While we’re talking holiday fare…

In theory, Zabar’s take of the challah bread in the form of a menorah is a fun idea. It’s probably hard, though, to make the bread rise so that it doesn’t look like eight nights of phalli? Take a look and tell me what you think.

I actually miss sitting at the desk all day

True to the tagline of this blurg, these three months in the kitchen have been sweet and tough, and it’s been really tough on my feet. When I went to see the podiatrist, he x-rayed them and told me the film shows I have D-size width feet (Oh? Two notches from EEE, really?) plus super-high arches, which make shoe shopping that much harder and ongoing. I’m currently rotating four pairs of shoes, not because they’re all comfortable, but because one pair will hurt a part of me—lower back, arches, hips—less than the other pair at any given time. As if this isn’t a pain in the ass by itself, I just noticed two little knobs (of bone? alien?) sticking out the inner side of my left feet today, right underneath the ankle bone. (‘WTF is THAT???!!!’)

Yeah.

Orthotics would’ve cost $440 with my old insurance, of which I just let go. I’m waiting for my new insurance to kick in, any day now, and then I’ll literally run, albeit with a limp, to the podiatrist. How’s that complicated health care bill coming along, Senate?

A quick ‘Bah, Humbug,’ then…

I resent the fact that it’s not even Thanksgiving yet and store windows have holiday displays up. I would’ve been resentful of this e-mail from Sur La Table as well, except these ornaments are pretty darn cute, particularly the wooden rolling pin and the toaster one. Can I just say, though, that pastry chefs don’t all look like that?

 

Two minute trip to Paris

My friend J. wanted to meet for lunch at Tal’s Bagels near 54th and 1st today, but when I rounded the corner to look for the deli, I really wanted to go to Financier Patisserie two doors down. “Can we go in for just a second?” I asked her after we downed some tasty but humble split pea soup and bagel with tuna salad at Tal’s. The place was alight with the most beautiful and tight (dare I employ such a slangy adjective?) classic French pastries behind a sparkly pane of glass, all the goodies so close yet so far away. Everything looked delectable and shiny with apricot glaze nappage, but one really caught my eye because I had never seen it before: the Adrienne, which looked like a Napoleon with pistachio mousse. J. really wanted a coconut macaroon quickly before she had to head back to work (not a French macaron, which were also available), and when I asked for it by name—”A coconut rocher, please”—the counterkeep, in a French accent, asked, “What?? What did you say?” in such a distasteful way that I wondered if 1) I was pronounching rocher right (ro-shay) and 2) I should really be getting the Adrienne, non? Tant pis. We gobbled down the macaroon split right down the middle (J. had asked them to cut it, and one of the cash register people half-joked to the other, “Cutting costs extra.”) in the window seats facing 1st Ave., then we had to bid a quick farewell. So, not quite the right substitute for fully relishing all the flavors of an apple galette at Gerard Mulot or some expensive sweet at Laduree overlooking Oh Champs-Elysee, but at least I know now where to go (five locations in NYC) for the closest thing.

Goo + butter? Yes, please.

This St. Louis Gooey Butter cake would really hit the spot right now. It’s before noon, sure, but only by 14 minutes.

Cake fit for Paul Bunyon

Decorating

The folks at work were kind of enough to let me make cake for my sister’s birthday and use all the facilities. The trouble was that when you make devil’s food cake batter in a Hobart the size of a small ship, the batter doesn’t all get mixed properly; big chunks of flour and or butter might get stuck on the bottom, and you can’t scrape it up with any normally-sized kitchen tool, like a bowl scraper or a handy rubber spatula. I tried, and my hands inevitably were covered in chocolate goo, which I had to keep wiping clean in between plating tickets to destroy the evidence of chocolate fingerprints on gleaming white plates.

Back to the cake: I had a batter full of chocolate reacting with baking soda and powder that didn’t completely get mixed, which resulted in a VERY thick sheet of cake. It was chocolatey, but not equally rich; I’m guessing this was because the batter wasn’t as homogeneous as I would’ve liked it to be. Because I really wanted to make a three layer cake—let’s not be wusses now—and with each layer being two inches tall, the resulting cake was quite big, so towering and crumbly that my bratty four-year-old second cousin refused to eat it. And cried. He cried! I don’t know anyone who, when offered a piece of chocolate cake, cries. I know it’s unfair to try to reason with a four-year-old who is pure id, but I was convinced he was the devil at that point. (The real devil, not the devil that provides sinfully delicious cakes, you know. )

Cake Canyon (Hello hellooooo hellooooooooo...!)

Should’ve gone for two layers, sigh.

Last year for my sister’s birthday, I made a chocolate genoise, the most ornery of cakes, hoping I had learned something after graduating, but it turned out super dry. One year, I will get it right (sorry, sister!).

Computer down

At home so I’m typing this in a nearby coffee shop with great chai, which makes me very very happy. (Can I just say how hard it is to find good chai in this huge city? Just say no to chai in the box.) The only problem is a spotty internet signal, so checking in here feels longer than mass.

I’ve been up to my eyeballs in lady apples and seckel pears at work and the hours are getting longer and harder. More projects on the way when the stars align and the daylight hours don’t feel as though they’re slipping away and I’ll have gotten enough rest for once.

Wear your tart on your sleeve

I once suggested to my erstwhile book club that we should all wear this Reading is Sexy t-shirt from buyolympia.com when we meet. (Maud Newton blogged about it here. Although we’ve disbanded, I’d like to think that each of us still wears the tee from time to time in the club’s spirit.) I was happy to discover recently that the website still provides a happy home to the woman who designed that shirt and another woman named JennyAnn Wheeler who has a series of three fun baking-related t-shirts. Personally, I’m digging the oven mitt one in pink, the oft-misappropriated color quite rightly appropriated. Buy one for your favorite baker.

I Regretsy to inform you

Just because it’s homemade, it doesn’t mean it’s good. And I suppose it was about time the backlash to all the cute etsy handcrafted goods surfaced, like this. Rule of Pastry #1: Never form a pile or a smear with anything brown.

How corny

Click here for a homemade candy corn recipe.