Scones at Stardust

I’ve made scones for Stardust a couple times now during my Saturday baking stints.  I’ve made them with blueberries, but this weekend I’m looking to switch it up a bit by using raspberries instead.  Since they’re easy to make and don’t require a lot of ingredients, I can usually get these in the oven within my first hour at the ‘Dust.

The recipe I use is, no surprise, based on one for Cranberry Scones on MarthaStewart.com.  I had originally used cranberries when they were freshly sold in stores last November and December, when the recipe came out in an Everyday Food publication.  Everyday Food is probably my favourite pick from the ominous-sounding Martha Stewart Omnimedia, due to its small, compact size and “normal-people-friendly” recipes.  Good stuff for budding home cooks and bakers, with convenient time estimates to give you an idea of how long it takes to prep and cook the food.

With regards to making the scones, I don’t use a floured surface to work on the dough, as it calls for in the recipe.  I find that working with the dough on a flat surface covered with parchment paper seems to work just fine, rather than using more flour.  Also, the original recipe calls for half-and-half, which I use at Stardust, but when making the scones at home, I use what I normally have on hand: almond milk.  Since I don’t drink milk and only have a cup of coffee maybe once a week, I don’t have whole milk or half-and-half in my fridge.  Almond milk seems to be a fine substitute.

Anyway, feel free to experiment with your own scone making, or come over to Stardust to sample one of mine.  I’ll be there this Saturday, but starting next week, I may be working Sundays at the ‘Dust because of overtime at the Library.  Scones are best eaten the day they’re made, although the day after normally sees them in an okay state, just a bit more moist than before.

Damn you, tiny print!

So, I don’t have the best vision in the world.  I grew up as the girl with the thick glasses, which were passed around in class from kid to kid during free time.  The kid would put my glasses on, and inevitably exclaim something along the lines of “Whoa!  You’re really BLIND!!” as they struggle to make out the laughing face of the next kid who wanted to try the lenses on.

By the time I had gotten into high school, I had begged to get contacts, and, at 14, I started wearing them, thinking that ditching the glasses would mean a one-way ticket to Cool Town.  Well, it didn’t, but I still wear contacts for the most part, and most people wouldn’t have really considered me to have a glasses-wearing past unless I tell them, “Yeah, past a couple of inches beyond my face–can’t see a thing.”

And lately, I’ve been concerned my vision is taking a turn for the worst.  My main culprit for the decline in my vision is the fact I stare at a computer screen for two or more hours pretty much consecutively at a time for work.  While driving and looking for street names, my companion in the seat next to me seems to point out the signs before I do.  Unless it’s Clark without his glasses, and for a moment, I feel a bit better about myself, until I put it into perspective: He’s not wearing contacts, but I am.

*sigh*

Just now, in an effort to make a new recipe called “Chocolate Spice Cookies,” I was at a point where something didn’t seem right.  Sure enough, taking a squintier look at the book, I realise the minuscule fraction next to the “1″ and before the word “cups” was not, as I had thought, 1/2, but 1/4.

Damn it.

So, to fix, or at least lessen, my error, I added a bit more butter, more honey (though the recipe called for maple syrup–I cheated) and more cocoa.  The recipe says to “refrigerate until firm,” but I’m impatient.  Also, I’ve already not followed the directions, so I likely won’t be rolling the dough out, as it wants me to, onto floured plastic sheets or plastic wrap.  My parents are out of plastic wrap, by the way.

This whole event goes to show that: 1) I will likely need a stronger prescription for my next set of contacts; and, 2) I really oughtn’t bake in someone else’s kitchen, like my parents’ kitchen, unless I know I have everything I need, not just what’s on the list of ingredients.

I guess now it’s time to plop this dough on a sheet, bake it, and see what happens.

The Language of Baklava

I finished Diana Abu-Jaber’s memoir The Language of Baklava, which I checked out from the library, and I may have to get a copy of this book. It’s a wonderfully written memoir filled with memories and food recipes, much of which hailing from Abu-Jaber’s Jordanian heritage from her father’s side, but some others that are pulled from other places.

Much like Kim Sunée’s Trail of Crumbs, which is another memoir mixed with recipes, Diana Abu-Jaber’s recollections place a major focal point on the food, which is sensuously described. The recipes seem more attainable, and there are a few that are vegetarian-friendly. The people Abu-Jaber describes, especially her father, are shown lovingly, and I’m particularly fond of her Auntie Aya, the only daughter among many sons. The appearances she makes in Abu-Jaber’s book are memorable–especially the conversation she has while making sweets with a teenage Diana on page 186 that I’ve included in my favourite quotes on my Goodreads profile:

“Marry, don’t marry,” Auntie Aya says as we unfold layers of dough to make an apple strudel. ‘Just don’t have your babies unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“How do I know if it’s necessary?”

She stops and stares ahead, her hands gloved in flour. “Ask yourself, Do I want a baby or do I want to make a cake? The answer will come to you like bells ringing.” She flickers her fingers in the air by her ear. “For me, almost always, the answer was cake.”

Seriously, best reasoning ever.

Being a child of mixed-heritage, I can relate to some of the emotions Abu-Jaber describes with her dad, Bud, and the friction that happens when two cultures and age groups collide, especially during the teen years.  Like Bud, my mother (and father) didn’t want me dating boys, so I used to sneak hanging out with some of them, but lucky for me, I didn’t get into too much trouble.  Well, depending on your point of view.  (To my parents reading: I turned out okay, didn’t I?  All right then.)

It can be hard to pass along culture and language to your children when they’re growing up in an environment different from the one you were raised with, but the easiest conduit of culture is, and always has been, food.  My knowledge of the Filipino dialects is nonexistent, but I can make sweet rice and fried rice, and would love to eventually attempt a vegetarian version of Philippine adobo (it exists!).  I remember the food heritage from my mother and my Philippine aunties, as well as the southern foods made by my father’s family.  Thanksgiving when I was younger would feature fried rice with bacon alongside a slab of ham covered with pineapples, coleslaw, pansit and deviled eggs.

Seeing Abu-Jaber’s version of growing up pulled between two cultures, in addition to her unique personality (very likable) and lovely writing, really makes this book a fantastic read, especially for people who love food and love reconciling culture clashes on the dinner table.

If this sounds like a book you may be keen on, you can read an excerpt and even order a signed copy on the official website for the book and Diana Abu-Jaber by going here. If you live in Orange County, you can borrow a copy of the book from the library, too.

All hail the Guberburger!

So I went to see the film Hamburger America at the Enzian Theater yesterday, along with This is My Cheesesteak. Both films were wonderful takes on food in America. I’m happy the Florida Film Festival included these films this year, because I am such a food lore geek, and I love hearing about the history of little mom & pop establishments, even if they’re serving up a bunch of meat I don’t eat.

This is My Cheesesteak focusing on the iconic Philly cheesesteak sandwich and a few of the sandwich shops and their owners who have made it such an institution in the city. It was a visual love letter to the authentic cheesesteak. My favourite scene was when the cheesesteak owners were shown sampling a Hot Pockets microwavable Philly cheesesteak… and all that were shown trying it spat the bite they took out! It was great. If you want to find out more about this film, the documentary has a website: www.thisismycheesesteak.com. There’s a schedule of other film festivals it will be appearing at, as well as a film trailer, and apparently you will be able to buy the DVD online soon. There’s also a listing of the steak shops featured in the film, with nearly all of them having their own website, so if you’re planning on making a visit to the city, you have your selection of cheesesteaks to try… unless you’re veg like me. Take photos at least, though, because these sort of establishments are a part of food history.

While This is My Cheesesteak showed American cuisine in one city, Hamburger America went all across the foodscape of American to tell these amazing stories about the small businesses and local chains that make up our food culture identity. It fascinated me how these little places scattered around the country are so unique in their history and also their take on the classic American hamburger. The film starts out in Memphis, Tennessee, with a burger whose burger meat is deep-fried, which should come as no surprise to the rest of the Southerners out there. The real kicker is that the meat is fried in grease that’s over 90 years old. The grease is strained and filtered, but essentially it’s still the same grease that was being used nearly a century ago.

As well as Wisconsin’s Butterburger, where a healthy(?) dollop of butter is added into the burger, New Mexico’s burger with chiles, Connecticut’s steamed meat patties (which I actually found more bizarre than the deep-fried burger patties… but then again, half of my heritage is from people raised on vitamin G–grease), there was a little place called the Wagon Weel out in some fly-over state that puts peanut butter on its hamburger patties. Ah yes, hence it’s known as the Guberburger. During the Q&A section with the director afterwards, someone had asked him which burger was his favourite, and he earnestly said he liked all of them, but he regularly makes the Guberburger at home because of its ease of replication: just add peanut butter.

This inspired me. Later on that evening, with the help of my wonderful friend Marie who bought me a few of the rather essential ingredients, I created a Southeast Asian/vegetarian hommage to the Guberburger. I put lettuce and a sliced-up cherry tomato on the bottom bun, then added some fresh basil leaves, then cooked up a veggie burger patty and plopped in on top. While it was still hot from the pan, I put on a layer of non-hydrogenated peanut butter (stir, stir), then sprinkled on some crunchy bean sprouts and squeezed a proper bit of lime on top of that and on the underside of the top bun as well. It was gorgeous! I forgot to take a photograph, as I was so caught up in wanting to know what it would taste like, but I’ll definitely include another entry of making it with a photograph for my Open Source Food profile. It will be brilliant.

If you missed out on the film, you can buy it on DVD from the Hamburger America website. In addition to the film, George Motz is putting out a book that will showcase more burger establishments in the United States. There’s also a Hamburger America blog, which should keep you up-to-date about the upcoming book tour in, as George Motz put it, the Burger Belt.

Praise the man or woman who came up with the concept of putting peanut butter on a hamburger, and praise films like this that champion the small establishments that contribute to America’s flavour.

Gettin’ all Martha up in my parents’ kitchen

I’m more exhausted than usual after making a cake, because I made this particular cake at my parents’ house. Since I’m living with them, this is the first time I’ve baked anything in their abode, and I admit, I was having some serious moments–shock and awe–upon realising how unprepared my parents’ kitchen was for me.

It all started with these wild lemons my parents got from my Aunt Becky’s ranch. These warty-skinned wonders looked up at me from the basket my parents have them in, and they begged to be made into a tart. Well, I haven’t tried my amateur hand at tarts yet, so the lemons and I agreed upon a cake instead. I looked at the ingredients of an orange cake recipe I had (which I had altered to create this Glazed Orange Spice Cake), and determined the only things I needed to grab was some sour cream and powdered sugar.

So it was off to the nearby Oviedo Publix, which had a lovely NASCAR display, nicely flanked by cubes of Molson Ice or some other nasty equivalent. I picked up the missing ingredients, calling as I meandered the aisles to ask my father how many eggs we had (”We got five!”), then threaded my way past the soccer and lacrosse moms to the check-out aisle, whereupon I believe I creeped the manager bagging my groceries with my “Candy from Strangers” reusable shop bag I got from BlueQ.

Anyhoo, so I get back to my parents, and grab a couple of bumpy wild lemons to zest. However, there’s a problem: my parents do not own a zester. They neither own a grater. Wait, they *think* they own one of the two… so a search ensues. My mother discovers here angel food cake pan, along with a little hand juicer she bought at Publix, but no dice with the zester or a cheese grater. So, after a poor attempt to zest with a steak knife, I moved onto an apple peeler, which produced less than the 4 teaspoons of required zest in an uneven fashion. Oh well, no big deal, it’s good enough.

Then comes the time to measure the ingredients, and so ensues another hunt for measuring cups and spoons. After much, much digging, and some suggestions I outright refused, including what appeared to be the cup for cough syrup (”Well, that’s a teaspoon right there at the notch.”), Ma finally procures a set of measuring cups and a lone measuring spoon–1/2 teaspoon. Lucky for me, the recipe didn’t need anything measured in tablespoons, so I pressed on, considering the irony of the Bed, Bath & Beyond gift certificate I received this past Christmas, when maybe my parents should have picked up a set of measuring spoons with it instead. And a grater, or even more fancy, a microplane.

When it came time for the eggs, I opened up the fridge and, sure enough, there were five eggs. I only needed two, but there was, again, another problem: the eggs had a “Best before” date of January 25th. Folks, that was a month ago to the day.

So, I went back to Publix at around 8 pm, which is around the time most of the single men tend to do their Publix shopping, loading their carts and baskets with frozen foods and Molson Ice. I plunked in my basket eggs (”Best before March 30 ‘08″), measuring spoons and a grater.

After that, I didn’t run into any more problems, and the cake looks good. My ma’s been sticking her face in the cake since it’s been done, and I have to shoo her away, and I poured a lemon glaze over the top. I’ve got to say, it can be pretty exasperating baking and cooking in someone else’s kitchen. I remember the last time I had this much trouble, it was when I was baking biscuits at Mike George’s apartment. The poor man didn’t even have any knives, aside from his pocket knife that he offered, which I declined. I had to wait for Clark to come with a knife from his house so I could cut the dough into little squares for the biscuits.

To be fair, though, everyone’s kitchen is suited to them and how they make–or in some cases, just heat or reheat–food. My parents’ kitchen works for them for the most part, and that’s the important thing. I don’t plan on baking on a daily basis here, although I’m sure my mother would love it if I did.

So what does this wild lemon cake taste like? To be honest… I’m too tired to try it out right now. I took a photo on my digital camera of it post-glaze, and I’m about to cut it in half so that I can take a portion to my someone tomorrow. Of course, I have to relate my tale of guerrilla baking to him in order for there to be an understanding as to all that I went through to make this lemon cake.

I don’t think he reads my blog.

But, apparently, my Granny does! Hey, Granny!

Peanut Butter Cuppage

Over the weekend I made these dead-easy peanut butter cups from a recipe out of my new copy of Everyday Food, a publication from Martha Stewart Omnimedia. Although “Martha Stewart Omnimedia” sounds creepy ominous, Everyday Food is a great little mag, and I’ve been a subscriber for a year now, and recipes like Easy Peanut Butter Cups really make it pay off. If you want to attempt the recipe, keep about four extra ounces of chocolate on hand; I had trouble with the chocolate sticking to the microwavable bowls I was using, and so I wound up nuking up more chocolate to melt in order to scoop ‘em over the peanut butter. Also, my cups wound up a little mottled, but I liked the look a bit better than that of the conventional Reese’s cup. I skipped the peanuts on top, too.

PS: I went onto MarthaStewart.com to look for the chocolate peanut butter cup recipe above, and the front page had this little feature on cupcakes… and the photo/decoration of the cupcakes make them look like breasts with nipples! Okay, the big red dot is a little off in colour, but I guess you can be the judge. In any case, I have a new idea for decorating cupcakes.