cinnamon buns, part 1

Sadie and Willow were born 12 hours apart.

 

We met Willow's parents in birth class, when both girls were in the belly, so the girls extend the length of their lives by 3 months, and they say, "we have known each other for that long."

They have celebrated almost every birthday together.  Sadie and Willow have joint birthday parties where they fight over the guest lists, or they plan grand voyages, and then they settle for a day in New York.  This year, the request was dinner out together with the 2 families, then a sleepover, and then Sadie asked for cinnamon buns instead of a cake.

A simple request, really.

Oh, Mommy, won't you make cinnamon buns?

I was a little off this weekend.  Blurry in the eyes, short on patience, and I kept telling myself to get it together.  I perused the cookbooks and softened the butter.  I had to work on Sadie's birthday, so it was essential that the recipe benefit from sitting in the fridge all night before I could bake it in the morning before work.  But my unmerited crankiness and impatience got in the way.  And my unmerited crankiness and impatience made me even crankier and more impatient with myself.  And that's how I found myself in the kitchen far too late on Saturday night, squinting at a recipe and cursing at my yeast (always always a bad idea! living thing!) while Joey tried to stay awake in front of an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in order to keep me company. 

This, in truth, is my least favorite kind of cooking. The kind where I think I should be one way, but I can't quite be my best self. The kind when I am trying to make something fabulous for my kids, but I have gotten in my own way.  The kind where I realize that the recipe actually calls for 12 more hours of rise time (no!!!!! how could I have missed that!)  than I have allowed for. And new-agey as it might be, you know and I know that bread above all other things takes in the emotions of the person creating it.  It just does.  And no matter what I did, I couldn't change my attitude.

It was strikingly similar to the same day 8 years earlier.  

I'd like to think that I do what I need to with grace and patience and calm, but really, that is more of an ideal that I strive for.  And as I sat 8 years ago, so so pregnant, I was convinced that I would never give birth, that my body wouldn't behave--in short, I was overcome with crankiness and impatience.  I had been in and out of labor for weeks, and it seemed to me that my life would just continue like that forever.  But more than all that, I was annoyed with myself for being so cranky and impatient--I felt like I should be able to calmly embrace the reality--that I would have a baby soon, that my body would come through, and that I should enjoy these last days before my life changed forever.  But I couldn't. I was trying to be a patient earth goddess, but in truth,  I was pissed and ready for birth. 

You know how the story ends.  The baby came, I became a mother, and life changed forever.  But this weekend as I tried to change my attitude, I couldn't help but see the continuity of it all.  I was mad that I hadn't asked for the day off from work, that I had botched the cinnamon buns, and that I was just feeling so off.  But the world worked it's ways around me, and it took care of Sadie.  Willow kept her laughing for nearly 24 hours, Rosie showered her with gifts and privileges, and Joey kept the day running smoothly.  Sadie's auntie (fairy godmother) Eilen came up from Boston and took the girls out for a whirlwind pizza and toy store day.  Joey came in to see me at work, and I sat with him for a few minutes, and I realized that 8 years ago that very moment, I had finally called him at work to tell him that my water had broken and it was really going to happen this time.  We were quiet, and we just sat there at the table for a minute.  And by the time I got home and started rubbing herbs on the chickens for Sadie's roast chicken birthday dinner, my mood had shifted.  Sadie came home and showed me all her birthday bootie, talking a mile a minute about every single thing in the day. We sat around the dinner table and we were exactly the group of people who were in the room when she was born--me, Joey, my mother, stepfather, Maia, and Eilen (and Rosie of course!) And when we finally tucked Sadie in, right at the moment that she was born 8 years ago, the calm that I had been waiting for all weekend really came to me.  Because again, again I realized (why does it always take so long!) that I do what I can, but the world takes care of these girls, and the girls take care of themselves!  Sadie is strong, and smart, and so capable.  And she has such a support system of people who love her--they carried her through the day.  Eesh, mothering.  I am just not everything, and once we get them into the world, the world will take over. Thank whoever is looking out for that.  I don't know that it takes a village.  I think it takes a universe.

And the cinnamon buns?  Well, I don't know what took over, but they were fabulous.  I botched the recipe so many times throughout, I have no idea how I made them. I'm going to go through and see if I can reconstruct what I did, so that will be part 2.

Happy birthday to my sweet girl. And thank you to the world that holds her. 

birth stories

Six years ago, the snowiest coldest night.  Our midwife, Kathy, came down from her house on top of the mountain, and we waited.  And the snow stopped, and at four in the morning, Joey and I went out for a walk.

It was just a yard walk, and the next day, we would see the circle in the snow where he tromped and I shuffled alongside.  It was a little circle, and it started out with a perfect arc, four feet through the deep snow.  The track showed exactly where I stopped, looked at Joey, and said, "Inside, now."  Then the tracks went right back to the house.

Then next morning there were hello kitty shaped waffles for breakfast, and baby Rose was a few hours old. Sadie, not quite two, wrote a poem as she dipped her waffles in syrup.  My mother had woken her up to see her sister coming into the world, and she recounted the whole adventure to us.
                                    
Kathy here!
Grandma's arms.
Mommy Ow!
Baby head.
Hello Kitty Waffles!


I had no idea that I would love that baby enough to try to learn how to make frosting roses.  But there I am, six years later, trying to craft sugar and shortening into flora.  Thank the sweet god of frosting for Marya, who had trucked her daughter down to the entire expanse of the county even though she was supposed to be making an Oscar themed cake for her sister-in-law.  She patiently led me through the frosting roses process, and then when I could make nothing better than a clumsy carnation, she made those roses herself, and of course she taught Molly who was far better at it than I.  And so my sweet winter night baby got those frosting roses that she wanted so badly.

Both of the girls' birth stories have become such a integral part of their own personal narratives. And every year, we celebrate them. Sadie on her spring day, the baby who just wouldn't come until the sun hit that perfect pink setting point.  And Rosie with her full moon snowy walk in a circle.  Over the years I tell the stories, and I forget that they weren't quite here yet for them.  I forget that what I'm really talking about is those last few moments before the world existed without them.  It's almost unthinkable to imagine, but somehow by repeating the stories over and over, I bring them into that world too.  They know just what happened, so they must have been there. 

This year, the winter baby wanted a dinner party.  With salmon.  And kale (so she could have cake, of course). And popovers.  And chocolate cake with vanilla frosting.  And yes, frosting roses. She was so polite about it all, and she would check in with me every few days.
"Have you figured out how to make my cake?"
Her friends dresses up in their finest and they each took a seat at the fancy table for two minutes.  And then they got up and nearly shook the whole house with laughter for the rest of the night.



We made trays and trays of popovers, and Sadie took care of everyone.


Oh, Rosie.  It's so easy to celebrate you.  Even with the frosting roses.


Again, Sadie recited a poem as everyone sat down to dinner.  She had been working on memorizing it for the last few days.  This time it wasn't hers, but A.A. Milne's.

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

Rosie's Birthday Cake
(loosely adapted from the King Arthur Baker's Companion, morphed and changed over the years)

makes 2 9-inch cakes that come together to make 1 beautiful double decker cake

For the cake:
1 1/4 cups sugar
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon cornstarch
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup canola oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup hot (almost boiling) water

For the frosting:
16 ounces (2 bars) cream cheese, softened
4 ounces (1 1/2 sticks) butter, softened
1 1/4 cups powdered sugar
pinch of salt
Optional: 1 tablespoon rose water

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Butter 2 9-inch round cake pans, line the bottoms with parchment, and then butter the parchment.
In the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together the sugar, flour, cornstarch, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  Add the eggs, buttermilk, oil, and vanilla, and beat with the flat beater attachment for 2 minutes.  Finally gently stir in the hot water.  The batter will be quite thin.  Pour it into the prepared cake pans and bake for 30 minutes, or until a cake tester comes out clean. Allow to cool in the pans for 10 minutes--then turn out of the pans and cool completely on a wire rack before frosting.

Make the frosting: Combine the cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, salt, and rose water, if using in the bowl of the stand mixer.  Beat with the flat beater attachment until smooth and uniform, about 30 seconds.

To frost the cake: Set one cake on a plate or cake stand over strips of parchment, like this.  If your cakes domed a bit while on top while baking, set it domed side up.  Use a silicone spatula to cover the top of the cake evenly with about 1-inch of frosting.  Set the second cake on top of the first, domed side down (so the tops of each cake are against each other).  Use your spatula to top the upper cake with frosting.  If you have an offset spatula, use that to spread the frosting, otherwise, continue to spread the frosting over the cake with your silicone spatula, spreading the frosting over the sides as well.  Top with raspberries, or... frosting roses.


(Many thanks to Aurel for grabbing my camera and taking all of these lovely pictures.)

F

32

When I was little, I remember birthdays being a bit emotionally complicated.  There was expectation, and sugar, and all sorts of other things thrown in.  A birthday wasn't complete without tears.

Things are different now.  Now there is coffee, and it always comes in bed, and there are cards that say, "I love you MOM!" and other people cook for me--and do the dishes too.  I love being a grownup.

This is the thing.  Every year is better than the last.  Every year. 

Joey took these pictures.  I haven't actually gotten out of bed yet--But I have eaten two scones with butter and blackberry jam, and a big cup of coffee.  There are crumbs in my sheets. 

I see no reason to keep the day for myself.  Why don't you take a piece too?  And I think to celebrate, you should have scones in bed.  And coffee.  Slip your special someone this recipe...and they'll be out in a jiff.


Scones
from Amy Cotler, The Secret Garden Cookbook

2 cups flour, plus extra for dusting
2 tablspoons sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces
2/3 cup milk

for the glaze:
milk
2 tablespoons sugar


Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.  Whisk the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt together in a mixing bowl.  Mix the butter in with your hands, until it is rubbed into the flour.  Add the milk and mix gently with your hands until it is just starting to come together.  Turn the dough out on a lightly floured surface and knead just a few times until it holds together in a ball. Pat the dough into a disc about 1/2 inch thick.  Cut into 12 wedges, and transfer to an ungreased baking sheet.  Brush the tops with milk-- then sprinkle with sugar.

Bake until just starting to brown, 10-12 minutes. Serve immediately.

imperfect

Seven years ago today, I woke up in tears. It was my due date for the baby who we would come to know and love as Sadie, but I had been in and out of labor for three weeks, and I was convinced that I would be pregnant forever. Even though there is no actual case of a woman staying pregnant for the rest of her life, somehow so many women go through the experience of suspecting that they will be the first.
By the end of that day, I was a mother, and tired as I was from all that, well, birth, I didn't sleep at all. I looked at Sadie's face the entire night, absolutely amazed. Of course, I was in love, and in awe, and all of that. But there was something else. I had had all sorts of images of what my baby would look like. My own birth was well photographed (even published, but that is another story), and I have no shortage of pictures of myself in my first day of life. I assumed that my baby would look like me, that she would have a full head of dark hair, that her nose would turn up like mine had. It was just what I saw in my mind.
When Sadie was born, she was entirely bald. Her face was dominated by the most magnificent and royal nose. It was gigantic. She cast her gaze around the room like she owned it, and she looked like an eagle. I looked at that face, and it was not only so different from mine, it was different than anything I could have imagined, and at that moment, I thought, "I have no control over this." Birth is a messy thing, and as magical and life changing as the moment when a baby comes into the world is, it is also a good moment to get used to letting go of your ideas of how things will be.


In preparation for Sadie's seventh birthday, I decided to make pop tarts.

The day before her birthday was a little bit packed, but I carved aside a few minutes to blend together the dough. Like always when it comes to me and pastry, the whole thing seemed too dry, and although I added so much more water than the recipe specified, it still didn't quite hold together. I just pressed and pressed and hoped for the best. When it came time to roll it out, it started to look more promising.

Still though, I pressed holes back together. I patched here and there. I felt doubtful. I was instructed to measure carefully so that I would have nice, even rectangles. No matter how I try to have nice, even anything in my life, my kitchen is where straight lines go to die.
I'm trying to get better at this, but as things stand right now, I will never be a pastry chef. I will continue to be...rustic.


Sadie has been coming into herself in a pretty cool way lately. Seven looks good on her, I must say. I think that she has been really becoming aware of how much she can accomplish, and so, ironically, she doesn't have to try to control everything, either. It's so nice to see her relax a bit. She is just having more fun with her days, I think. Finally, every moment does not have to be perfect for her.

Who started this whole idea of making perfect looking food at home? Was it Martha? I'm thinking that it might have come earlier than that. Maybe it's my deficiency with the whole straight line element, but there is enough to stress over without cursing myself in the kitchen because my icing piped out funny, or, ahem, my crust didn't quite keep together. Enough!

On her birthday, we ate pop tarts, and the jam squeezed out of every little space. They were beautiful in a non-traditional sense. These were no fashion models, but they sure had a nice personality.

This recipe came from the April issue of Bon Appetit, and in the photograph that accompanies the recipe, the pastries are laid out in a perfect star, each equal rectangle devoid of any little leak of jam. The powdered sugar is shaken in such a way that I suspect it might actually have been placed, grain by grain by some sad intern dreaming of the day when they might be able to eat one of these lovely snacks. Stunning.

Maybe your pop tarts will look like that. That is so great, and I applaud your success! But if they don't, then I urge you to embrace the character of your own homemade deliciousness. If the crust falls apart, or the jam comes through, and you even think about feeling any anxiety or stress about the whole thing, repeat after me:

These are going to taste so good.

And oh boy, they will. The nice thing about personality, is that it is what counts.

"Pop-Tarts"
adapted from Bon Appetit, April 2010

2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour plus additional for shaping and rolling
1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1 teaspoon sugar
2 sticks (1 cup) chilled, unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
10 tablespoons ice water, or more if needed (note: the original recipe calls for 4 tablespoons, but this just didn't even start to do it for me. Start low, but be aware that you might need as many as 10 or 12)
10-12 tablespoons fruit preserves (I used blueberry rhubarb that I made last week, but any will do, and low or no sugar will be best here)
powdered sugar, for dusting

Whisk the flour, salt, and sugar in a bowl. Add the butter, and using your fingertips, rub the butter in until it the whole mixture resembles coarse meal. Add ice water by the tablespoonfuls, tossing with your hands or a fork until the dough starts to stick together. When you pick up a handful and it stays together when you press it, it is ready.
Gather dough into two balls and shape each half into a disk. Wrap in plastic and chill at least an hour.
Line 2 large rimmed baking pans with parchment. If you have limited freezer space, and you cant put two pans in your freezer, you can probably get them all onto one pan, but if you can do the two, it is safer. Working with one disk at a time, roll out the dough on a floured surface to about 13x11 inches. Trim to a 12x10-inch rectangle, and cut into eight 5x3-inch rectangles.
Arrange 4 rectangles, spaced apart, on each sheet. Spoon about 1 tablespoon of jam down the center of each rectangle. Top with a a second rectangle, and gently press together at the edges. Then double seal it with a fork, pressing the edges all around the rectangle. Repeat with the other tarts. Poke each top with a toothpick a few times. Cover with plastic wrap, and freeze tarts on sheets for at least two hours and up to one week.
Position 1 rack in the top third of the oven, and one rack on the lower third. Preheat to 375 degrees. Bake frozen tarts uncovered until golden, reversing sheets after 15 minutes, 25-30 minutes total. Immediately transfer tarts to a rack. Sift powdered sugar lightly over the tarts, and serve warm.

egg-free not so sweet birthday cake

Oh, birthday parties. I try, I really do try.

Children, presents, sugar. It's hard to make all those elements come together without tears. This time, the tears started early, far before the first ruffle-dressed guest ever arrived.

Remember that sweet girl who turned five the other day? Full of love and gratitude? Well she was gone. Sunday I awoke to a panicked child who had run into the living room to see how we had set up the space for the 10:30 birthday party.

"Mom! It doesn't look like a party! Where is my pinata? Where are my balloons?"

It was, after all, her special day. Bridezilla's got nothing on a five-year-old birthday girl. I vowed to cancel the thing then and there.

But of course, the show must go on. We explained that there would not be a pinata, and we didn't have balloons, but we had set up individual beading stations for each girl! We would have pancakes, and hot chocolate with little paper umbrellas in it! We tried to convince her how good we were at this birthday party thing. She recovered for a few minutes while I clumsily hemmed her new Cinderella dress from Grandma that she was determined to wear. Although exceedingly lovely, the dress extended a full 18 inches past her feet, and that just seemed like a bad idea on a morning that was already destined to fail. Joey made 3 different pancake batters, all involving different relationships of gluten and eggs, and I created an outstandingly crooked hemline. Sadie wrote out the menu on poster board, and for a moment, there was peace.

Then the dress went over her head, and there was a shrill scream of "It's too short! Cinderella's ankles do not show!" We were back into the tears, and I was officially cursing the day.

In the end, we made it through. Sadie excelled in her roll as the helping older sister until she too burst into tears, caving under the pressure. "Mom, I can't take it! There's just too much to do!" The grown ups drank coffee while the all of girls alternated between love and dramatic moments; then we ate cake.



This is the third time I have made this egg-free cake, and all three occasions have been a success. As you may have noticed by now, for some reason the search for egg substitutes brings out the irrational eye-rolling teenager in me, and I continue to resist egg replacer, ground flax seed, and other egg substitutes that do not excite me. I know I am stubborn, and I know I need to get over it, but I've stayed stuck on the idea the right recipe will come.
A few weeks ago, my friend Hedley came over. She is a baker by soul and profession and she told me a secret. She said that if you combine maple syrup, apple cider vinegar, baking soda and baking powder, somehow, the egg is mysteriously replaced.


I was intrigued. The thought of health food store egg-free solutions gross me out, but this? This was pure chemistry, and when it comes to the chemistry of baking, the eye rolling teenager becomes a focused college student. And at the moment, when it came to my relationship to egg-free cake, I matured.


It seems that we are officially transitioning to egglessness in many ways. Now that we are sure that they do so much damage to Sadie's tummy, we still eat eggs here and there while she munches her favorite new breakfast of apple sauce and toast, but when it comes to birthdays, we better damn well have a good cake that we can all enjoy. With Hedley's help and the reliable framework of Alice Waters, I am proud to report that we now have our cake.

Alice Waters has a recipe for 1-2-3-4 cake, a yellow cake that I can use reliably for everything from after school cupcakes to a wedding cake. I thought that this was the best base to work with in the pursuit of our new family cake. I used her proportions but tweaked the liquid, adding oil as well as butter to make it super moist. I kept the sugar out entirely, using only maple syrup as a sweetener. In the end, what came out of the oven was light and moist, with all of the rise and sponge of an egg-filled cake. Hedley was absolutely right. It was magical.
We ate that first cake with nothing on it, testing the texture and flavor to measure our success. It was gone in a few minutes, and the second time I made it, the cake seemed happy enough to be coated in a bit of cream cheese frosting. The third time, Rosie insisted on chocolate. If I had any doubt before, I must say that with a not so sweet chocolate cream cheese frosting, we have officially found the cake. Yay us. Luckily, Sadie has opted for a city day for her birthday instead a party, and between you and me, I'm thrilled to be let off the hook. I guess we'll just have to find another occasion to make the cake before the next birthday comes around.


Family Cake
with help from Hedley Stone and Alice Waters

makes a double eight or nine-inch round cake, or, I would imagine, one 9x13 sheet cake
(this recipe can also be halved with great success)

for the cake:
3 cups sifted (sift and then measure!)cake flour (use all-purpose if that's all you have, but the cake will be a bit heavier)
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
1 cup milk
scant 2/3 cup canola oil
1 cup pure maple syrup
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

for the frosting:
16 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
4 ounces semisweet chocolate, melted
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/2 to 1 cup confectioners sugar, depending on your taste


Make the cakes:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter your cake pans, line the bottoms with parchment, then butter the parchment. Dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
With an electric mixer, cream the 2 sticks of butter until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla to the butter and beat until combined. In a large measuring cup or bowl with a spout, combine the milk, maple syrup, canola oil, and apple cider vinegar. Then, add the flour mixture and the milk mixture to the butter alternately, starting and ending with the flour. It should go flour, milk, flour, milk, flour. Beat until just thoroughly combined. The batter might be a little lumpy- it's okay. Pour the batter evenly into the two prepared pans and bake for 25-30 minutes, rotating the cakes halfway through baking. The cakes are done with a toothpick comes out clean and they are slightly golden. Cool on a rack completely before frosting.

Make the frosting:
Clean out the bowl of your mixer and the beater attachment. Combine all of the ingredients in the bowl of the mixer and beat until smooth. If you are not happy with the consistency, you can add a touch of milk or a touch of sugar.

To assemble the cake:
Cut out a circle of cardboard the size of one cake pan and place it on your cake stand or platter with a dallop of frosting under it to hold in in place. Put another dollop on top of the cardboard, and place one cake over the cardboard. With a silicone spatula, spread a bunch of frosting on top of the first cake until you have an even layer about an inch thick. Then center the second cake over the first. Spread frosting over the top cake, spreading the excess over the sides. Add more frosting to the sides where it needs it.

sweet cornmeal biscuits

On my nineteenth birthday, my boyfriend broke up with me, it snowed two feet, and then it iced another six inches. As I hacked at the igloo that covered my car in the parking lot, my tears and sweat soaked through through my coat. A newspaper reporter approached me.

"We're documenting the storm. Mind if I take your picture?"

"It's my fucking birthday. Help me out or go away."

He did not help me out.

On my twenty-third birthday, it snowed two feet again. My French class was having the last class of the semester at a French Bakery, and I was late. I ran out of my house, locking my car keys securely inside. I spent the next 30 minutes breaking into my surprisingly secure and frozen shut house, and I got to the French Bakery as the class was leaving in a cheerful chattering mass.

I stayed behind and took a seat at a table for one.

"It's my fucking birthday," I told the waitress. "Bring me some cake, and stick a candle in it."

Ah birthdays.

No swearing today, and a lovely day on the whole. Sadie brought me coffee and toast in bed as promised, which somehow helped me deal with her hour long tantrum about the fact that I had not made myself a birthday cake.

Although there was no snow this year, there was a whole lot of cold wind, and so I decided to turn on my oven. And as part of my meal preparation for tomorrow (spoiler alert!), I made Gialetti de Romagna, sweet cornmeal biscuits.

I'm sure my guests won't mind that I ate so many of them today. It was my birthday after all, and I seem to have forgotten to make myself a birthday cake.

Here ends birthday week. I promise not even to say the word again until next year.


I wasn't sure what these would emerge to be. They just sounded like a good idea. And when I say biscuit, you know I mean cookie, but not quite, because I'd say these are a cross between a Devonshire scone and a sugar cookie and, well, something involving cornmeal.

They are really very very lovely. And ideal with tea. And cold wind that is outside.

The original recipe calls for pine nuts and raisins. I adore pine nuts, but they have recently gone up in price so much that I think people might start perching them on engagement rings. I used chopped pecans instead, and that seemed just perfect to me. I am okay with raisins, but I am much better with currants, so that is what I used. These came out so well that I will go so far as give you my version of the recipe, but if pine nuts and raisins are your cup of tea, then by all means go ahead and switch it back.


Gialetti di Romagna
(sweet cornmeal biscuits)
adapted from Lynne Rosetto Kasper, The Splendid Table

makes about 50 cookies

1 cup (4 ounces) cornstarch
1 cup (5 ounces) coarse yellow cornmeal
2 cups (8 ounces) all-purpose flour
generous pinch of salt
1 cup (8 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (7 ounces) sugar
3 large eggs
1 tablespoon water
1 1/2 tablespoons grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup (2 1/2 ounces) currants, soaked in hot water for 15 minutes and drained
1/2 cup (2 ounces) coarsely chopped pecans

Blend the cornstarch, cornmeal, flour and salt in a bowl until well mixed. Set aside. Combine the butter and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer. Beat at medium speed with the paddle attachment for about 6 minutes, or until pale and very fluffy. You can also use a hand held mixer for this if that is your tool of choice. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, making sure the mixture is fluffy after each addition. Then beat in the water, lemon zest and vanilla. Keeping the speed at medium, beat in about 1 1/2 cups of the dry ingredients until just blended. Then blend in another cup until barely mixed. Add the rest of the dry ingredients, along with the currants and pecans. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or greased parchment paper. The cookies will bake in three batches. Drop the chilled cookie dough by teaspoonfuls onto the baking sheet, spacing them 1 to 1 1/2 inches apart. Make a crosshatch pattern on the top of each cookie by dipping a fork in water, then pressing the back of the fork gently into the cookie dough. Wet the fork again, and press it into the dough again at right angles to the first impression. Chill the unused dough. Bake for 20 minutes in the center of the oven, or until they are pale blond with golden edges. Remove the cookie sheet from the oven, and use a metal spatula to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack. Drop another batch of cookies onto the baking sheet and repeat.
The cookies will store well in an airtight container for up to a week.

Rosie's Strawberry Shortcake

There are a few things that I cling to when I am trying to feel like a good mother. Today, both of my kids kept their braids in all day long. Looking at their neat little hairstyles made me feel like a good mother. Last week, they started swim lessons at the community center. Watching them (finally) flailing around in the pool under the educational eye of a red cross swim teacher eased my troubled mother's heart. Because the truth is, and I can't really say why this is the case, there are are these little things that gnaw at me (Why can't I just get my kids into a swim class in the winter?! Why is the girls' hair so messy all the time?). When I can ease these little ridiculous anxieties that probably stem from my loving yet hippy nontraditional upbringing, I get a real moment of peace, and I can say, Yes, I am a mommy and sometimes a good one even. Silly, I know, but I'm not alone here right?
I kind of feel this way about birthday cake. Months before the girls' birthdays, I ask them what kind of cake they want, and then I think about it for a while. Rosie was pretty clear that for her fourth birthday she wanted strawberry shortcake. I don't always give my kids what they want, but I've got a real weakness for this birthday cake thing. One of these days, they're going to figure out that I will just about do anything to fulfill their birthday cake wishes, and the requests will start to get crazy. But until then, they go pretty easy on me.
Rosie's birthday is in February, and let's just say that the strawberries are not so plentiful at this time of year. Actually, they had a two for one deal going on strawberries at Big Y the morning of the party, but the problem is that when my Rose eats non-organic strawberries, she tends to puke her guts out for a good twelve hours afterward. So I pulled out the last bag of frozen strawberries that we picked from this really amazing farm, and I decided that I would make 1234 cake with whipped cream and strawberry sauce. This is a good cake. Make this cake. I hope that it brings you as much fulfillment ease of your anxieties as it brought me.


1234 Cake from most cookbooks by Alice Waters

makes 2 9- inch round cakes (can be easily halved or made into cupcakes)

1 cup milk
2 cups sugar
3 cups all purpose or cake flour, sifted, then measured
4 eggs
1 cup butter, softened
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350. Butter the cake pans and line the bottom of each with parchment paper. Butter the paper and dust the pans with flour, tapping off the excess. Separate the eggs and set aside. Whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt. In another bowl, beat the butter until light and fluffy. Add the sugar, cream until fluffy. Beat in the four egg yolks, one at a time and then the vanilla. Then add the flour mixture and the milk alternately, starting and ending with one third of the flour. Stir until just incorporated. In another bowl, whisk the egg whites to stiff peaks. Stir one third of the whipped egg whites into the batter, then gently fold the rest into the batter. Pour the batter into the prepared pans and bake until a toothpick comes out clean, 30 to 40 minutes.

Now to make it Rosie's strawberry shortcake:
Put 1 1/2 pounds of frozen strawberries in a medium saucepan. Add 2T cup maple syrup. Cook until hot and bubbly. Cool to room temp.
Whip 2 1/2 cups heavy cream with 1 T maple syrup and 1 tsp vanilla extract.
Lay the two cakes out side by side, upside down so the flat part is facing up. Mix a little bit of the strawberry sauce with some of the whipped cream and spread on top of on of the cakes. Put the other cake on top- the flat parts should be together. Then coat the whole thing with whipped cream. After cutting into slices, put the strawberry sauce on each individual slice.

Fancy Thirty

Today I am thirty, and although I thought I would be at work today, instead I am home in an ice storm and therefore able to share my birthday here a little bit. I've been thinking lately about how much I like small things that make me feel fancy. We live on a very limited budget, and I think that keeping these little luxuries around helps me to be quite content with our income level. Yes, my dirty little secret is that I really like fancy things. There it's out. And I'm not alone, right? So here are a few of those little fancies....


Cloth napkins. Cheap. Pretty. Good for the environment. We have a lot of them, and we use them at every meal. And my kids think that paper napkins are strange. And voila, I have raised fancy, eco-conscious kids.

Olive oil in a glass bottle. Just makes me feel like a good cook to look at it. And if you can fill it with decent olive oil, even better.

Pinchable salt. Good coarse salt in a little bowl that you have to put your fingers in to. Sanitary? No. Fancy? Oh yes.


And because we are in an ice storm, I'll finish with my favorite today. Tea in a little glass. It may burn your fingers a bit, but just to look at the glass is so satisfying. So I know that it's my birthday but why don't you go treat yourself. Grab a juice glass, fill it with tea, and feel the fanciness....