The Cookie that Almost Nearly Was, But then Suddenly... Wasn't

Tonight I made midnight cookies. You know, the cookies you bake at 11:30 at night because you absolutely need those effing cookies or else--oh my god--there is no way you will be able to sleep because it's the lack of sugar that's keeping you from sleeping. Naturally. Of course. That makes perfect sense.

It was bad.

Usually I can justify the "badness" of any baking disaster by saying that while it may have looked and smelled awful, it tasted delicious. That was not the case here. These "oatmeal cookies" tasted like Ebola and looked like a festering buboes.

There will be no pictures of this incident. Instead, I will share with you this lovely picture of a ladybug on a leaf.

And a random crazy person on a beach.

Exciting.

However, I should mention that I wore black leggings with thick wool leg warmers today. Felt like I belonged in Flashdance. Maybe people even thought that I might be a dancer. Possess some grace... elegance... poise... The leg warmers obviously gave me a false sense of security that could not be met by the late hour and extreme exhaustion.

I will wear them again tomorrow.

Saskatoonberry Ginger Ice Cream

I bought myself another toy. This new toy (like all my toys) has made me very excited because in 10 minutes and $70.00 it allowed me to venture into a whole new area of delightful food: the frozen dessert.

Frickin' ICE CREAM!!! I bought an ice cream maker and it is awesome.
Yes, it was a little bit more than I would have liked to spend on an ice cream maker--the ideal amount being closer to $0... But from what I've read, this baby will last me for a very long time if I give it the proper love and attention it deserves. A good thing because I plan on trying out a new flavour as often as I can manage.

Unfortunately, I'm going to have to learn to be patient with my new little toy (and in life). The instructions that came in the box said to let the canister cool in the freezer for 6-22 hours, so naturally I figured that 5 hours would be enough to bust out some world class Hagendaz. Oh Erin... how naive. After standing over the mixing soupy swirl of purple cream for 45 minutes (when the instructions said only 25) I decided that I should maybe just throw it all in the freezer before I blow the motor on the first day.

After a night in the freezer though... wow. That ice cream was decadent and creamy and a little bit gritty because of all the seeds that I was too lazy to strain out, but good god it was delicious. I managed to create a roomful of smiling people with black chunks of saskatoonberry in their teeth. It was glorious.

The Saskatoon berry Ginger Ice Cream was adapted from Not So Humble Pie with saskatoons substituted for raspberries, a minced knob of fresh ginger in lieu of the candied variety, and a splash (that's right, a 'splash', I went there) of vanilla added in with the whole milk. I think it worked out amazing considering I completely botched the (very essential) churning step of the ice creaming process. Next time I think I'll try using just whole milk instead of mixing it with the heavy cream and maybe less sugar. Also, slightly less ginger. I really enjoyed it, but I don't think my family really appreciated the acute burning sensation that accompanied their ice creamy goodness...

Hee hee!! I love my ice cream!!

Project Cake Number THREE and my SECOND cake commission

It's hard for me to decide where to start this post and what exactly to do with it. This week I had two multi-tiered cakes due that both needed to be decorated to perfection while still maintaining my high standards for taste (ha! how's that for high class food jargon!). I've always struggled with timing when bake, so this week I made an exact schedule that I was to follow to the minute if I was going to finish these cakes, go to work, and maintain some semblance of sanity. A very loose semblance of sanity.

But like anything, there were many phases that I went through to complete these two cakes on time and without throwing any sharp objects.

Phase One: Excitement
It was at this (misguided) first phase where I decided it would be a good idea to go for a three teir cake and a two teir cake. Lasting approximately 3 days, I made over two dozen fondant roses and rose buds in various creamy pastel colours while watching BBC dramas on the tv. After taking out every baking book I owned, I settled for a "simple" sponge cake that I could put together and freeze no problem. I would also whip up a marscapone cream in lieu of a buttercream for the three teir cake for something different to try. I wanted this cake in particular to impress. I looked at countless photos of wedding cakes and youtube videos of making wedding cakes for inspiration and nailed the ability to effortlessly draw out a 3D picture of a teired cake with any number of designs on it. Pages and pages of designs.

Phase Two: Apprehension
The thing about looking at countless pictures of wedding cakes online, is that after a while they all begin to look exactly the same. The colours, the flowers, the general themes... it's as though all these cakes were taken out of the same book. However, with a generic cake look, comes an inherent expectation for that exact look. An expectation I was begining to believe would be very very difficult to meet. It was during this phase where I began to try scheduling myself to the minute. It was also here where I keenly chewed off each and every one of my carefully manicured fingernails. Delicious.

Phase Three: Calm
The thing about phases is that there is always one stuck in there that surprises you. In one single day I set out to (calmly) do everything on the schedule with no excuses or complaints. This meant that in that one single day I made 4 cakes, a lemon curd, lemon syrup, raspberry syrup, marscapone cream, and honey buttercream. That's right. Honey buttercream. And yes, it was as spring delicious as it sounds. Unsurprisingly, this was the least stressful part of the whole ordeal. I got to be creative and play with food the way I always have. It came naturally and I was able to dance through the kitchen listening to The Clash and Adam Ant without any worries at all. It was going to taste good (it was going to taste freaking delicious actually) and really, to me, that's all that has ever mattered.

Phase Four: Terror
The two teir cake was the project cake for the final class of my cake decorating course. As part of the criteria, I had to get as far as rolling the fondant onto the cake before the class. Everything else would added at the actual class itself. First off, let me say that fondant is the stupidest concept ever. You don't actually eat it, and putting it over a cake is most likely the reason I will die of a heart attack or stroke at 30. Forget high cholesterol--fondant is where my issues lie. That's not the terrifying part though. Oh no, that's only stressful. The Terrifying part is the part where I have to drive to the class with this cake place precariously on my lap. If it fell due to a sudden stop or turn I think I might have actually got out of the car and punched someone in the face. Little bit high strung at this point, needless to say.

Phase Five: Acute Panic
Cake number 2, the three teired cake that was commissioned, is covered in fondant, has some admittedly adorable ribbon wrapped around it, and a nicely piped string of pearls. AND IS SAGGING LIKE THE PARTS ON AN OLD PERSON!!! People ask whether it's themed as the leaning Tower of Pisa (so clever) and I am very concerned that the whole thing will topple over before I even get a chance to pipe on my carefully planned decoration. Is the cake inside alright? Has it turned into some kind of mouldy mush?? When I deliver it to my unwitting (possibly unwilling) partons, will they cut it open to find something green and hairy living inside?? All I want to do is peel back the blue fondant and check...

Phase Six: Sweet Relief (see also, pride or euphoria)
It's over. The whole ordeal has finally come to an end and I can see the cakes for what they are. They really are quite pretty. I don't think I've ever made anything that looked quite so beautiful before. It's almost a shame that they'll have to be cut into and devoured. They look like they're worth the time and effort (and maybe even the tears). I have to say that even the actual decorating part was exciting to the point where I didn't want to stop. Didn't expect that one!

When everything is all said and done, I think I learned more from making these two cakes these weeks than I could have learned reading any one of my many many books or online. I know that the next one will be easier only because there are so many things I would do just a little bit differently. I'm just going to keep my fingers crossed that the cake inside isn't actually green and hairy...

awkward laughs and big hair...

Snickerdoodle Cupcakes and Strawberry Cupcakes

I have mixed feelings regarding Martha Stewart. Don't get me wrong, she is a talented woman no doubt with booming enterprise spreading across North America... but whenever I make her food I always feel that the finished product is lacking in... something. After I spent some quality time with Martha and her cupcakes this weekend I realized what it was about her recipes that always just got to me: they have forced personality. I made snickerdoodle cupcakes and they tasted like a forced laugh that was almost awkwardly loud at a joke that's barely funny. The strawberry cupcakes that I made immediately following the snickerdoodle ones were small blonde girls with big hair just trying to keep up... for all that build-up there's not much goin' on.

After making more than a handful of Martha's recipes from both her cupcake book and her general cooking book, I've come to the conclusion that her recipes, while tasty, are lacking in any kind of oomph. I will concede to Martha that her recipes are very accessable for the "average home cook", but for me they have become dependable to the point of (gasp!) predictability. What I'm saying (in far too many words) is that when this food hits your palate, your eyes don't roll into the back of your head, your mouth doesn't drop open from shocked delight, and you make no noise that in any way shape or form can be described as orgasmic (in most western countries anyway!).

And yet...

And yet I love her great big book that describes the ins and outs of cooking to a perfect T. It's from this book that I've learned any technique that I claim to posess (with, I must admit, a few important exceptions). And in a way, I also like how she takes typically complex dishes and cuisine and simplifies it until it's manageable in a more day-to-day kind of way. HOWEVER, I must also say that this is, at the same time, what drives me nuts about her as well. I get a weird kind of thrill when I accomplish a dish that takes hours of careful preperation and perfect techniqe to pull off, only to be devoured in minutes (or in some cases, seconds). I much prefer that to cupcakes that take minutes to throw together and then loiter around the house for days like a European relative that doesn't speak any english.

Making cupcakes can be fun. They are cute and manageable and popular. They can be moist and decadent and a perfect addition to 5:00 am tea for a gaggle of nurses on the night shift (as mine were for), but these particular cupcakes turned out just about as boring and uninteresting as Martha herself (in my own humble opinion). It's entirely possible, however, that I am just bitter at these cuppies because for the first time ever (EVER!) my swiss meringue buttercream curdled when I added the butter. I'm thinking it's because I left the cold butter in the sun to get it to the proper "room temperature", but it passed that stage and went right on to "melted". How disappointing is that?!

So all in all, Martha's snickerdoodle and strawberry cupcakes can be described in one word: edible.

a mistake i'll only ever make twice...

I enjoy eating seafood. In addition to this, Jamie Oliver has never failed me. Of my four year love affair with the cute Brit, all I can say is that I have tried many different recipes from many different books and the only ones that have consistently produced delicious results are the ones with a picture of him on the cover.

So when I talk about the sockeye incident of August 28, 2009 it was not an example of Jamie letting me down. Quite the opposite, it was a clearly a case of me failing Jamie.

The recipe itself is easy. Simple to the point of questioning its worth even. After all, salmon doesn't need much added flavor in order to make it fantastic. A couple of bulbs of fennel, two lemons, a handful of parsley, and some fresh tomatoes. Mix with olive oil and some salt and pepper, then stuff the salmon with the colourful produce. All the excess veg goes on top and underneath the fish so that you can eat it as a side with the meal. Really, the whole thing looks absolutely perfect before it goes into the oven. It's colourful and vibrant and looks as though it will be eaten within seconds of coming out of the oven.

So of course there has to be a "but".

All day long there had been a questionable smell lingering in the kitchen. You know the smell. Everybody knows the smell. It's potent and not one that is easily forgotten. Turned out to be coming off a dead rodent outside the kitchen window (pleasant, I know). So when there was a funny odor after I took out the fish I didn't really think anything of it other than I hate squirrels. I had also just bought the salmon the day before so there was no reasonable way the fish could have gone off in less than 24 hours. Right?

When I pulled the salmon out of the oven the smell was worse and I should have known right then to get out the plan B meal (Kraft Dinner). But I was in denial, and after all... the presentation of the fish was perfect! It certainly LOOKED edible...


After a few bites we all decided that no, it was definitely not edible. This fish belonged in the trash with all its fancy accoutrement. Maybe the coyotes would appreciate my effort.

The extra frustrating part about this story: I have done this before with seafood! A year ago I was asked to make a crab quiche and I didn't trust my nose when I opened the can of crab and found it smelling... repugnant. Again, the whole dish was chucked after it was tentatively tasted and deemed entirely unfit for human consumption. I'm lucky no one got food poisoning that time.

After all this I would say that while I may have let Jamie down, I think I finally learned my lesson and am able to say with my full and utmost confidence that from here on in I will ALWAYS trust my nose.

And always have a back up meal ready when preparing fish.