might be in order.  Lucky us.

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Pistachio Rhubarb Not Quite Pound Cake

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A stunner, this one.  A lightened pound cake flecked with pink and green.  Looks nice, doesn’t it?  Pretty.  Simple.  Baked with love.

…This cake exploded in my oven.

I won’t blame the cake, though it was clearly not my fault.  I didn’t tell the cake to explode inside my very own oven, certainly.  I didn’t tell it to ooze and bubble, splattering and crusting all over the floor of the thing.  I didn’t.

Did I overfill the pan?  Absolutely not.  I don’t know.

…Maybe.

So what?!  So what if I did, huh?  Maybe I got a little greedy with it!  Maybe I filled the little loaf pan to bursting – so?  WHO’S GOING TO BELIEVE YOU, ANYWAY?

…I’m sorry.

You’re right.  It was me.  It’s my fault the pretty cake exploded.  But the batter was just so lovely, you see.  So bright and rich!  So full of crisp rhubarb, bits of orange zest, gnarled pistachios!  I got a little overzealous.  I lost my head.  I lost my cake.  Lesson learned.

After a bit of tweaking and a second try, I ended up with the same lovely batter just, fortuitously for those of us who don’t like wasted dough, not quite so much of it.  Into the loaf pan it went, and, thankfully, into the loaf pan it stayed.  This time it rose gently, weighed down by an ample smattering of meaty pistachios, and baked and browned to perfection.  So you see?  I’m not a cake ruiner after all.  I’m no detonator of gateaux.  I, my friends, am a cake tamer.  A pound cake whisperer.  A genius of the first order of geniuses.

Or, you know, a regular baker.

At any rate, this cake is tender-crumbed and full of bright flavor.  It’s guaranteed not to explode in your oven.  Probably.

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