Back to School (Almond Flour, NYC)

Dear Mouse,

"Sorry when I go dark

It must have been I forgot about the spark

Sorry when I go lame

I got no reason I should ever complain..."

-Don Chaffer, 'Son of a Gun', coming SOON to NYC's Theatre Row (November 1-18)

It's happened. Our Auntie's Labor Day BBQ has come and gone, everyone's putting up "first day of school!" pictures of their kids on FaceBook, and I just brought home a striped burgundy cardigan from the Free People sale rack. True, the Equinox is a couple of weeks away and there are still peaches at the Greenmarket... but there's no denying that Autumn is nearly upon us.

I, for one, am thrilled. For one thing, orange-yellow-wine-colored-smoky-windy Fall has always been my favorite season, and for another I'm going into rehearsal again!!!  after a Very Quiet Summer (not my favorite).

My friend Mr. Poet has this great way of describing the phenomenon of the way creative jobs often lead to other creative jobs...

... or, as he puts it, "Gig Babies".

Actual (not Gig) Baby: Newest Addition to the Poet Family! Just had to share.

I woke up thinking about the show, and how this particular Gig Baby, like so many, came not from any conventional hiring process but from relationships:  a recommendation from another artist who knew me and thought someone else should too. And, because there's almost nothing I can't connect to food, I was also thinking about the "gig baby" phenomenon as regards recipes; how new/shared recipes naturally lead to other new discoveries. 

Also, I just met our costume designer and there's nothing like the word "lingerie" to make you get Very Interested in Lower Carb Alternatives to your favorite dishes. 

The point is, I made this chicken. 

                                  The Boo's Parmesan Chicken: A Family Staple Makeover. Read on.

Now, Mouse, I know you think you recognize this from, say, any weeknight at our house growing up, when The Mother would come in from a long day of Living Truthfully Under Imaginary Circumstances and have to put something on the table. That simple dish, of chicken breasts dipped in melted butter and rolled in 'Italian-Style' breadcrumbs and Kraft Parmesan from the green can, has always been one of my favorite meals of all time. It could not be easier or more comforting, and I often whip this up in my own kitchen when Circumstances have gotten just a little too Truthful.

Then, Enter my New Best Friend:

                                    

Almond Flour. It's Flour ... Made of Almonds .

I'm sure you see where this is going.

Long story short, the "gig baby" that resulted from my recent love affair with Dorie Greenspan's Isphahan Rose Cake was ... well, anything and everything that can be done with this nut flour. One night, I was making sweet potato fries in the oven and I impulsively rolled the little orange sticks in almond meal as well as olive oil. OMG. Sweet, nutty, textured, high-protein and delicious. A revamped version of The Mother's classic chicken recipe seemed inevitable.  Here it is, below. In my version, almond flour replaces the breadcrumbs, olive oil replaces the melted butter, and a layer of "Enjoy" (caramelized onion jam, which The Mother likes to call by one particular favorite brand name)  added just to liven things up.  

And now I'm off to make a peach tart with (you guessed it) almond flour crust.

"Enjoy".

Love ,

The Boo

The Boo's Almond-Crusted Parmesan Chicken With "Enjoy"

(Warning: There are no measurements in this highly forgiving and improvisational family recipe. But you kinda can't go wrong)

Ingredients:

boneless, skinless chicken breasts (i sometimes cut in half to make them skinnier/crispier)

Kraft Parmesan Cheese from the can (this ingredient stays)

Almond Flour or Almond Meal

"Enjoy", or your favorite brand of savory onion jam

olive oil

salt/pepper

Preheat oven to 350.  Make a pile approx half parmesan, half almond flour on a plate, enough to coat all your chicken. Add salt and pepper to this mix, to taste. Sometimes I add herbs de provence too, if I have them. Coat a chicken breast in olive oil and spoon/slap some Enjoy all over it as well (it won't all stick and it'll be messy - recipe still in progress) and press each into parmesan/almond pile. Flip and press the other side. Place in baking pan/roasting pan. Repeat with each chicken breast. Feel free to add more parm/almond coating to the breasts when they are in the pan, covering up bald spots. Bake in oven for 45 minutes. They should be golden/brown and a little sizzly, and juicy not dry (but done!! No pink! of course). ENJOY.

Getting (un) Busy...

Dear Boo,

There was this article a couple of months back that made its rounds in social media circles, all about the "Busy Trap"--the fact that being overly booked and scheduled and worked and committed has basically become a social ill, where we collectively push each other to be so busy that we hardly have room for friends, pleasure, deep breaths, a meal uninterrupted by phone calls, texts, or that nagging sense that we better hurry up and get to the next thing that needs doing. Basically, the author asserts, we've voluntarily whipped ourselves into a collective frenzy of (often purposeless) activity as a way of protecting against that ever-present anxiety that if we stopped for a second we might realize just how empty, pointless, and worthless we and our lives are.

I didn't appreciate just how many people asked me if I'd read this article, with a knowing nod of the head. No, I'd answer. I haven't. Some of us are too busy to read.

The thing is, for the most part, I love my busy life. Or I should say--I love the different things that comprise my busy life. I can't imagine giving any of them up. (Except, of course, my job, but then I know from my clients just how time consuming and tedious and life-sucking going on public assistance can be, so I'm not sure that would solve much.) I'm very, very lucky. But I also fear that if I don't find some way to slow down and make room, I will a) burn out and be of no use to anyone, b) lose all of my friends for lack of attention (I mean, there are people with babies I have not met yet!), and/or c) Eat all of my meals standing at the kitchen sink, alone, slurping cold pad thai.

So I'm working on it. Little by little. I am starting to set limits for myself. And prioritize. And take breaths. And make room. And make dinner.

Above, the perfect dinner for the cook caught in the Busy Trap. A piece of fish, seasoned with salt and pepper, slapped in a blazing hot pan for a couple of minutes on each side, squozed with lemon, served alongside this quick corn salad (if it's really good corn, which it has no excuse to not be at this time of year, cut out the cooking process entirely and serve it raw with a bunch of citrus, herbs and olive oil), and topped with a chimichurri-esque sauce which comes together in literally two seconds with a quick flip of the vitamix. It's all so laughably fast that with relative ease, I was able to find the time in my busy schedule to sit down with a glass of wine and eat this, one slow, tasty bite at a time. If I can do it, any busy-ness addict can.

Love,

The Mouse


The Mouse's Quick Chimichurri-esque Sauce for those not Quite Ready to Retire from the Busy Life. 


1 cup (packed) fresh Italian parsley, or a little bit less
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup white vinegar
Juice of half a lemon
1/4 cup (packed) fresh cilantro, or a little bit more
2 garlic cloves, peeled
Healthy dash of dried crushed red pepper
Nice pinch of ground cumin
Salt to taste

Throw all ingredients in a blender. Puree, pulse, or blend to desired consistency. Pour over whatever protein you've grilled, seared, or pan-fried up. Taste. Breath. Taste. Take one small thing off your to-do list. Eat dessert. 

New Salad, CT (Sisters are Doing It For Themselves)

"Art/Love is the desire to narrow the space between two people

To solve the only problem there has ever been

in the world:

That you are not me." 

-Aaron Jafferis, 'How to Break' (NY Hip Hop Theatre Fest, upcoming) 

Dear Mouse,

I often blithely tell people who ask about this blog that I'm what you might call the "field reporter". "I travel a lot for work," I'll say breezily, spilling coffee down my wrist. "The Mouse is the one who is doing most of the actual inventing and, oh, cooking. I'm the one who's usually posting about A Sandwich I Ate Once in Kentucky, or Best Vending Machine Snacks in DC."  I imagine they walk away either impressed with my self-deprecation or resolved to ... not to read this blog. Why don't I maybe stop doing that.

I have been thinking a lot about collaboration lately, and how important it is both to delegate clearly AND to be able to relax the roles. Right now, I'm composing songs for a show in the NY Hip Hop Theatre Festival... (here's where I usually pause for effect and then say "I know! and THEY called ME!") Composing, to me, usually means holing up in my Songwriting Cave and then delivering my Song Babies fully formed to the world.  Here it's sometimes taking place on my feet, guitar in hand, in the presence of a director, a singer, a lyricist, a loop machine and a guy holding a microphone against his neck. It's awesome. I'm The Composer... but I don't have to come up with all the answers alone.

Oh, and also, I went to New Haven.

                              

                               Admittedly terrible shot of Mashed Potato Pizza at Bar, New Haven

                                                                     I think I was eating with the other hand.

I spent a week up there workshopping a hilarious new play with these great people, and I was definitely looking forward to some blogworthy times. I already knew that The Have is a food lovers' town. (The Pizza! Oh my god. The adorable, competitive coffee shops! I tried four and was utterly charmed. The 'sweet cream' flavor at Ashley's Ice Cream! The menu at the bizarre, postmodern sushi joint everyone talks about! I planned to hit all of these up at least once in between rehearsals.) Oh, I'd find writing material for sure.

And I did... but not in any of those places. 

We had it all. The coffee at JoJo's  is reeeally good, though it didn't make me forget The Commons (or, for that matter, The Roasterie Kansas City... I'm just gonna have to order a case.) We had quirky rectangular pizza at Bar (tasty though it doesn't touch Modern), and Miya's Sushi ... ok, full points for creativity, but I don't want Havarti cheese anywhere near my fish. Ever. And, after we finished dinner there, my director turned to me and whispered "I ate here for lunch today too ... and I'm still hungry." Nuff said.

No, I'm proud and happy to say that the food experiences I'll really remember from this trip came from the folks around me. Proud because my 'collaboration' theme in this post is actually going to get followed through. Proud because what could be more A Mouse Bouche than artists thrown together by fate, eating with and teaching each other about food? And happy because now I know how to make this salad:

Watercress, pine nuts, red onion, clementine slices, oil, red wine vinegar, dried marjoram. Elegant, beautiful, easy, and tasting mysteriously somehow like there is bacon in it, though there is not. 

The awesome program directors took us - all - out to dinner at local haunts like Thai Taste AND brought Insomnia Cookies to our various rehearsal nights. My lovely Flatmate introduced me to 'broken-yolk' fried eggs and the concept of the Kale Smoothie (haven't tried it yet: almond milk, banana, kale, honey). But the definitive MouseBouche moment of the trip for me happened when The Dancer told me the Salad Story.  (The Dancer is not a dancer at all as far as I know, but her graceful presence and, I don't know, lithe - ness?, reminds me of a ballerina.)  We got to talking, I mentioned the blog, and somehow wound up telling her the story of your Husband making the Christmas Pork Roast for his family in Florida, a story I love because It Has Meaning On So Many Levels, blah blah blah. The Dancer totally 'got it' - "I might cry!" she said in her soft voice looking at me across the beer pitcher. And then she told me a similar story. One year around The Holidays it dawned on her that, as the Unmarried Sister in her family, there seemed to be a different set of expectations for her when it came to holiday meal prep. While her sister would get various cooking assignments, she said, "nothing was really expected of me." The Dancer didn't really consider herself a Person Who Cooks, but this didn't feel right. So she decided to get in the game. She would not wait to be asked, she would just pick a recipe, bring it, and see what happened. She chose a salad from Bon Appetit, and brought it to the party. And:  "I know it sounds silly," she said, "but my brother-in-law's mother asked me for the recipe. And it was So. Validating!" It rounded out the meal beautifully and got great reviews. Not only that, but the following year said mother-in-law's house burned down -!! - "not to be a downer here" - and she called and asked for the recipe again, having lost it in the fire. "So I know she really liked it", The Dancer said. "She told me she was only collecting the recipes she really wanted."

It's a great moment when you realize your voice counts, that you have something to offer, and that it is a valuable part of a whole. It's been said before, but we can do things in community that we can't - or won't -  do alone. For example: closing night of the workshop, the company threw a lovely party for us at a super-hip hotel in town. Beautiful nighttime views, open bar, and a TON of food. As the night wound down, we were staring at a mountain of untouched crudites, a basket of bread and crackers, another basket of prosciutto and huge chunks of cheese. One of the younger actors boldly asked for a to-go container and was denied - department of health regulations, blah blah blah. FlatMate and I locked eyes across the table. We knew what we had to do. We had napkins, bags, a guitar case, and each other. 

The next day we enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch on the Metro-North train home, which we were only too happy to share with our friends. 

Here's to collaboration, at and away from the table.  

Love,

The Boo

PS A shout-out to The Dancer for not batting an eyelash when I asked if I "could use butter instead". I thought she'd said "margarine" instead of "marjoram". She just suggested that olive oil would be better.

• WATERCRESS, ORANGE AND RED ONION SALAD
• via Bon Appetit
• 
  
• 4 Servings
• 2 bunches watercress, stemmed
• 3 clementines, peeled and sectioned
• 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon sherry wine vinegar (or 
• red wine vinegar) 
• (Note from The Boo: I used red wine, but I think it'd be better with sherry)
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram
• Salt and pepper
• 1/3 cup pine nuts
• Combine stemmed watercress, orange slices and 
• sliced red onion in large bowl. Place sherry wine
• vinegar in small bowl. Gradually mix in olive oil.
• Add marjoram. Season dressing to taste with salt
• and pepper. (Can be prepared 3 hours ahead. Cover
• salad and refrigerate. Cover dressing and let stand
• at room temperature.) Pour dressing over
• salad and toss to coat thoroughly. Sprinkle with pine
• nuts and serve

  

A Dance with Dragon(fruit)s

Dear Mouse,

I ... am flummoxed.

                                                                        New friends.

Ok, we've been doing this a while now. We've experienced and blogged about some certainly out-of-the-ordinary (at least for me/us) food experiences. We've traveled to strange places, eaten exotic foods, had to think fast and be creative, and certainly have logged many bold new steps within these pages (screens?oh, pages I guess). And while I'd never say we've Seen It All (and I hope we never do!), I had, I confess, come to think that we'd ... Seen It Most. I mean, for two non-pro, busy-with-other-things, squeamish-about-animal-insides, had-the-same-sandwich-every-day-for-thirteen-years type gals. (Ok maybe one.)

Well, it's great to keep being surprised by Life, is what I guess I'll write if I can't think of a less maudlin sentence. This has been a week of Firsts. For one thing, I found out I have to play piano for an audition, something I haven't done in, I'm gonna say as many years as I ate that sandwich. And I have now learned an entire Tori Amos song on the piano, from sheet music I had lying around. Skills I thought long-dead: revived. Sleepy little neural networks in dusty corners of my brain... still kickin'. That is really exciting ...

... But maybe not as exciting as what I'm here to post. Mouse, you know me. I may be prone to exaggeration, embellishment, confabulation. I sometimes remember things a little too vividly, or conflate two anecdotes into one, or tell people autobiographical stories that actually happened to Frodo Baggins. But in what I am about to tell you, I am deadly serious. I am adding nothing to this tale, nor leaving anything out. It is as additive-free as a rice cake.

                                                                  Real. And Edible.


Right now, there is a fragrant, fantastical, heavily spiced bubbling pot of mystery on my stove top, filling my house with odors of ginger and uncharted terrain. There is a hot-pink, scaly, discarded, well, skin in my garbage can. There are cubes of white, ink-spotted sweet vegetation piled in a bowl on my kitchen table. There are seductive, translucent little globes the texture of oh why not say it eyeballs in a watery perfumed pile on the cutting board. "Oh", you might say here, "The Boo is trying a new recipe. Well why didn't she just say so? I wonder where she got it from."

Well you might ask!! Where, indeed? And this is the crux of the story, Mouse,  and proof that maybe there are more than just piano chords being kicked up in the coils of my brain. Because I've gotten recipe ideas from many places - cookbooks, blogs, friends, The Mother, you - but this one

                                                       CAME TO ME IN A DREAM. 

                                                                       Yep.

I'll wrap this up so I can get back to the eyeballs... But, yep. It was sort of a garden-variety Actor's Nightmare, which is to be expected with this audition coming up. Except ... there was no Acting in it at all. Instead, I was a guest (or so I thought) at a lavish banquet. Menus were passed around. I opened mine in anticipation, only to realize that I was supposed to have prepared one of the dishes being served. What was I to do? I'd have to come up with something. As a guideline, I saw only one word in the printed program - er, Menu: "Ginger". I turned to the person next to me and casually answered their query about what I'd be serving:

                                   "Oh, poached dragonfruits and lychees in ginger syrup."

                                                                       (!!!)
And then I woke up.

And then I went to the store and bought a dragon fruit (which cost me NINE DOLLARS, so thats how much I love this blog, nine dollars' much). And a small box of lychees.

And then I googled dragonfruits, and, yep, the first recipe I saw was "dragon fruit in ginger syrup", and I sort of followed that recipe, and my apartment smells awesome, and I just ate a small bowl of poached CRAZY and enjoyed it, though it needs tweaks. Dragon fruit tastes like a more grown-up kiwi. And lychees are just the sexiest fruit ever, eyeball-ness or no. They are like what you wished fancy perfume would taste like as a kid, but it didnt. If you're put off by the texture, at least drop them in a martini or let them flavor your prosecco.

To sum up... I have psychic powers. Also, I think two things: 1) that agave syrup DOES NOT WORK as a substitute for sugar when making, um, SYRUP, so don't do that. And 2) I think the fruits would have been better either raw (or just barely poached) then drizzled with syrup, rather than the boiling-fruits-in-reducing-syrup route that the online recipe suggested. Adventurous Midsummer Nights Dreamers - experiment, and then tell us about it.

May you find ripe lychees and affordable dragons.

Love,

The Boo


The Boo's Actual Midsummer Night's Dream Fruit Cocktail


Ingredients
1 dragonfruit
1 small container lychees (like, 6?7?)
1 piece peeled fresh ginger cut into 3 or 4 slices
2 cinnamon sticks
a few cloves if you like
1/4 -1/2 C brown sugar (not agave syrup, what are you thinking you hippie)
3 C water


Cut dragon fruit in half. Run a knife around the inside of the skin on each half to dislodge the fruit (you can't eat the skin). Cut up flesh into chunks. 
Peel lychees, slice in half and remove pits. 


In a good size pot on the stove, boil water, sugar, spices and ginger pieces til  reduced to syrupy goodness. Pour over dream fruits. 


 (or, halfway through, as I did, remove spices and add fruits and continue boiling til reduced again by half. But I kind of wished I hadn't.)

Humble Fish

Dear Boo,

On the Fourth of July, my first day off from work in some time where I wasn't traveling, rehearsing, or writing against a deadline, I decided I would make a cake to bring to our friend's house for a little casual grill-out (of course, since this friend was Chef Josh, "casual" meant a shrimp boil, steak, pork loin, jerk chicken, corn on the cob, mac and cheese, and a watermelon salad.). True to our family's traditions, I picked Ina's Flag Cake, a delicious and patriotic endeavor the founding fathers would have loved. Partway through the process, when the 1.5 hour estimate turned into 2.5, and I obsessed about how one can know for sure that there aren't miniscule bugs in your flour even though you can't see them, when I read the recipe three times and still put all the dry ingredients in at once, when I turned on my beautiful kitchen aid mixer and was hit with a tidal wave of buttermilk, when I tried in vain to get the lumps out of my icing, I paused and thought: It's happened. I've actually forgotten how to cook. 

You see, if my absence from these pages didn't make it abundantly clear, I haven't been doing much cooking these days, on account of this play I wrote (and a few other things). The past few months (months?!) have been a blur of work, writing, rehearsals, shows, late nights, lost sleep, anxiety, joy, bar food and leftover thai delivery. It would take a better writer than I to accurately convey just what all of this meant to me. It was at turns pure joy, pride, growth, pain, insecurity, fear, and triumph. But most of all, like my recent tentative return to cooking, it was a lesson in humility in the best and most valuable sense.

Having your theater company care so much about you as an artist and believe so much in you as a writer, that they opt to put all of their money, heart, and energy behind a production of the very first play you've ever written? Humility. 
Watching incredible actors work their butts off auditioning for your play? Humility. 
Biting your nails as one after another amazing professional, highly acclaimed designers sign on to work on your play for far less than they are worth? Humility. 
Having a star of film and TV and broadway agree to play one of the roles in your play because he likes the script, the part, and the fact that you're a 'group of young artists getting together to make something creative happen'? Humility. 
Sitting in a room with a brilliant director and wonderful cast, arguing passionately about the script because they want it to be better? Humility. 
Realizing those lines you wrote that you are absolutely in love with are going to have to go because no one else is, and really, they just don't work? Humility. 
Knowing that your husband who is as busy as you are, will read the twelve different endings you've written for one scene outloud for you, playing all the parts? Humility.
Complaining that you are SO BUSY and EXHAUSTED from working all day and rehearsing all night and rewriting in the wee hours and then talking to your clients whose struggles on a daily basis are in a whole other ballpark than the stress you've brought on yourself by doing what you love? Humility.
Watching a massive group of company members rally together to build the set for your play, bleeding, sweating, and emptying their apartments to make this happen? Humility. 
Having an opening night party in which you are weighed down with flowers and drinks and kisses but you float home anyway, and then wake up to your alarm the next morning and sweat through your clothes on the subway platform to go to your job where you are overworked and underpaid and no one cares what you did last night? Humility. 
Asking your family to sit and watch a play you know may be hard for them, and then having them hug and kiss you and tell you how proud they are? Humility.
Good reviews. Humility.
Bad reviews. Humility. 
Bad reviews that make good and fair criticisms? Double dose of humility.
Watching the final show of this play with tears in your eyes both because its over and you are so so happy and because it is over and there are some things in your life that are undeniably sad and broken that you cannot fix no matter how many wonderful nights like these you are blessed with? Humility.


Naturally, now that the play has closed, I have found myself in that familiar dull panic of 'what next'? I have been filling my newly acquired free time with redecorating our apartment, doing fantasy searches for new jobs, taking naps, reading the paper, shopping online, and yes, tentatively tiptoeing back into the kitchen. With gratitude and humility, I will begin to reacquaint myself with my pots and pans and remind my hands how to knead, fold and stay out of the way of the blade. 

The cake, though it turned out to be quite tasty, may have been a bit too much too fast. Perhaps I should stick with something simpler and work my way back up. In that spirit, I'm sharing with you the most satisfying, delicious, and humble lunch (or appetizer) one could ask for, and one which the Husband and I have taken to eating for its cheapness, simplicity, and ease of assembly in these busy months, but which is now a permanent staple of our repetoire. 

Canned sardines in olive oil (we like King Oscar brand), eaten on Wasa toast (or saltines or crusty bread if you prefer) with a slather of butter and generous sprinkle of salt. Did I mention its also environmentally friendly and healthy? Eat it with a good conscience. [On a side note--the Husband has a certain fondness for sardines that dates back to when he was a little boy and his family would come home from church on Sundays. His sisters would usually be occupied helping his mom with dinner or some other chores, his older brother off with his friends from down the block, and he, the youngest of the six, would sit quietly with his dad, eating sardines on saltines, a treat which none of his siblings would go near, but which he loved, not only because it meant a rare moment of time alone with his father. A simple and special earthly reward on a day devoted to humility. How perfect is that?]


One more thing before I go: Closing night of our show, we went to a bar which shall remain nameless, where we snacked, raised a glass, and said farewell. Late that night, on the way out, as I was saying goodbye to some friends, I turned and looked through the propped door into the empty kitchen. There, sniffing around delicately on the stove, was a mouse. I knew then it was time to say goodbye, move on, and get back into the kitchen. Mine, that is...


Love,


The Mouse

Lover Come Back To Me (Venus Retrograde Rose Cake)

Dear Mouse,

Oh how we have been neglecting this blog. You have a very good reason -- being the newest toast of NYC's downtown theatre scene for your beautiful play  - closes June 30!! -  does take a leetle precedence - even for us! - over kitchen and restaurant capers.












I too have a reason too for my long silence. I am currently Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow Between Acting Jobs - or maybe the 100-Degree Humidity Of Unemployment? I dunno -- which would seem to suggest that I have plenty of blogging time. And maybe I do ... but the thing is,  I haven't jumped in to post something sooner because:

                                        I was waiting for ingredients to come in the mail. 

                    These ingredients. 

                      L to R: Almond Flour, Rose Extract, Rose Syrup, all courtesy of Amazon.com

Yep.

So I know that my last few posts have had an astrological bent, but that's just because A) come on! there has been  SO MUCH going on in the skies of late!! it can't be ignored! and B) I'm always looking for new and indirect ways to talk about life.

So let's just say that in the last month or so, the SuperMoon came and went, as did the summer solstice. The partial lunar eclipse partially eclipsed, Venus (the planet of love and relationships) went into retrograde AND did a newsworthy once-in-a-lifetime 48-hour trot across the Sun, my show closed, some other things closed, yada yada yada, and THEN I fell in love ...

... with a cake.

Specifically,  the "Ispahan Loaf Cake" from Dorie Greenspan's "Around My French Table", which Mrs. BFF (formerly 'Mrs. Lawyer', a handle that got bad reviews)  gave me for Xmas this past year.

Again: almond flour, rose syrup, rose extract. Plus, you know, raspberries, and also butter and confectioner's sugar and egg whites lovingly whipped and folded into the batter just before baking...  It was supposed to come out pink ..? but didnt.  Still, possibly THE most romantic cake ever. 
                                                So,  I ... made it for myself!  Whoo hoo!
                      
                    

                          

   I bought new utensils for this cake!! 

Honestly, I don't know who was more whipped, me or the egg whites. 

I fell hard - HARD - for this cake, before I had ever so much as tasted it!  Just reading the recipe --well, you know I'm a sucker for a well-turrned ingredient list, and this one had me at "rose extract".  Boo, I argued with myself, calm down. You're in a vulnerable place. You don't even know if you LIKE rose flavor, and the syrup Dorie recommends is only available in a, well, giant bottle. A giant expensive bottle. Well, Dorie says it's expensive but it keeps a long time and you'll want to make the cake "many times thereafter", so that's ok, right? Oh, Boo, you sucker! Almond flour? You don't like any dessert in the almond family! You JUST had a conversation YESTERDAY about how almond croissants are a waste of croissants. Also, who is going to eat this cake? You don't know anyone who likes this kind of thing. Also, it's going to be, like, 100 degrees out the day you decide to bake! You don't know that part yet, but it's what's going to happen!  

I felt like one of those old cartoons with the angel and the devil on opposite shoulders, arguing. The thing is, they were both Dorie Greenspan, so ... she won.

What do two tablespoons of whole milk look like when mixed with 2 tablespoons of Rose Syrup?

 SO PRETTY, that's what. 

I was smitten, I tell you. Smitten.   I didn't even know what "Ispahan" meant - I had to have it.  Of course,  I know now, because Dorie explains it: it's the name of a kind of "profoundly fragrant rose" and also "the once-capital of Persia". (Yes, Mouse, from memory.) It also seems to have become the name for a potent flavor combination  - rose, raspberry, and lychee - unleashed upon France by pastry chef Pierre Herme some time ago, and now so popular that it's available in almost every dessert form including supermarket yogurt.  Here in the States, however, it's remained pretty much unknown ... until now.  (You're welcome.)

                                                                     No lychees in this one, but it still counts.

The moral of the story is that there are times in life when you just have to do something that seems crazy, when you just have to follow your heart, even when a whole planet seems to be turned against you. I baked my Ispahan confection in near-100 heat, the air conditioner losing to the oven, with kind of not enough time before having to leave for Penn Station. I was determined.  I whipped and folded and measured and placed raspberries in fussy triple rows, pouring batter over them. I waited patiently for 65 minutes, looking at my large bottle of Monin Rose Syrup and thinking what have I done, maybe. And when I tasted it ...I had to sit down. I think I actually said, "Wow".  And then I ate two pieces.

Simple yet maddeningly complex in flavor. Innocent and fresh and not-too sweet, yet intoxicatingly perfumed and studded with just-cooked raspberries. Dense and almondy but not heavy or particularly rich.  You could dress it up with whipped cream, or a raspberry coulis, garnish it with rose petals or raspberries. Or you could have it plain and warm with a no-nonsense mug of strong coffee or tea. It is, like a great love affair, provocative, complex, mysterious yet profoundly innocent at the same time.  And certainly worth waiting (3-5 days standard shipping) for.

I hung a chunk of the cake on your doorknob, and tucked the rest snugly in my weekend bag for the the BFF Family in NJ.  I wasn't sure if the kids would go for it. When the 5-year old tasted it, he shouted "I LOVE IT!" and immediately crawled under the table and proceeded to remove his pants. If that's not a rave review, I don't know what is.

And Venus Retrograde ends on Wednesday. 

Love and Roses, 

The Boo

Rose-Raspberry Cake 

(From Dorie Greenspan's "Ispahan Loaf Cake" recipe in 'Around my French Table')

Note:  This cake calls for Rose Syrup, NOT Rose Water!!! I believe this is the difference between an enchanted, subtly floral confection and a cake that tastes like Chanel No. 5.  Also, i THINK Almond Flour is NOT the same as Almond Meal? I'm not 100% on that. (PS. Later note: Oh it probably doesn't matter. 9/5/12)

Ingredients

2.5 tbsp Rose Syrup  

2 tbsp whole milk

2 C almond flour

1 C confectioner's sugar

3 large eggs, separated, plus 1 large egg at room temp

2.5 tbsp sugar

1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter

1/4 tsp rose extract

1/2 C plus 1 tbsp all-purpose flour

1 pint raspberries (but I didn't use that many)

Center a rack in oven, preheat to 350. Butter a 9x5 loaf pan and dust with flour. 

Stir rose syrup into milk. 

Put almond flour and confectioner's sugar in a sieve set over a bowl and stir to pass them through. Or, if you're me, just put them in a bowl. Whisk together. 

Beat egg whites in another bowl until they start to hold their shape, then gradually add the sugar, beating until the whites hold "firm, glossy peaks". Slide the egg whites into another bowl (and don't worry about cleaning the mixing bowl before carrying on).

Put almond-flour mixture and butter into mixer bowl and beat for 3 minutes or until very smooth.

Working at med speed, add egg yolks one at a time, beating for a minute after each. Then beat in whole egg. 

Add rose-flavored milk and rose extract and beat one more minute.

Give the egg whites a quick whisk and stir 1/4 - 1/3 of them into the batter. With a spatula, and a "light touch", alternately fold in remaining whites and all-purpose flour into batter, "as quickly and gently as you can, folding in flour in 3 additions and whites in 2". 

Scrape 1/3 of batter into prepared loaf pan, spread to even it.

Make 3 rows of raspberries down the length of the pan - dont let berries touch the sides - and then cover with half the remaining batter.

Make 3 more rows of berries, top with last of batter.

Lower oven to 300 and bake for 55-65 min or until a knife comes out clean. 

Transfer to cooling rack, let rest 3 min. Unmold, invert, let cool to room temp.  

Super Moon Risotto (Cakes)

Dear Mouse,

"Ever since the Professor and his wife have come, our daily life seems to have jumped the track. I sleep at the wrong time, drink wine, and eat different Kabuli. Fancy. Bad for the system."

- Vanya, Target Margin's 'Uncle Vanya'

Last week, I basically didn't really sleep much. Even so,  I managed to have a series of vivid and bothersome dreams. I'm not saying that they were necessarily due to my nightly meltdown in this seemingly harmless "Chekhov Slumber Party", running for one more week. I'm also not saying the fault lies with eating leftover 'Drunk Man Noodles' from Spice for breakfast at 5AM. Anything's possible.

On the third mostly sleepless night,  I dreamed that I went out of my house (house?) to take my car (car?) to work (work? j/k) and was dismayed to see that the tires were basically flaccid. 'How', I (dream) thought to my (dream) self, 'could I have let this happen? How have I been just driving around on these tires and running them ragged instead of taking proper care of them? Is there a gas station near here? How will I get there? Will anyone help me put air in these things? And (for real, I thought this in my dream), how do I get out of here without anyone finding out I did this and laughing at me?' And then I woke up. (Oh, and I was also parked on somebody's lawn. Because that's how I (dream) roll.)

As you've often gleefully pointed out, Mouse, my dream life is almost ludicrously easy to read, its metaphors so obvious they can hardly even be called metaphor (what's the opposite of metaphor? Obva-phor?) So there's something reassuring about knowing that this dream means nothing more complicated than  maybe I just need a break. To, you know, pump air into my obvaphorical tires. 

                                                                  I'm getting to the food.

I venture to say though that my recent insomnia and various other mood swings and mild hallucinations aren't ALL due to nights of mashed-up Chekhov and days of musical Gertrude Stein (rehearsing this). There's a LOT goin' on in the air around us right now. There's the pollen count, which I'm gonna say has accounted for, oh, 87% of my recent conversations. There's this crazy weather (remember when it used to be kind of  nice out  in MAY?) And then of course there was the Super Moon that, well, happened last week and I'm just getting around to posting this now.

                                                            I'm GETTING to the food!

It was cloudy, so we in NYC didn't see it, but we (at least I) sure felt it. The Super Moon, so named for being the biggest/closest full moon of the year, zoomed into our lives on May 5 in the sign of Scorpio, the astrological sign associated with death, sex, regeneration, and scorpions. Yow. As this is a blog devoted to food (I'm GETTING to it!!) and not New-Age Hoo-Ha, I'll stop there, but my point is, yow. There's a lot out there to throw a girl off balance at the moment, especially a Sensitive Cancer with flat tires. 

Enter Risotto. This risotto, to be specific:

                       Shape and color of risotto pictured here to be explained in next paragraph.

I can't think of anything better to make for dinner during such a Lunatic Week. Creamy, soothing, filling, complex in flavor but not (as you might suspect) in assembly, it is the ultimate comfort food AND comes with the fringe benefit of stress release as you stir and stir, adding broth one cup at a time and marveling at how not even a cup of rice magically expands to feed you, your guest, and either another person or you, again, late-night, post-show, frying leftovers into risotto CAKES and silently thanking your genius sister for the suggestion. 

Love,

The Boo

Super Moon Risotto (Cakes) for Basically Two or Three People

(based on Ina Garten's recipe)

Ingredients

3/4 C Arborio Rice

1tbsp olive oil

1tbsp butter

1/2 C chopped fennel

1 med onion chopped

1/3 C dry white wine (and you'll probably splash some more in during the stirring, why not)

4 C (about) hot chicken broth (maybe have some extra there in case)

1/2 lb asparagus

zest of two lemons

1tbsp fresh lemon juice

1/4 C mascarpone

1/4 C parmesan (or more if you like -- and definitely more for serving)

1 tbsp minced fresh chives

 I would do this part first: cut asparagus into 1-in lengths, discarding woody stems, and blanch in boiling water for a few minutes. Set aside. 

Olive oil and butter into your dutch oven or similar pot over med heat. When hot/melted, add onion and fennel and saute  for 5-7 minutes, til tender. Add rice and stir to coat w/oil and butter. Add the wine and simmer over low heat, stirring constantly until absorbed. Start adding hot chicken broth, a ladle at a time, stirring constantly until absorbed before adding the next. Do this til all broth is gone.  This will take about 25-30 min. When you're 15 minutes in, add the asparagus, lemon zest, salt and pepper. Continue cooking and adding stock and stirring, til the rice is tender but firm. 

Whisk lemon juice and mascarpone together. When risotto is done, turn off the heat and stir in mascarpone mixture plus parmesan and chives. Let it settle a minute then serve with addtional parm and chives for sprinkling. 

                                                      THE NEXT DAY:

Put 1 tbsp of olive oil into a pan over med/low heat.  Maybe using a 1/4 C scoop or similar, scoop a ball of leftover risotto into pan and gently flatten to make more of a cake shape. Fry over medium heat for about ten min (be patient and also watch so you don't burn). When it's brown on the bottom and able to hold its shape reasonably, carefully flip over and do the other side. Eat. Yum.

Matzoh Candy

Dear Mouse,

Helena: (after a pause) "God how beautiful the weather is!"

Vanya: "God how I wish I were dead!"

-Uncle Vanya (Target Margin, after Anton Chekhov)

Cough. Sneeze. Hand sanitizer. Sigh. Sneeze. Cough. Repeat.

Happy Spring!

                                       whimsical/seasonal timer provided by The Mother

"Why don't you just go to Zabar's?" he asked.

The speaker was my cast mate X, looking at me quizzically as a group of us left the windowless, freezing, cement-walled dare i say Siberia-esque fourth-floor walkup space in which we are rehearsing, what else, Chekhov for (god help me) only two remaining weeks. And I will forgive him for asking said question on the grounds that A) I was talking groggily about getting home in time to make matzoh candy for Passover while blowing my nose repeatedly and must have looked pathetic B) he doesn't know me. Or our family. I need not explain here, I think, why even my paltry kitchen contribution to the High Holiday Feast still had to have been homemade. To bring a store bought dessert item to our Aunt's table ... it's not up for discussion, so we won't discuss.

Fun fact: at least according to this recipe, the slabs of matzoh are actually referred to as "boards", which basically confirms for us all that they are, indeed, made of cardboard. But what delicious cardboard! 

Caramel. That's how I roll.

I am happy to report, however, that this delectable, rich, sugary unleavened treat is sooooooo easy anyone can make it, with almost any sliver of spare time, even doped up on Mucinex or in a DayQuil Road Rage Haze (or both). Four ingredients. 20-30 minutes all told, really. Crunchy, buttery, caramelly, chocolatey... people go crazy for it. And if you feel guilty for having one of the best desserts despite putting in almost no work -- well, hey, that's just in the spirit of the holiday... right? somehow??

Happy Passover! And since I'm about to take the second batch down to you and The Husband for Easter Dinner, Happy Easter too!! Finally, a year-round use for matzoh.

Matzoh Brittle


4-6 unsalted matzoh boards
1 C butter (2 sticks)
3/4 C chocolate chips
1 C brown sugar


Preheat oven to 375. Line baking tray/sheet with tinfoil, then with parchment paper (very important! The first time I made this I used wax paper and spent a very long time trying to peel melted wax off otherwise decent candy ... unsuccessfully.) Place matzoh boards on parchment, breaking up pieces as needed to fill in all spaces as much as possible.  Put butter and sugar in a pot on the stove over high heat. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Cook 3 minutes more, stirring constantly, then take off heat and pour over matzoh. (Be careful!!! Caramel burns are NO JOKE). Place in oven and immediately reduce heat to 350. Bake for 15 min. If you feel like it's browning too fast or may burn, lower to 325, but mine was fine. Remove from oven and sprinkle immediately with chocolate chips. Wait 5 minutes, then spread the melted chocolate all over the caramel.  While it's still warm, cut into squares or odd jagged shapes (which I prefer), then put in fridge til it sets (freezer is ok too I found).