Where to go from here.

So I am supposed to write about that which is the object of my passion(s). I am supposed to write about that which is the recipient of my desires, which is the butter to my bread, the blood to my heart, the frosting to my cake, the Simone de Beauvoir to my Jean Paul Sartre...

In short, I am supposed to write.

When Ernest Hemingway was 22, Paris provided him ample acreage for roaming and plenty of empty chairs to occupy next to the likes of literary luminaries on the verge of lighting up the city with their ex-pat glow polished in the hours spent practicing their verbiage and intellectual mind games that seem to make life more important, if only for the moment.

I've been to Paris. I've been to Mumbai. I've been to Italy and lived in the alps. Although each place held the possibility of a life fulfilled, sustained the hope that is lost suddenly only a few days after returning to a place well known and well lived in called home; although each prospect and realization of being-in-that-place, no matter how romantic or how foreign to a Westerner, never was there a moment to define the rest of existence, to set the next million steps on a clear, flower-lined, mirror-paved path of glory or enlightenment or fulfillment. No, only in the few fleeting moments arising in sudden twinges of joy, by dwelling in the possibility of future prospects where the unknown is romantic and not grotesque, cold or groggy, did that contentment arise. It was before departure, just after the decision was made to leave and usually accompanied by an equally intense fear or loneliness beginning somewhere below the soles of my feet. The hope comes in handy to slice the vines holding the ankles in place and to infuse the mind with some buoyancy so as to lighten the load of loneliness.

What if it's as simple as always holding out hope?

As simple, I should say, as making croissant dough from scratch, as achieving the perfect lightness of hand when mixing biscuits. For if I could awaken to something as angelic as, say, Macrina's buttermilk biscuits with homemade peach jam each morning, well, perhaps I could fall asleep with at least one part of my body wherein hope rests undenied: the tastebud.

These two aforementioned abilities would produce the likes of cinnamon rolls and morning buns and, of course, the biscuits. And with Macrina's cookbook at my side the power seems to be in my range of accomplishment. However, using whole wheat pastry flour produced a lackluster scone and right now the thought of making croissant dough melts me. But there is one saving grace to this mess of not-living-in-Seattle-and-thus-missing-biscuit-by-way-of-Macrina, and it comes from the bible: ginger scones with lemon blueberry filling.

I made these last August and have been thinking about them since. Sporadically, the memory of the scone's thin sugary "crust" which shatters upon first bite and subsequently becomes a crackly reminder throughout the remaining scone to be eaten surfaced, yet the lure of new recipes, new flavors and lack of fresh berries overruled. The cool interior of lemon curd, the chewy bits of crystallized ginger and the burst of berry nestled between layers of cream colored scone add to the multiplicity of texture--cool smooth soft firm--which melts together in the oven but somehow retains original form when the final sitting is reached, at the breakfast table... or hour of tea.

Ginger Scones with Lemon-Blueberry Filling

Adapted from The Berry Bible, written by Janie Hibler

This recipe yielded 11 scones sandwiching the filling. For 22 smaller, non-sandwiched scones and equally delicious results open to condiment variation, omit the filling and bake each disk of scone separately.

Oven: 400 degrees.

Baking Equipment: lightly buttered baking sheet.

Baking Time: about 16 minutes.

Whisk together in a large bowl

3¼ cups flour

½ cup sugar

2½ teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda and

½ teaspoon sea salt.

With a pastry blender, cut in

12 tablespoon unsalted butter

until you have a crumb-like dough. Add

½ cup diced, crystallized ginger

1 teaspoon lemon zest and

1 cup buttermilk.

Stir until dough is just wet, then kneed by hand until dough just comes together.

Roll the dough onto a floured surface and flatten to a ¼-inch thickness. Using a round cookie cutter or the top of a glass (should be about 3 inches wide), cut the dough into about 22 circles. Lay half of the circles on the baking sheets and place

1 teaspoon of the lemon curd (1/4 cup total)

in the middle of each circle. Spread the curd and place

5 fresh blueberries (1/2 cup total)

on top of the curd. Top each curd-filled circle with another round of dough and press the edges together to seal. Sprinkle with fine sugar.

Bake scones for about 16 minutes or until the top half of the scone is cooked through. Enjoy warm or let cool to room temperature.

gelato.

This is about pine nuts and whole milk and honey. It is about machinery and method. It is taste and consistency and scent and temperature all tied up with bonds too small for the eye to see but strong enough for the body to feel.

This is also about something just as visceral but more ethereal. The bringing back and the leaning forward, coinciding in some odd modernistic dance of the girl who travels far away, lovingly returns home and finds herself propelled and pulled and projected into some other realm where her emptiness might be satiated. She would even settle for another drop in the cavern that has occupied the place just above her stomach and below her chest since she can remember feeling anything; since she could imagine alternate worlds, so far removed from her own yet coinciding with what she knew, what she knows, what she wants to know.

Simultaneously wanting to leave and wanting to stay leaves only limbo to occupy. Bent back at an odd angle with a self-made and socially-perpetuated deadline to make oneself on the chest is the position that lasts too long and exhausts inspiration and beats freedom away with a howl, source unknown. There are day dreams and night dreams and wished-for scenarios yet no simple or obvious path for collecting experiences to create the concoction of last night’s reverie, yesterday’s fervor. Yet there is at any given time an arsenal made of spices, dairy and grain available to the patient, the creative or simply the willing. There is cooking. There is baking. There is ice cream making on a summer afternoon.

My suitcase is unruly. Unfailingly, each time I return from Europe it refuses to accommodate spatial needs. The hand woven, thick yarned, cream woolen sweater from San Gimignano? Rejected. The red wine from Verona? Drink it in Rome. The white leather vintage style Capri car shoes from Siena? Carry them on. My palate, however, is different. Instead of growing smaller by the excursion, it makes room for new tastes, new textures, new memories. Daily habits are flawlessly formed, recorded and deftly executed with a rigidity that only great self-control can sustain. Oh, there are many examples. But for now… gelato. Every night. Rotating gelaterias, varied combination of flavors, sometimes cone sometimes cup. But always, always, the pine nut.

I left Oregon despising peanut butter and I returned with a sudden craving for the nutty spread in a form sweeter and slightly modified. {I also left freshly graduated from college, and suddenly finished with technology, the speed and ease by which people can reach and be reached by a person, turning my nose up at those with iPhone or Blackberry in palm, and returned ravenous for the aforementioned device}. I wish to thank this gelato.

Solid, foundational and warm are perhaps unlikely adjectives used to describe gelato, yet pine nuts have a way of transforming something delightfully cold and refreshing into something akin to that sweater carefully smashed into the corner of my suitcase. Gelato seems to be among the favorite recommendations when it comes to what to eat in Italy and although virtually nothing edible can be recreated 3,000 miles away from the region in which it was first tasted and thus produced, there is always the wild possibility of creating something synonymous and dazzling, something of your region, translated.

It is sometimes enough for the moment to sit down with a dish of sweetness at once provoking a memory and casting a line to potential friends as yet unknown. When the physical can be a symbol of the intangible, when it can calm the highs and lows with a nod to the future and wink to the past and smile in the present.

Pine Nut Gelato
I combined a few different recipes and scoured cookbooks for the following method, roughly based upon this recipe from Epicurious.

Spread roughly 1 cup pine nuts on a baking sheet and toast for 5 minutes in a 400 degree oven.

While pine nuts toast, combine ½ cup honey and ¼ cup sugar in a food processor fitted with the blade attachment. Add the just-toasted nuts and process until a consistency of peanut butter is reached. Add 2 whole {fresh} eggs and process until combined.

Boil 2 ½ cups whole milk in a heavy saucepan over medium heat. With the food processor running, slowly pour the hot milk into the egg and nut mixture. The processor will be very full. Keep processing until the milk is incorporated into the nut mixture, about 20 seconds. The liquid should be smooth with a few small pieces of pine nut.

Pour the mixture back into the heavy saucepan and slowly reheat on low for about 10 minutes. Whisk constantly and do not boil. The mixture should thicken slightly. Pour the mixture into a large, clean bowl and cool slightly, about 15 minutes. Add ¼ teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon vanilla extract, whisking until combined. {Alternatively, add 1 vanilla bean [optional] sliced lengthwise to the pan when bringing the milk to a boil. Before pouring milk into nut mixture, scrape seeds from vanilla bean into milk and discard bean. Omit vanilla extract}. Cover bowl and refrigerate until cold, about 3 hours.

Transfer mixture to ice cream maker and freeze after churning.

Impossible Reincarnation

If only I could capture the smell of cinnamon rolls rising, the soft yellow brioche dough expanding and exuding that warmness that adds delicacy to this otherwise heavy, humid afternoon. Sight is the closest I can come... aside from providing the steps that will allow you to fill your own address with such aroma. Luckily, I can do both.



And these cinnamon rolls have done something for me, as well. They’ve provided a temporary bane for my distressed summer soul – lethargy, unstructured days and unimaginative future prospects will force dss upon many people. Lets revolt by way of the senses... sight, taste and smell, that is.




Inspiration often arises from heart wrenching loss, when one’s mind is violently forced to reorient itself around some new vacancy. There are degrees of such violence, of course: travel, moving, death of friend or family... Here, however, I refrain from comparing the loss of a bakery to the death of a loved one; I find such comparison slightly depressing for a number of reasons. However, concerning what they say about taste, sense memory and the like, the psychological implications could be comparable... though still enough to incite a worthy cringe at lamenting the disappearance of a baked good. (The loss of this particular bakery, however, incites another, loss-of-independent-business tinged dialogue altogether...)

So, I must insert here that this recipe is an attempt at recreating the perhaps un re- creatable. Unfortunately -- or perhaps fortunately –- we can’t bring the dead back to life. Even when it comes to life given at the hand of a human – a baker more specifically. So when Bower’s Bakery closed for good last Spring (ah! Spring is now last spring!), and I took the final bite of the cinnamon rolls so coveted for reasons I will let your own mind put into words...







... I decided that my taste buds would not settle for any concept of finality a propos cinnamon roll. Behold, attempt number one.



The results? Well, I would call these more cinnamon sugar brioche rolls than the classics-by-a-shorter-name I had envisioned. But while even I don’t want to be caught with ten cinnamon rolls waiting impatiently in the refrigerator, suffocating in plastic wrap as the mornings slowly open -- one by one -- to breakfast, these lighter versions don’t seem as fatigue-inducing as the full bodied originals. In fact, I don’t even know why I am comparing them, for the brioche version has its own personality altogether.

Cinnamon Sugar Brioche Rolls
Adapted from "Baking With Julia” by Dorie Greenspan

I cut the butter way down in this version. The brioche is as found in the original recipe, though the original roll recipe was for pecan sticky buns. I practically omitted the extra butter and step of rolling the dough and refolding it to create more layers, as one would do for croissants. The result was, as I said before, much more light and airy than had I used the four sticks of butter called for. If done again, I would add way more filling, using Saigon cinnamon rather than the generic brand. Also, you could easily add any glaze or topping to your own craving... I was just in a minimalist mood.

For the Brioche:

To make the sponge you will need:

1/3 cup whole milk, warmed to about 100° F
2 ¼ teaspoons active dry yeast
1 large egg
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

In the bowl of a mixer, combine the milk, yeast, egg and 1 cup of the flour. Mix with a spatula until blended. Dust the remaining cup of flour over the mixture. Set aside to rest for about 30 to 40 minutes. The flour coating the sponge should crack after this time.

To make the dough you will need:

1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon fine quality sea salt
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 ½ cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
1 ½ sticks unsalted butter at room temperature (6 oz) plus 3 to 4 tablespoons, melted

To the sponge, add the sugar, salt, eggs and one cup of the flour. Mix in a heavy-duty mixer on low speed with the dough hook attachment until just combined, about 1 or 2 minutes. Keep the mixer on low speed and slowly add ½ cup of flour. Once incorporated, increase the speed to medium and beat for about 15 minutes. Here, what you are looking for is a dough that comes together, globing around the dough hook and slapping the sides of the bowl. After about 10 minutes, if still no slapping has sounded and dough is not sticking to the hook, add 2 to 3 additional tablespoons of flour. It is important for the dough to stay in the mixer for the full 15 minutes... the final texture of the brioche depends upon it.

***The mixer becomes quite hot after this amount of beating, so it will need to cool after finishing the dough. I also had trouble detaching the bowl from the stand of the mixer after such heavy beating... be forewarned.

To incorporate the butter into the dough, it must be of the same consistency; that is, smooth, creamy and cool, not at all oily. With a medium sized piece of parchment or wax paper, smear the butter with your hands or a spatula until it reaches the desired consistency. Add the butter to the dough, bit by bit, with the mixer on medium-low. The dough may fall apart while adding the butter. This is normal. After all the butter has been added, reduce the speed to medium and continue mixing until the dough comes back together and slaps the sides of the bowl once again, about 5 minutes. If the dough refuses to come together after 2 or 3 minutes, add an additional tablespoon of flour. The dough should be soft, sticky and cool, clinging to the dough hook and sides of the bowl.

Butter a large bowl. Transfer the dough to the bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature until doubled, about 3 hours.

Collapse the dough by lifting its sides away from the bowl. Cover the bowl again and place in the refrigerator overnight or for 4 to 6 hours, letting the dough double in size once again.

Divide the dough in half, returning unused half to the refrigerator while working with the first half. On a lightly floured work surface, roll the dough into a long rectangle, roughly 11 inches wide, 13 inches long and ¼ inch thick.

Melt the 3 or 4 tablespoons butter and brush half of the butter over the dough. Sprinkle the filling (see recipe below) very generously over the butter, pressing it into the dough with the rolling pin. Roll the dough into a long log.

Wrap the log in plastic and chill until firm, about 45 minutes.

Repeat with the other half of dough.

When chilled, remove plastic wrap and using a serrated knife, cut each log into 7 equal parts. Butter two, 9-inch round cake pans and sprinkle with any leftover cinnamon sugar mixture. Place rolls into cake pans, one in the middle and a circle of six on the edge. Set aside to rise on last time, for about 1 ½ to 2 hours. They should touch each other after this final rise.

Preheat the oven to 350°F, placing the oven racks in the middle of the oven. Bake the rolls for about 15 to 20 minutes, or until golden. Remove from the oven and immediately invert them onto a serving dish. If not removed from the pans quickly, they may become difficult to take out. Drizzle glaze (see recipe below) over hot rolls. Enjoy at room temperature or just warmed.


For the Filling:

3 tablespoons brown sugar, firmly packed
9 tablespoons granulated sugar
7 tablespoons Saigon cinnamon

Combine all ingredients.

For the Glaze:

3 or more tablespoons whole milk
1 cup powdered sugar
3 or more tablespoons Saigon cinnamon
1 or more tablespoons vanilla extract

Combine all ingredients, stirring with a whisk until smooth.

Life on a Cake Stand

I could be called fanatical, or obsessive, or fixated... But I prefer dedicated, passionate, devoted. Funny how the words mean roughly the same thing; it’s just that on one hand the glass is half empty, on the other it’s half full... but even that is disputable. I will say this: a cake stand half empty is more beautiful than when it is full.



Though the uncut cake may be pristine, untouched, a picture of elegance like children dressed in their white, lace finery, isn’t it much more provoking to see the layered and frosted and sometimes messy interior?



When the children, ashamed but mostly invigorated, race indoors, their lace now dappled with remnants of pirates, deep expeditions, fights to the death? Yes. I prefer the dirty newness of birth, of flowers emerging, struggling at first, into the cool spring air. Of vegetables pulled easily from dark soil dampened by humid July thunderstorms, of green and purple lettuce, speckled brown from freshly composted soil, of jazz riffs, scratchy and dirty, and of flour buttermilk sugar eggs strawberries vanilla and baking powder, split into four layers and daintily built up into a tall pristine tower, only to be sliced away in deftly executed movements, revealing craggy, melting tiers, taking their first breaths of air tinged with laughter and anticipation. So much more interesting.



Old-Fashioned Strawberry Layer Cake
Adapted from Sara Bir’s adaptation from “The Cake Bible” by Rose Levy Beranbaum; The Oregonian, 10 June 2008

I followed the cake recipe closely, and came out with a perfectly fluffy and flavorful base for the berries. Before committing to this particular recipe, I searched for others for comparison and further inspiration, but could find none that incorporated fresh berries into the cake batter itself. That said, and being overly zealous about the idea of pureed berried IN the batter, I added about twice as much berry purée than called for in the original. I’ve incorporated my adaptations in recipe below.


1 pound whole strawberries
8 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla
2/3 cup buttermilk, divided
3 ¾ cups unsifted cake flour
2 cups granulated sugar
2 tablespoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. After buttering the sides and bottom of two, round 9-inch cake pans, line the bottoms with parchment paper. Butter the bottoms and flour the sides and bottoms. Set aside.

Hull all strawberries. Thinly slice about 1 cup and set aside to use in the filling. Purée the remaining berries in a blender or food processor (or smash berries as you would for jam) until you have medium sized chunks. [Here, the original recipe says that you should have about 1 ¼ cups of purée, I had much more]. Take about half of the purée and set aside.

In a separate container, combine the egg yolks, 1 teaspoon vanilla and 1/3 cup buttermilk. Set aside.

Combine cake flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Stir. Add the butter and beat on low speed for 1 minute. Add the remaining 1/3 cup buttermilk and beat mixture until moist, scraping down the sides and bottom of bowl. Add the egg yolk mixture in a slow stream with the mixer on low speed. Beat for 1 minute. Add half of the strawberry purée, beat for about 30 seconds. Pour the batter into the two pans, smoothing the tops with a spatula. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cakes comes out clean, about 35 minutes [mine took at least this long and the center was still a bit gooey].

Cool pans for about 10 minutes, then invert and transfer to cool completely on a wire rack. Be sure to remove the parchment paper after inverting the pans, or the layers may split.

Make the frosting immediately before assembling the cake (recipe follows).

Make the filling: Place about 3 cups of the frosting into a medium bowl. Stir in the 1 cup sliced strawberries, remaining half strawberry purée, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Set aside.

Assemble the cake: Split cake layers so that you have four thin layers. Beginning with one layer cut side up on a cake stand, thickly spread about 1/3 of the filling. Repeat with the following 2 layers. Spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides of the cake with a spatula or knife, in long, swirling strokes.

Store leftover cake in the refrigerator for about 5 days.

Whipped Cream Frosting
From “Caprial’s Desserts” by Caprial Pence and Melissa Carey

For the frosting, I used Caprial Pence’s Whipped Cream Frosting. I highly recommend it. It makes the cake tastes like strawberry shortcake in a more decadent form. I had about 1 ½ cups leftover frosting, which you can store in the refrigerator for a few days, using it for a simple dessert (or breakfast) by stirring in any sort of sweetly ripe berry or granola or both... or just pile it on the cake and toy with gravity.

5 cups heavy whipping cream
2/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 tablespoons cream of tarter

Pour the whipping cream into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whip attachment. Beat on high speed until the cream thickens. Add the sugar, vanilla and cream of tarter. Beat until the cream holds a stiff peak. Use immediately.