Apples to Apples

Each person is given their own set of circumstances, habits, desires and reserves of strength. We react differently, carry burdens uniquely, and look at the world with a perspective solely ours. Commonalities are prevalent, sure, but at the most fundamental layer of our composition, each person is one of a kind.  While I'd rather report that I am impervious to the feelings of longing, uncertainty or envy, it is not so. The questions abound...

“Did I make you proud?
Are my thighs too big?
Why don’t we hold hands like they do?
If only I had ...
I shouldn’t eat this cookie, but I want to eat this cookie. What will she think if I eat this cookie?
Why have we lost touch?
What’s the point of it all?”

 The pattern is seemingly endless, the mind a powerful engine that will not stop revving. Falling deeply, unchecked and alone with our thoughts we churn. Speaking of churning, now I want ice cream. Maybe later, first let me get this out. Over time I have realized that comparing is futile and there are no absolutes. It's never apples to apples. People aren't fruit. 

Maybe the ruminating is a bi-product of struggling with a compulsive need for evenness, and there looks to be so little today. But whether a prince or a pauper and despite the stark gaps in culture, each is only counted once by the Census Bureau. A sobering fact for any who ever thought his or her life was worth more than the next. 

Each day I make a vow to try, yes try, to never fixate on what is lacking so much so that I overlook the grace that is already around me, in abundance. My hands are not your hands. Happiness and self worth for me does not detract from the happiness and worth of another. I look at it like a pie - and there are plenty of slices to go around. 

Oh wait, did you say pie?

To prepare, fix your homemade crust or use a favorite pre-made variation. My utmost favorite is this recipe from Sweet Paul Magazine. It comes together effortlessly in a stand mixer. The apple filling is made of 3 Granny Smith apples, chopped to a small dice. Toss with 1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice, and cinnamon and sugar to taste. Nanny never measures. She says you have to feel it. So feel and taste, feel and taste. Cook your apples along with1/2 teaspoon vanilla and two tablespoons of water over medium heat, stirring often until tender. The consistency should be comparable to a chunky apple sauce.

Meanwhile, crisp up some chopped bacon in a skillet. Once desired crispiness, remove to a paper towel to drain excess fat. Let apples and bacon cool while you roll out your dough. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Roll out the dough to 1/8 inch thick on a floured surface. Cut into desired shapes; here I used 2 by 2 squares. Arrange equal sized bottoms and tops on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Spoon a teaspoon of apple 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. 

Once cool, dip each pie into glaze made of 3/4 cup confectioner's sugar and 1 tablespoon liquid. I've used milk, but lemon juice works as well. Top with crisped bacon bits. 

On a Stick

There is something about consuming food on a stick that reminds me of being a kid. It takes me to times of reckless abandon, roller blading, scraped knees and an indifference to society's conventions. Over time I have evolved, likely we all have. Priorities have changed, and responsibilities have mounted. But with effort and an open mind, a pop of some sort can bring us back to simpler times. 

I began working for a boutique caterer about two months ago. My writing schedule has been delayed, my balance a little off, but in lieu of dreaming and concepting, I have been earning and learning. In the learning part, dreams are still nurtured so overall the outcome is a positive one. It's been a full immersion into the world of running an off premise catering business. My boss imparts on me endless amounts of insight as she has ample experience. The lessons I learned in books at school don't often apply. Trial by fire is the only way to learn anything and learn it well. From work, I've drawn much inspiration as well. Delicate hors d'oeuvres, tricks of the trade, and rules of the kitchen. Surely it has been a short time and I have more to discover than I can even quantify, but I've always wondered what it might be like to work in an environment like this one, and I am leaping right in. 

Over the weekend, I worked at an event for a young lady's birthday. The adults had an elevated menu and the kids had well, kids fare. Things you can pop in your mouth as you run about, chatting with friends, reapplying raspberry Smackers lip balm, straightening the tie your mom made you wear, and peering at the person you have a crush on. The DJ announced the guest of honor's entrance, and all the kids gathered around her. He said, "this is all for you. Everyone is here to celebrate you!"  It sounds absurd, but I got rather emotional at this display.

I was reminded of times when little parties, exams, and Friday night football really consumed a majority of my time. Every exchange was so critical, every heartbreak a crushing one. The momentous times of the teenage years in the grand scheme of our lives might be trivial, but at that time they are everything. It is a selfish time, where we feel hyper aware of our surroundings and how we are received. Eventually, as maturity dictates we gain proper perspective. Before then, however, the wild highs and the crushing lows of being thirteen feel so all encompassing. Eventually things change as nothing is constant and our burdens and joys are transformed, but we will always know the fragility of being thirteen. 

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To prepare the pie pops

I took some leftover Cottage pie (beef, carrots, peas and the fixings) and turned them into a savory pie pop. While these days, my responsibilities are rent, student loans, and being attentive to family and friends in a considerable way, there is always a pie on the stick, to bring me back to Smackers Lip balm and school dances. 

To prepare, roll out your pie crust on to a floured surface, ( I have a homemade buttery variation but pre-made should work), until 1/4 inch thick. Using a circle mold or the opening of a glass, cut your crust into circles. Arrange circles on parchment paper and top with about 1 tablespoon or desired filling. Place your lollipop stick amidst the filling. Rub your finger dipped in cold water around the edge of your pie, as a glue. Top each circle with another, and press gently to seal. Press down with a fork to further seal the edges. Refrigerate for 10-15 minutes until pies firm up again after being handled at room temperature.  Bake at 375 degrees for 30-40 minutes or until desired brownness. 

Thai Tea Cupcakes

I've been feeling trapped of late by the bitter cold of the winter, and a neurotic compulsion to clean out the clutter from every inch of my home - the pantry, the spice cabinet(s), and the deepest corner of the walk in closet I seldom ever see or touch. I put my pots in new places, as if moving them from point a to point b would have some grand effect on my mood.

My neurosis spilled over into the technology sphere, the weight of old emails and unused apps making me feel crowded, inattentive and somehow stagnant. I went years past in my inbox to find emails I had written to myself, and cherished exchanges with friends and family. I now and always have craved reassurance.  I waded through tidbits I had written to myself marked with a simple subject line of  "read this" or "this is so you, and it's ok". My habit of systematically referencing literature to find the right words to quell my anxieties or unfounded fears was prevalent then too.

Lost in pages and pages of archived mail, I read some messages written from the Francesca of years ago. Despite some advancement in knowledge and life experience, adulthood after graduation, the gauntlet of entry level work, disillusionment over finding a career, angst over longing for a partner... despite it all, that girl is still very much alive and well. Her point of view is evolving over time, she carries an extra laugh line or two, and lost her edge in the swimming pool. But otherwise, her hopes are a different utterance of the same hopes, as are her fears. 

I focused on the starred emails, marked to be read again, although as time passes we don't always make it back. This time I did, and I reflected fondly on written transcripts between confidants and friends, their voices still clear in my ear. I felt an odd peace. I was broken then, and am broken now but the world hasn't fallen to pieces. The sun still rises, and then sets. The tide rolls in, the gulls look for food. I show up, I try, sometimes fail, and try again. 

Thankfully, the reservoir of assurance and love extends beyond my archived mail. The people I surround myself with provide light for the journey. My dear friend Nicholas told me, " Every rose has thorns, is larger or smaller, richer or lighter in color, fuller or more trim. However, each is beautiful. And every spring, more grow, and each one is stunning." Everyone needs a Nicholas. I encourage you to find yours and hold him or her closely. If all else fails, check your email as you never know what insight you will find there. 

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Now for the treats. I do my best thinking when my hands are occupied, hence the writing sparked by action. This past Sunday I got a craving for Thai Iced Tea but being that snow was falling, I opted to make a Thai Tea Cupcake instead. I adapted the recipe from an existing tea based cake in Williams Sonoma's book Bake Good Things.

Ingredients:

• 3 Thai Tea Bags
• 2/3 cup boiling water 
• 1 1/4 cups flour
• 3/4 light brown sugar, firmly packed
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 cup honey
• 4 tablespoons melted butter
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 1 large egg, room temperature 
• For whipped cream : 1 cup chilled heavy cream and 2 tablespoons sugar

To prepare:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line a cupcake tray with paper liners. In a small bowl steep the tea bags for five minutes. Discard the tea bags and let tea cool to room temperature. In a bowl, whisk together flour, brown sugar, baking soda, and salt. In a large bowl of a mixer combine honey, melted butter, and heavy cream. Add the flour mixture to the liquid mixture and beat on medium speed for about two minutes, until combined. Add the tea and beat until just combined. 

Fill the muffin cups about 3/4 with batter. Bake for 18-20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean from the center of the cupcake. Cool completely. Meanwhile, whip your cream. Add sugar to the large mixing bowl, preferably chilled, followed by heavy cream. Beat on medium high speed until stiff peaks form. Frost cooled cupcakes with whipped cream. 

Homonym-ing and Shortbread

How nice it might be, being a bee. With wings for flying and honey to find. To focus on what's whole before that troublesome hole. On how far we have come, rather than feeling just short. And where did that short business come from anyway? My sister is short, as compared to other folks and she is in no way inferior, you see. But shortbread I'll keep; not the least bit diminutive seeming to me.  And remember these words- don't search for solace in someone who's soulless.

Shortbread adapted from Martha Stewart Living. 

Everything gets a label these days. What's with the labels? And the boxes. Society just loves putting people in boxes. "She is too sensitive, he should be classified. Let's have him evaluated." My fella always tells me he had attention deficit growing up; it was never diagnosed. He ran and played with the other kids, and did his best in school. He became a Marine, and now a chef, and luckily for him he  not often must sit. He adapted and thrived, without any boxes. The only box I'd like is a box full of chocolates. Imported ones. Expensive. Perhaps scatter them over that shortbread. I don't need a box for my life to reside inside of. My nature, and my quirks, weaknesses too. They're all mine, and I own them. Just keep me out of a box. Boxes are for chocolate. And shoes. 

I prefer to affect the status quo than to be an effect of it. I'm easily awed, which you may find odd, but maybe they are one in the same. Worth is in the eye of the beholder anyway. And while we are awed, what a difference a letter makes.  Let's steer clear of awful, but life should be aweful. In the grand scheme of the world, we are but wee. Still how nice it might be, being a bee. 

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Ingredients:

• 1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
• 3/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
• 1 1/4 teaspoons coarse salt
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 semisweet chocolate chips or chunks
•  1 1/2assorted chocolate candies roughly chopped
• 1/4 cup chopped peanuts 

To prepare Box of Chocolates Shortbread

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. With an electric mixer, beat butter, brown sugar, and salt on medium-high until light and fluffy, 3 minutes. Add flour in three additions, with mixer on low. Beat until combined and dough is crumbly. Press dough evenly into an 8-inch square baking dish, coated in baking spray. Bake until golden brown and firm, about 35 minutes.

Carefully remove from the oven and scatter with chocolate chips on top. Once they begin to melt, about a minute, spread gently with an offset spatula or spoon. Scatter candies and peanuts over the top. Let cool on a wire rack for an hour. When chocolate is set, you can refrigerate briefly if you wish, cut into jagged bars. 

Scenes from Sunday: Cinnamon Rolls

There are few things in life, if any, that I have found worth trading my Sundays for. After the responsibilities of the week and social encounters of Saturday have come and gone, a day for family, reflection, rest, and catch up arrives just in time. 

I've been allocating Sundays for sweet treats as part of my New Year's resolution. While I won't give up the desserts I enjoy entirely, I can scale back how frequently I eat them. Furthermore, I'll make them from scratch so the effort warrants the indulgence. Deprivation with regard to food,  if I am being entirely honest, is not now and likely never will be an avenue for me. So all week, I'll be dreaming of Sunday. 

This Sunday's project was a batch of Cinnamon Rolls. Sarah Kieffer, one of my favorite food writers, shared her recipe for Truck Stop Cinnamon Rolls  using Breadin5's Brioche dough. Her writing and confections are stunningly beautiful, and these rolls were every bit as comforting as I envisioned. Having never made them from scratch, I can now appreciate the thorough process, the waiting, rising, folding, and rolling. The mixing, and zesting. Plain and simple - the effort. I won't stop at Cinnabon again and mindlessly eat a bun as I window shop with my sister, hopefully. It would be a betrayal of the process I have now experienced. 

Like nurturing a baby, if I may draw that comparison as I have no children of my own but pray that someday I will, I felt this inexplicable attachment.  I was expectant and anxious. I nervously asked James, does this dough look ok to you? Will it rise? Should I add more flour? James gave me his bench scraper from culinary school, a symbolic union of his past and our future. I gingerly handled the brioche after it chilled, the aroma of honey and yeast on my fingertips. I rolled out the brioche on parchment paper, a blank canvas patiently awaiting its sweet destination. Brushed with melted butter, covered with a combination of sugars and orange zest, and then rolled ever so gently into a long log. I sliced into rolls with a bread knife and arranged them on baking sheets where they rose for 2 hours. Then, I baked them at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Warm from the oven, I covered the rolls with homemade cream cheese icing and snuck a bite, thinking to myself that while I can't buy lavish gifts, I can coat your ribs with comforting labors of my love. 

Happy Sunday!