Pop Quiz

Q: How long does it take for one almost-duke, sexy-night-and-day Brit to finally penetrate his beloved Welsh virgin peasant?

A: 610 pages.

BFFs

I Was Wrong

The tricolor Italian cookie was fabulous, rich and just right—you couldn't even taste that fake color—while the vanilla strawberry shortcake-like thing was way too dry and sweet. Plus, I found another what-I-think-is a 3- or 4-layer white or yellow chiffon cake, with either buttercream frosting and some kind of lemon filling, or just buttercream frosting, and the cake is basically raw. In either case, not that good.

I was right about the mocha chiffon cake, though. Freaking good. (I gave away the chocolate cakes, so cannot attest to their greatness.) And now I will try to cram in the rest of my witchy romance novel for the day, so I can get down to some Tracy Anderson, and try to make it to...2 times participation this week. (That, I admit, is really not up to par.)

Just 'Cause II

Mix 'n Match

C-razy!

Well, the bakery couple did not disappoint with their teasing, and the wife said she felt like crying when she opened her box and saw my cheesecake. But they agreed it tasted very good, and their family ate all of it, which I take as a real compliment.

Meanwhile, we made about a thousand things today, but I wrote my name on my box this time, and when I got home, just shoved it in the fridge.

Theme of the day, Petit Fours, manifested as:

• A weird tricolor Italian "cookie," with thin layers of almond-based cake, dyed red, yellow, and green (lost me right there), then layered with raspberry marmalade and topped with chocolate ganache. (Dee and I made the green layer.) There are several of these pieces in my box in the refrigerator, which I believe will go untouched.
  
• A three-layer mocha chiffon cake—mine and Dee's—filled with chocolate buttercream frosting, cut into tiny pieces. Looks really freaking good, but needs more coffee flavoring. Also, I choked on the decorations, and basically ended up sprinkling a mix of cocoa powder, powdered sugar, and chopped hazelnuts on mine. Dee did some very precise piping on her half in chocolate fudge icing, taken from the bakery couple, who made:
• A three-layer chocolate chiffon cake, enhanced with chocolate fudge icing, with Dee's and my chocolate buttercream frosting underneath their top layer of icing, then decorated with beautiful chocolate buttercream flowers. I think they wished they did not have to share.
• A two-layer yellow chiffon cake, with vanilla buttercream frosting and fresh strawberries in between. This looks very tasty to me, though is not the prettiest, and did not make it home in one piece.
• Chewy coconut macaroons. Both the bakery couple and Dee made these. But one batter was too thin, and the other too thick, so they mixed them together, and I did not grab too many of these on my way out.
• Lemon cookies. One student got in trouble for making them really, really huge, but I think she was coming apart at the seams because she's suddenly getting a divorce. I tried to soothe her as only a fellow divorcee could, but I ultimately backed off 'cause she looked like she was about to do some serious damage with her pastry bag. She did not work with a partner today, but did have a fab new hairdo.
• Sugar cookies, which I made. They're frankly nondescript, but not bad (actually pretty good), but certainly no match for the ones from Columbine cafe. I think I was supposed to make a lemon glaze for them, but Chef Nola was completely undone at this point, so when I mentioned their plainness, she told me it was my choice to make them. Okay.
• Another very nicely piped cookie from the restaurant lifer (who says he doesn't eat sweets but kept picking at my mocha chiffon cake scraps, and also told me today he was the man), but I have no idea what it is.

Recommended

In case you haven't checked out my stand up comedy sidebar, I highly recommend the Dave Chapelle bit entitled, "Grape Drink." It's short, and seriously funny. I just watched it myself, in fact, to cheer up from the fact of another night having gone by, spent in the throes of a b.s. romance novel.

T.T.T.H.

Oh, dear. My world is crashing! My tiny world! I thought I was so clever, but just found, via a boredom-inspired vanity Google search on myself, a two-year-old blogspot entitled The Irreverent Cook. The food (mostly baked goods), and enormous repertoire of recipes looks really, really, really good. Plus, she may have just turned 18, 'cause she's apparently very excited to finally be able to vote.

Okay, then.

Should get back to real work now. I have a very important, career-bending appointment with an incense-buring Welsh virgin, her stunning lover-to-be, his period-date-rape-drug-administering jilted fiance, and overall, plenty of "shameful warmth pooled between each of their legs..."

Erin

Useful Ratios

In spite of last week's kinda dud class, Chef Sub was a funny guy, with Carla Hall-like sensibilities—"That's just love in a bowl," he said of my 32 ounces of whipped-to-shiny-stiff-peaks egg whites—and here's a useful, simple, tasty formula I picked up from him:

For graham cracker crust: mix 1 pound crushed graham crackers, 8 ounces sugar, 8 ounces melted butter. Press in pan to form a 1/4 inch-thick crust, and bake for 10 minutes at 350 degrees. Make sure to cool it then, in preparation for pouring in cheesecake filling (not spooning in, like mine needed to be, due to over-whipping of full batter to compensate for initial under-creaming of cream cheese). This makes more than 1, and I'm supposed to be able to add up the ingredient weights and then figure how many crusts that makes. Extra credit reward of one pie crust (plus cheesecake filling) made especially by me for those who figure that out. (Where's my math student, seamripper2, when I need her?)

And here's one for custards (from the week before): 6 whole eggs, 6 egg yolks, 1 quart cream. Apparently, that's all you need to know to make any kind of sweet or savory custard, though I forget why and how. Must take better notes, which I did at the beginning of the course. Luckily, I've got my pita bread-making process well recorded.

Love in a bowl: one part J., one part whoever-you-are, results unknown, though I have high hopes.

Shout out to J.J. and her friend from the range (though I'm talking to myself here): just follow the recipe, wait with the patience of a baker, and it will come. Or better yet, make up your own recipe, write down all the ingredients (not kidding), and see what you culinary alchemy you can conjure up!

Memory Lane

I still haven't gotten over the jumbled class from last week, with that crazy sugar angel food cake. Plus, I can only imagine the teasing I'll receive from the bakery couple when they learn the truth of what really happened to their cheesecakes. (Don't forget—the wife had already tied up her boxes, and then helped me with mine, so it's not like it was all my fault!) Anyway, my disappointment as such, I'm sending myself back in time with a photo I just received from Dee (apparently she was having computer trouble for a while), of a more successful venture: my bread pudding, which I will definitely make again. Particularly now that I finally bought a digital scale (not cheap). No excuses now!


photo: Dee (holla!)

Mind Your Own Bakery

If I Wanted To Have Some Kind Of Side Bakery Business, I Could Call It:

1. The Bakery
2. Baked Goods (L.A. Frannie points out the stoner suggestion, though.)
3. D.J.'s (Sounds like a diner.)
   
4. D. Jew D.'s
5. J.'s B.
6. Help!
7. Arrived!
8. Amandina
9. 50
   
10. Tiki (I don't mean to imply Hawaiian goods. That's an inside joke I share with D.J.)
11. Ya Tiki (Ditto.)
12. Men Only (Asynchronous.)
13. I Like To Bake
    
14. Coffee Not Served Here
    
15. Pie Lady (That may not be my specialty.)
16. Not Cookies (Except I might offer some, now that I know how to make uniform bakery treats.)
17. Uniform Bakery Treats (Does not sound right.)
    
18. Salt (Taken.)
    

These really don't seem like bakery names, eh?, with the possible exception of The Bakery, and Baked Goods, though I've already nixed that one. I like Amandina, but that's a bit similar sounding to the name of the tiny cafe, Columbine, just north of the Franklin Street stop on the number 1 line. They make the most fantastic, melt-in-your-mouth very-large-but-I-could-still-eat-two sugar cookies (only available after one p.m., by the way, which I learned about the hard way).

Plus, I would have to okay it with my cool tween sitter, Amandina, without whom I could not have done D.J.'s birthday party. Holla! (Obviously, names have been changed or altered here to protect the...innocent.)

Amandina. Amandina. No. Even if it didn't almost rhyme with Columbine, it sounds like an off pronunciation of almonds, which I wouldn't use very often—D.J.'s no longer allergic, but I shy away from them in general now. No, not Amandina.

And while I think The Irreverent Family Bakery might look amusing on paper, it's too awkward to say. It doesn't sound very delicious, and suddenly, the name of my blog, possible book, and overall New Year's project is a bust. Despite all my yapping, the recipes and foods therein are supposed to be delicious! Aaaah!

Imagine: At rise, loving man and woman eat tea and toast at small round table in chic urban kitchen before work one morning: "Honey," the woman says, "could you pick up some of those eclairs we love at the Irreverent Family Bakery on your way home tonight? You know how I get after I eat those..."

D.J.'s Birthday Summer of Love Mural

12 Years Goes By Really Fast Sometimes

Wish I had taken a picture of the beautiful cupcakes I made yesterday for D.J.'s party. Okay, I did have to make them twice, after realizing I had not added enough flour to the first batch (and they weren't then going to morph into some kind of cool flourless cake). But I was really glad I went the extra mile (i.e., had to prepare a new mise en place), because they looked and tasted fantastic. And furthermore, chalk one up for tools of the trade and me giving up my rebellious streak (no matter what the subject matter), as I finally bought myself an ice cream scooper so I could make the cakes a uniform size. And it totally worked! They were perfectly rounded on top, and really pretty. Plus, that top secret recipe is top secret I guess for a reason—they are just almost too good to be true!

Meanwhile, I am fried, behind schedule on my latest historical romance, and just got a call for work on another, more racy one (Do I care if this manuscript is a BDSM story? the production editor asked me*), with possible conflicting deadlines, among other things. Am still meditating on the cheesecake/angel food cake class, but right now, I think I need to lie down. In silence (save for Con Ed drilling directly outside my window). Wish me luck.


D.J. has chocolate icing on her nose, and that black-and-white fabric on the walls was part of the '60s hippie pad thing D.J.'s N.Y.C. B.F.F. (1 girl to the right of D.J.)'s dad designed, but I had to execute, as he ran out the door after dropping off the fabric on his way to do one of his many Obama-esque good deeds (literally).

* "No," I replied. (Shout out to Miss J. T. H., or any other friend of D.J.'s who may be reading—and you know who you are: that is X-rated material, so cover your eyes! Not kidding.)

"Don't Get All Wedding Cake On Me"

OMG, can't talk. Must continue to get ready for D.J.'s party, but that was one crazy, mixed up day. Chef Nola was not there. Two students were missing. We mixed 32 ounces of whipped-to-stiff-peaks egg white batter with our hands. My cheesecake was a bummer because I didn't cream the cream cheese long enough. "Don't get all wedding cake on me," Chef Sub said. I guess that's chef speak for being a diva. (Put me in my place.)

Then the whole way home, I was griping to myself that someone had taken my angel food cake, which looked pretty darned impressive at practically a foot high, but was so sugary—2 pounds worth, I kid you not—I was going to throw it away anyway. But when I got home, not only was it the wrong cake—my cheesecake was beginning to look good at this point—when I opened my second box, turned out I had taken G and E's two beautiful, much, much, much better-than-mine cheesecakes. One even has a chocolate swirl on top.

I tried to call their bakery number uptown, but no answer or machine. I'm really sorry, G & E!

Frannie

Here's an I.F. pudding-like dessert recipe from L.A. Frannie, originally a New Orleans girl. Now she's one of those all-round how-does-she-do-it type women, and she and her mom, another hottie, are both great cooks, if you like seafood gumbo, or shrimp creole, or anything else of the I-wish-I-could-make-mine-taste-like-that home-cooking variety. But word is, Frannie's grandmother was the true bomb, and this is her recipe.

L.A. FRANNIE'S GRANNY'S NEW ORLEANS CUSHAW

"We had this dessert a lot when I was growing up in New Orleans. Just a scoop on the side of your dinner plate made the rest of the baked, stewed, roux-laden starch go down easier." —L.A. Frannie

1 medium size gooseneck striped squash—any squash will do, but there's a yellow and green striped variety that my granny always used
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup sugar
cinnamon to taste
nutmeg to taste
1 teaspoon vanilla
speck of salt
1/2 cup milk
1 Tablespoon or so flour or cornstarch

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Wash squash well, and cut in half. Scoop out seeds and membranes, and discard. Cut remainder of squash in pieces, and boil in water in large pot until soft, approximately 30 minutes. Drain, then spoon out flesh.

Mash squash in large mixing bowl, and add remaining ingredients. Mix well.

Spread into an 8- or 9-inch square baking dish, and bake for 30 minutes, or until nicely browned on top. Serve with a spoon right onto your meal plate, if you want to be authentic about the whole thing.

"One Sunday in my grandma's kitchen, my Uncle B., schizophrenic and very vocal, must have missed out on the cushaw. Because I remember the entire dish ending up on the side of the refrigerator, and that was the end of that Sunday dinner. I was glad I'd gotten mine." —L.A. Frannie

Plus Three Tickets to HAIR the Night Before

photo: http://www.orlok.com/hair/holding/poster2.jpg

Recipe for Turning Twelve

D.J.'s '60s Costume Party

• 1 birthday girl, Daughter Judy.
  
• 11 12-year-olds, approximately, of the female variety.
• 1 clean house.
• 1 clean back patio.
• Beatles CDs.
• D.J.'s BFF's designer dad, styling my pad with '60s fabrics.
• D.J.'s cool tween sitter Amandina, the painter, leading the ensemble mural creation.
• Tie-dye kit, which I hope works, looks too hard, must sit for 24 hours afterward.
  
• Daisies, for daisy chains, if I can find them, which I don't think I can.
  
• Party favor bags, which include mod necklaces from a good sale at Claire's, chocolate eggs from Li-Lac across the street, and cool glider planes.
• 1 take-out pizza menu from Two Boots.
• A few bowls of grapes, pretzels, and carrots.
• 1 secret recipe (not my secret, or I'd share it) Austrian Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Icing, of which Chef suggested I make four layers, not two. Think I'll make three layers, just 'cause.
• 1 or 2 bottles of champagne, to share with any adult who stays. After all, I was there that 30-hour day, almost 12 years ago.
  

A Watched Pot

If this were a novel, and I was the main character, which I am, more than halfway through my 14th Street & 7th Avenue baking/pastry journey, something should have happened to me by now. Like a collision with love, or career, or some kind of relationship or something, major or minor, to keep the drama going. I can extract details of my life to make them interesting or quirky or funny even, but if I step back and look at the bigger picture, at least right now, it's pretty slow going over here.

Left to Right Again

Baked Creme Brulee (good, super smooth, but reiterated my low level preference of that dessert), Bread Pudding, with homemade bread (A+, particularly when heated and then turned out of its tin, but probably at least 500 calories), Apricot and Blueberry Clafouti (very nice, but forgot to take it out of its little tin), and Chocolate Pots de Creme (still have not tried; saving one for D.J., and gave the other to her tiny friend Ina who stopped by today with her dog Ani). The rice pudding, not pictured, had good flavor, but it was true what they said: the rice wasn't cooked enough.

What I Brought Home Today

or, Who Wants to Come Over?

• Chocolate Pots de Creme (nice, very dark)
  
• Bread pudding (mine, and looks delicious even though I didn't make the accompanying Bourbon sauce)
• Rice pudding (I hear the rice wasn't cooked enough)
  
• Cherry Clafouti, made with blueberries and apricots (Dee's, lovely)
• Baked Creme Brulee (not my favorite in general, but looked good)
  
• Eclairs, with vanilla pastry cream and melted chocolate ganashe (mine!)
  
• Profiteroles, fixed same as above (mine!)
  

(Sorry I can't put the corresponding accents on words such as pate, a, choux, or creme brulee for that matter.)

And let's just call the Pate a Choux what it is: boiled dough. Amazing. Contains no sugar.

I definitely need practice with the pastry bag, though, as I overstuffed my pieces a bit, and my profiterole and eclair shapes could have been prettier. Nevertheless:

Week 7 Already

Today's historical romance features a spitfire heroine with a dagger in her boot and a streak of white running down her raven hair; twin brothers dueling for dukedom; gravediggers and mad scientists; an English countryside; and of course, love as deep as the infinite ocean.

Back on 14th Street and 7th Avenue, however, I'll be making eclairs during class tomorrow. I hope. I know vanilla pastry cream is on the agenda, for the third time recently, and I must say I've gotten pretty good at it by now. (My Tracy Anderson Method Mat Workout DVD has come in handy for the intense egg beating required for the making of pastry cream.) Chef Nola may or may not be there to inspire.

This Is The Boy*, or I Was Once Smashed In The Trunk With Him

1984

I read two okay reviews yesterday of a solo show now playing at Manhattan Theatre Club, performed by a man I knew when he was a child. He's apparently confronting the clown demons of his past (literally; see father above), and I can totally relate.

Project Runway Challenge

Not sure why the EDF thing got me down, but I'm still not feeling well from last night. So much so, when I saw Tim Gunn again today at the salad bar (he was waiting in a hot food line and I was buying a small lump of plain white rice), I did not approach him. Seems possible I might run into the man again if I want, so now I just have to wear better clothes to work. And/or maybe carry a homemade treat or two on me, and then offer him one:

"Hi. Tim Gunn? So good to see you." (I pull out a palmier from my pocket, but he refuses.) "Um, I'm friends with L.D.J., you know her...right. And I did run into you a week or so ago here, uh, I don't know if you remember...but anyway, I hope you don't mind, but could I ask you a question...do you think there's any way you could help me style my chef's uniform?"

The Irreverent Family Cookbook

I am SO over the EDF, that I am done.

Up sick last night from the chicken and rice/snickerdoodle dinner.

I like the money-saving potential here, but that's about it. This challenge has only underscored my lack of savory culinary skills and imagination, and let's face it: I'm a misfit in the kitchen, as well as in the rest of life. Another underscoring: Wherever You Go, There You Are.*

Back to what I started here. The Irreverent Family Cookbook.

*Jon Kabat-Zinn

Did Not Make Scones

Maybe it's an American thing, or a New England thing, but Nigella's "Snickerdoodles"* pretty much have nothing to do with what I know about snickerdoodles. I realize that particular cookie comes in a variety of forms—hard, soft, chewy, small, big, round, flat, rustic, smooth, cinnamon-y or not—but her formula seems odd, like it's missing an ingredient. Maybe. I'm not sure I made them correctly, and I keep reading the recipe over and over still (i.e., was I supposed to have to knead this dough?).

Anyway, they do taste a bit like baked doughnuts, of which she said they would, but seriously, these are not what I had in mind when I wanted to surprise D.J., a total snickerdoodle lover, 'cause she took the New York State 6th grade math test today.

She told me she might be late, though. Sounds like there may be some boy action brewing...

P.S. Oh, yes. Almost forgot. Bought the wine, and cinnamon for above! EDF Demerit count: 6

*How To Be A Domestic Goddess, Nigella Lawson

Hollah, Dee!

Waiting for my photos from Dee from this past week. I think there may even be a publishable one of me in there.

This Eating Down the Fridge thing is an eye-opener, though not necessarily for reasons pertaining to eating down my half-size fridge and meager pantry. I see that 1) I spend way too much money on food items, impulse food items, thinking about buying food items, etc., and 2) I could probably save about $50 weekly feeding D.J. and I with this strict shop-only-once-a-week thing on a regular basis, and 3) I have an even smaller repertoire of recipes for savory items than I thought, and 4) I lost 1 pound already. I don't think EDF is supposed to be a diet, but it's turning out that way.

I did purchase two pints of berries yesterday (and the over-discussed tea), and also plan to buy wine today, but that may be the end of my demerits (not!). I have the day off today—am awaiting another Christmastime romance copy edit, available for pickup tomorrow—and am going to make scones, or biscuits, or something from the quick bread family to eat because I also see that 5) I like treats, and I have none in the fridge.

EDF Demerits so far, including yesterday: 4

See D.J. in Pink

photo: nationaldance.org/National Dance Institute

I Don't Do Starbucks

But I do do all sorts of tea runs at work, or even York Peppermint Pattie runs. Does this EDF challenge mean I can't buy tea anymore? There's still construction happening in the new offices, and there's no tea or coffee maker in the kitchens yet. "Just microwave it," someone suggested, as if radiated water was de rigeur. (I won't do microwaved tea.) But if I don't make my tea runs, how am I going to pass my time at work?

Tomorrow, since I also won't be visiting the salad bar where I ran into Tim Gunn, I will go to Duane Reade across the street and buy myself either a thermos, or a hot pot, in keeping with the spirit of the challenge. Maybe this type of lifestyle editing is how I'm going to become more mise en scene in life. After all, Chef Nola did agree I'm about ten percent improved on my baking mise en scene, even after the flour flew out of the pastry-cream-in-process pot I was vigorously stirring, all over her work space.

I told D.J. that if she had to buy something to supplement her reusable lunch bag lunch, she should write it down and not tell me about it until the end of the week. (I can't deal with GVMS out lunch peer pressure to boot.) I guess I'll do the same, and then we can compare notes.

In the meantime, I think there may be a few squares of bittersweet chocolate in my desk drawer I look forward to passing the time with tomorrow.

Back on Track

Just finished my major shop for "Eating Down the Fridge" week, and I've already learned:

• More than I care about using up my (meager) ingredients, I don't want to cook/prepare 42 meals in the next week. Suddenly I realize I won't be giving D.J. a few dollars or two every other day to buy her own GVMS "out lunch," and I won't be going to the salad bar, either. Drag. Not sure where Ms. O'Donnel figured the preparation part into the mix, but this is already way more work than I anticipated.
• I only have meat, chicken really, for one meal, not including eggs. Two tops.
• I already have to start baking.
• I envision buying berries tomorrow, 'cause I never made it to the shop I wanted to go to, and ended up at the lesser quality store, simply because it was closer. Frankly, with a slew more sex acts to go in my WT69 situation, it's lucky I made it there at all.
• Similarly, I wasn't able to go to the liquor store, so there will surely be a purchase of wine this week. The sooner the better, 'cause I'm not that into Calvados.
  
• I have a very limited cooking repertoire. I do have three dinners planned in my mind, which could possibly stretch to six, despite D.J. often refusing leftovers: Amandina's (D.J.'s cool sitter) fantastic recipe for macaroni and cheese; Deliciously Italian's Zuppa di Pasta e Fagioli, 'cause I wasn't in love with the recipe my sister sent me (thanks, though, but I think any number of Italians might balk at the idea of putting in pinto and/or split peas, which I don't like anyway, to their Pasta e Fagioli); and one recipe my sister suggested that I did like: Ms. O'Donnel's "Mom's Chicken With Rice," adapted from West Coast Cooking.
• If I stick to this challenge, I will probably save money.
• If I stick to this challenge, I will probably lose weight.
  

All good food for thought, but tonight, I'm going to order in. I'll start my 42 meals tomorrow. Let's see: Breakfast—oatmeal with raisins and syrup, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, toast for D.J. Totally doable. Lunch—apples with cheese cubes...? I'm screwed.

Easy on Sunday Morning

Puff pastry is fantastic. Despite the butter content—I don't have to eat them, btw, as I enjoy making them equally as well—I love the no-yeast hassle factor, which deletes a variable that could absolutely screw one up. I also think I could make it at home.

The single mother chocolatier was absent yesterday, and for the next two weeks, we're going to be having a sub. Chef Nola has to move next weekend—I guess the lattice-top peach pie did not mend fences for her and her landlord—and the following weekend, she's going to a conference. In her place, leading the class—can you say eclairs?—will be Chef Steve and Chef Someone Else.

Imagine if, when talking about someone, you had to modify their name with their profession each time: "Student D.J. got mad when I gave away almost all the palmiers," or "Comedian C. Rock did not appreciate it when I blurted out that his hands looked much bigger on television than in person," (true story), etc. That format seems excessive, and a maybe a bit T.M.I. The label "President Obama" works, as does "First Lady Michelle," though I believe there's more to her than that. And while it might be appropriate in some cases, this kind of identification could inevitably lead to confusion. Sister Beth, for example. (She is no Catholic, or nun.) Or B.S. Artist Luc (actually, that works), or Big Brother Bush (though that works, too).

In any event, single mother, multi-tasking, smut copy editor, wannabe lover (though I'm sure there's more to me than that), must now go pick up about-to-be-12-years-old D.J. from her BFF's family's Catholic church.

Fool Me Once

Aargh! Now I think I lost another $20 at school yesterday, cause I had two 20s and some singles buried deep in my coat pocket under my gloves, which I thought was safe. Apparently not.

Alas, I'm about to go on my first delivery with the remaining puff pastry items, because while lying in bed last night, I went over my butter intake for the day—I also had one of my apple tarts on an admitted lonely Saturday night—and realized: forget about yeast, it's fat free that needs my attention.

P.S. I'm no longer interested in solving the math problem below.

Spoiler Alert

A: Each palmier contains .45 ounces of butter.

E.C.: The student (me) would have eaten two palmiers, plus one of the restaurant lifer's (his best work yet), and one seriously mini patty shell (see "Puffy"), filled with a drop of pastry cream and topped with a single blueberry.

Puffy Too, or One, and Counting

Q: If two pastry students (i.e., Dee and myself) split one batch of puff pastry dough containing 18 ounces of butter, and one student (i.e., me) makes 10 small palmiers with 1/2 of her share of the dough, how many ounces of butter does each palmier have?

Extra Credit: How many palmiers would the student (me) have eaten if she's now consumed almost one ounce of butter?

Puffy

The Neighborhood Bully

Top Ten

Kitchen pantry items, ready to be eaten down:

1. Starbucks Drinking Chocolate, "Double Delish": a Christmas leftover from the publishing joint
2. Grandma's Molasses: several half-used jars
3. Smucker's Natural Peanut Butter: never dared to open after the peanut butter alert
4. Calvados: have no idea why that's in there
5. Comet Sugar Cones: from this past summer
6. Condoms—wait—what?
   
7. Dried lentils
8. Lots of tween snacks: including pretzel rods, rice cakes, Goldfish
9. Chicken broth
10. Salt
    

Ice, or No Ice

This coming Monday, I'm going to be participating in an "Eating Down the Fridge" challenge, courtesy of Kim O'Donnel and The Washington Post*. For one week, I will buy no food items, and simply eat down my fridge, i.e., use up whatever I have in my house already. This should be a good one, since 1) I only have a half-size refrigerator, which 2) has very little freezer space, and 3) has very poor temperature control, so that my choice therein is either well-tempered food but no ice, or ice, but frozen food.

("You need a new refrigerator," Chef said when I told her my raspberry tart was like hard candy after one night in the twisted cooling system.

I tried to explain to her that that was my new fridge, courtesy of my very hands-off landlord, who apparently doesn't realize one can buy pretty much anything on sale now, including a well-designed refrigerator. But don't even get me started...)

And 4) I live in New York City, not Obamaland, and I'm always editing down the contents of my tiny apartment, so there's actually not much of a backlog of food here. Maybe some vegetarian baked beans or old Progresso soup (did you know their chicken soup has MSG but the veggie soups don't?), or Presto cake flour, or Jiffy Pop popcorn. I think I've got a few leftover cans of tomatoes, which the L. man must have left here; pumpkin puree, from the Maple Pumpkin Pots de Creme I never made last Thanksgiving (shout-out to Gourmet); cherry brandy for my once- or twice-yearly Gourmet-informed (again!) 1960s cheese fondue; and lots of teas and almost-empty pasta boxes. Oh, yes, and way too much Star anise, in a variety of different forms, because someone once told me Star anise was a good remedy for anthrax poisoning.

Tomorrow is puff pastry day, and will bring real apples for use in filling, as opposed to the canned fruit options available at school, since I'll still be eligible to buy food.

*http://voices.washingtonpost.com/mighty-appetite/2009/02/eating_down_the_fridge_save_th.html?hpid=features2

Woman in Uniform

I couldn't bear to pry open Wolf Tail 69 today, so I decided to step up my commitment to my study process—I'm floundering a bit here—and put my money where my mouth is:

I finally took my chef uniform pants to the sewing machine, pulling in almost an inch on both the inner and outer seams, and up the butt as well. Luckily, I only did one pant leg before I looked in the mirror...

Worse! Much worse. I may as well have been wearing florescent lights up and down my leg. Hideous! Better they should drape loosely, than...I don't even want to describe it!

Took a seam ripper to the thing, and now my one pant leg looks very raggedy.

I think the only thing to be done with the pants is either literally take them apart, redesign them, and put them back together—and the styling factor there is out of my league—or leave them be. I don't even want to hem them. Better they should hang as long as possible. (In case it isn't clear at this point, I'm totally short. Five foot two, eyes of blue, etc.)

Maybe I can do something with the coat.

Left to Right: S., D.J., and D.J.'s BFF

Barbie fashion show set. Fashion week. February, 2009.

photo: D.J.'s BFF's mom, our six-degrees of separation from all things fashion

Mixed Reviews

Here's a shout-out to my main taste-treat testers:

• Alexandra, D.J.'s tween sitter. She always grabs one item, but doesn't take another to go.
  
• D.J., of course. She's one of my hardest sells, but is brutally honest and happens to have excellent taste.
  
• My next-door neighbor. Hugo, an older man, really seems to appreciate the treats, though maybe it's my visits he prefers.
  
• My upstairs neighbor, Michelle, a young mother of two who is very complimentary, but would never say otherwise. I think she likes the idea of them. She is stressed with her new baby, however, since her baby nurse left.
  

One shot deals:

• Some neighborhood father and his two kids I quasi-know from the neighborhood. I was on my way home one day, armed with a mini slew of French bread; when he asked me to sign an anti-nightclub petition, I gave him one of my loaves. Haven't seen him since.
  
• D.J.'s friend and her mother. Later, the young, very petite, very cute girl texted me a special thumb's up/OMG message.
  
• Chef Nola. She told me she shared last week's peach pie with her landlord, which is a good sign, I think, 'cause apparently the week before she wasn't speaking to him.
  

Other:

• "I don't care much for the stuff."
• "I'm on a diet."
• "I'm not eating sugar," or "You know I don't eat dessert."
  
• "I can't eat cheese."
  
• "I live in Brooklyn."

Flukes:

• The class made fun of my most recent Italian bread. Fair enough. My dough never rose, 1/2 of it beoming the shell of the only-so-so calzone, and the other half, the baguette-in-a-circle half I made 'cause I thought I was cool, looked like a piece of ring toss equipment, or a possible hand weight option for use with my Tracy Anderson Method Mat Workout DVD. (Good flavor, though.)