How old are you?

We were having an impromptu picnic lunch today in a little park right next to an office complex. There were about a dozen kids running around, and it was clear that it was "outside time" for the complex's day care center. We unpacked our sandwiches and four little girls suddenly materialized right in front of our bench, openly staring.

Them: Who are you?

We introduce ourselves.

They digest this information. The one in the pink dress with the glitter star on it turns and whispers to the one in the striped leggings. She nods, then whispers in the ear of the blond on her right, who also nods. The one on the other end in the rainbow tee is not consulted but does not appear to mind being excluded from the discussion. She's eying our tater tots. They turn as one and confront us again.

Them: (via the pink dress spokesperson, pointing at my niece) How old is she?
My niece: I'm six. How old are you?
Them: (following another brief conference) We're four. Well, some of us are five, but mostly we're four.
Them: (Pointing to me) How old are you?
Me: I'm 44*.

Their mouths drop open and they flee in horror. We eat in peace.

* Which means I am old enough to find this video of a woman who has recently had her office equipment upgraded hysterical.

I am a better aunt than Linda

Things were pretty bleak out in Michigan. Snow everywhere. Mom staying up all night writing grant proposals. Dad on his third real estate agent with no house to show for it. Local relatives unclear on concept of spoiling, instead sending child home from visit with leftover confetti scraps as souvenir.

Honestly.

I personalize the video e-card...

"How about if you get closer to me and come to California TODAY? There's a flight leaving very soon, and you and Mommy can to go to the airport RIGHT NOW and get on it! They're saving a seat for you! I will pick you up and give you a BIG HUG in just a few hours. YAY!! YAY!! YAY!! Then I won't have to miss you anymore. Love, Auntie Shar"

...and hit send.

While I was at it, I parted the clouds and made a rainbow for her arrival, too.


Leftover confetti? Puh-lease.

To do a Tiramisu

I'm sensing a theme in the Daring Bakers challenges I've done thus far*:

Layers.
With cream.
From another country.

This month's challenge?

"The February 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Aparna of My Diverse Kitchen and Deeba of Passionate About Baking. They chose Tiramisu as the challenge for the month. Their challenge recipe is based on recipes from The Washington Post, Cordon Bleu at Home and Baking Obsession. "

And Tiramisu is...

Layers.
With cream.
From another country.

I've noticed another consistent theme, at least in my own personal challenge results: The cream is always the best part**.

And the cream in this Tiramisu seriously rocked. You make your own homemade marscapone cheese. You make zabaglione. You make vanilla pastry creme. You whip heavy cream. You fold them all together. You have seriously made some of the best tasting stuff on earth.

My homemade ladyfingers were pretty, but dry. Scared off by instructions that had me petrified of disintegrating pastry, I failed to soak them long enough to get the hit of coffee and liquor that makes this such a wonderful dessert when done right. But it didn't matter, because I could just eat around that part to get more of the cream. Or better yet, just skip the formalities all together.

The Best Part of My Tiramisu

Step 1: Homemade Marscapone Cheese
Per Monty Python***, I am now among the blessed. You can be blessed, too, or get it already made at Trader Joe's.

2 cups pasteurized whipping cream, preferably organic (between 25% to 36% cream will do)
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Bring 1 inch of water to a boil in a large pot. Reduce the heat to medium-low so the water is barely simmering. Pour the cream into a medium metal mixing bowl, then place the bowl over the simmering water to form a double boiler. Heat the cream, stirring often, to 180 F. If you do not have a thermometer, wait until small bubbles keep trying to push up to the surface. It will take about 15-20 minutes of delicate heating. Add the lemon juice and continue heating the mixture, stirring gently, until the cream curdles. You won't see a separating of curds. All that the whipping cream will do is become very thick, with a few streaks of whey when you stir. It's done when it covers the back of a wooden spoon thickly. Remove the bowl from the water and let cool for about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, line a sieve with four layers of dampened cheesecloth and set it over a bowl. Transfer the mixture into the lined sieve. Do not squeeze the cheese in the cheesecloth or press on its surface (be patient, it will firm up after refrigeration time). Once cooled completely, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate (in the sieve) overnight or up to 24 hours.

Keep refrigerated and use within 3 to 4 days.

Step 2: Zabaglione
Again with the double boiler.

2 large egg yolks
3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 cup Marsala wine (or port or coffee) - I used a wonderful red dessert wine
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

Heat water in a large pot. (See the whole marscapone set up). In a large metal mixing bowl, mix together the egg yolks, sugar, the Marsala (or espresso/ coffee), vanilla extract and lemon zest. Whisk together until the yolks are fully blended and the mixture looks smooth.

Place your bowl over the pan/ pot with simmering water. Cook the egg mixture over low heat, stirring constantly, for about 8 minutes or until it resembles thick custard. It may bubble a bit as it reaches that consistency.

Let cool to room temperature. Cover and refrigerate at least 4 hours or overnight, until thoroughly chilled.

Step 3: Vanilla Pastry Cream
Still whisking over the stove, but no boiling water needed.

1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 large egg yolk
3/4 cup whole milk

Mix together the sugar, flour, lemon zest and vanilla extract in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan. To this add the egg yolk and half the milk. Whisk until smooth. Place the saucepan over low heat and cook, stirring constantly to prevent the mixture from curdling. Add the remaining milk a little at a time, still stirring constantly. After about 12 minutes the mixture will be thick, free of lumps and beginning to bubble. (If you have a few lumps, don’t worry. You can push the cream through a fine-mesh strainer.)

Transfer the pastry cream to a bowl and cool to room temperature. Cover with plastic film and refrigerate at least 4 hours or overnight, until thoroughly chilled.

Step 4: Whipped Cream
I know this one!

1 cup chilled heavy cream (we used 25%)
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine all ingredients in a chilled metal mixing bowl. Using electric mixer with chilled beaters, beat until light and fluffy.

Step 5: Magnifico! Bravo! Fantastico!
Combine 1/3 c. of that marscapone, the zabaglione, and the vanilla cream until smooth. Fold in the whipped cream. Get out your spoon and prepare to be completely blissed out.

If you have baked up some ladyfingers and mixed some strong coffee with sugar and a splash of liquor, you can now make Tiramisu if you want by soaking said cookies in the coffee mixture for a second or so on each side, and then layering the cookies, the cream, the cookies, the cream, and so forth in a nice dish. Put the whole thing in the fridge overnight, dust with cocoa power and dive in.


Personally, I'd recommend skipping the whole ladyfinger thing, slicing some strawberries and spooning a whole bunch of the marscapone cream on top. You can have a cup of coffee (spiked or not) on the side. Multo bene!

* Multilayered hungarian torte, French puff pastry cups, French macarons, and Nanaimo bars from Canada. See what I mean?
** Mocha buttercream, braised short ribs with creme fraiche (perhaps stretching the definition of cream, but still), creamy peanut butter filling, and Kahlua cream cheese frosting, respectively.
***

At least I didn't have to make a dorky toga out of a bedsheet this week

My daughter's class has just begun a study of Ancient Greece. Like countless other parents, I've been beset by the reintroduction of vaguely remembered gods and godesses into everyday conversation (Prometheus? Didn't he do that triangle equation? Or was he the fire guy?) and am living in dread of the costume drama and the associated gold braid and fig leaf crowns that will certainly ensue. So you can picture my muted response to this one:

Her: Hey, Mom! Guess what? I have the coolest homework for the Greek study!
Me: That's nice, honey. Your dad should be home soon, and I know he'd love to hear all about it.
Her: But...
Me: Really, he's great with all those Olympians. He's practically a Greek god himself*.
Her: But...
Me: And your brother, despite being barricaded in his room hiding from you right now, I think would be open to bribery if you need any help. I'll even pay.
Her: But it's COOKING!
Me: It's...Oh! Well...great! Let's get started!

It turns out she's volunteered to make a dish and bring it in to feed the class this week. She pulls a cookbook out of her backpack, a personal loan from her amazing teacher. There are tons of great options to choose from, so we decide to do a test run of a few at home and pick a winner from there. She's all over that plan. Post-it notes are stuck to three recipes, then she and the book disappear and she returns with a detailed shopping list. "Don't forget anything!" she admonishes me when I drop her at school the next day. With a determined look on her face, she takes over the kitchen that evening, demoting me to lamb-cuber, onion-slicer and clean-up crew**.

And then, my oh-so-mortal girl proceeded to make a dinner that was fit for the gods. Whatever their wacky names might be.

In the background is an Arugula Salad with Ginger-Date Vinaigrette nestled in a Parmesan bowl

All the recipes she made are from The Philosopher's Kitchen, a fascinating collection of modern interpretations of ancient foods. I've just ordered a copy and can't wait to try more of these recipes when it arrives. This lamb dish was incredible!


Lamb Skewers with Fruited Mint Pesto

1/4 c. raspberry or other fruit vinegar
2 Tbs. golden raisins
4 pitted dates, minced
1 tsp. honey
2 Tbs. toasted pine nuts
2 Tbs. grated Parmesan cheese
1 c. fresh mint leaves
3 Tbs. olive oil
1 lb. boneless leg of lamb, cut into 1-inch cubes
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
8 small wooden skewers, soaked in water

Simmer the vinegar, raisins, dates and honey in a small saucepan over medium heat until raisins are soft, 2-3 minutes. Allow to cool to room temperature. Puree this mixture, along with the pine nuts and the Parmesan cheese, in a food processor until smooth. Add the mint leaves and pulse until minced. Slowly add the olive oil and continue blending until smooth. Toss the lamb cubes with 1/2 of the pesto in a large bowl. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, and as long as 12 hours. Season remaining pesto with salt and pepper to taste, cover and refrigerate.

Preheat grill or broiler. Liberally sprinkle the lamb with salt and pepper. Evenly divide the lamb cubes between the skewers and grill or broil until the lamb reaches the desired doneness, about 2 minutes per side for medium. Serve with the reserved pesto on the side.

Noting selflessly that there are several vegetarians in the class, she's decided to serve these decadent Honey Feta Griddle Cakes to her friends at school.

* When we were applying for our first rental house together, we had to meet the agent at his West Hollywood office. When my now-husband, then-boyfriend walked in, the dapper older gentleman representing the owner drew in a breath and said, "You didn't tell me you were bringing Adonnis!" We got the house, and I got a stomach cramp from laughing so hard in the parking lot afterward.
** I could have personally filmed a week's worth of material for Dirty Jobs.

Bitter is better

Here is selective list of things that are much more enjoyable when they are bitter:

1. Dinner companions at a banquet
2. Authors of humorous essay collections*
3. Leafy green vegetables


Sauteed Black Kale with Pancetta

Adapted** from The Gastrokid Cookbook (which, despite being upbeat and cheerful, is quite enjoyable)

A couple of bunches of black kale (cavalo nero), or other kale variety of your choice
Olive oil
1/4 c. diced pancetta
2 cloves of garlic, chopped
1/4-1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Lemon juice

Wash and then drain the kale. Very roughly chop it into 2-inch pieces, discarding the tough stems and any stringy looking pieces. In a large saucepan, bring lightly salted water to a boil. Add the kale, and blanch until just tender, about 5 minutes. Drain completely in a colander.

Heat a large skillet over medium heat, then add a little olive oil and the pancetta. Cook until the pancetta is beginning to brown and crisp, then toss in the garlic, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper. Add the drained kale and cook, stirring frequently, for about 5 minutes. Spritz with a little lemon juice and serve.***


* Some of my favorite bitter essayists are David Sedaris, Jen Lancaster, Laurie Notaro, and Angela Nissel. Worthy titles from each: Holidays on Ice, Bitter is the New Black, We Thought You Would be Prettier, and The Broke Diaries.
** My adaptation was, of course, to add the Italian bacon.
*** I ate up these intensely flavorful greens with creamy cheesy grits. Virtuous yet self defeating in the same meal. If I was a bitter person, I'd be wryly commenting on this for sure. Hopefully to my acerbic dinner companion over cocktails.

Just one more, then I'll stop

Mom was on a roll today*. We were driving home, and she was all abuzz about Tiger Woods' upcoming news conference. After making sure I was aware of the scheduled date, time and format (this Friday, 8 am, a statement lasting 5-7 minutes, no questions), her hopes and dreams for him came pouring out.

Me: Are you really going to watch that, Mom?
Her: Oh yes! Everyone will. Oprah's going to be watching, too. Before all this mess, Oprah said he was the son she never had**. You just know she's been crushed. We all have.
Me: I'm OK, actually.
Her: You know what I mean. It's just so sad to see that family falling apart. The kids are so little! I've been hoping and praying for them to stay together.
Me: But he's completely abused the whole notion of what it means to be a husband and a father!
Her: I know, I know. But guess what?
Me: What?
Her: He bought her a yacht.
Me: He bought her a yacht?
Her: Yes. That's such a good sign.
Me: A sign of what?
Her: For the marriage! That they're communicating! He had to at least talk to her enough to know where to send it, right?

She pauses.

Her: It's a start anyway.

Stay tuned.

* Her other observation was about how nice it was that Hillary didn't leave Bill, so that when he had his heart attack the other day, Chelsea didn't have to choose between her parents and they could all just visit each other as a family.
** True story. The episode aired in 2002.

Haitian Relief - Update!

Angelina has apparently told CNN that "it is not the right time for Haitian adoptions". I, on the other hand, have an open box of Entenmann's Cinnamon Donuts Pop 'ems on the front seat of my car.

Score: Angelina - 1, Me - 0.