When Life Gives You Self-Rising Flour...

Dear Mouse,

Ah, spring.

"When birds do sing Hey ding a ding ding/Sweet lovers love the spring" -As You Like It

"Why should a woman cook? So a man can say, 'My wife makes a wonderful cake' ... to some hooker?" - Joan Rivers

It's April. (Freezing, freezing April.) And that can only mean three things: Home, Spring and Birthday Cake! Specifically, your birthday cake! Yes, Home is where the Hart is... and, also, the bag of self-rising flour that I shipped home from Kentucky ... and also a tub of frozen, pink, leftover Magnolia-Cupcake-Recipe-Icing that I made months ago and totally forgot about! Score.

The Magnolia Cupcake recipe, in the form of a two-layer cake, has been my go-to Birthday confection since I first made it for you a few years back. The recipe is ALL about excess--two kinds of flour (self-rising and regular), four eggs in the cake, two boxes of confectioner's sugar. Each time, try as I might to use all the frosting, there is always a significant amount left over (and you know I like me some frosting).

The bag of flour is another story. I'd had it shipped it from Kentucky along with some other baking staples, partly because shipping was free, partly because I couldn't stand to waste it, and partly because I had formed a sort of perverse sentimental attachment to it. It had been, well, meant for someone else's birthday cake. And, well, the night before I was to make it, the idea of "baking" got replaced with "throwing a jealous tantrum in the parking lot" ... and it never happened. (In my defense, it was the Spring Equinox. Also, I was provoked. My point is, no cake. I did stop short of giving him the bag of flour with a candle stuck in it as I'm pretty sure that's a fire hazard oh god it's all so embarrassing let me redeem myself with a dessert recipe.)

Here's the cake I just made for your birthday celebration tonight! Isn't it PRETTY?

OK, 'attractive'? "Striking"? Whatever, it'll taste good.

It's kind of a 'Magnolia-Light" version (HA). Since I only had enough frosting for the top of the cake (rather than the usual all-over and between-layers), I improvised with a strawberries-and-whipped-cream filling. I think the restraint makes for a more Spring-y, hopeful, romantic dessert. I can't wait to try it.

Though now I think of it, this would be perfect for that "pie in the face" comedy sketch we've been working on...

Now, of course you might say it's a bit headstrong and impatient and dare I say perhaps irrational and impulsive to post a recipe before it's been tested, and to that I say,

"WHAT THE @$&(*??? WHO THE #(%^$@ IS SHE? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?????!!"

Happy Birthday! Recipe Below.

Love,

The Boo.

The Boo's Magnolia-Style "Sweet Lovers Love the Spring" Birthday Cake

FOR CAKE:

1 1/2 Cups Self-Rising Flour

1 1/4 C Regular Flour

2 sticks (1 C) butter

2 C sugar

1 C milk

1 tsp vanilla

4 eggs

Preheat oven to 350. Mix the flours in a small bowl, set aside. Cream butter, then gradually add sugar and beat until "fluffy". Add eggs one at a time, beating after each. Add the flours in THREE parts, alternating with milk and vanilla; mix each time just enough to blend; do not overbeat. Pour it in two round greased cake pans (I used Pam baking spray; yes I did). Bake 20-25 min until a knife comes out clean. COOL - for the love of Mike - COOL them COMPLETELY before attempting to frost.

While cakes bake, make icing...

FOR ICING (I've halved the full recipe here)

1 stick (1/2 C) butter, softened

3 or 4 C (i'm gonna say 1 box) confectioner's sugar

1/4 C milk

1 tsp vanilla

Place the butter in a large mixing bowl. Add 2 C of the sugar and then the milk and vanilla.

beat until smooth and creamy, about 3 to 5 minutes. Gradually add the remaining sugar, 1 cup at a time, beating well after each addition (about 2 minutes), until the icing is thick enough to be of good spreading consistency. To your taste; you may or may not use all the sugar (though if you like magnolia cupcake icing, you will). If desired, add a few drops of food coloring and mix thoroughly. (Use and store the icing at room temperature because icing will set if chilled.) Icing can be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days. (NOte from The Boo: It CAN be frozen and then brought back to room temp before spreading).

...and whipped cream filling:

strawberries, several

1 C heavy cream

1 tsp vanilla

a bit (1/2 tbsp?) powdered sugar if you have it

Beat it til it's whipped cream. Slice a bunch of strawberries, thinly.

When cakes are cool, gently remove from pans. Set first layer on the cake platter. Spread whipped cream thickly across center. Arrange strawberries in single layer. Gently place second cake layer on top the strawberries. Go to town with icing, all over top of the cake and if you wish also around bottom layer (but leave center visible; the whipped cream and berries peeking out look pretty.)

Infused Spirits at Blue Hill and Stone Barns

Walking on velvet green/Distant cows lowing/Isn't it rare/ To be taking the air/Walking on velvet green

-jethro tull

Dear Mouse,

Last week, i had the best meal of my life.

I've been on the road, performing and teaching a bit! since then (Go Chicago Slam Team Go!) and carrying this experience around with me like a tiny torch, waiting for the moment that I could blog. I've been telling the story to anyone who will listen until I feel like a Hollywood screen writer in a pitching food porn. Now I will attempt to do it justice.

Food of the Fairies ... And the Future

One year ago in Maine, Helena turned to me as we were pouring bacon grease over a salad and said "Next summer, for our birthdays, we should save up some money and have dinner at BLue Hill at Stone Barns." She painted a picture of this kind of earthly paradise: part farm, part high-end restaurant serving food from that farm, seasonal tasting menus, rolling hills, etc. And, unlike many plans you make with someone who is cutting your hair after a night steeped in vodka, this one stuck.


We met at Grand Central already quite beside ourselves after a straight four days of text messages about everything from the "July Ingredients" list on their web site to what shoes should be worn to the (fancy) farm. I knew it was going to be a rare night when the guy at the Grand Central wine store uncorked a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc for us and provided plastic cups for our train ride up the river. (Yes, you can drink on MetroNorth). 45 minutes later we poured ourselves into fancy dresses and glittery accessories and headed (courtesy of Helena's sweet roommate The Doctor and his car) along the winding river to our destination.

"You guys are going to have the Best Meal Ever", was the Doctor's pronouncement as we drove up the enchanted, winding driveway to the farm and the big stone building atop the hill at dusk. Fireflies were appearing in the perfumed air, heavy with grass-scented summer. The lowing of cattle and bleats of lambs followed us in the gathering dark as we approached the courtyard. We looked forward to making their acquaintance and , perhaps, eating them.

As we swished onto the cool stone rectangle lit on all sides by the restaurant's windows, the towering cathedral-like 'event space', and the charming "BHSB Cafe" area (open during the day for snack versions of the treats inside) I could have sworn I heard Life as We Know It receding behind me, its wide oak doors quietly 'whoosh'ing shut as we prepared for liftoff. This is,mind you, before we even ENTER THE RESTAURANT or LOOK at any food. There was but one way to go. Onward.

That's me in the doorway, losing my religion.


THE BAR

We clicked our way reverently through the low-lit, glass-candle -flickering, marble and wood bar area, all eyes upon us (so I imagine; I was wearing a fiery orange mini dress and carrying a gold sequined bag, so maybe it was just they thought I was a traffic light). At reception, they ask you immediately and politely if you'd like them to call a taxi to pick you up later. Why yes, we would.

Perusing the cocktail menu in the bar, I start to get the feeling I am not in Kansas (or even recognizable restaurant-land) anymore. They offer a Pickled Ramp Martini. An Elderflower Royale. "Infused Spirits" in a variety of flavors including: 'Fig & Fennel', 'Oat & Honey', 'Golden Beet' and more. I was paralyzed with indecisive joy. Helena, however, had an agenda. "Do you think", she asked the bartender, her cornflower blue eyes wide within her halo of golden hair, 'you could make us a Pimms Cup"?

A Pimms Cup, if you haven't had the pleasure, is a delicious, cool, fizzy, perfect summer cocktail featuring a mystery scarlet-hued British liqueur, ginger beer (or 7Up), and usually some mint and a cucumber slice. The bartender apologized for not having ginger beer, "But I could make it with fresh ginger; would that be all right?" Why yes it would. It was, of course, the Ultimate Pimms, and they didn't charge us for it. (But dont quote me on that.) Helena was down to the cucumber slice and a puddle of flavored ice and still wouldn't let the server take it from her.

THE MENU

I better get cracking lest this become The Return of the King of blog posts, so let me just say this: The 'Menu' at BHSB is a list of seasonal ingredients, or "what the chefs are working with right now", and a choice of two tasting menus. Some of the items on the list - I am being wholly serious - I had never heard of. I felt like we had shot light years into the future, where people eat things like "firecrackers", "Claytonia", "sweet cicely", "red fyfe", and "bright lights chard". I mean, what?


You choose either an 8-course Menu, which involves 2 desserts and, I imagine, a tapeworm, or a 5-Course Menu. They'll ask if you have allergies, or strong dislikes, then they take it from there and just bring you things. You can choose, for an additional fee, to have a wine pairing with each course. We went with the 5-course tasting menu; no wines.

There are, alas, no photographs allowed at BHSB (we took the ones in this post surreptitiously and it wouldnt have done the food justice). So, just to help give you an idea of the experience:

AND, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:

AMUSE-BOUCHES

"Sweet Cicely Spritzers" (tiny, cloudy, fizzy beverages tasting of lemon and mint) with local baby vegetables from the farm. A tiny chorus line (radish, mini green tomato, mini zucchini) bathed in salt water and presented on metal prongs stuck into a block of wood. They looked like they might start dancing any moment, so I made sure to eat them all.

Lightly Fried Wax Beans


Lightly Fried Zucchini Skewer coated in sesame seeds (and pancetta, which you could taste but not see. Invisible Meat = Food of the Future.)


Slices of fennel salami and cured pork shoulder accompanied by towering , crunchy, savory, 'Red Fyfe' flatbread.

FIRST COURSE

Chunks of seared? mullet, a fish I would never have ordered, which is one of the benefits of putting yourself in their hands. Complicated, intense sea flavor. Accompanied by a corn salad with chanterelles and mustard sauce. (From here out, Helena and I are repeatedly whispering the menu to each other in order to memorize).


SECOND COURSE

A poached egg, brand-new as of that morning, in a bath of bright green pea-and-pistachio broth.


THIRD COURSE
Gnocchi with ricotta, fennel seeds? and lettuce foam (lettuce foam).

Also, a basket of fresh, crusty 'onion bread' with little pots of colorful flavored salts - carrot (orange), beet (purple), and asparagus (green). Sprinkle some on your bread with homemade butter and experience a cloud of beet (or carrot) flavor. It's magical. (Food in Cloud Form = The Future).


INTERIM COURSE
Wave of Nausea, accompanied by temporary dizziness and clamminess of the hands. Experienced first by me, then Helena. We both recovered rapidly. I can only assume we were overwhelmed by sensory stimuli and joy. When dining intergalactically, there can be some issues with the altitude.

FOURTH COURSE
Pork. Rich, fatty, salty medallions with braised dark green lettuce and eggplant puree/caponata type deal.

FIFTH - DESSERT

A 'Sacher Torte', which, I will admit, up to the writing of this post I heard as "Soccer Torte"... mystery solved ... which was a tiny, deep chocolate rectangle of cake with a layer of raspberry jam under the black icing. Accompanied by a dollop of lighter chocolate mousse foam covered in crunchy toasty chocolate shavings and golden cherries scattered over.

Also (my favorite thing the whole night) a bowl of tiny summer fruits from the farm: tiny teensy raspberries, tiny flavorful alpine strawberries, wineberries..?? and golden, sweet-tart SUGARPLUMS which are everything their name promises. Like an apricot and a plum and the best peach had a baby and named it sugar. You betcha visions are still dancing in my head. (Growing childhood fantasy in fruit form: the Future.)

AFTER

Oh yeah, just another sprig of sugar-coated red currants and a few more cherries with your coffee.

And that was Blue Hill at Stone Barns.

I'm not gonna lie; it costs a lot, especially for two actor/writer/teacher/musician types. But, really, for what and where it was... and the incredible, seamless, flawless presentation and service (no pretension, nothing overdone, EVERYthing perfect) I think it made sense. And setting the money aside for something so special, planning for it in advance ... and then getting there to find it completely lives up to expectations is just a great, great thing. and it wasn't just the food. The food could only have been more fresh and local if, say, we had BEEN the chickens ourselves. Every detail added up to a seamless, dreamlike, beautiful experience I'll remember forever. Farewell, New Planet; I hope to beam up to you again some day. (The Winter Menu, perhaps???)

Love,

The Boo

For What Ails You

Dear Mouse,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
OH, AND TO OUR GREAT NATION
BUT MOSTLY TO ME

Ah, the Fifth of July. That magickal moment between the Fourth and the Sixth, between (this year) Friday and Sunday, between America's birthday and my own.

My birthday, that is. Sunday is my birthday. July 6th. Is when my birthday is. Just want to be clear on that one.

The Great Diet Experiment of 08 continues and all is mostly going swimmingly.

OK. I had a piece of pizza yesterday. It was delicious. And necessary at the moment.

No terrible side effects (see next week for details of terrible side effects).

It got me thinking about the theme for this week's blog, which is Curing What Ails You and the Many Variations Thereof. I figure, what better time to talk about Cures than this season of Summery Excess.

Now I know this is a delicate and personal subject and everyone has something to say. No one but you knows best how to cure your hangover/breakup/work-related stress/existential angst, so I'm not going to presume to tell you what to do.

Except to say this:Go to the Russian Baths on 10th Street. Do It.

Here's a sentence you might never expect to hear:
"I could really use a good chicken salad and a plate of sausage. Let's go to the Russian Baths."

And yet... Let me 'splain. No, is too much. Let me sum up.

For the uninitiated:

How To Go To The Russian Baths (and Emerge Fabulous)

The night before, drink a lot. Alternately, you may want to organize a major life event such as a breakup, restrictive diet, or an impending wedding to give shape to the experience.

Go With Friends. Someone needs to restrain you if you are overcome by Eastern-Promises style fantasies and begin trying to wrestle a random dude in the Aromatherapy Room.

Arrive midday if possible; you will want to set aside a whole day for this (and you will be good for nothing but lounging and fabulosity when you leave).

CHECK before hand to see whether it's a men-only, women-only, or coed day. If coed, bring a bathing suit (and put it on).

Hand all valuables to the beefy, stoic, russian guy behind the counter. This starts you off on the right foot - enforced separation from mundane concerns.

Take the little locker key on rubber band they give you and wear it like a bracelet. If you lose the key, that's kind of It. So don't.

Go to locker room, put clothes in locker. Put on high-fashion shapeless blue thing and giant rubber sandals, grab a towel and head on downstairs.

Start w/regular steam room. All your group should pile in to small space together and begin by sweating in unison. If all goes well, you should be able to force out the one guy lounging in there with the force of your inside jokes and estrogen-centric humor. It's funny.

Rinse in shower, cos they want you to.

Hop merrily (and with increasing slowness) between the cedar-plank Turkish sauna, the Aromatherapy Steam room (my fave) that surrounds you with clouds of eucalyptus & lavender, and the oh-so-intense Russian Room. The hard-core sit there in a super sauna with wet towels on their heads, every so often picking up one of the many buckets of ice water dotting the room, and dumping it over their head. I made it about five minutes. (Good idea to drink water as you go)

Between the heat and steam, haul your butt over to the Cold Pool to take a refreshing and painful dip in freezing water. I haven't made it past my neck yet, but seriously, do this; it is necessary and beautiful.

When you start to feel stoned and wish for a change of pace, you may opt for one of the additional services... a massage, a salt scrub, or 'platza', which is Russian for "I wish to hit you with this leafy branch until you cry". I may be slightly off in my translation, but people seem to love it.

Let me say this - if you DO get a massage, make sure it is the guy who worked on me, whose name I forget. He was easy on the eyes.

AND if you get a massage, they usher you up to the ROOF DECK and into a little private hut with a table. You dont wear a damn thing except the sheet. A good way to spend an hour.

On the ROOF DECK, you may notice a number of other blue-clad peeps lounging around on wooden deck chairs at small tables. They may be chatting, sleeping, or drinking glasses of wine and beer out of giant bottles, and that's how you know this is not just some ordinary SPA. Which leads me to....

THE FOOD.

On the 2nd floor, maybe you didn't notice the first time, there is an unassuming counter with a fridge and a half a kitchen behind it. A giant yellow menu on the wall. When my friend ordered a chicken salad, I thought "Who would get food here? I'm in a towel." The menu options bear no resemblance to Spa Eats as we know them. BUT neither are they cheap/greasy/crappy.

A frowning, friendly woman materializes from the linoleum. Order from her. She will nod, and just, like, start cooking for you. You can wait at a table while the russian dudes watch sports.

I found myself on the rooftop, inhaling a plate of Polish sausage with rice and sauteed veggies that tasted like our aunt had just shown up with leftovers from Shabbat. My friend had a plain mixed green salad and I swear that five of us were picking green leafy shreds off the abandoned plate with our fingers going "Do you think this is really just olive oil and lemon?" And they have a juice bar too!

Somehow after all the steam and slowness, you taste the food that much more. And it is such a cool surprise that it is, like, real, good home cooking. I'm willing to believe that is a big part of the sense of nurturing I received there.

After the rooftop meal, go back for another round of sauna/steam/what have you.

Retrieve your clothes, blow your hair dry, get your stuff, and pay. ($30 for the whole day & use of the facilities. Food and massages extra.)

Notice, on the street, that your skin is glowing, you walk slower and feel somehow longer and leaner. And that any trace of hangover/anxiety/city rage is gone.

I can't wait to go in the Winter. Happy Steaming.

Love, The Boo

Hungry for More?
Mouse and Boo recently had a very successful hangover brunch at Ulysses down in the financial district. Pay $20 and get an all you can eat buffet plus an alcoholic drink (hair of the dog) or coffee. Have your fill of made to order omelettes, scrambled eggs and bacon, french toast, or a myriad of other offerings to suit your sleepy palate, including corned beef (YUM), beans, potatoes, salmon, muffins, and OYSTERS. Sit out in the back in the quiet and sunny cobblestone alley for as long as you want. And make sure you visit the pastry station...