Do you know the muffin man?

Apparently, he lives on Drury Lane.
Too far, far away* for you?

Make your own muffin, man.

Expectation-Defying Evil King Body Part Cookies

Just the beginning of a recent rant in my newsfeed 

Dear college friend on Facebook who hates hamantaschen*:

You are wrong.

Love,

Sharon
 

The power of the parental lie

When I was little, like maybe 7 or 8 years old, my parents went away on vacation.

To Hawaii.
Without us.

My sister and I were very confused.  Our family always went places together.  This was beyond mystifying. We pestered them with questions.

Where is Hawaii?  
How are you going to get there? 
How long are you going to be gone?

And most importantly,

Why can't we go, too?

Our parents patiently answered every one.

Hawaii is in the middle of the ocean, on the other side of California.
We are going on an airplane.
Seven days.

And then they told the world's greatest whopper.

We're going to go by ourselves first, to make sure Hawaii is fun for kids.

Well, that makes total sense, we agreed contentedly. As children who'd been subjected to many adult-oriented Washington dinner parties and boring work events, we knew all about stuff that was no fun for kids. Mom and Dad were doing us a favor by leaving us behind.  We cheerfully waved good-bye and waited for their report.

A week later, they returned home, literally glowing with happiness.  It turns out that when they landed in Hawaii, beautiful ladies gave them wreaths of flowers.  The beach was right in front of their hotel, they gushed.  The water was as warm as a bathtub, with little colorful fish swimming and swirling around their toes.  There were hula dancers and drinks with umbrellas and a swimming pool with a huge curvy water slide. They ate pineapple every single morning and it was spectacularly delicious.

We stared at them in awe.

Then, they opened up the luggage, and gave each of us a giant lei made entirely of candy bars.

Awe turned to skeptical disbelief*.

Hawaii seems like A LOT of fun for kids.

Our suspicions were well founded. My parents never did take us there**. But when I finally got to go as a grown up, one of the best things about the trip was indeed having pineapple for breakfast every single morning.

It is spectacularly delicious.

It more than made up for the completely nondescript gazebo

When I was growing up, one of the many signs of Easter was watching The Sound of Music on TV.  My sister and I would sit, entranced, gazing up at the screen.  We'd giggle like crazy at the dinner table scene, scowl at the selfish Baroness, yodel along with the lonely goatherd, imitate Gretel on our own stairs (lisping "The Sun. Has Gone. To bed and so must AYE-aye!" at the top of our lungs for weeks afterward), and cheer when the nuns say, "Reverend Mother, I have sinned".

Yep. We wanted nothing more than to help our dad push a car all the way to Switzerland and have a boy to dance around a gazebo in the rain with, even if he did turn out to be a Nazi rat later.

So of course, the minute I set foot in Europe for the first time, I couldn't wait to go to Salzburg and run singing through the streets.

I was not alone.

My friends and I signed up for one of the many "official" Sound of Music tours, packed in with zillions of other tourists with guide maps, cameras, and visions of Julie Andrews and the gang hanging from trees in colorful curtains.  Yes, we did see the convent yard where they crouched behind the gravestones, and the actual gazebo (relocated to a convenient in-town location), but the whole experience was vaguely disappointing and made us a little sad*.

On the plus side, there was Linzer Torte.

That made us feel better.  As in, very, very happy.
And being able to bake my own is one of my new favorite things**.

Soccer Mom

Way back when, when my husband and I were barely married, we went to visit friends in San Francisco for brunch.  Their house was full of toys and crayons and tow-headed toddlers, and we feasted on deliciously lumpy pancakes, strong coffee, and orange juice. Sunshine poured through a huge bay window into a living room full of comfy furniture and well-worn children's books.  I was utterly charmed by the whole situation.

Looking up at the clock, our hosts suddenly brought the cozy morning to a halt, and began scooping up  strollers and hurtling around closets rooting for socks.  The oldest child donned a shiny uniform and tiny cleats, and had the maple syrup unceremoniously wiped from his ruddy cheeks by his mom.

"It's picture day."

This meant nothing to us. But we piled down the steps and followed our friends. Outside it was bright and breezy, one of those rare, gorgeous, peaceful San Francisco mornings.  As we turned a corner, we were hit by a high-pitched roar of noise.  Then, slowly, we walked into an alien sea, a veritable ocean, of what seemed like thousands of five year olds and their parents, crammed into a fenced patch of grass covering most of a city block.  All of the children were randomly running and screaming.  Parents were chatting and laughing and yelling at the running children.  Everyone had coolers, cameras, umbrellas and folding chairs.  It was utter chaos, and it terrified me to the bone.

"We have to get out of here," I said to my husband. "Now."
Best form of birth control, ever.

It didn't last.
Soon enough, it was picture day on our own patch of grass.

Not only was I no longer petrified, I was somehow coaching the team.  I had zero experience, but if you signed up to coach, you got to pick your practice time.  As a working parent, schedule trumped competence in my book.

It was a trial and error process.  Once, I brought a white board and dry erase markers to practice, intending to diagram plays, or at least try to communicate the idea of whose goal was whose.

"Oh, yay! Coloring!!! Pass the purple!!"

Needless to say, it didn't go well*.

Finally, I developed a strategy of giving big hugs for each goal, and that seemed to work just fine.

My coaching days are long over, but a decade later, there I am on that patch of grass with my folding chair and camera, chatting and laughing.  Perfectly at home in that veritable sea, the warm, friendly, comfortable ocean of parents like me.

Cheering at the top of my lungs for my amazing daughter and her team.

Soccer Mom.
Best clichéd stereotype, ever.

Oh, and even after all these years?  Snack is still the best part of the game.

This should be a real post

But it's not. Instead, it's my contribution to That should be a word*

I did manage to push this recipe for Meyer Lemon Buttermilk Pie through at last. After all, nothing gets the system going again like a good pie recipe, right?**

Especially one where I don't have to say much.
Bon Appetit wrote about it first.***

A simple request

We went a little nuts with the baking for this year's Holiday Open House, even more so than usual.

Mini pecan tarts.  Chocolate Chip Cookies with Sea Salt.  Peanut Butter Fudge Bars.  Mocha Cupcakes with Peppermint Chocolate Buttercream Frosting*.  Lemon Icebox Squares. 

Apple Molasses Cookies**.  Crispy Chocolate Truffle Shortbread Bars.  Mom's Christmas Cut-Out Cookies with homemade icings.  Butterscotch Cherry Granola Cookies with Lemon Drizzle.  

Thumbprint Cookies with Fig Butter.  Apricot Rosemary Cocktail Cookies.  Two different kinds of challah. And my sister's famous Cream Cheese Pound Cake.

My husband was appalled.

Him: Why do you do this to yourself? I think the ovens have been on for a week straight.  I'm begging you, please, for Christmas Day: keep it simple.

Done***.

These still involve the oven****, but are about as uncomplicated as you can get.  

Here's to a notably simpler new year all around.  

Miracle on Libbit Avenue

In the days leading up to Christmas, the volume of visits from representatives of the United States Postal Service* goes way up everywhere, not just in New York City courtrooms.



Thanks to the Post Office, and my wonderful cousin Janet, we had a little miracle on Libbit Avenue this year.

A lost recipe from Mom. Not just any recipe, but one that tastes exactly like Christmas.

Turned out, I had everything I needed in the cupboard**.  I doubled the recipe, diligently following her handwritten notes on the back***.  As the bars were baking, the house began filling with the unmistakable scent of warm cinnamon and spice.  Now thoroughly in the mood to tackle a task I'd been putting off for far too long, I finally pulled the holiday boxes out of the garage to start decorating.

And there she was.

Almost like the cane left in the doorway at the end of my favorite Christmas movie of all time.  I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both.

I hope your holiday was full of warm, spicy, heartstring-tugging miracles, too.

I had the extra hour, so...

I went to the farmers' market and got a pile of organic fruit and vegetables.

And, then I made fruit-flavored candy.

Look, the time changed. I didn't.

Apple Cider Caramels
The basic idea here: Concentrate fresh cider into the most flavorful sweet-tart-apple-y syrup stuff you can imagine.  OMG already, right?  Then, add butter and sugar and cream.  And, because it's exactly what these need to be perfect, just top that off with a little cinnamon and flaky sea salt.  These chewy, intense little bites of Fall are rich and tangy and sweet and salty all at the same time and I loved them.

I'm not going to post the recipe, because I simply followed the original, from Deb of SmittenKitchen, to a tee without adapting a thing.  It is available online here and also in her wonderful cookbook*.  The most important two things about making these are to let the apple cider really boil down (mine took nearly an hour), and to let the caramel cook to the firm ball stage  (about 250 degrees) so the candy will have that perfect soft caramel texture.

* The reminder to give these a try came from a lovely recent post over on Annie's Eats. (I used a few of my extra minutes to browse the web, too.)  She actually baked her version of Deb's caramels into brown butter sugar cookies.  Damn.  If only I had another 30 minutes....

Best in Show

I would like Jane Lynch to play me in the movie please.

From the LA Times

That's right. 

The latest sequel to The Marvelous Misadventures of the Fabulous Baker Girls (and the lesser known but no less heartbreaking Scientific Method of Pie, and If at First You Don't Succeed, Pie, Pie Again) has an incredible surprise ending*.

This pie...

was...

Plus it was the winner of Best Fruit Pie and Best Crust!

I'm speechless with happiness**.  And really full of pie. 

Here's a slideshow from the event, before the unexpected plot twist *** left me with my mouth hanging open in front of all those people and my camera stuck in the bottom of my bag.  

I put an extra pluot on the barbie for you

And some pound cake, too.
Let's just say it was a very good day, mate.

I totally remember watching this on TV, partially because everyone kind of wants to go to Australia and see koalas, but mostly because we couldn't skip the commercials.  I mention this to the kids --- minds BLOWN!

Little Summer Fruit Cakes

There are winter fruitcakes, and there are summer fruit cakes.  Hands down, the summer ones are way better*.

And little vanilla, lemon and almond-laced summer fruit cakes are the best of all.

Hoping I'll be wiser, now that I'm older

The night before our brief spring break getaway, I had literally done nothing to get ready for the trip.   

I hadn't packed.  

I hadn't checked the weather to know what I ought to have packed.  

In fact, I hadn't bothered to go through the laundry to see if there were clean clothes of any kind for me to pack, regardless of the weather forecast.

There was no gas in the car.

This, by the way, is not a clever metaphor for my state of mind that evening. 

The tank of the car was empty FOR REAL.

I did not have a to do list.

For example:  1. Get Gas. 2. Pack.

Not even a mental game plan that would have involved making such a list as a first step.

Essentially, I had no idea what I hadn't planned to do and therefore had not yet done.

I was 100% blowing it off.

Instead, that evening I hung out with my brother in law, eating salami and cheese, leftover soup, and an ad hoc salad, commiserating about the lousy job market and watching our respective NCAA brackets implode over a big bottle of red wine.  A friend and her daughter arrived, tired, hungry and eager to catch up.  We obliged them on all counts.

Mid-sip and mid-chat, I looked up at the clock, and all of a sudden it was almost eleven. Wow. It was time to head to the airport and pick up my son.

Only when he was home, really home, safe and exhausted and sound, did it hit me.  

Oh crap, I thought.  I'm supposed to bring dessert*.

Better make three.  Apparently I've got to stay up doing laundry anyway.

NOTE TO SELF.  This may have seemed like the logical thing to do at the time, but you were wrong.  Your family will not be impressed by the extra plum tart** or the chocolate chip cookies you baked fresh that morning, mostly because no one has shampoo.  And it's just plain embarrassing to have to admit to your kids that you have no idea where your wallet is***.  Now that you are, at least on paper, a year older than you were that night, you'll know better.  You can have the wine and cheese, and friends, and brothers-in-law, but make the damn list.

And only make one dessert.

Carpool Wars - Battle: Braise!

When I took my pro chef class, I learned the following:

Braising is a cooking technique, seen often in French cuisine, combining moist and dry heat. It uses heat, time, and moisture to break down the tough connective tissue, collagen, in meat, making it an ideal way to cook tougher cuts. Most often the meat is quickly dry seared in a hot pan, then transferred to a pot with liquids to cook, long and slowly, until the meat is utterly and completely delicious.

Carpool Wars - Battle: Braise! 
A long-simmering summary.

It turns out that I have been braising this post*.

Back in December 2012 (!), the carpool moms had another knock-down, all-out, no-holds-barred, gourmet dinner throw-down.  We raised the stakes by adding a new category, Best Wine Pairing.  We required complementary side dishes.

We braised our butts off.

That memorable evening, meat was falling off of bones all over the place.  Rich, long-simmered sauces were ladled over risotto and silky smooth potatoes and creamy, cheesy polenta.  In the midst of all the heartiness, a gorgeous green salad appeared**.

Then much incredible wine was consumed, and I kind of lost track of the details.  But there was definitely a warm apple tart with cinnamon ice cream in there somewhere.

The contenders:

 Christy F's Asian Style Beef Short Ribs, with Melted Leeks and Creamy Mashed Potatoes.  Ginger, garlic, soy and scallions in the sauce, perfectly tender beef, and the barely caramelized leeks went perfectly with the luxurious spuds.  Wow.

Recipe here.

The short ribs were paired with a gorgeous vintage wine from the host's collection

 My Braised Lamb Shanks with Gremolata and Baked Polenta.  The lamb cooked for hours in tomatoes, onions, stock and wine, with a little fennel and rosemary.  Very tasty.  And the creamy polenta with a slightly toasted top crust was killer.  This was the cover recipe from the October issue of Bon Appetit, so this is actually a double theme post:  Carpool Wars and Cook My Mailbox!

Recipe here.

The lamb was paired with a Biale Petite Syrah, Royal Punishers, one of my all-time favorite wines***.  My friend had just given me this bottle, and I couldn't think of a better reason to crack it open.

Christy D.'s Veal Osso Buco with Saffron Risotto.  Can you say decadent?  I thought you could.  Her sauce was deeply flavored, with cloves, bay leaves, sage and thyme.  I loved this one.

Recipe here.

A Shiraz married with the veal.  They were quite well matched, if I do say so myself.

The judges ate, and drank, and considered.

In the end, our hostess' Short Ribs (justifiably) ruled!  My wine pairing received accolades, and Christy D's presentation once again impressed****.   As much as everyone loved Battle: Brunch and Battle: Taco, the consensus was that we'd outdone ourselves yet again.

But that might have been the wine talking.
And the apple tart.

Worst Supporting Freezer Nominee

Tonight, when other people in this town are gliding down the red carpet in Dolce & Gabbana, dripping with Fred Leighton jewels amid the frenzied screams of paparazzi and the glare of the spotlights, I will be lying on the floor of my kitchen with a blow dryer and an ice pick in a vain attempt to resuscitate my Sub Zero refrigerator from hell.  

I can't even make a good drinking game out this.  Why?

Because I HAVE NO F@%#ING ICE to put in the F@%#ING DRINKS!!!

Is it possible for an appliance to be a drama queen, because if so, this...this...overpriced, over-rated, over-the-hill diva has just frigging NAILED it.
Bring on the golden eunuch.
It wins.

Don't feel sorry for her.  I'm the victim here.  My shelves are groaning with all the leftovers and Trader Joe's crap and sausage meat and frozen corn (six packages of frozen corn, really?!?)  that no one in this house will ever eat.  How am I supposed to circulate air when there is literally not an inch of open space anywhere? It is my fault that my coil has completely frozen over from neglect?  Why doesn't she get a competent repairman in here, or just put me out of my misery and replace me already? Go ahead, ask her. You'll see. 

What's that?  Why don't I just get a new fridge, like my husband so generously offered as a Christmas gift after the last incident?

Um.

Because I thought that if we had to replace the fridge anyway, we might as well tear down a few walls and remodel the kitchen while we were at it.

So I have to interview a few architects first.

Craziest wife in a lead role. 
Bring on the golden eunuch. 
She wins.*
And somebody better get that ice pick away from her.

If you happen to have a functional freezer, and can grab a few amazing Cara Cara oranges from Trader Joe's** or your local market, I'd highly recommend making this.  These oranges are a gorgeous blush pink inside, and are extra sweet with a hint of berry flavor.  I've made marvelous mimosas with them, but love this sorbet even more.  It's bursting with orange flavor and the addition of ginger and mint gives it that little hint of elegance that a special evening like this deserves.

For most people.  I'll be having something made with defrosted corn.