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So, I'm happily ensconced in the Cookbook section of my favorite bookstore the other day. Bookstores are dangerous places for me. I generally leave with far more than I ever intended to purchase. The feel of the glossy new cover, the hidden gems of information waiting inside, the thrill of adding to my collection. I think I may be a cookbook addict and I'm not afraid to admit it, by gosh! I like to sit on the floor and go through books at my own pace. It's way more comfortable than the paralyzing, hunched over-right leaning-neck twist that one otherwise endures.
I had picked up two books. One was Elisa Strauss' new book of Kids Cakes which I was really excited about. The other was just a little Nestle's book that had some fun homey things.
And then, there it was. Demolition Desserts by Elizabeth Falkner.
OK, I admit it. I've had a huge chef crush on Elizabeth Falkner since I first read about her in (probably) Food Arts magazine maybe 10 or so years ago. Her humor and artistic sense when it came to dessert creation had me at "Retro Tropical Shag" and I've been a loyal follower of her career ever since. Her appearance as a guest judge on a racy episode of Top Chef a couple of years ago was fun and unexpected.
I had the good fortune of seeing her at a conference in San Francisco many years ago. It was at the California Culinary Academy and Elizabeth was doing a chocolate demonstration. It was quite warm in the small room where the demo was being held and she commented a couple of times on this. Suddenly, she dropped to the floor in a dead faint. Naturally we were all shocked and concerned but she came to almost immediately. Her assistants had her lay on the floor for a bit and then she stood up, took off her chef coat, and picked up right where she had left off. What a pro. I tried to talk to her after the demo but was tongue tied and star struck and said something really stupid and I'm sure she thought I was a dork. Which, by the way, I am!
Whenever I am in San Francisco, stopping by Citizen Cake is always on my list of must-do's. Once, I was driving back to San Diego from Napa Valley and made a quick detour into the city just to have breakfast there. The restaurant has gone through many changes over the years but it never loses it's allure for me.
But, back to the book. I have read it cover to cover and loved every page. Her playful, yet completely professional approach will appeal to the seasoned pastry person as well as the non-professional. She uses terms and techniques which "we" understand but goes on to explain them so as to educate the NP's as well. Crisp, beautiful closeup photographs, backstories behind many of the recipes, and her use of intriguing, unexpected ingredients make one want to run out and buy xanthan gum to whip up a batch of marshmallows! She's as interested in the humble chocolate chip cookie as she is in the uber-sophisticated Banana Foster Cane Split-pineapple sashimi, strawberry sorbet, strawberry brunoise, bananas foster with rum, cacao nib streusel, vanilla gel, melted chocolate, cilantro-mint oil, brandied cherries. Whew! The graphics and fonts are unusual but unobtrusive. Her brother's adorable illustrations in the Japanese comic manga style add to the entertainment element of the book. And those recipe titles! S'More a Palooza, Suddenly Last Summer, Lovelova, Cherries of the Corn, Cocoshok. Inspired!
Generally speaking, I buy cookbooks for inspiration. Ideas for plating, new ingredients or techniques, composition. I don't usually use the recipes. I think I'll be making an exception with this book. Elizabeth, you're the Bomb!
Oh, I almost completely forgot! See, since I've become a Worker Bee, I've also had to put myself on a tight budget. So, unfortunately, I had to make a choice between Demo Desserts, the Elisa Strauss book and the Nestle's book. I guess you know who won me over. Elisa, maybe next month, cause I STILL really want your book, too. Nestle-a brief fling that, for 7.99, I will forgo and use toward a couple of lattes while I re-read Elizabeth's book.
The lyrics for this song go particularly well with the following post. If you aren't familiar with Patty Griffin, this is a great introduction to her beautiful, haunting voice. It's an exceptional album as well. Very tasty! Hope you enjoy it.
Shut uuuuup! Seriously? Well, it's true. There ARE other desserts that merit musings just as much as cake and nobody muses better than Peter Jensen. I've always enjoyed reading San Diego Home/Garden Lifestyles magazine but sorely miss Peter's monthly column, Picture Window. I'm not ashamed to say that I've shed more than a tear or two over his beautiful prose.
With his permission, the following:
Musings on apple pie...
I’ll take a slice
by Peter Jensen
Somewhere just beyond a rain-slick parking lot beneath a buzzing neon sign, inside a glass door that swings shut to block the diesel rumble of a tractor-trailer rig idling in the still night air to the side of the interstate, with the cold, blue TV-light stain of dawn breaking somewhere off over the Colorado River, atop a cheap pot-metal turnstile stand beneath a plastic hood…waits my perfect slice of apple pie.
I know she’s there, served up by a gal who calls me Hon and wears her long auburn hair up under a paper cap and has those soulful truck-stop eyes above cheeks rouged with the kitchen heat and has heard every manner of tired come-on, complaint, and compliment.
But after all these years I’ve never quite found her. The pie, that is.
I know she’s a she, because aren’t all wonderful nurturing things in this world feminine? And surely if one were to be an apple, peeled and sliced, your only remaining consolation in life would be a long bake inside the embrace of two flaky crusts, the top one perforated to let your fragrant steam fill the oven and then burst forth into the kitchen when you’re soft and redolent and just a little bit cinnamony to tell some humble Searcher that yes, you can look homeward to mother once again, angel, no matter where you are.
The search began in early childhood, at an age little past squalling. I could barely see over the counter of grandmother Agnes’s kitchen in St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin, while she prepared the crusts for two pies. Puffs of flour released themselves from beneath an ever-thinning sheet of flour, water and lard as her big wooden rolling pin clunked and pushed the dough’s glacier edge across a well-dusted cutting board.
I’d already watched in fascination as her quick hands snicked the skins off a bowl of Granny Smiths or pippins with a potato peeler that made a little clicking noise, back and forth, back and forth. She’d sliced the apples with one of her ultra-worn kitchen knives. All of her working cutlery had been sharpened so many times that the blades were skinny memories of their former selves. I still have one of those knives in my kitchen drawer: a hand-me-down long meat knife with a blade now no more than a half-inch thick along its length.
Her favorite paring knife was nothing more than a carbon-steel blade of grass, but wickedly sharp. Women in those days, at least in that Little Scandinavia part of the country, didn’t usually put vegetables or fruit on a chopping board to slice it. They held it in their hand, while the other pulled the blade toward a bracing thumb. In that way the carrots, the celery, or at that moment in Agnes’s kitchen, the apple slices, fell directly into a big crockery bowl and you didn’t have to gather them up from an ungainly pile on the board.
One of her pies was always apple. The other might be the fruits of the season, often combined in ways that back then struck me as astonishing. Still do. Raspberry-rhubarb-peach. Nectarine-raspberry. When you mix a stone fruit with a berry, especially fine things happen. These would battle with the apple pies for supremacy in the family, but no matter how tasty the experiment, one thing was sure: there would always be apple. Pure, simple, American, apple pie.
And always the fruit held inside a crust that no-one else seemed capable of equaling: leafy and layered, shatteringly fresh but of solid, structural integrity to hold in what must be held in. A good crust must be both a stern and controlling corset as well as a tender striation of fat and flour.
Nowadays, after the Dark Ages of food manufacturers and heart surgeons telling us that butter and lard are kitchen dinosaurs that simply must be replaced by Crisco and margarine (which all turned out to be a crock of hydrogenated bull anyway), the use of butter is back. But lard? Oh my. Nobody uses lard, do they?
Of course Agnes did, and so would her daughter, my mother. There is no substitute for lard in a pie crust, and all the better if you could get it cold and unadulterated (what would now be called “artisanal”) from my grandfather Jim, proprietor of Thompson’s Market and butcher shop, the little river-town store that had been in the family since 1866 and was still going strong over 100 years later when I was a kid.
When the pies came out, they went over by the window, the one that faced away from the river and up toward the Methodist church on the corner. No shadow of a cross fell over them, but they were still blessed as they were cooled by the St. Croix air that flowed off the upper farmlands and down into that glacier-melt-carved valley.
Maybe they were served with ice cream. Maybe not. A slice of sharp Wisconsin cheddar was something my mother liked, I think, but honestly all I remember is the pie, and I’ve been looking for it ever since.
Not long ago I drove down the hill to our house in San Diego, a hill of sandstone, not glacial till pushed off the Canadian shield, a hill with pines that don’t look anything like the Barrens back home, nor does the air roll in through a window with that sweet kiss of alfalfa. A home with no Agnes or Mary. A home with a rolling pin that hides in the bottom of a drawer, little used in this age of everyone driving off to work, every day.
The kitchen was a disaster. Flour covered the countertops and a big cutting board. Dishes, bowls, everywhere. On a wire rack near the stove above a granite counter (Agnes would have gazed upon this as if it was a precious gem) sat an apple pie that looked suspiciously just like the ones the ladies in my family used to make. It smelled like the ones the ladies in my family used to make. And when I took my first bite, it tasted just like the ones the ladies in my family used to make.
“Why wouldn’t it?” my wife said, somewhat indignant. “After all, your mother taught me, didn’t she? Just like Agnes taught her.”
Then I knew (especially since she will teach a daughter-in-law someday) that at least one perfect apple pie in America will always be found somewhere, sometime, between the two shores of this land, our land.
And if you’re lucky, you might even get called Hon.
Although the title of this blog is "The View From the Top of the Cake", that View is going to have to change for a while and maybe should be retitled to something like, "The View from the Empty Plate the Cake was Sitting On".
After a particularly depressing couple of months sans viable income, I'm finally a worthwhile, taxpaying citizen once again. And thank you to all of the people who sent uplifting and encouraging e-mails after the demise of my business. Despite the "fail once, fail again and fail better" mantra that is supposed to drive one on to try harder, it just wasn't doing it for me and I needed some time off for my brain to stop it's beating me up for failing, yes, once again. I needed a job where I had no responsibilities other than to do what I was told to do. Not easy, for a number of reasons.
First, I felt the pressure to get a job quickly, just to be able to pay my bills. Aside from designing really awesome cakes, the only thing I know how to do well is desserts. However, I had not actually participated in the Prduction part of my company for many years. To say I'm a bit rusty is an understatement.
Second, people had a difficult time wrapping their heads around the fact that a former business owner might want to come into their bakery and make danishes, and cinnamon rolls, and muffins at 6am, and did I understand that this would be extremely tiring, physical labor and I would be getting DIRTY? They had this preconceived notion that, as cake designers, we sit on our asses all day, leisurely painting beautiful curlicues on cakes and dreaming of our next ethereal creation. Please see my entry from June 26 entitled the Mother of All Wedding Weekends to get an idea of what is really involved in our business.
Third, there was the issue of wages. I had no expectations in this area. Pay me what the job is worth to your business. Don't NOT consider hiring me because you think you could never afford to pay me what you THINK I think I should be making. I cannot afford to be a Prima Donna. I need a job to live. Period.
And so it came to pass that I was offered a job as a Pastry Cook at, let's call it Really Major Hotel Chain, to be referred to from here on out as RMHC. I have never worked for a hotel so the corporate environment is completely foreign to me. Not negatively, just different. It is a giant organism made up of layers and layers of cells, each asnswering to a cell above it. But, it seemed perfect for me. I could be absorbed into the inner workings of this organism and disappear for a while.
The week I started happened to be the busiest week this very new hotel had yet had. An important group of guests was in and needed to be wowed with all aspects of our hotel. The Culinary Team was called to meetings several times to impress upon us the need for perfection in our work. Everyone knew they would be working lots of overtime. I've got a really high energy level and as long as what I'm doing is appreciated and contributes to the success of a project, I'm like the Energizer Bunny. Well, it was indeed a trial by fire.
The pastry department consists of about 6 people and those people need to be able to produce a large volume of product quickly and efficiently. They are also constantly being plagued by the inevitable changes to orders and those nasty "pop ups", orders needed, like, now?
As everybody knows, being a new employee is not pleasant, anywhere. You don't know where anything is. Ingredients, equipment, utensils, recipes, other kitchens, elevators- all might as well be on another planet. It's a freaking nightmare. And what's worse is, you know that these people need you to know these things and it's frustrating to everyone that you don't. Not that they don't understand, it's just that you're basically USELESS and they know it's faster to do whatever it is they need to do, themselves. Six days in a row of 10-14 hour days, the stress of learning an all new environment under extreme pressure, and smarting from the typical kitchen torture by "those in power", Witholding information, watching while you did something incorrectly and then announcing your stupidity, errands almost guaranteed to fail, scathing sarcasm. It was enough to give a girl a REALLY BIG HEADACHE, darn it all! Fortunately, everybody ELSE is super nice and after that week, business returned to a somewhat normal pace. I've been able to actually learn some production methods, acquired my own tools, figured out the various places recipes can be located (of course, they WOULDN'T be anyplace logical like a MAIN BOOK.....), and today, the best thing happened. They actually gave me chef coats that fit! No more looking like a little kid wearing my Dad's clothes! Hey! It's the little things, you know?
So, this is my new life. I cannot say that it in any way feeds my soul or fulfills my artistic needs. But it's a job. And in these unpredictable times, I feel quite lucky to have it.
Being unemployed during the holidays is somewhat bittersweet. Everyone in the baking industry knows that December is the month NOBODY gets a day off, family plans are put on the back burner, and holiday shopping gets squeezed in between the crocquembouches, the Buches de Noel and the billions of gingerbread men. We always used to wistfully wonder what it would be like to have a "normal" holiday, one where we could excitedly look forward to festive partying, driving around at night to see all the fabulous lights and decorations, and leisurely wrapping gifts while sipping hot buttered rums.
Well, for almost the first time in my adult life, I get to experience a Normal Holiday Season. Because I don't even HAVE a job. Therein lies the "bitter" part of the "sweet". And no, I have no burning desire to make cookies or fruitcakes at home. Alas, no job also means no dough (pardon the pun) so shopping is not on my To Do list. In fact, about the only thing on my To Do list is GET A JOB. So, that's been my focus.
But, in between perusing CraigsList and HospitalityJobs each day I've managed to get in some overdue reading and some little projects that have absolutely nothing to do with my idling career. I decided to deal with some jewelry I've had hidden away in a box for almost 30 years. Finally, charms have made a comeback, thanks to Tiffany's, Juicy Couture, etc. Waaay back before I became a Cake Girl, I thought I might be a Jewelry Girl. I became quite proficient at a beautiful type of jewelry called Cloisonne which proved far too labor intensive to actually make a living at but did leave me with a lot of pieces I never wore or sold. Brainstorm. How about just packing them all onto one amazing "charm" necklace? And there you have it. A necklace worthy of a festive party frock, should a party happen to pop up. Or maybe I'll just wear it with my Santa pajamas, sip some hot cider and watch It's a Wonderful Life. Doesn't get much better than that!
Happy Holidays to one and all!
Not the beverage one usually thinks of for this holiday, I know. But for me, particularly appropriate as I've been given a really huge batch of lemons and need to make SOMETHING good out of them. Or maybe I should make my famous lemon tart? The one that's traveled with me over the last 25 years from Chicago to San Diego. Yes, I think that might be more appreciated as a refreshing alternative to the ubiquitous pumpkin pie.
My goal when creating this blog was to make it informative, entertaining and above all, an expression of the joy that I have for designing and bringing into reality, cake. Quite seriously, cake has been the subject I've thought about, every single day, for almost half of my life. Isn't that wild? That one could make a living with flour, sugar, butter, eggs and a whole freaking lot of Creme de Cacao, is pretty amazing. And as an added bonus, I've been able to make countless numbers of people break into hand clapping delight and whoops of glee on whatever their special occasion might have been. AlI in all, I think I've been one lucky Cake Girl.
So, it is with some trepidatiton that I sit here on this Thanksgiving Day 2008, pondering my future. Certainly not the future I had envisioned for myself say, five years ago. My business, which I built from nothing almost 22 years ago to the day, is gone. My wonderful bakerettes have been scattered into the wind. I will soon be leaving the home I created as the sanctuary I escaped to each day. I have to get an effing JOB! (Never thought I'd be posting my resume on Monster.com!) And I am now forced to examine that question I always thought I had the answer to........who am I.......now?
And the most infuriating thing about all this? I have to go and change ALL my profiles on MySpace and Facebook and LinkedIn and who knows where else. DAMN! That'll be a job in itself. I have to create a Brand New Me! Hey, that might not be so bad! I can be WHATEVER I WANT! How many people, at the age of 53 (almost), have this opportunity? This freedom? I'd better finish up this post and GET ON IT!
So, my friends. I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving and please, have a big ol' slice of my Lemon Tart. It's truly the best there is. It's made with 53 years of love.
Ah, to be 16 again! NOT!
Well, for some lucky teens, 16 means a big, blowout party where they get to be a princess or a rock star for a day. Almost like a wedding and certainly almost as costly. Just ask Dad! And not all these kids are like the teen-monsters of My Super Sweet 16. They're just really nice people.
Andrea and Miranda live in Yuma, Arizona. They don't know each other. But, amazingly enough they had their Sweet 16 parties on the very same night and they chose me to make their cakes. I have never done anything in Yuma, haven't even been there in, like, 30 years. But I had the honor of making these dream cakes. Each girl had quite a list of requirements for their cake and I tried to incorporate every one of their wishes. They couldn't have been more different in theme or design. Andrea chose a cool icy blue and silver scheme, creating a modern, loungy feel. White fur and hanging crystals. Miranda went all out on color. Fucshia, purple and gold. Satin ribbons and masses of flowers. Paris fashion was the theme.
These are the kinds of cakes we live to make. Pull out all the stops, over the top, blow the roof off design.
Andrea's Sweet 16 cake Miranda's Sweet 16 cake
Andrea's cake began with an edgy posterized collage of Juicy Couture ads surrounded at the top by a "charm bracelet" hung with Juicy charms. The next level was swathed in everyone's favorite iconic print. The third level was an homage to a Betsey Johnson dress bodice, a silky blue sash with a froth of ruffle above and a camelia "pin". Topped off by a lucious Tiffany box and a silvery Sweet 16. Accessories included credit cards, teen fashion magazines (British Vogue with Agynes Deyn specifically requested!), favorite fashion icon logos, and hanging crystals.
A hexagonal base showcased 6 fabulous Parisian ateliers. Topped by 6 of the latest designs in handbag fashion. The third level included signature perfume bottles of Miranda No. 16 and Vera Wang Princess Miranda. And her portrait in progress, most likely by one of those quirky street artists in Montmarte, no? French fashion magazines surrounded the next level and a magnificent jewelled crown sits amidst masses of roses.
mmmmmm. Donuts. Homer Simpson would have LOVED to have been at this wedding. Instead of cake, the couple opted to serve their guests donuts. But there was the dilemma of the traditional "cake cutting" ceremony. So, we made a 10 inch diameter, white chocolate frosted donut, with rock candy "sprinkles". Very creative, don't you think?
Here in California, we are being blessed (at least for a while-who knows what November will bring) with a whole new area of business. Same sex marriages. Whether you agree with the concept or not, you can't argue with the added revenue. I wanted to share this snapppy little topper the couple artistically reworked from some mini action figures.
