Afterthought

Okay, I think the Village bakery on Greenwich Avenue, the one recently in the news due to those hideous racist Obama inaugural cookies that prompted the secret service to make a special trip there, might be using the same recipe we used today to make our Danish pastry dough. That sweet hole-in-the-wall white-sugar bakery on 8th Avenue near 14th Street might be using it, too. There's a similar aesthetic going on—good, but not a lotta finesse. (Don't get me wrong. I've bought the spicy Mexican chicken empanada at the 8th Avenue place more than once or twice. Excellent.)

And I'm very proud of my Danish pinwheel stuffed with lemon cream cheese filling. I really enjoyed learning how to build that dough, something I've always wanted to do. But I think I want to try a different recipe. The first thing I thought of when I ate one of my pastries was 1) this is really good and fun to look at, and 2) this tastes like that bakery on Greenwich Avenue! Darn!

• Q: What is the difference between Danish pastry dough and puff pastry?
• A: Puff pastry dough has no yeast.
• Q: What is the difference between Jenny and a Danish pastry right now?
• A: Not much.
  

Danish Pastry

Waiting for the dough to rest, after the second round of layering in the butter—there's literally like a brick of butter in this dough, rolled and folded in, over and over again—I took a break from the kitchen, and outside, ran into someone I kind of know. He introduced me to the friend he was with, a supposed James Beard winner, though I totally cannot find the dude's name on the internet. It's possible he may have been impressed when I told him I was upstairs rolling Danish pastry dough, but he did not seem similarly amused when I mentioned my morning's not-so-great calzone. (It's not like I told him I had the worst companion Italian bread in the class, which I did.) For a guy whose name is not on Google, I think he was a bit full of himself, no?

photo: Dee

Cafe Jake

Just off Times Square. One p.m. A block-long corner deli, packed. Seemingly youngish corporate-lunch-crowd misfit strolls the multiple salad-bar aisles. Stops. Tim Gunn, like inches from her face.

J.

Tim Gunn!

T.G.

(totally dapper, strong presence)
Yes.

(Pause.)

J.

It's so good to see you.

T.G.

And it's so good to see you.

(J. exits.)

*
God, I wish I hadn't been wearing that used rag-of-a-looking royal blue wool hat with the piles on it I bought for $5 after I lost my new expensive one earlier this winter. I think it looks kind of cool, though.

Boo hoo

Have you ever gotten tired of your own voice?

Grandma Piggyback's Brownie Pie

There is a photograph of a New York City grande dame-type woman in an early Diane Arbus book that could be my Grandma Piggyback. It's a bedroom shot that's all gold hair and sheer granny nightgown and robe, satin-like bedspread, long cylindrical pillows, and so forth. Henrietta was old school, old world, Upper West Side, and then Upper East Side. She loved beauty and art and culture and "young people," and they adored her, too, supposedly. Ultimately, she may have preferred style over substance, but I think she would have really gushed over D.J., who, of course, has both.

When my sisters and I were little, we used to get long painful splinters in our feet running up and down her huge foyer, and her apartment had that grandmother-distinctive smell that never changed, no matter what she was cooking. She was famous for her brisket (didn't eat it then), her chopped chicken liver (no way), her French toast (which I've already covered), and her roasted potatoes, among other things. My cousins and sisters and I used to have contests at the children's table to see who could eat the most roasted potatoes—the winners of which, I might add, seemed to always find the Afikoman as well. But if those potatoes weren't on my original 10-most-favorite food list, they should have been.

I've never had a very good memory of my childhood, but I think Henrietta taught me how to bake, or at least I remember, kind of, watching her perfectly manicured hands sifting the flour or melting the chocolate or mixing the dough. In any event, though I'm pretty sure she received, as well as doled out, any number of hard knocks, she also definitely made Brownie Pie.

My mother unearthed Grandma Piggyback's simple recipe a number of years ago. There is no crust here, flaky or otherwise. And it's not quite a brownie, though not not a brownie, and the whole thing is so delicious and refined, it's good plain (not too warm, though), or with vanilla ice cream, and then even, if you're so inclined, further topped with the seriously fabulous L.'s Strawberry Compote. Excellent results pretty much guaranteed.

GRANDMA PIGGYBACK'S BROWNIE PIE

simple and elegant,
makes two

2 sticks butter
3 ounces bitter chocolate
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 scant cup sifted flour
2 heaping teaspoons vanilla

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter and flour 2 9-inch pie pans.

Melt butter and chocolate in double boiler. Set aside.

In large mixing bowl, beat eggs and sugar. Add melted butter and chocolate mixture, and flour. Stir in vanilla.

Pour into pans, dividing batter evenly. Bake 30 minutes.

L.'S STRAWBERRY COMPOTE

makes an evening's worth, or more,
measurements to taste

1 pint fresh strawberries
lemon juice
a little sugar
a little Limoncello, or even white wine will do

Rinse strawberries and cut into fairly small oblong pieces, about 10 or 12 pieces per strawberry. Collect in a bowl, and add the juice of about 1/2 to 1 lemon, maybe a Tablespoon or two of sugar, and a dash or so of Limoncello. Stir well. Taste, and adjust flavorings if necessary (not too sweet, not too tart). Let sit in refrigerator for at least an hour.

Note: Make sure when you present it atop vanilla ice cream—and that, my friends, is a you-can't-believe-how-good-it-is must—that you include both the fruit and the liquid on each serving, to get the full, beautiful creamy pink color effect.

See http://theirreverentfamilycookbook.blogspot.com/2009/02/im-sure-i-left-out-few.html, or "Why I Need A New Career"

Back to the reality known as fantasy: romance, adventure, and a new job entitled Wolf Tales VIII.


photo: Dee

Pies and Tarts

That's my morning hours' lattice-topped peach pie with flaky pie dough, which I sent home with Chef. I can't have two pies hanging at my place, and in any event, that is canned pie filling (which was actually not bad).

photo: Dee

"A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin..."*

Week 4. Let's review:

• I probably did get that $20 stolen earlier in the sessions, because Chef made a head's-up announcement: make sure we don't leave our personal belongings lying around. Apparently, there's been a mini-rash of $20 being taken from several students' wallets.
  
• The male restaurant lifer told me again that I'm not professional, because my Top Chef bag is covered in flour. No comment then on his florescent-green key lime pie, or the fact that he basically rolled his name, and then baked it, onto his pie crust, via a Sharpie pen and a piece of reused plastic wrap. Chef rolls her eyes sometimes, but I think he means well.
  
• I saw a drop-dead gorgeous man at school yesterday, but alas, he was only a mirage. I mean, visitor.
• There is no way in the world those restaurant uniforms, which arrived yesterday, could flatter and/or complement anyone's body, mind, spirit, or ego. Am trying to figure a way around the lost-in-a-shapeless-bolt-or-two-of-ugly-fabric look, though, like turn the above-waist-high elasticized waistband into more of a low rider thing. Then take in the legs, maybe belt the jacket, embroider something over the school's logo, and voila. It'd still be hideous.
  
• I saw a kind-of-cute man at school yesterday, and he apparently works there. I should have realized when I spotted his crazy vertical chef's hat on the desk next to him, though I'm not sure he actually wore it. Chef Nola doesn't don one of those restaurant fetish items, which I sincerely appreciate.
  
• Essential oil of lavender does work to relieve pain, blistering, and scarring of burns. I've doled out my trusty travel bottle twice in class so far: once a few weeks ago to a slightly quiet chocolatier, a single mother of three, who swore by its effectiveness—no blistering—though I'm not sure how she burned herself; and the second time to the other guy in the class, the bakery owner who comes with his wife, a cool dude who felt bad that he dropped my pretty tart shell when he picked up the hot pan using the thermal oven mitt with the hole in the middle of it. He seemed okay, but was very apologetic, though I wasn't that bummed. In fact, I'd put everything away and didn't want to make a new dough, but Dee and the baker man weighed out everything for me again, and it was kind of sweet. In the end, the new crust was probably better than the first, particularly when Chef used the melted bittersweet chocolate (which came in a brown-paper-wrapped brick of maybe about twenty-five pounds that she smashed on the table several times to procure a few hunks of), to reinforce any cracks in the final product (I never said it was perfect, just amazing).
  
• *—Praise Song for the Day, Elizabeth Alexander

Fresh Raspberry Tart with Vanilla Pastry Cream and a Layer of Chocolate

Regarding Luca's Italian Pastry Cream (see sidebar): turns out, you don't need to stir the custard counterclockwise after all. Today in class, I stirred my French Pastry Cream clockwise, long and hard, and look what I got:

Plus, there is a thin layer of chocolate brushed between the tart crust and the pastry cream, and may I just say, it is pretty spectacular.

I wish the foil wasn't disturbing the flow of the picture, which isn't my finest, but it may actually be holding the tart shell together. Stay tuned.

P.S. I might be in love with Raoul Charlebois, that crazy Frenchman from my latest genre fiction copy edit job, Fuck Me Before Christmas.

Holiday

Today, D.J. and I have full-blown colds. She went to Justin Timberlake's William Rast fashion show, and I stayed home, finishing my work on Manfucker.

Baked Goods

Today I made Nigella's Lily's Scones—I halved the recipe because for God's sake, I don't need another dozen scones around here—and they looked lovely and tasted fine (at least they're sugar free), but I think I need to check out a new cookbook. The Norwegian Cinnamon Rolls I donated to D.J.'s class' party, on the other hand, ultimately had to be raffled off, because they were...so freaking fantastic. And yesterday, just for old times' sake, I made Toll House Cookies. Crazy good; I have to figure out what to do with all these baked goods, besides add them to my butt size.

Plus, must venture out of my latest diet—into say, vegetables and protein—which lately seems to consist of several variations on a theme of:

1. Hecker's unbleached flour
   
2. Organic eggs from my local Abingdon Square farmer's market
3. Milk and/or yogurt, sans hormones
4. Butter
   
5. Sugar
   
6. Some kind of chemical leavening, like baking soda or powder, or well, I'm off yeast for a bit. Hmmm.
   
7. Maybe some berries or apples, or dried berries, to be mixed in with the above.
   
8. Possibly oats or corn meal. Jeez.
   
9. And salt.
   
10. Oh, and D.J. and I are very into fresh squeezed grapefruit juice these days.
    

I was planning on at least adding cheddar cheese to Nigella's scones, for a bit of substance and variety, and D.J.'d even prepped it for me, but again, Goddess Lawson's batter was a bit messy (either too much liquid and/or not enough flour), so in the drama of the moment of trying to save the otherwise nice buttery dough, I forgot.

P.S. As for rolling out the Lily's Scones dough to a thickness of at least one inch, forget it—it rolls much thinner than that. I tried twice, then didn't want to overwork it, so using 1/2-inch-thick-at-best dough, I placed two circles of pastry-cutter cut scones on top of one another, and the results were excellent. Very clean and easy to break open, as well as kind of professional looking, if I do say so myself, and I've just talked myself into having one right now.

Things I've Never Seen Before At A Bat or Bar Mitzvah

• An usher, an older man, with a ponytail. He looked like a young gentle Mickey Rourke.
• An usher with a handheld headcounter. I told him I was only dropping off.
• A service that didn't start until the reasonable hour of ten-thirty a.m.
• A pickup time of only ninety minutes later, maximum, according to the guys with the ponytail and headcounter, respectively.
• Valentine's Day.

Beautiful temple and windows, btw, dark but atmospheric, at Central Synagogue, Lexington Avenue and 55th Street. D.J. is going to be one of those lovely approaching-young-womanhood girls who all sit together in a line, behind family and other friends, next to the always-shorter boys, feet not touching the ground, hair slicked back, covered awkwardly with a yarmulke. "I've always wanted to be one of those girls," she said dreamily.


P.S. Yesterday, besides making Blueberry Muffins (have decided am not a Domestic Goddess, though the muffins are good), taking my second sick day in a row (weird bug, very tired), hauling through Manfucker (a couple about to be married go their separate ways beforehand—she to an island retreat for an all-inclusive tropical sex storm, and he to decide how to keep his secret lover, a man he also happens to have taken a hit out on), I watched D.J. perform a gig with a select few dancers from her all-kids/semi-professional dance company, and she is freaking fantastic. "A bright light in the group," the accompanist told me, a kinda cool-looking guy I've not seen before...

Extra Credit

Be Mine

Waited a half hour in Li-Lac, conveniently located across the street from my place, to buy D.J. a Valentine treat, because I ate her chocolate heart lollipop last night, which I'd already queued up for the week before. This time, I bought pretty little milk chocolate cups with pink hearts on top, had them sealed in a box, and then wrapped in heart paper and tied with a bow, mostly so I could not get to them. (Okay, so I bought myself some foil-covered chocolate hearts.)

Admitted my crime to the Li-Lac salesperson, and she said she does that all the time. Yada, yada, we got to talking about kids, yada, yada—thousands of people crammed in that store getting irked at us—and turns out, her boy's middle school is edgy, too, and someone else's kid was saying at his school, the kids were basically having sex on the Valentine's Day dance floor.

D.J. is now apparently the object of affection of two boys at her school. Seventh graders, to boot. I wonder if she still doesn't want to go to the GVMS V-Day Ball.

Why I Need Another Career

Jenny
C.V. Sampler

1. Dental assistant. High school. First job. Subbing for Nancy G. two consecutive Saturdays. Mother thrilled with uniform. Did not get called back for second week.
2. Scallop shucker. Nantucket Island. Wish I had not thrown away my knife.
   
3. Cook on 4-man fishing boat, converted shrimper, The Castaway. 150 miles offshore. Seventeen years old. Looking for swordfish, found none. Dragged bottom of ocean for yellowfish. Ate raw lobster salad—well, I didn't, re: mayonnaise. Learned cribbage, among other things. My friend/safety net/other female aboard got pregnant by a Castaway, a man with two sharks tattooed on his chest, and subsequently, a very angry fiancee. Memorable line: "The ocean will never hurt you. It will only kill you."—Captain Tom Collins
4. Dishwasher. Italian restaurant. Was trying to get off island.
5. Summer stock. Consistently cast as Bielka in Fiddler on the Roof over a period of many, many years.
   
6. Short order cook, among other things. Midnight shift.
7. Saute cook at Frank Lloyd Wright-designed restaurant on Wisconsin River. Only remember cooking lots of trout, and that dreamy, flowing-with-the-river structure.
8. Performer. Lowbrow Minnesota tour.
   
9. Taco Bell. First day: left on lunch break, never went back.
10. Tart maker in Paris, savory and sweet. Was not time of my life.
    
11. Telemarketer. Back in the states.
12. Administrative worker. Usually in theaters.
13. Circus apprentice. Assistant truck driver to Carlos. Mmm.
    
14. French fry cook. Soon promoted to prep cook; can still dice a tomato with finesse. Left when forced to handle huge racks of meat. Bob Denver's son worked there, was a model ship builder, and looked exactly like Gilligan.
    
15. Barista, Comedy Club. Used to flirt with Rob Scheider.
    
16. Museum "Explainer."
17. Performer for little or no money, pretty much throughout all this.
18. Children's museum worker. A demotion, but now on east coast.
19. Afterschool teacher for elementary schools. Quit once, returned, could only find work in pre-schools, took it. Threw in towel after seven years.
20. Seamstress. Partnered with friend to create summer mini-jumpsuit line. Later had unrelated falling out; she was in love with my boyfriend.
    
21. Administrative worker again. In theaters.
    
22. Performer, for years. Maybe making a bit more money. Now getting grants, and one fellowship award. (Lived in NJ at the time, though.)
23. Circus person, again. Puppeteer. Smallest part in the show, wound up in Woody Allen's Alice. Also pulled curtain for elephant act, a high-pressure situation. No joke.
    
24. SAG movie extra. Only hired for African-American films. Think Jungle Fever, Boomerang, Run's House...
25. Screenplay adapter and author interviewer for kids magazine.
    
26. Wrote film script. 1/4$ of $$$$.
27. Opera singer even. Highlight: made Baryshnikov laugh, and front page of New York Times arts section. Last major performances, Edinburgh.
    
28. Script reader. Hollywood. Real money.
    
29. Studio Executive. More real money. Had baby, aka D.J. Best friend fired me from her boss/lover's bed. She denies it, insists I quit.
30. Unemployed, kind of. Back in NYC.
31. Theater and Book Scout. Fun, but part of vanity severance/guilt package from best friend.
    
32. Script reader. All over NYC. Not nearly as well paid as Hollywood. Work dwindles after 9/11.
    
33. Writer. Playwright. Sometimes.
34. Columnist. Three years. Still basically unemployed.
35. Proofreader.
36. Advertising and Promotions. Real money, almost. Very right wing, did not end happily, but good experience.
    
37. Copy editing.
    
38. Writer's assistant. Called "glamorous" at interview. Wrote much of the narrative, and some lines/jokes, plus full copy editing for recent Tony-nominated musical. Never saw it. Wasn't invited. Still a bit irked.
    
39. Game show writer. Much funner than it sounds. Real money. Felt important.
    
40. Quasi-smut publishing. Part-time and freelance.
    
41. Current day...
    

Fuck Me Before Christmas

I did finish the first copy edit round of Fuck Me Before Christmas (I'm paraphrasing here), and you'll be relieved to hear that the breathtakingly handsome and brilliant thespian, Raoul Charlebois, finally unraveled the secrets of his past and discovered that, in fact, he was not the bastard he once thought he was, but rather a French comte whose loving parents had sacrificed their lives to the guillotine for him; and that Miss Sarah Jefferson, a raven-haired, ample-bosomed, gingerbread-making, twenty-one-year-old spinster and daughter-of-a-gamekeeper (not gameskeeper, people), was finally going to be getting a little somethin'-somethin', on a regular basis even.

Meanwhile, I also have a rush deadline to meet on Maneater, so I was off and running—wishing it was in the other direction—with that piece of...prose—when suddenly, via email:

"Greetings all, On Thursday, 601 (kids, no parents) will be celebrating the completion of their independent writing projects, and they are incorporating a welcome back for Ms. G. Ms. H. has put out a call for treats, drinks (lemonade, fruit punch, orange juice, apple juice—no soda) and cups. I'm going to send T. in with some mini brownies and mini muffins from Whole Foods. If you would like to send your child in with something, it will be greatly appreciated..."

I decided I was finally ready to step outside my school baking comfort-zone standbys:

• Original Nestle Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies, from the back of the bag (http://theirreverentfamilycookbook.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-didnt-go-to-work-today.html).
  
• Baker's One Bowl Brownies, from the back of the Baker's Unsweetened Baking Chocolate Squares box (easy and fantastic, btw).
  
• Old-Fashioned Apple Crumb Cake (http://theirreverentfamilycookbook.blogspot.com/2009/02/principals-office.html).
• Gingered Gingerbread, Hay Day Country Market Cookbook, again!
  

So:

• Cinnamon Rolls with Cream Cheese Glaze, Bon Appetit, March 2008 (recipe discovered chez D.J.'s former nut allergy doctor, a very sweet, well-groomed Conan look-alike),
  

or

• Norwegian Cinnamon Buns, How to be a Domestic Goddess*?

Nigella's process was a bit horror-movie-esque, as either the recipe called for way too much liquid, or I didn't put enough flour in, 'cause the dough was a mess. In any event, I kept adding more and more flour, and it kept growing in my hands! I was sure it was a bust, and I was going to have to throw the whole thing away, but that dough had been activated, and was not slowing down. It was relentless. It was alive!

End results: impressive and delicious. Had to try before I sent off to the party, of course. Photo may not do them justice.



Wrong picture. That's D.J. as Charlie Bucket in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, June 2008, P.S. 41, NYC.



*Recipe link: http://www.notquitenigella.com/2008/03/19/nigella-lawson-norwegian-cinnamon-buns-from-how-to-be-a-domestic-goddess/

Piece de Resistance

I can't put the accents in piece de resistance, but they're there.

So, to complete the thematic touches of irreverence on my showpieces, I am now kind of depressed and yeasted-out. Today my life was reduced to a dozen Buttermilk Fantails, and I have a stomach ache.

LBOBF IV

Live Blogging of Buttermilk Fantails III

Rolled the dough a bit too thin, so they could have been puffier, and used yogurt (and milk in combination) instead of buttermilk, but these were impressively good to look at and eat.

D.J. thinks my French bread was better, but I disagree—the dough was simply much more interesting in these. I think she just liked the French toast slathered with syrup and berries (well, so did I.)

We had two each for dinner, and I sent four more upstairs for our neighbors and their newborn son, Chase Winter Luzio (not a pseudonym), to enjoy. (Yes, I know, C.W.L. isn't ready for Buttermilk Fantails.)

Must do my Tracy Anderson Method Mat Workout DVD. Pronto.



photo: http://tracyandersonmethoddvd.amazonwebstore.com/The-Tracy-Anderson-Method-Presents-Mat/M/B001F2HZHI.htm

Live Blogging of Buttermilk Fantails II

Excellent. Fabulous. They are now punched, halved, rolled, buttered, twice cut in six strips, layered, cut again, and fanned out in their muffin tins, awaiting another round of proofing, 1 to 1 1/2 hours, exactly the moment I'm supposed to take D.J. to her modern dance class. (I still can't tell if she's sick or not.)

Meanwhile, I see FCI—$600/hour, btw, for their 600-hour pastry arts program—is now starting food writing and food blogging classes. When I called them with my food writing idea, they weren't too keen on it. Jeez!

(One thing you may not know about me, but I am always, always, mostly, ahead of schedule. I may not be mise en place—though was a huge improvement in this last Buttermilk Fantail step—but I am, comment on dit, ahead of the curve, at least in some ways.)

P.S. My kitchen, with the oven on and the rolls rising, stinks of yeast. Once they go in the oven, I will have to air the place out.

Live Blogging of Buttermilk Fantails

Am completely not mise en place. Not working on those crazy books, though am about to, but was suddenly inspired to make Buttermilk Fantails*, as seen and drooled over in February's Gourmet. (Am completely sidetracked so far today.) But have had to run to the deli once already to get yogurt and milk (a half and half mixture is a good substitute for buttermilk, which I didn't have either, and don't love anyway). Am getting the ingredients together as I go, and didn't read the recipe carefully first, so am not impressed with those work habits.

On the other hand, the yeast fermented beautifully, and the dough came together like clockwork. Is currently shaped in a smooth elastic ball, sitting in a well oiled bowl on the preheated stove—temperature-wise, my place is not bread-proofing friendly—waiting to double in size, 1 1/2 to 2 hours from now.

I guess I wanted to see if I could really make bread, or if it was just a fluke.

*Recipe link: http://74.125.95.132/search?q=cache:DbPyYBBT-ekJ:www.gourmet.com/recipes/2000s/2009/02/buttermilk-fantails+gourmet%27s+buttermilk+fantails&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=1&gl=us&client=firefox-a

Main Entry: mise en place*

Apparently, mise en place is IT in professional cooking, meaning, in kitchen-speak, everything in its place. Maybe I should become a mise en place kind of gal; perhaps this is the kind of practicality—aka, in parent-speak: survivor skill—I need to ascribe to.

Only four hours into D.J.'s sick day, and I've already lost myself.

• Main entry: mise en place
• Part of Speech: n
• Definition: in professional cooking, proper planning of equipment and ingredients for a food preparation and assembly station.
• Etymology: French 'put in place'
• Usage: cooking

*mise en place. Dictionary.com. Webster's New Millennium™ Dictionary of English, Preview Edition (v 0.9.7). Dictionary.com, LLC. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/mise en place (accessed: February 10, 2009).

Middle School Angst: .57

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3OjyR_9vpw&feature=channel

GVMS

D.J. is sick today, kind of. I think it's middle school angst.

Completely upended my day with that, and now I must meditate so as to possibly get something done—I have a ticking deadline, and important fish to fry, on both Seduce Me By Christmas and Maneater—besides obsess over the social ins and outs of Greenwich Village Middle School.

For example, D.J. does not want to go to the upcoming Valentine's Day Ball at her school. After the last dance—a Halloween party—she talked a lot about grinding, or as it's known at another city middle school, the grind line. Apparently at D.J.'s friend's school's V-Day Dance, which already happened, the Halloween grind line was replaced by a Valentine's Day make-out party.

This, by the way, isn't really D.J.'s angst—though it could be mine—but it's fun to talk about. In any event, the night of the ball, we're going to see a screening of Man on Wire, followed by a Q & A with Philippe Petit.


P.S. I was on the rigging crew of Philippe Petit's walk across the cool constellation ceiling of Grand Central Station.

photo: http://fataculture.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/man-on-wire.jpg

Bun In The Oven Part II

I take it back—there's not enough bread at my house.

I shouldn't have put my French bread loaves in plastic, as they wilted overnight. However, I pepped up the "baguettes" by making the most delicious French toast I've ever encountered. D.J. conferred, and at that moment, with my homemade French toast (topped with fresh raspberries and maple syrup), something clicked in me. Like, "Yes, there is something here [with the whole baking thing]."

Lightbulb moment recreated this evening when I toasted the bread, painted it with the tiniest bit of butter, and made mini sandwiches for J.D. and I.

Took a look in the mirror this p.m. to survey the two-day yeast-fest damage: multiple bread tastings, one brick of focaccia, two small savory soft rolls with vegetables, two pieces of French toast, 1 1/2 open-faced mini sandwiches.

Complete bun in the oven. Must stop.

Posted Near Elevator at Culinary Academy

Auditions being held for the upcoming seasons of Top Chef and Chopped.

Bun In The Oven

OMG. I just took a lavender-infused bath, and I'm somewhat recovered but I reek of yeast.

A quick recap of today, week 3:

Crusty Breads in the a.m., most via the simplest "Straight Dough" method:

• French Bread—mine was the only one that seemed to work, and the birthing of the bread was very satisfying. Golden, attractive, and beautifully shaped, scored, and risen? Oui. French Bread? Non. Pas du tout.
  
• Italian Bread—one of these tasted like water, and I saw no real difference between the "Italian" Bread and the "French" Bread, except maybe the lack of a tablespoon or two of both sugar and shortening.
  
• Challah—no one made this, and I kind of wish I had.
  
• Cuban Bread—not Dee's best, but good flavor.
  
• Focaccia (rough translation: old shoe or slipper)—see below. (Made via the "Sponge Method.")
  

Lunch:

• Homemade Focaccia Pizza with Sauteed Vegetables, Tomato Sauce, and Fresh Mozzarella—sauce with vegetables: shout out to Chef Nola! Functional base, but not particularly flavorful, and later I was so full, I felt like I'd eaten a brick of Focaccia.
  

Soft Breads:

• Whole Wheat Rolls—tasted better than they looked, made by the new guy from last week.
  
• Savory Egg Rolls with Vegetables—surprisingly successful looking, like one of those Easter buns with the artificially-colored dried fruit sticking out, but in a good way. Taste: second only to Pita. Made by the other guy in the class, a restaurant lifer, very earnest, told me today that no one would hire me as a dishwasher.
  
• Soft Rolls with Brown Sugar, Cinnamon, and Raisins—never even came out of the oven, I don't think, which was too bad 'cause I was actually looking forward to those. But after I saw a hair on one of the products—through the convection oven door even—I went home.
  
• Pita—what can I say? Impressive!
  

There is so much bread at my house right now, and though the Pita is gone, thanks to Daughter Judy, the rest I can't even give away. "I live in Brooklyn!" declared D.J.'s babysitter's brand new boyfriend.

Alors, tomorrow I will make French toast for breakfast, bread pudding (dream on, J.!), croutons, and bread crumbs.

P.S. I'm supposed to be on a constant yeast-free diet, by the way, as on yeast, I, too, am like a bun in the oven.

Next class in two weeks. Operative word: Cheesecake.

Who Knew...

...that baking could be so freaking tiring? Am exhausted, and only have three words to share until I get some rest: WINNER: PITA BREAD!

(Three more words: Dee's and mine!)

Forgot Her Basket of Goodies

Sasha Obama Eats Peanut Butter Three Times a Week*

I was such a picky eater when I was young, family history boasts that my then-frustrated mother insisted I make a list of my ten favorite foods (despite one of her standards being "Dry Chicken with Rosemary," her words exactly). Apparently, I could only think of nine, so I added salt to the lineup, and thus a legend was borne. Peanut butter was definitely on that list, and now I'm at a loss, what with the current poisonous peanut butter situation. I've been scraping the bottom of my peanut butter barrel for days now.

I had a peanut butter sandwich (spread very thin, with no jelly or jam), which I made myself, almost every single day of my entire schoolgirl career. I had a friend in kindergarten, though, Lynne Greenbaum, who was even pickier than I; she came to school with a lump of peanut butter—and a spoon!

Shudder-worthy food items for me included any kind of condiment, and particularly mayonnaise, which still makes me cringe. One of my sisters also recoils from it, as does President Obama**, so I'm in extremely good company there. But don't get me started on my brussels sprout trauma.

The List (Approximately)

1. Peanut butter
2. White bread
3. Grandma Piggyback's French Toast (though sometimes was too egg-y, so then I'd only eat the edges. Plus, I liked honey with it, on the side—not atop—and not syrup. I do not have the precise recipe for G.P.F.T., but I can only imagine she'd soak the previous night's challah or rye bread in the eggs waaaay too long. Similarly, those previous nights, there probably would have been a whitefish, nova, and chopped chicken liver spread, but instead, I'd stand on a chair in her kitchen to rescue the lonely peanut butter she kept for me in her super tall Upper West Side cabinets, and put it on a plain—no butter, for God's sake, which my grandma was apt to do—toasted bagel. I was very happy with that, though, much to the chagrin and incredulity of the rest of the table).
   
4. Apple
5. French Fries
   
6. Hot dog
7. Pizza
8. Ice Cream
9. Iceberg lettuce
10. Salt

* http://blogs.abcnews.com/politicalpunch/2009/02/more-from-presi.html
** http://blog.al.com/living-news/2009/01/party_like_a_president_ideas_f.html

Bullocks

If you ever find yourself teaching juggling to middle schoolers, do not, I repeat, do not use the word "ball," or "balls." As in my own recent foot-in-mouth repartee with an innocent: "Actually, Will, my balls are bigger and heavier than yours."

Have not heard the end of that from D.J. yet.

The Principal's Office

I don't love going to the principal's office at Daughter Judy's school. He's just too darned cute, in a sweet and goofy kind of way, and it's extremely distracting watching his lanky figure lean against, oh, basically anything in that office of his. Plus, I know he has a tattoo under his shirtsleeve, and well, it's just completely inappropriate for me to even think like that. Nevertheless, D.J. is on internet lockdown for a week 'cause several times recently, I found myself face-to-face with that cute married-with-newborn-boy/girl-twins principal guy.

I mean, her continuous and impressive straight-A average notwithstanding, I'm trying to nip in the bud her becoming a...mean girl. Darn! I barely understand what went down at her school, with this girl and that boy, despite a lengthy cell phone conversation with the principal the other night. Locked in my own bathroom, at least I wasn't looking at his lanky figure lean against...

Middle school psyche is very complicated, I guess, but from now on, chez moi, they'll be no more Clique books, US magazine's "Who Wore it Best," or Disney's Zoey 101 (at least Raven had magical powers, though my once preferred Hillary Duff is totally off my list for recently dissing Faye Dunaway's looks. Talk about a mean, not-too-bright girl!).

Tomorrow is day three at baking and pastry arts. Must remember to get up early, bring calculator, embed my name somehow on my baking tools—someone already picked up my new rubber spatula—and try not to be a mean girl myself.

P.S. I sent D.J. off this a.m. with an entire Old-Fashioned Apple Crumb Cake*, recipe courtesy of Hay Day Country Market Cookbook, made especially for the super cool family that takes care of D.J. more times than I can count. They're hosting her almost every Friday night for the duration of my Saturday program. Hollah!

I actually made two of these crazily delicious golden cakes last night, so D.J. and I could enjoy as well, though I have a serious problem with my willpower when one is around; 'twas part of my downfall that night not so long ago when I tried to get something going with one of my exes.

Here's a link to the recipe, which claims to be adapted from the original Hay Day recipe, but it is exactly the same, though cut in half (the original makes two cakes), and specifies what kind of egg and apple to use (I use any kind). Also, I don't use nuts in my topping as D.J. used to be allergic, but it is still amazing. Like the inside of a homemade Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tart, if you can remember or imagine that.

Note: Do not think that by adding more butter to the topping, it will be better—obviously I've tried this—because then it's too heavy, and sinks to the bottom of the cake. Best to keep the whole thing nice and light!

Recipe pdf link: www.lexingtonfarmersmarket.org/Recipes/Recipes07/WhatsForDinner/apple%20crumbcake2.pdf

Just Cause

Super Bowl Sunday

• http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om_yq4L3M_I

Cannot figure out how to actually put the video on here, but it's well worth a trip to G. Carlin's "Baseball Versus Football."

I Was About Ten Minutes Late

My votes for Week 2 are in:

Morning hours, part 1: Scones and Biscuits

Cheese Biscuits: Top prize. Excellent. Aesthetically pleasing. Light and layered, with nice cheddar flavor. An apt complement to a most delicious lunch Chef made us during the morning hours: Pasta with Fresh Tuna and Vegetables in Tomato Cream Sauce (though I don't know she's officially named it that). She's just cooking on the side while her baking students are doing their thing. I'm paired up with Dee, a restaurant lifer, her identity possibly based on Toula from My Big Fat Greek Wedding; she's more precise than I (in a good way), and I'm possibly more...passionate...than she. Chef has dubbed me "Messy Martha," despite me not being blond, Christian, or ex-con material, but together, Dee and I made:

Scones with Fresh Berries Inside: Second place. I think they could have been good, but the dough was too thick, so they looked almost like big white-flour dumplings. Fresh blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries saved these suckers!

On second thought, they were much better fresh baked, and I probably wouldn't have eaten them the next day if they hadn't been filled with whole berries, so I'd tie them for third place with:

Scones with Dried Apricots, Cranberries, and Raisins: Different scone recipe from above. To be fair, I didn't try them until the second day, so to give them the benefit of the doubt, I did as suggested by Chef: I panfried them in a bit of butter, which I think was their saving grace. Daughter Judy didn't respond well, either, thinking them too dry (she ran to our neighborhood Tartine, on West 4th and 11th Streets, for an award-winning croissant), but I liked mine dipped in my hot morning tea. (Earl Grey, with a little milk and half a sugar.)

Morning hours, part 2: Quick Breads

I couldn't judge these on taste, because we took home our respective loaves afterward, unopened, untested. But in terms of visuals:

• Almond-Poppy Seed, hands down, made by Dee.
  
• Both Apple Spice.
  
• 1 Date Nut and 3 Banana Nut—tied for not looking that great, but they probably wouldn't have been my first choice anyway, even if they had looked good.

I made one of the Apple Spice loaves, which looked good, but heavy, and tasted, at least yesterday, okay, but heavy. I might like it better in a day or two, when I have no other baked goods left to choose from.

Lunch hour

Well, Chef's lunch was incredibly spot-on, and now I think it would be nice if someone besides a take-out kitchen would cook for me (and Chef, on occasional Saturdays). Took a break afterward to 1) pay my weekly installment at the office on the floor below, which turned out a bit problematic and time-consuming when after fifteen minutes or so, they only charged me 1/100th of what I was supposed to pay, and 2) wonder where that $20 was, the bill I could have sworn I'd seen in my wallet that morning before I left my house ten minutes behind schedule. Hmmm. I can't say for sure, so I won't, but next week, I'll definitely keep my money in my pocket.

Afternoon hours: Muffins

• First place looks: Double Chocolate
  
• First place taste, consistency, subtlety: Pumpkin

• Second place looks: Carrot Nut (with no nuts)
• Second place taste, consistency: Double Chocolate
  

• Third place looks: Pumpkin
• Third place taste: Carrot Nut, no nuts

• Fourth place overall: Corn

I wasn't even going to try the pumpkin muffins (Dee's and mine)—though well shaped, they weren't particularly inviting—but they were amazing. Smooth and subtle tasting. A definite recipe keeper, and I hope by now Dee has forgiven me for being a bit more...hands-on than she. Will have to figure out how to make them more attractive.

The double chocolate were the most seductive, and Daughter Judy ate two of them immediately, but there was a lot of tunneling going on (too much air in the batter), and upon further inspection, they didn't look well mixed. Made by the seemingly cool new guy, I would try them again myself, using better chips.

Aftermath

Was tired, but forced myself to carry on with my 2009 exercise routine (though have yet to do it today), which is The Tracy Anderson Method Mat Workout DVD (Madonna and Gywneth Paltrow's trainer's DVD, though surely a watered-down version of the A-listers'). Any thoughts I might have had that I could lay down on a "mat" during this workout were immediately replaced by an "Oh, shit," exclamation, and the sorest thighs I've had in years.

I'm committing to this DVD for the duration of the Baking/Pastry Arts Class. Check back with me in thirteen weeks.

P.S. Must get a kitchen scale, and remember to bring a calculator next week for baking mathematics instruction.