twd: bourbon soaked vanilla babycake

Oh, how I adore poundcake.

Oh, how I adore bourbon.

Oh, how I adore babycakes.

Add a scattering of macerated strawberries, freshly picked (by me) from a (mosquito infested) field, and you have a simple yet unbelievable flavorful and cravable dessert.

(I may have just stated that I want to eat the rest of the mini-loaf. G can testify that I have not actually done so.)

Thank you, Wendy, of Pink Stripes, for selecting this recipe. Check out her blog—she is an inspiration, and I always love reading about her adventures in food and life. We joined TWD about the same time, and she has been a blogger friend ever since.

And...cue the giddy excitement...I am the TWD host next week! Hooray! Look for a longish rambling post on Paris and chocolate and tarts and and and...

twd: cinnamon swirl bread

Recipe for a decadent breakfast on yet another grey June morning (summer, please return soon!): rich, orange scented bread spiraled with cinnamon and sugar, toasted and spread with French butter, paired with a bowl of Kashi heart-to-heart cereal topped with luscious berries and organic milk. A small glass of Florida's Natural pulp-free orange juice, and a mug of cafe au lait wash it all down.

Thank you, Susan, of Food.Baby, for selecting this week's recipe, a simple, delightful yeast bread that comes together quickly, with no hand kneading (if you use a stand mixer), and which tastes complete even without raisins (sorry, Mom, I know you'd love it with those flame raisins:))

twd: tender shortcakes

This past Sunday, I made a commitment. A big commitment. A life-changing commitment.

No, I did not jet off to Las Vegas.

I bought a freezer. A 14.1 cubic foot upright Frigidaire freezer to be delivered by Lowes once they have it in stock.

As long as I have it by strawberry season, I'll be happy.

We have another week or two before the first local berries burst forth in ruby profusion. Until then, I'm using up the last few bags of last summer's berries that have been taking up precious space in my bottom freezer drawer. I was so careful, so judicious, so conservative with my berries that I have two and one half bags left!

I decided to cook one bag into a loose jam/compote for this week's recipe, tender shortcakes. Cathy, who lives in Alabama, where I lived for six very good years, chose this recipe. She made hers with local berries and—I'm insanely jealous—Chilton county peaches. Everyone in Alabama knows those peaches because they are delicious. Check our her blog, the Tortefeasor, for the recipe, and for her usual blend of wit, humor, and delight.

The shortcakes are indeed tender, and a little mishapen due to several small mishaps:

1. lack of baking powder. I substituted a mixture of baking soda and cream of tartar, at the suggestion of Regan Daley's In the Sweet Kitchen. They're a little flat, likely because my cream of tartar is...old.

2. freezer issues. I mixed the shortcakes late afternoon, and then decided I didn't want to bake them until after dinner, so I formed balls, placed them on a baking sheet, and wedged them into the bottom freezer drawer. I forget to flatten them. And, when G came home and opened the freezer to stow his lunchbox icepack, he hollered, in alarm, "I think I ruined your balls." One ball had fallen apart, but I wasn't worried.

3. slight underbaking. The flattish cakes were golden brown on top but a tiny bit doughy when I split them with a fork.

HOWEVER, these cakes—biscuits, really—are indeed tender, very slightly sweet, and a lovely foil for fresh (or slightly cooked) fruit. I topped them with whipped cream (or, as the French so lovingly say, Chantilly. So much chicer, don't you think?), and a splash of Grand Marnier. G and I are noshing them as we work on our blogs, and we're both happy.

With the new freezer, we'll be able to enjoy shortcakes all year long. I'll be able to stow summer's freshest and localest goods. My locavore commitment will be stronger than ever.

And that, my friends, is a sweet commitment.

daily bliss: paris romance, or how a commercial inspired an impulse buy

As we made our way through the check-in and security lines at Charles De Gaulle airport, a pantheon of high-end duty free shops beckoned. Grandma announced that she needed to spend some euros before boarding the plane, so we wandered into a fragrance shop. She was taken with the soft scent of Tresor In Love, a new fragrance.

I spotted Miss Dior Cherie and thought of the delightful commercial, filled with balloons, flowers, and Parisian romance and fun. I spritzed myself from the tester bottle, and was smitten. This could be my scentual memory of an amazing trip. I selected a small bottle of Eau de Toilette, and packed it into my bulging carry-on before saying my final au revoir to Paris. Je returnee!

daily bliss: glacé

moi et grandmere

Topping my list of Paris must-eats: Berthillon, the ice cream and sorbet shop of world renown, located on Île Saint-Louis. Monday's tour featured a visit to the neighboring Île de la Cité to visit Notre Dame. After the tour, guide Pierre-Jean announced that we had an hour and a half for lunch, and I asked for directions to Berthillon.

I lead a group of eager ladies to the smaller stand, where you can only order ice cream (another venue offers fuller cafe services), and we pondered the offerings. For four euro, I enjoyed two scoops—caramel beurre sel and cacao amer (buttered salted caramel and darkest chocolate)—in a patisserie cone. The pure, unadulterated flavors nicely melded together.

After an afternoon visiting my favorite cathedral, Saint-Chapelle, and the Conciergerie (where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned), we were free to explore. Another cone was in order. This time: fraise des bois and citron vert (wild strawberry and lime). Refreshing, light, and pure summer.

We left old Paris happy, and ready for another day of adventures (culinary and otherwise).

daily bliss: musée national du moyen age

This museum is more informally known as the Cluny museum, and holds collections primarily of the middle ages, though some statues and the frigidarium—a former Roman bath—date back to earlier times. The play of light and dark in these ancient rooms, as well as a subtle chill, creep into the mind and body, and I was transported back in time.

The gem of the museum is the Lady and the Unicorn, a series of six Flemish tapestries from the late fifteenth century. With intricate detail—a backdrop of flowers and small animals—the tapestries represent the temptation of the senses and the importance of renouncing sensual pleasures for a more lasting reward.

I'm afraid I did not heed such advice, as I delighted in the sensual treats of Paris. Among the delights, tarts.

daily bliss: sparkle time

Je suis une francophile.

I suspected this to be the case as I read tales of Paris, surveyed Parisian pastries in cookbooks, paged through coffeetable books on the Paris apartment, and studied fashion.

I wondered how the Paris of my imagination—which tends towards the overactive—would compare to the real Paris. I dreaded the thought of disappointment.

Paris, like all places, is not perfect.

Homeless pull mattresses under bridges. Gangs of scammers throng popular tourist destinations. Cafe fare is not vegetarian friendly. Graffiti lines the subway rails and buildings in some parts of the city.

And yet.

Paris sparkles.

Paris shows off.

Paris celebrates.

Beauty and deliciousness and connection are revered. Old ways are observed, and one can easily find goods made in France with attention to purpose and appearance.

Paris knows that life is about more than clamoring for more.

Life is about savoring the moment, lingering for two hours at a cafe. Buying a baguette on the way home from work. Taking the elevator up to the roof to catch Paris' most famous icon sparkling in the distance, for five minutes, at the top of the hour.

So much beauty.

So much sparkle.

So much life.

daily bliss: love

at a minor league baseball game, May 2010

One year ago today, I walked down to the lake on a gorgeous, yet chilly, late Spring evening. I strolled down the hill, breathing in lilac fragrance. I breathed deeply, and propelled myself forward, nervous and hopeful. Possibility shimmered in the air.

On our first date, G and I shivered on a picnic table for three hours, talking. Meeting. Laughing. Wondering.

If you've stuck with this blog (which has been written in fits and starts this year), you've picked up on some threads of our story. Perhaps you've even sensed some of the magic.

Reader, I fell in love.

And I've never felt more myself.

I could write an extensive but not exhaustive list of everything I love about G, but since I haven't let him know I'm writing this post (and will be overseas, without him when it posts), instead I will say that our lives together have expanded. Love provides the foundation to be vulnerable, to be true, and to be authentic. Whether it's someone strumming an air mandolin to Train's "Hey Soul Sister" or someone calling the bed Cloud, we're not afraid to be our goofy selves.

And there are tears. Ask G about my stress response, which is to imagine extremes and dissolve into tears. This is the hard part to share. But it's still me.

We're now in the process of merging our daily lives, as G left his village behind and moved to the city, and to our home. Boxes, bags, and misplaced furniture surround us. Daily routines stutter and flow. We're learning to adapt. Together.

At the end of our first date, as I walked up the stairs, I sensed that life was about to change. I had no idea.

I've never been happier.

Happy first anniversary, Gregg. I love you.

daily bliss: paris

All my bags are packed.

I'm (mostly) ready to go.

I have a custom made google map of deliciousness. And a 14 page handout on Paris Eats and Treats culled from David Lebovitz and Dorie Greenspan pics.

I suspect it won't seem quite real until I, along with 22 others (including a co-leader, students, community members, and...my Grandma!) board the Air France flight this evening.

And then...the sights and sounds and tastes of Paris beckon.

Oh, the tastes...

Au revoir, mes amies.

daily bliss: fresh, local salad

Yesterday I paid a long overdue visit to the T's, my gardening, foodie, progressive friends. After a long chat while T worked on hand carving a decorative door panel, we walked to the garden. T snipped lettuce while I plucked spinach. J arrived home and we chatted some more. I promised to share some Poilane bread in return for this taste of summer.

I whisked together a simple cherry balsamic vinaigrette, toasted pecans, shaved Bellavitano cheese, and tossed in a handful of dried cherries. Bliss.

Welcome back, summer. I missed you so.

twd: quick classic berry tart

Today, the last day of English 101, I reminded my students that APPM (audience, purpose, persona, message) is their key to writing success.

"Remember, you need to think about your audience. Who is reading your writing? What is your purpose? You have to have a point! And don't forget to consider your persona. Your tone makes a big difference when delivering your message."

Somewhere in the back of my chaotic mind, I thought about this little blog. I need to conduct some serious APPM prep time when I sit down to craft these entries.

And yet, here I am tonight, fumbling for words and stories to make you want to read.

Gah.

My writing process needs serious attention, which it will receive, and you all will enjoy the fruits of, when I return from Paris in a few weeks. Until then, it will be a cobbled together dish, a last minute entry here and there.

Cue the segue...

And this is why I loved this simple berry tart. I almost didn't make it, as no berries are in season. (it actually snowed around these parts last weekend. berry bliss is some time coming). But, I doubt I'll be able to make the next two recipes, so I wanted to fulfill my monthly quota. I read through the variations of pastry cream, and I thought about a mish-mash solution.

My favorite berry jam. Cook frozen berries with sugar until thick. If industrious, add citrus zest and juice. I chose raspberries and meyer lemon.

I then made a meyer lemon pastry cream.

I assembled the tart speedily, and hoped for the best.

The tart is lightly sweet and plenty tangy. Delicious.

Thanks to Christine of Cooking with Christine for selecting this week's recipe.

twd: burnt sugar ice cream

[photo to be added tomorrow]

Caramel.

Custard.

The two dreaded C's.

The last time I attempted caramel, cussing ensued.

Custard, well, I've seemingly mastered the tempering technique and can produce a smooth product.

This week's recipe tested my resolve by requiring both dreaded C's.

My first attempt with the caramel today was problematic. Lacking vanilla extract, I blended vanilla bean with my sugar, then added the water, and applied heat. A too big pan and too high heat resulted in a sugar that failed to dissolve and instead returned to a granular state. Mustering up my chemistry memory (I did start college as a pre-pharmacy major and took a year of Chemistry before seeing the light and leaving a life of jet-setting and drug company perks for the glamorous life of an English professor on furlough), I added more water and dissolved the sugar, this time slowly and carefully.

Conquering my fears and applying sugar savvy, I crafted an ice cream so delicious, it's dangerous. I subbed 1% milk for whole and half and half for cream. Mmmm.

Thank you, Becky, of Project Domestication, for selecting this wonderful, rich, and complexly flavored ice cream.

twd: chocoblock cookies

Kudos to Mary, of Popsicles and Sandy Feet, for selecting a delicious, over-the-top cookie just when I needed some tart nutty sweetness. Please visit her blog and read her baking manifesto. It rocks.

I would love to wax poetic on these cookies. I love them, and could descend into Ode territory declaring their goodness.

But. Moving day is four days away. My Mom and Grandma are coming to visit tomorrow. Strange dudes are coming to fix a leaky roof at 7:15 tomorrow morning. I'm leaving for Paris in three weeks and four days.

Life is full. And chaotic. And absolutely, life-changingly wonderful.

As are these cookies, which I filled with toasted coconut and walnuts, dried cherries and cranberries, and chocolate chips. Mmmm.

Happy.

Chockful.

daily bliss: making space, part two

This past week, I've been cataloguing single girl behaviors that will change when G moves in nine days from today:

* piling clothes on the bathroom chair or bedroom floor at the end of the day

* accumulating socks at the bottom of the bed, a different pair kicked off during sleep each night

* leaving the bathroom door open

* saving toilet flushes (to be green. i swear it's not gross.)

* eating ice cream directly out of the carton

* surrounding myself with pillows in bed each night

* sleeping with assorted writers. Michael Perry and the gang at the Oxford American are popular lately (clarification: i tend to slip whatever book or magazine i'm reading before i fall asleep over on the other side of the bed, under the pile of pillows).

***

We're making progress, slowly, though most rooms are in disarray. The CD's are expertly alphabetized and arranged. Closets are emptying and refilling in the best use of space. We've moved Cloud (the new mattress) from the green room to the other bedroom.

soon to be book-lined study

And how do you know someone really truly loves you?

When they put up with you naming inanimate objects (see, Blossom (mixer), GSexy (car), and Cloud (bed)). And, when they willingly sleep in . . . a pink room.

That, my friends, is love.

I painted the pink room last memorial day weekend, less than a week before our first date.

What a difference a year makes.

Cloud, in the pink room

twd: sweet cream biscuits

As I posted on facebook yesterday, some days, the desire to be a barista nearly overwhelms me.

I'm having a bit of a writerly crisis these days. The kind of writing I've been trained to do (scholarly, literary criticism) increasingly seems pointless to me. And, I feel like I'm not good at it. Or maybe I lack the desire to be good at it. Or maybe my position, primarily an introduction college writing professor at a nearly open access two year college, seems so far divorced from the theoretical suppositions this kind of writing demands that I just can't bridge the chasm.

Such days call for simple comforts.

A warm biscuit, spread with still-warm homemade jam. A mug of hot cafe au lait.

When I arrived home this afternoon, disgruntled and confused, I turned on the oven. I tossed frozen strawberries and sugar in a pan on the stovetop. I opened Baking: From My Home to Yours. I mixed together simple ingredients, cut out five biscuits (I made a half recipe), slipped them in the warm oven, all as the fruit bubbled into jam. I heated and frothed milk and brewed coffee. Within twenty-five minutes, I sat down with my new copy of Saveur (the mac and cheese on the cover is swoon-worthy, btw), and cleared my mind.

Melissa of Love at First Bite selected this recipe, which is simple and delicious. My biscuits didn't raise very high, but the flavor was delicious. I usually make Mark Bittman's yogurt biscuits--tangy and light and also much less fattening--but Dorie's biscuits are a wonderful addition to my quick bread list of favorites.

daily bliss: making space, part one

what happens when you blend 700+ CD's?

Since 1995, I have lived in eleven places. Garden level apartments, graduate student housing, my old bedroom at my parents (for six weeks. thanks again, mom and dad!), a hardwood lined 1920s duplex, and, now the upper apartment in a house with a lake view and a fantastic kitchen.

I'm used to the rituals of moving: gather boxes; sort belongings; pack boxes; give belongings away; stack boxes; reserve moving truck; recruit helpers; and start fresh in a new place. Blank walls, empty cupboards waiting to be decorated and filled and personalized.

This time, I'm not moving. Instead, I'm making space. I'm packing up belongings, donating clothes, storing furniture, and attempting to tame all this girly pinkness, because...

...to quote Monica from Friends, I'm going to live with a boy!

Yes, dear readers, G is moving in! He's packing boxes and we're loading trucks. We have a storage unit, which we visit several times a week. We're blending our belongings and re-imagining this space, and, more importantly, our lives...together.

I've never been as happy to make space.

twd: swedish visiting cake

The only Swede who has visited my home since I made the Swedish Visiting Cake on Sunday is...me (and that's stretching it, as Swede competes with a handful of other European heritages)...and somehow, half of my eight inch cake is...gone.

It's that good. Dense yet moist. Buttery and fragrant with almonds. And, as Dorie promises, a sugared crust.

This cake's utter simplicity of preparation—one bowl, one pan—complements its pure deliciousness.

And, the best part of all is this week's host, Nancy, of The Dogs Eat the Crumbs (and Corner Loaf, a delightful and impressive bread blog). Nancy does math for the rest of us, scaling recipes down and up, providing weights instead of traditional measurements, and overall giving solid, kind, and generous advice to the baking blogoverse and twitterworld. I look forward to reading her blogs every week, and appreciate her warm comments. My mom is also a fan and reads Nancy's blog and appreciates her comment too.

Thanks, Nancy, for selecting this delicious recipe!

daily bliss: over-the-top cake

The first crocuses have pushed their way through the warming earth.

A late snow and several rain showers have greened the grass.

Trees are on the edge of bursting, spilling their sneeze-inducing pollen everywhere.

My soul stirs, my heart expands, my mind drifts.

Spring!

To celebrate Spring, I crafted an Easter cake that admittedly took the notion of cake above and beyond the usual boundaries.

I began with a coconut milk-laced layer cake, using the recipe I found at Tender Crumb's blog. I made two eight inch layers, which I split in two.

Then, I made homemade raspberry jam—cooking a bag of frozen organic berries from Oregon with sugar until thick.

I improvised a cream cheese frosting.

I colored coconut both pink and green.

I made a baby pink meringue frosting.

I bought speckled malt eggs and a chocolate bunny.

And then, I put it all together:

Layers spread with cream cheese buttercream and jam, cake covered with meringue icing, sprinkled with coconut, and topped with candies.

For once, the reality lived up to the vision in my head.

The cake was all whimsy and cuteness...and deliciousness.

As expected, G's niece clamored for the big bunny (I gave each of the kids a mini chocolate bunny). We enjoyed slices of cake with rich coffee and a lovely torte of chocolate and pudding, topping off a traditional, tasty Easter meal.

The bunny? He came home with me, and is still intact, though I think he might lose his ears this afternoon:)

Happy Spring, dear readers!

npm: william carlos williams

by the path between

two lakeshore towns, dead brown grass

begins to awake

William Carlos Williams, "Spring and All"

npm: george herbert

a wing shaped poem

of human sin and holy

resurrection joy.

George Herbert, "Easter Wings"