Monthly Archives: February 2009

what brought me back

14

homemade chips

The only time I spent in the food industry professionally, I was being paid $125 a week and living in the place where I worked, as a full-time waitress and a part-time counselor at a camp in northern Wisconsin.

It was the summer after my freshman year, a nine-month span I’d spent in Florida, doing crazy things like, instead of studying, taking impromptu trips to away soccer games, sneaking away with girlfriends to the beach and, worse, speeding over 100 miles per hour down a causeway. I still remember the brown-haired boy in the car with me, sticking his head out the sunroof, laughing, hitting his nose against the ledge of my awful magenta car, making the bridge between his eyes bleed when we hit a bump in the road.

By the end of that year, the first I’d spent away from home, I’d been through bedbugs (and the resulting moving, moving again in response), an attempt to give blood (in which I passed out), my first really, really terrible report card and the most terrific case of homesickness you’ve ever seen. Even looking back, I don’t know what prompted me to, instead of returning home, move to Wisconsin, but that’s what I did.
I’d signed up, willing to do anything, and by some act of grace, I wasn’t assigned cleaning duty. Instead, they put me in the kitchen.

Early mornings, before campers and counselors were awake, I’d walk in the almost daylight to the white dining hall, the scent of warm yeast in the air. I pulled trays of puffy doughs and fresh-made eggs off the rolling warmers and set them in the buffet line. I collected dishes from round tables covered in plastic tablecloths. Sometimes, I even got tips: one elderly man told me he wanted to give me little something, as he handed me a $5. I almost cried.

When the weather was nice, the kitchen crew transported things to a picnic area in the woods, complete with an outdoor cooking area and tables lined up for a food line. It was there that I burned myself for the first time, just slightly while I carried a hot plate, causing a small scab to grow over my left forearm.

In a lot of ways, I think it’s good to burn yourself early: it gives you a healthy respect for cooking tools, and you think more carefully when you’re working with them. But in my case, that summer, in addition to convincing me never to go back to that college in Florida, also gave me an irrational fear, and I have avoided a lot of things since—things like hot oil, bubbling and popping in a pan on the stove, which is something of a problem for a fried-food-lover like myself.

So the recipe that got me to conquer those fears would have to be a pretty special recipe, don’t you think?

Enter homemade tortilla chips.

quartered tortillas

These chips are everything I was looking for: easy, cheap, fast and, more than anything, absolutely wonderful to eat. I first saw a version of them over at Macheesmo, where he swore they’d be better than anything you could buy. Looking for an alternative (sans frying), I found baked options, and, as a test, I tried those, too.

Trust me when I say this: These chips are better.

The instructions are so simple, I could recite them in conversation, without looking for my notes or consulting a resource, and that’s saying something: Get a package of corn tortillas and quarter them (as in above photo). Heat up some canola oil in a large skillet, and lay the tortilla triangles inside, arranging them in a single layer and flipping them a couple times (I used a metal salad tongs). You could add a tiny bit of sea salt at this stage, but it’s not necessary. You’ll mostly want to add that after they’ve cooked, when the salt soaks right in. When they’re crispy, take the chips out of the pan and set them on a towel to dry, and you’re set. That’s it. Really.

close-up of homemade tortilla chips

When these were done, piled high in my beautiful white Pyrex bowl that I bought at an antique store for a few (!) bucks (!), I pulled out some leftover taco meat and sat, munching, perfectly happy. These chips—almost too easy to be worth posting—are some good chips, with a bit of chewiness amidst the crunch and a perfectly salted flavor that complements tacos or salsa or guacamole.

They’re also the chips that got me over frying, and, for that, I love them.





About Page Oy with the announcements already, right? Just one more: I’ve updated the about page with some FAQ, and I’d love to get your feedback.



Homemade Tortilla Chips
Adapted from Nick at Macheesmo

Ingredients:
One package of soft corn tortillas
Canola oil
Sea salt

Directions:
Stack the tortillas and, using, a big and sharp knife, slice them long-wise and tall-wise, giving you four triangles for each tortilla. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, heat canola oil (or peanut oil) until hot, and add a layer of triangles, trying not to overlap. Flip them a couple times as they cook, and when they are crispy, arched, no longer laying flat on the pan and no longer sizzling, remove them and place on paper towels to dry. Add sprinkles of sea salt to taste and throw them in a bowl.

On Expectations

18

vanilla muffin cakes

The story of these vanilla bean cupcakes with salted caramel frosting is bittersweet—a perfect example of what you shouldn’t do, and I don’t just mean with recipes.

It’s the same thing I’d tell my teenage self, that cocky girl who felt she had the future in her control. Looking her square in the eyes, my hands tight on her shoulders as I shake them slightly, I’d tell her, whatever you do, if you can just remember this one thing: Don’t set unfair expectations. (On my way out, I might also add that a little styling product could do wonders for your wavy hair, but that has nothing to do with these cupcakes.)

Those simple words would have saved me a lot of heartache, trite as it sounds. If I could have learned then that when someone hurts your feelings, it’s possibly unintended; or that when it is intended, that person could be coming from a very dark, unhappy place that deserves your pity not your anger; and that, most importantly, whatever hurt your feelings, you’ve probably said and done something very similar or worse—maybe I would have learned to cut people some slack—that, and spent a few less nights listening to depressing music or whining on the phone.

From where I sit today, I know setting someone or something on a pedestal is probably the absolute worst thing you can do to it. The moment you demand things must be, you set yourself up to be devastated when they aren’t. With some things—a job that provides paychecks, for example—it’s fair to be demanding; with others—a friend that forgets to call you back or never returns your e-mails—it’s not.

But now I’m getting carried away with myself. Back to the cupcakes. From the moment I got the Chow.com e-mail, luring me with words like “irresistible” and “flecked with vanilla,” I built these vanilla bean cupcakes up to be the most marvelous I would have ever had.

more cupcakes

And, turns out, these cupcakes aren’t bad. They’re good, actually, with a dense, vanilla-flavored base that resembles a muffin or cornbread in texture and is topped by a slippery butter frosting with a hint of caramel and a touch of saltiness. At first bite, you might think of popcorn, but as you continue eating, the taste becomes more complex, turning into something heavy and rich, salty and sweet, caramelized and soft. I’ll also add, they get much better over a few days in the refrigerator.

In fact, the only real problem with these cupcakes has nothing at all to do with the cupcakes; it has to do with me. They weren’t what I expected, not as fluffy or airy as I’d pictured, not as melt-in-your-mouth. They were tasty, and I ate them, but I was disappointed.

Monday, I brought four into work, giving them to Carrie in a white bakery box with a FoodLovesWriting.com sticker on top. (And now that I’ve brought up the white bakery boxes, I really ought to tell you another bit of disappointing news: my big plans have fallen through, and if you have another idea for hundreds of pretty boxes, please let me know.) She took them home and shared them, and she swears everyone who ate them liked them, too. “A buttery success,” she said.

By Tuesday, eating a cupcake out of my brown lunch bag, I’ll admit it was growing on me. I liked it more, with all the maturity of a 26-year-old who’s not as unlike her teenage self as she thought, trying to abandon preconceptions or, at least, to release them, slowly, bite by bite.



Vanilla Muffin Cakes with Salted Caramel Frosting
Adapted from CHOW.com

Ingredients:
2 cups cake flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons salt
12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), at room temperature
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 Tablespoon vanilla extract
2 large egg whites, at room temperature
2 large eggs, at room temperature
3/4 cup whole milk, at room temperature
Salted Caramel Frosting*

Directions:
Heat the oven to 350°F and arrange a rack in the middle. Line 2 (12-well) muffin pans with paper liners. Alternatively, coat the wells with butter; set aside.

Combine flour, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl and whisk to aerate and break up any lumps; set aside.

Place butter in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and beat on medium-high speed until very light in color, about 3 minutes. Add sugar and continue beating until mixture is airy, about 3 minutes.

Scrape down the paddle and the sides of the bowl, turn the mixer to medium speed, and add egg whites one at a time, beating well after each addition. Then add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Add milk and vanilla extract, and mix until combined (the mixture may look curdled, but it’s not). Scrape down the sides of the bowl. Reduce speed to low, add flour mixture, and mix until just combined, about 15 seconds.

Fill the muffin wells about halfway, and bake cupcakes until golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 18 minutes. Set the pans on a wire rack and let cool for 5 minutes. Remove cupcakes from the pans and let cool completely before frosting.

*Salted Caramel Frosting
Taken directly from CHOW.com

Ingredients:
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 Tablespoons water
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
12 Tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), at room temperature
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup powdered sugar

Directions:
Briefly stir together granulated sugar and water in a small saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Continue cooking, without stirring, until mixture turns dark amber in color, about 6 to 7 minutes.
Remove from heat and slowly add in cream and vanilla, stirring with a wooden spoon until completely smooth. Set aside until cool to the touch, about 25 minutes.

Combine butter and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and beat on medium-high speed until light in color and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Reduce speed to low, add powdered sugar, and mix until completely incorporated.

Turn mixer off and scrape down the sides of the bowl, then add caramel. Beat frosting on medium-high speed until airy and thoroughly mixed, about 2 minutes. Cover and refrigerate until stiff, about 45 minutes, before using.

set it on the counter

11

banana cake

When I was in sixth grade, my friend’s mom died. Her family had moved to another state a few years earlier, far away from me, but the funeral brought them back to Illinois, to a beautiful stone church covered in ivy, with a hollow auditorium surrounded by stained-glass windows, where your voice echoed when you talked. At the visitation, I remember thinking, people said a lot of funny things. One lady told my friend her mom would be watching from heaven, letting her know if her outfits didn’t match. Another said something about the mom being an angel; several commented on the lovely makeup job. For my part, I asked my friend if she wanted to sleepover that night. Her dad said it probably wasn’t a good time.

I hadn’t known a lot of people who died up until then. I’d been to a few funerals—distant relatives, mostly. Later in my teen years, each of my dad’s parents would die, one by one without affecting me, as I’d only met them once, when they’d flown across the world from India to visit America. My mom’s mom would die just before I turned seventeen and started my senior year of high school, after I’d grown up going to her house and sharing my bedroom when she’d visit mine. In fact, in much later years, I’d attend a lot of funerals, often for people I didn’t know but whose friends or family I did.

As a twelve-year-old, there’s not a lot you understand about life or, at least, there’s not a lot I understood. I remember thinking, a few days after the funeral while I drank a milkshake, that my friend’s mom would never have one again. She’d never hold a tall glass of frothy ice cream to her mouth, never slurp it all the way to the bottom. I remember realizing this made me sad. Sometimes, still, when I buy a fast-food milkshake and set it on the counter, I think of her.

Reading through the responses to the giveaway post*, where a lot of you wrote why you cook, I saw a common theme: Food is a tangible way to show love, like milkshakes were a tangible way for me to understand death, as an elementary kid.

banana cake with chocolate chips

And in a nutshell, that’s why I love food. In a very concrete way, food is satisfying—it sates your hunger, it provides nutrition, it gives you strength. But in a less concrete way, it is so much more. What else can communicate, so clearly and strong, the same experience as someone’s inviting you over for dinner, to a meal he spent all afternoon preparing? What else shows, in such a specific way, that someone likes you, than when she bakes for you the dessert she knows you like best?

This banana bread is one of those communicating cakes. It’s from my friend Mrs. Newman, who doesn’t go online and probably couldn’t read this article, but who wrote this recipe down and gave it to my mom, the way she had previously taped a pie recipe to the back of a chocolate bar she gave my brother for Hanukkah/Christmas one year, after he’d told her how much he loved it. Since then, the recipe has become part of our family, the way it was a part of hers, and, with my new-found love of banana baked goods, I pulled it out to use up three fully ripened bananas this weekend.

banana bread on cookie sheet

Mrs. Newman’s like my mom with cooking: everything she makes is good (and, as a side note, anything you make for her will be met with continuous praise, which, I think, is a sign of someone who cooks often and also, of someone I am sure to like). And her banana cake is one of her specialties, the best kind of comfort: moist and dense, with a stable crust and quick to crumble into soft bits in your mouth. I like to add chocolate chips because, well, chocolate and banana are natural partners, like peanut butter and jelly or tea with honey.

As this cake bakes, the warm, sweet scent of banana fills the kitchen, and, for the record, I’ve decided this is one of my favorite smells, ever. You can bake it in a tube pan or a springform pan (which is what I did), but her notes say it’s also nice in loaf pans for a sweet banana bread.

However you bake it, one thing is certain: this is the kind of cake that you won’t eat just once. And when you make it, you’ll want to share it with someone you love.




*The Giveaway: Friday night, the winners were chosen using a random number generator, and now that they’ve both responded and accepted, I can announce the two prizes are going to Lainey and Rhonda! Congratulations and thanks, everyone, for participating!




Banana Cake
Adapted from my friend, Mrs. Newman

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup butter (1 stick)
4 level Tablespoons of sour cream
2 eggs
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup mashed bananas (about three)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup mini chocolate chips

Directions:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cream sugar and butter together. Add sour cream and eggs.

In a separate bowl, combine baking soda, salt and flour, and add this alternately with the mashed bananas to the creamed mixture. Add vanilla and chocolate chips and stir together.

Pour into a greased and floured tube pan or springform pan, and bake for 45 minutes to an hour, when the cake’s top turns golden brown.