The Tahini to my Chocolate Cake

A year ago today, by the time most of you will read this, James and I walked down the aisle in a quaint little church on a crisp afternoon. The sun smiled down on us, brightly colored mums lined the pathways and nearly everyone we love was there. It's uncanny to imagine a year has passed since our wedding day, but I knew we would be coupled well before that day. On our very first date which was a camping trip in the Shenandoah Valley, I know, what was my mother thinking letting me go camping with a man a decade my senior in another state far from the reach of her grasp, it was immediately apparent that he and I would make fitting partners to navigate this world together. It was not something the storybooks convey as love at first sight but rather a divine mandate: he will need someone like you, and you will need someone like him. James is the tahini to my chocolate cake.

I had the pleasure of meeting one of my very favorite food writers, Molly Yeh at the launch party for her book Molly on the Range in the dwelling of all decent food dreams, Food 52. I gave her a chicken I made from nails and baker's twine in the fashion of her beloved farm friends, Macaroni. She was warm and as whimsical as her prose, and it was a significant moment for the fan girl in me. I colored a beautiful layer cake next to her mama, another woman genuine and kind. My mama joined me that night and we nibbled on decadent macaroni and cheese, hummus, and brussels sprouts rosti. We got temporary tattoos- a cheeseburger for me, a sugar beet for mama. Molly demonstrated the frosting of a layer funfetti cake, and small cupcakes were whisked around the room by sharply dressed individuals who were equal parts cool and unpretentious. Each bite a burst of nostalgia. Molly's book is an exceptional recount of her unlikely life on a farm spoken with wit and sophistication, and balanced by humility and candor. It is a treasure and worth adding to your collection. 

One recipe spoke to me in that it is an unexpected union, Chocolate Tahini Cake with Tahini Buttercream. As we near our anniversary, this cake inspired in me feelings of the beauty that arises when unlikely companions finally come to rest with one another. When I was in elementary school, James was enlisting in the United States Marine Corps. While he was guarding the US Embassies in Jerusalem and Paris, I was struggling through the high school dating scene but thriving academically. I played the clarinet in the marching band and swam on the swim team. He had three varsity letters. Nearing the end of my studies at Georgetown I had a difference of opinion with a colleague at an early childhood learning center where I worked, and in the heat of the moment I decided to quit entirely. I wandered down M Street with a resume in hand and walked into Filomena's Ristorante hoping to land some sort of income to fuel my Ben and Jerry's habit. I was hired by Dino, everyone knows Dino, and began work as a hostess. A man in chef whites with sad droopy eyes was sitting at a table with one of the managers. Our eyes met briefly, and then I think an entire month passed until I saw him again. I remember wanting to understand what made his eyes so very sad. 

“Chocolate cake and tahini go together fantastically, but not like bacon and eggs or peanut butter and jelly... So when the two come together and chocolate cake is able to shine her absolute brightest thanks to the strong support of the smooth nutty tahini, an X factor happens that makes this pair one of the best in the world.”

— Molly Yeh, Molly on the Range

One evening I was confirming reservations and this mysterious man walked past me carrying a strawberry. He said it looked like an elephant, mumbled a few more indiscernible words and strode off in his kitchen clogs. Fast forward to graduation from Georgetown and I moved back home to New Jersey after performing at the Vatican with my school choir. I received an enigmatic email of just a few words from Chef James, my James, inquiring if I had pictures from my trip. He loved religious history and wanted to share in my experience. Emails became texting, and texting became calling. Calling became weekend camping trips, campfire hotdogs, sinful whoppers after working a double, and train rides home to New Jersey. I worked briefly at Simon and Schuster, during our courtship if you will call it that. Very briefly. I was tasked with faxing paper orders day in and out, and on the sixth day after a reasonably unpleasant commute, I walked out and did not return. I moved to Washington DC the month following. I think I had missed Chef James. The tahini to my chocolate cake, the strong foundation to my fleeting fears. The suck it up to my there, there dear, be still. The line dance to my ballet lesson, and the Jack to my coke. This past year has not been without challenges, both of us flawed and complex. But the challenges we encounter with grace, and the joys we encounter with wonder. I've grown very fond of this cake. 

Ingredients:

Icing

• 1 cup unsalted butter at room temperature
• 1/2 cup tahini
• 2 cups powdered sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract 

Cake

• 1 3/4 cups sugar
• 1 3/4 cups flour
• 1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
• 2 large eggs
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup tahini
• 3/4 cup boiling water

To Prepare:

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and line the bottoms of two 8-inch cake pans.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar, flour. cocoa powder, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla, oil and tahini. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir to combine. Whisk in the boiling water.
3. Pour the batter into the cake pans and bake until toothpicks inserted into the center comes out clean or about 28 minutes. 
4. Let the cakes cool in the pans for 10 minutes and then remove to a rack to cool completely. 
5. For the frosting, mix together the butter and tahini until creamy in a stand mixer with a paddle attachment. Gradually add the powdered sugar and mix to combine. Mix in the salt, cinnamon and vanilla.
6. Level the cakes and stack them with a layer of frosting in between. Frost the top and sides of the cake and finish with sprinkles.

Salt and Light

It is commonplace for me to draw attention at meal time.  One such time I can vividly remember, I was eating a dish of pasta with much fervor. Subtle groaning sounds, chewing, and the slur of adjectives like beautiful and gorgeous left my lips. It wasn't a beautiful creature in front of me that illicited such a reaction. It was simply carbonara, crusty bread, a glass of wine. My fork clanked on the table. I longed for the plate to replenish itself. Some sort of miracle to negate the calories, conjure more. I wanted to begin again. I felt gawking eyes. They were wondering what the big deal was I suppose. They had no idea the pity I felt for them. That they might not know the joy of being infatuated with meal time, or realizing the true gift it is to have and relish in food that nurtures, that sustains. 

Elevate dessert presentation by offering up a label that matches your guests' personalities. All you need are labels, a sharpie and a little twine.

We liken ourselves to food so frequently.  Stop for a moment and think about it. If you disregard context, it's difficult to determine if we are talking about a dish of pasta or a human being. She is saucy, him sour, her quite bland. But that one. That's one tough cookie. You should stop being such a couch potato. She has an apple shape. I'm more of a pear. What a lemon. It's easy as pie. Gosh her zest for life is contagious. You are the salt of the Earth. 

I don't think this is a coincidence. I think the food we eat captures where we come from and who we are. It encompasses our struggles, our weaknesses, and our motivation. It is as essential as the air we breathe. Food is a life source and tells a story- a colorful, vibrant story. It highlights conversations, gathers us in to be with one another, and the lack thereof can bring us to our knees. We strive to be as hearty, as robust, as reliable as the stew our Grandmother made.

“You are the salt of the Earth. You are the light of the world.”

— Matthew 5:13-16

While many foods have rich meaning, salt carries with it immense symbolism in historical and religious context. It waged wars, preserved civilizations, and continues to flavor our daily lives. To be the salt of the Earth connotes an enviable quality, to be unpretentious but certainly valuable. To be common perhaps but ever worth while. I love topping sweet treats with salt. I found a recipe for chewy salted chocolate chip cookies via Cooking Light and made just a few changes. They are well, gorgeous.  

Ingredients 

• 1 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 6 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 6 tablespoons butter, softened
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 3/8 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate, chopped
• 1/4 cup shredded coconut
• 1/4 cup chopped walnuts
• 1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt

To Prepare

1. Preheat oven to 375°

2. Place dark brown sugar, oil, and butter in a large bowl and beat with a mixer at medium speed until well blended. Add honey, vanilla, and egg; beat until well combined.

3. Spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt, stirring with a whisk. Add flour mixture to sugar mixture and beat at low speed until almost combined.

4. Add chocolate, walnuts and coconut; beat at low speed just until combined.

5. Drop dough using a melon baller onto a parchment lined cookie sheet or use a non-stick mat. Sprinkle course sea salt over each cookie and press down gently. 

6. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until edges are barely browned.  

7. Cool cookies on pan for 3 minutes; place on a wire rack to cool.

The Tiramisu That Shouldn't Have Been

It was his birthday two weeks ago and I am only now getting around to speaking about the Tiramisu that shouldn't have been. I had gone to the market and picked up marscarpone and ladyfingers among other items. I envisioned having the Marsala at home. We use Marsala often and I thought to myself, I must have coffee liqueur as tiramisu is a family favorite. I allotted the evening before his birthday to prepare the dessert. As often happens when I am rigid about keeping a specific schedule and fulfilling circumstances by a designated time, my carefully laid plan never came to fruition. I worked later than anticipated and then I had to help someone do something which at this moment escapes me, but it was significant. I remember it being significant. More significant than making tiramisu. I arrived home late in the evening, frustrated and disgruntled. 

I woke the next morning, the morning of his birthday, at 5:30 am. I was going to make tiramisu for my husband. I'd like to say I wake up every morning that early to exercise or meditate, or do something meaningful, but the truth is 5:30 am activity is a rarity for me so this was a momentous occasion. It was quiet and dark in the kitchen. The window was open. A subtle breeze snuck in, enveloping me in morning chill. I gathered my ingredients from the pantry and realized I was missing some critical elements: Marsala and coffee liqueur. Another flaw in my plan, more spilled milk. I got anxious as I lost my illusion, albeit foolish illusion, of control. I hadn't the time to run back to the store before work, so I broke the rules and used ingredients that should not have worked. Articles on the internet emphatically declared, "do not substitute x, y or z. These are crucial to an authentic tiramisu." Miraculously, the tiramisu came out beautifully and was enjoyed by many. I have included my flawed recipe adapted from Epicurious below because it should not have worked, and it did. It shouldn't have been and it was. 

This experience, although insignificant in the grand scheme of a lifetime was poignant and I can only try to understand why. It was dessert after all, not a peace treaty or a cure for a debilitating illness. It spoke to my error in imagining I can have any level of true control or perfect understanding. To me, perfectionism is a desire for the unattainable. If something is unattainable you can always keep yourself down, prey on your flaws and live perpetually imprisoned. It becomes safe to hold yourself at a distance rather than embracing your imperfections. To chastise and belittle is easy. To look at what is ugly and fallible in you, and others for that matter, and say I choose to accept you anyway takes courage. We are all worthy of that.

Once the cocoa powder tops the square gridlines made by the baker's twine, you have guides for slicing. 

I speak of my personal experiences to combat with my words and my might the appeal of perfection that our culture dictates should be the desired outcome. That dreadful "should". What a reprehensible term. Should makes me doubt myself at each juncture looking for other people, things, or attributes to give me the feelings of security and esteem I could be giving to myself. It feels like a perverse journey of attainment, temporary relief and then additional seeking. A brief moment of peace followed by desperately canvassing our mind to find what we need next to be ok. I even seek perfect order in my thoughts. This is especially problematic when I have faulty neurons firing stupid sh*t that is least of all what I want to be dwelling on.  The nagging feeling persists that in order to be acceptable, all must be just right. Guilt and shame creep in.  I must put Marsala in my tiramisu, I must earn an impressive wage, I must please others, have control, have a plan, maintain a clean home, insert whatever limiting belief keeps you from being content in your mind and skin. 

Although I rationally know otherwise, my wiring leads me to believe nothing less than certainty will do.   Certainty that my tiramisu will turn out alright, that my husband's birthday will be saved. For the parents out there, the sentiment can be a desire to have your children turn out ok, for the professionals a desire to do your job perfectly well. I burden myself trying to discern what comprises a good life. What should be happening at this very moment? Are my thoughts and actions acceptable? Am I absolutely certain that I am living up to the standard I have set dictated by the pitfalls of the should, guilt, shame, and social comparison? But this certainly doesn't exist. All that exists in seeking certainty is cognitive dissonance that makes me anxious, and anxiety that makes my body ache, my mind uneasy. And it does not feel good, not in the least. 

I cannot be any other place than I currently am at this instant. I cannot do better than my best. I cannot change my brain but I can lean into it and learn to love it and accept it. My environment and upbringing, my unique chemistry, the decisions I have made, a little luck and a dose destiny have led me to this very place. Panicked and barefoot in a cold kitchen with no Marsala. And it feels good when I let go of my need for certainty and control.  The only thing we definitively have is right here, right now, mess and all. It is not perfect, but it is ours. Put the Sherry in your tiramisu. It'll turn out just fine.

You'll Need*:

• 2 cups boiling-hot water
• 3 tablespoons instant-espresso powder
• 1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar, divided
• 3 tablespoons pumpkin pie liqueur (or coffee liqueur if you have it*)
• 4 large egg yolks
• 1/3 cup cream of sherry (or dry Marsala if the stars have aligned in your kitchen*)
• 1 pound mascarpone (2 1/2 cups)
• 1 cup chilled heavy cream
• 36 Italian ladyfingers; from two 7-ounce packages
• Unsweetened cocoa powder for dusting

To Prepare:

• Stir together water, espresso powder, 1 tablespoon sugar, and liqueur in a shallow bowl until sugar has dissolved, then cool. 
• Beat egg yolks, Sherry, and remaining 1/2 cup sugar in a metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water using a handheld electric mixer until tripled in volume, 5 to 8 minutes. Remove bowl from heat. Beat in mascarpone until just combined.
• Beat cream in a large bowl until it holds stiff peaks.
• Fold mascarpone mixture into whipped cream gently but thoroughly.
• Dipping both sides of each ladyfinger into coffee mixture, line bottom of a 13- by 9- by 3-inch baking pan with 18 ladyfingers in 3 rows, trimming edges to fit if necessary. (I did this wrong as well. I filled the dish with cream first. I have no idea why but I wanted to line the bottom with cream, which doesn't make much sense because the cookies make for a more stable base when serving. Regardless, it firmed up just fine in the refrigerator and serving was not difficult. No one noticed the difference. Lesson: how the catastrophes in our narrow minded outlooks are really anything but catastrophic.)
• Spread half of mascarpone filling on top. Dip remaining 18 ladyfingers in coffee and arrange over filling in pan.
• Spread remaining mascarpone filling on top and dust with cocoa. Chill, covered, at least 6 hours.
• Let tiramisu stand at room temperature 30 minutes before serving, then dust with more cocoa.

Source: Epicurious 2009
Special thanks as always to the writers and the dreamers Brené Brown and Elizabeth Gilbert whose works I find such solace in.   

Pop goes the Pop Tart

I love pop tarts and I cannot lie. And it appears I am not the only one. 

To Prepare:

To prepare, fix your homemade crust or use a favorite pre-made variation. I am still trying to get my Nana to write her recipe down. She often says she doesn't use recipes. She just knows when the product is in her hands. I love that sensibility and I endeavor to develop the same as I progress. That aside, one sure winner is this recipe from Williams-Sonoma. 

While the pie dough is setting in the refrigerator if homemade, preheat the oven to 350 degrees and prepare your fillings. Find below a few suggestions but anything goes!

Roll out the dough to 1/8 inch thick on a generously floured surface. Cut into desired shapes; here I used tiny rectangles. Arrange equal sized bottoms and tops on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Spoon a little less than a teaspoon of filling onto the center of your bottom. Seal the pie with a rub of water around the edges. Crimp with a fork. Coat the top of each pie with a light coating of egg wash. Bake for 20 minutes or until golden, and bottoms are lightly crisped. 

Fillings and a Basic Glaze:

Strawberry (berry): 1 cup of strawberries or desired berry, finely chopped. If you are making a larger pop tart, they need not be chopped so finely. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently. Meanwhile, whisk together 1.5 tablespoons cornstarch with 1.5 tablespoons water. Add to the berries and continue to stir until thickened. Add sugar to taste. Let cool before assembling tarts.

Apple: 3 Granny Smith apples, chopped to a small dice. Toss with 1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice, and cinnamon and sugar to taste.  Cook your apples along with1/2 teaspoon vanilla and two tablespoons of water over medium heat, stirring often until tender. I tend to top these with a glaze and crisped bacon! 

Glaze: Whisk together 3/4 cup confectioner's sugar and 1 tablespoon liquid. I've used milk, but lemon juice works as well. 

A few other of my favorites are pumpkin pie filling, simple fruit preserves, nutella, peanut butter, cinnamon and sugar and even Shepherd's Pie. If you are lacking inspiration, Joy the Baker probably has some to spare. The world is your oyster. Enjoy! 

Pent up and Popovers

Some of the time, I value dessert more than how I will look in my wedding gown, but only until dessert is finished. Once it is gone from my plate, I forget why the pull of chocolate lava was so strong. The dilemma arises yet again when dessert and I come to a crossroads. Catholics have a lot of guilt, and so do Italians but I don't want guilt and food to mix. In moderation, there need not be guilt.  My best friend's mother is a physician. We shared a meal together recently and she dug in with much fervor to a hot antipasto, a smile across her face. She said "if you want something, eat it, just not every single day. Even french fries." These doctor's orders I will adhere to. 

While a student at Georgetown, I worked as a hostess at an Italian restaurant called Filomena. It was a grand place; Presidents eat there. It's where I met my future husband (woah husband sounds so, well, momentous- I have not yet written the word where I was the bride in that equation.) It was there I also solidifed my love of tiramisu, wore my first cummerbund, made dear girlfriends, and ate far too many portions of Gnocchi della mama. I still recall my Saturday evening ritual of working dinner service, purchasing a piece of cake from the mammoth dessert case, and trapsing up Wisconsin Avenue at the end of my shift in my Dansko clogs, cake in tow. Sneaking quietly up the stairs, I would strip off my uniform and cozy myself in bed. You bet I ate that cake with a plastic fork, watching Netflix in my jammies. I managed to lose a bit of weight that year, despite this ritual. And moreso, that one slice of cake a week made me abundantly happy. 

Just as soon as I am certain I've made some progress navigating young adulthood, a circumstance yanks me back to reality, to humble and shape me. Self criticism abounds alongside waterworks and doubt; a chocolate fudge sundae and a hug from mom follow suit. I often wonder how my mom puts up with my incessant nagging and anxiety. Nana too. I crave her reassurance, reassurance in general -whoever can provide some. Only half joking, I tell her often I am grateful that she never sent me back down stream in a basket for someone to find, like Moses. She said, "mothers never send back their babies." I took great comfort in that. My greatest vulnerabilities tend to be self-made. What I would give to be apathetic for a couple of minutes a day, to stop analyzing and wondering about the normative, but then that would be changing my fabric. A mentor once told me "every quirk is another thread in your tapestry." The challenge we are afforded is to figure out what we can learn from those threads and the impact we can make despite them, or maybe more importantly, because of them.

When I was little I wanted to be a cashier. I liked the way the items sounded when they were scanned. I wanted a conveyor belt of my own. The foods in motion inspired me; bite after bite, meal after meal would come from those ingredients. At age eight, I received a working cash register for my birthday. I dreamt of small enterprises and made sweet little tags to "scan" and store in the register. My parents entertained my fixation and I had a substantial collection of plastic food to play grocery store. I never actually worked in a grocery store oddly enough, but that register is still somewhere in the recesses of my mother's attic.  

My second greatest aspiration as a young girl was to be an ice cream scooper. What life more dignified than to bring people joy by way of an ice cream cone. And oh the forearm muscles I would have. Those forearms would spark conversation. Onlookers would say,  "those forearms scoop ice cream." I would walk with pride, rainbow sprinkles affixed to the bottom of my shoes. I never worked in an ice cream store either sadly enough, but it's never too late.

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Ingredients

• butter for greasing popover pan
• 3 slices pork roll (Taylor Ham)  ou can also substitute 2 sausage links, 3 slices canadian bacon or 3 slices of center-cut bacon. 
• 2 cloves minced garlic 
• 1/2 cup mixed shredded cheeses I've used Parmigiana, Asiago, and Mozzarella. 
• 2 eggs, at room temperature
• 1 cup milk, at room temperature
• 3/4 cups flour
• 1/2 diced red onion
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper 

To Prepare the Popovers 

This recipe makes six popovers and was adapted from Giada De Laurentiis. 

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Butter your popover pan, or muffin tin. Dice taylor ham and cook over medium heat until browned. Add minced garlic and cook about 30 seconds longer, tossing until aromatic. 

Spoon 1/6 of your meat and garlic mixture into each popover cup. Sprinkle an equal portion of cheese into each as well. 

Blend eggs using an emulsion blender or mixer until fluffy. Add the flour, milk, red onions, basil, salt and pepper and mix until incorporated. Pour the batter into popover cups , right below the rim. Top with more cheese if desired. Bake in the oven until puffed, about 35 minutes. Do not open the oven or they may deflate. Let cool and enjoy.