redacted recipes

50 Ways to Leave (Your 40s)

 

Dear everyone, you have no idea how much your comments are appreciated. Getting an email notification that someone has left a comment here is like getting a present. Thank you all for reading and letting us know you've been reading Redacted Recipes. And to those of you who write your blogs, the ones I keep coming back to (you know who you are), thank you for the ongoing inspiration, laughs and wisdom.

It's my birthday tomorrow and I will be half a century old. I've never really liked having a birthday on New Year's Day. Aside from the single advantage of always having the day off it's not a great time for a celebration, as everyone is hung-over from the night before and burned out from the Christmas holidays. And, of course, it's impossible not to think about new beginnings and resolutions. I don't make resolutions anymore (I resolved to give that up when I was about fifteen), but I thought I'd mark this occasion with a list of what I've learned so far in my life. Without further ado:

1)  It's perfectly okay not to know something. Saying "I don't know" means you have opened the opportunity to learn something.
2)  Children (if you have done your job) are the very best mirrors in the world
3)  Books are the best form of escapism
4)  Black and white is easy but shades of gray are far more rewarding
5)  One minute is a long time if you are waiting for something in the microwave
6)  Five seconds is a long time if you are waiting for a webpage to load
7)  Fifty years is not a very long time at all when it is your life
8)  Age is relative, and older doesn't always mean wiser
9)  Babies are delicious
10) There is always a choice
11) Love is a promise
12) Mistakes are inevitable
13) Forgiveness takes practice
14) Behaving well is an investment in yourself
15) You can always start over
16) Making a living is not the same thing as making a life
17) I’d rather be respected than liked
18) Less is not always more
19) Doubt will serve better than certainty
20) Sometimes silence is the wisest response
21) Second chances are a good thing
22) Sometimes "no" is the right answer
23) Taking credit for something you did not do or that does not belong to you will make you smaller
24) Over time anything will start to feel normal. Be careful of this
25) Let the more loving one be me is an excellent way to try to live a life
26) Memory is often unreliable
27) Sit back and let someone else drive for a while. You might end up somewhere amazing
28) Eavesdropping in restaurants can be very rewarding
29) Disagreeing with someone is not the same as attacking them
30) Knowing about something is not the same as doing it
31) Conversely, the fact that you did something does not make you an expert
32) Working with your hands leaves your brain with room to roam
33) Deciding to make a list of 50 interesting lessons learned might be overly ambitious
34) It is not necessary to inflict your opinions on others
35) Blaming other people only highlights an inability to take responsibility
36) Nobody "makes me" feel anything
37) Enthusiasms are fun but transitory
38) Beautiful shoes are seldom comfortable; comfortable shoes are seldom beautiful; beautiful, comfortable shoes are worth their weight in gold and should be bought in every color
39) Gardening is great therapy
40) Making food for someone you love is a gift
41) Sometimes you have to know something more than once (said by my youngest daughter when she was about six years old)
42) Expecting people to read your mind is like expecting to win the lottery
43) You are not obligated to justify your beliefs to anyone
44) Politics and religion are not appropriate topics at the office
45) You never really know people as well as you think you do
46) Living alone can be wonderful
47) Choosing to live with another person is a gift. Don't be stingy about it
48) If you're thinking something nice about someone, tell them
49) Picking a fight is a not a good way to get attention
50) Eating asparagus with your fingers is okay and so is putting your elbows on the table

Happy New year.

Za'atar Bread

Well, I seem to be on a roll here with Middle Eastern flatbreads.  I enjoyed making lahmajouns so much that I decided to tackle another favorite-- flatbread with za'atar and olive oil.

Za'atar originates in the Middle East (I won't invite any controversy by claiming to know where), and can be loosely described as a mixture of herbs, including thyme, marjoram and oregano. The mixture is popular in Lebanon, Turkey, Morocco, Syria, Jordan, Israel and North Africa and within the Armenian diaspora.

There is a lot of debate about what za'atar actually is. Some claim that the word za'atar refers to local herbs belonging to the mint family, such as thyme, marjoram and oregano; some maintain that za'atar is simply a mixture of herbs and spices; while others swear that za'atar is a specific herb now in danger of extinction and illegal to harvest.

While many za'atar recipes call for sumac (red za'atar), the essentials of za'atar are the blended herbs (green za'atar). Whatever the blend, za'atar is used to spice meats and vegetables or mixed with olive oil to make a spread (baked on a dough base for the Middle-Eastern equivalent of a miniature pizza) and can also sprinkled on labneh (yogurt that has been drained until it becomes a tangy, creamy cheese).

I like it on bread and this is the recipe for za'atar I used (I didn't have sumac in the house and just skipped it and called it green za'atar):

Za'atar

2 teaspoons oregano
2 teaspoons basil
2 tablespoons ground thyme
1 teaspoon whole thyme
2 teaspoons savory
2 teaspoons ground marjoram
1/2 teaspoons whole dry marjoram
1-2 tablespoons sumac berries, crushed
1/4-1/2 cup unhulled, toasted sesame seeds, ground coarsely
1 teaspoon of salt (or to taste)

Grind or crush the sesame seeds first and then crush the sumac (separate from the sesame seeds). Then crush everything together with a pestle or the back of a spoon, or put it into a zipper plastic baggie, press out the air, seal, and roll over it with a rolling pin until the desired mix and texture is achieved. It should be a little coarse with the sesame seeds still recognizable-- so don't try to achieve a fine powder.

Flatbread with Za'atar

This recipe is from Mediterranean Street Food by Anissa Helou and makes a thicker, more pliable round of flatbread than the recipe I used for lahmajoun.

1/2 teaspoon active dry yeast mixed with 1/4 cup of tepid water
1 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour + more for kneading
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup water
3 tablespoons za'atar mixed with 1/4 - 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Combine the flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. Make a well in the center and pour in the 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Work the oil into the flour with your fingers, then add the yeast water and mix until the mixture begins to come together. Add another 1/4 cup water gradually, mixing with your hand until the mixture cleans the bowl and has come together into a slightly sticky dough. Knead briefly on a lightly floured surface, dusting with flour if needed, then cover with an inverted bowl and let rest 15 minutes.

Knead the dough, dusting with as little flour as possible, until it is smooth, 1 to 2 minutes. Shape into a ball, cover with a damp cloth and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

Divide the dough into 4 equal portions and roll each into a ball. Cover with a towel and let rest 15 minutes.

Preheat a nonstick skillet over moderate heat. Preheat a broiler as well.

With a rolling pin, flatten a ball of dough into a round about 1/8-inch thick, flouring as needed. Dimple the dough with your fingertips to prevent the topping from running off during cooking. Transfer the round to the skillet and spread with a quarter of the za'atar and oil mixture. Cook until the bottom is crisp and lightly golden, about 3 minutes, then brown the surface under the broiler. Transfer to a rack. Repeat with the remaining dough. Serve hot or warm.

Note: this bread is really nice and I will be making it in larger batches without the topping (just flipping it right in the cast-iron skillet to brown both sides) to use throughout the week.

Lahmajoun

I Ask My Grandmother If We Can Make Lahmajoun
by Gregory Djanikian

Sure, she says, why not,
we buy the ground lamb from the market
we buy parsley, fresh tomatoes, garlic
we cut, press, dice, mix
make the yeasty dough
the night before, kneading it
until our knuckles feel the hardness
of river beds or rocks in the desert

Please follow the link and read the entire poem. Then consider making lahmajoun. Make sure you've got a full day with nothing else to do but use your hands in the kitchen.

When my son was small I used to drop him off at his family day care home every morning. His caretaker, Irene, would greet us at the door and offer coffee, if I had the time. Once in a great while she would hand me a small box filled with a stack of her lahmajouns. This was always an occasion of great rejoicing. I remember the very first time she offered me one, still warm from the oven. I had never tasted anything like it and immediately became hooked. I found places in the city that sold them, but they were never as good as Irene's.

Last week, decades after that first taste, I decided it was high time I learned to make them myself. I'm quite pleased with them. They don't taste exactly as I remember Irene's, but they're close.

Lahmajouns are not difficult, but they do take quite a chunk out of the day, as you can only bake at most 3 or 4 at a time in a regular-sized oven. Given that a single person can easily eat that many, you need to be prepared to bake them in shifts throughout the day and to reheat them later.

Don't be discouraged by the first few batches. There is a ryhthm to making lahmajoun and I got better and better at rolling out the dough and spreading the filling over each circle as the day progressed.   

Lahmajoun

Prepare the filling:

Make this a day ahead so that the flavors can meld.

Brown one pound  ground lean lamb

In the meantime, prep the the rest of the ingedients (I tossed everything but the tomatoes, tomato paste and spices into my food processor for an instant fine dice)

1 1/2 cup yellow onion chopped fine
1/2 cup green bell pepper chopped fine
1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
1 teaspoon chopped garlic
1 teaspoon of fresh sweet basil chopped
1 tablespoon fresh mint leaves chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 can diced tomatoes
1 small can tomato paste
Cayenne pepper, to taste
Allspice, to taste
Salt and pepper, to taste

Add the diced veggies and herbs to the lamb and saute until the onions and peppers begin to soften. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, spices and salt and pepper. Refrigerate overnight.

Make the bread dough:

5 cups flour
1 pkg. dry yeast dissolved in 1 cup warm water with a pinch of sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup vegeatble oil
1/2 cup warm water

Place the flour in a large mixing bowl. To the yeast add the salt, oil and another 1/2 cup of water. Stir well and pour over the flour. Mix well and pour out onto a floured board, knead until smooth and elastic. If it feels too dry, wet your hands and keep kneading. Place in an oiled bowl, and coat the top with a thin film of oil. Cover and let rise until doubled (1-2 hrs depending on inside temperature). When doubled in size punch the dough down and divide into about 24 balls of equal size. Roll each into a circle about 6" in diameter. This took a while to perfect and it's important to shape each little piece of dough into a circle before you roll it. The finished circles should be quite thin and should feel smooth and almost like heavy satin. Don't obsess with perfection here-- you'll get the hang of it as you get to the last of the dough.

Assemble the lahmajouns:

Remove the topping from the fridge just before you start to roll the circles and let it come to room temperature. Taste it and adjust the seasonings. It should taste somewhat spicy and I added more cumin at this point.

In batches, place the rolled circles on a cookie sheet and spread the topping to the edges pressing down gently but firmly. The layer of topping should be quite thin. Bake in a preheated 500 F oven on the lowest rack for  about 8 - 10 minutes or until dough just starts to turn color. Remove and place on a wire rack, placing two together (one up and the other facing down) until all dough and filling is used up. Keep them lightly covered with towel to keep from drying out. You can stack about a dozen this way.

Cool, refrigerate or freeze (wrapped in foil). To reheat, remove from the foil and place in a moderately hot oven, one up and one down, like they were stacked, directly on the rack for about 3 - 4 minutes.

This is my entry for best of 2007. I had thought I'd enter my Apple Cambozola Tarts but I must say that the process of making the lahmajouns on the Sunday before Christmas and the taste of them when I served them for dinner, was the most enjoyable cooking experience of the year for me. And, too, I found the marvelous poem quite by accident which only heightened the pleasure I found in the day-long rhythmic process of making lahmajouns.

Late in year, but defintely my favorite for the year.

Bad Teeth and Lousy Food: Vivat Membrum Quodlibet

It didn't start auspiciously. For my first year at university I stayed on campus, in a hall of residence consisting of three houses, which were segregated by sex. No, not "male", "female" and "other"; two of the houses were for men, one for women. Each “floor” of my house accommodated twelve spotty, unwashed, drunken slobs fine young men, and I was the last of the twelve to arrive so I found myself unpacking my paltry teenage possessions alone in an entirely unoccupied floor. I later discovered that the other new residents had arrived early in the day, unpacked, introduced themselves and promptly gone down the pub, clearly intending to start their student days on the right foot. So, the first day of my  much-anticipated new life was spent alone, feeling a little bit intimidated and a little bit depressed. I have a very distinct memory of that evening and of a shy, nervous young man standing alone in the "parlour" of a silent and deserted floor, preparing his dinner over one of the electric hot plates available for the purpose. And what comforting repast was he making? Heinz canned ravioli on toast, that's what. Like I said: it didn't start auspiciously.

Later (much later) that night, I was awoken by a cacophony of drunken yells, bangs, crashes and - quick workers, some of these boys - raucous female giggling. Soon, the banging was occurring directly on my door and the yelling involved strident demands that the "mystery man" make himself known to his floormates. I was in no mood for it so I pulled the single pillow over my head and tried to ignore the din until it finally subsided at around 4:00 am. I began to suspect I'd made a dreadful mistake in attempting to buck my family and class norms by going to university. I was wrong, of course. The following morning I leapt out of bed, marched into the parlour and endeared myself to my hugely hung-over fellow inmates with a loud greeting of , "GOOD MORNING, YOU NOISY B!*@#&*S! I'M THE 'MYSTERY MAN', BUT YOU CAN CALL ME JACK!" Unsurprisingly, they proceeded to call me a variety of rather more colourful names. Once the wincing and swearing had subsided we soon completed the formalities in a more civilised manner and all was well. I was welcomed into the fold and before long became one of the regular 4:00 am noisy parlour drunks, and my anxieties and fears were washed away on a sea of cheap student union beer. Thirty pence a pint! Is it any wonder I spent the next three years in a happy alcoholic haze? Besides, you need to be drunk to understand quantum mechanics. Or at least to think you do.

Now what does any of this have to do with food, you ask? Not a thing. Heinz canned ravioli certainly has nothing whatsoever to do with food. So let me get to the point of this episode: my introduction to a couple of then-unfamiliar dishes and what a revelation they proved to be to my ignorant, impoverished taste buds. These were curry (Indian style) and Spaghetti Bolognese. That's right, I said Spaghetti Bolognese. I was 18 years old and I had never had Spaghetti Bolognese in my life. I had heard of it, but to be perfectly honest I had no idea what it was. Of course, I knew what spaghetti was – it was that soft, pulpy, sauce-drenched stuff that came in cans – but I had no clue what a "Bolognese" might be. It might have been a cut of meat or a type of cheese for all I knew. Yes, I really was that much of a culinary ignoramus.

I'm going to talk solely about the Bolognese because the dizzying wonder of the Anglo-Indian curry deserves, and will receive, an entry of its own at some future date. For now, suffice to say that the first real Indian curry I tried hit me like drugs. It was like seeing colour television for the first time. It made me realise that my palate had basically been a virgin and was now, thanks to these astonishing aromatic spices and explosive flavours, in danger of becoming a total trollop. I apologise for those dubious metaphors but that plate of chicken madras was probably the first time I understood that eating could inflame the senses in a very similar way to... certain other activities.  Ahem.  As I said, that's a subject for another time, so let's get back to the Bolognese. Try not to roll your eyes: believe me, for many British people of my generation and background this tired old staple represented our first exposure to "foreign" food.

What is Bolognese sauce, anyway? Well, what I know now is that just about the only ingredients most people can agree on are meat and tomatoes. A quick scan of various web sources confirms my view that many people mistakenly believe that “authentic” Bolognese sauce is heavy on the tomatoes: it isn’t.  The Wikipedia entry for it has this to say:

The recipe issued in 1982 by the Bolognese delegation of Accademia Italiana della Cucina confines the ingredients to beef, pancetta, onions, carrots, celery, tomato paste, meat broth, white wine, and milk. However, different recipes, far from the Bolognese tradition, make use of chopped pork, chicken or goose liver along with the beef or veal for variety, or use butter with olive oil. Prosciutto, mortadella, or porcini fresh mushrooms may be added to the soffritto to enrich the sauce.

Goose liver? Blimey! I’ve certainly seen versions with carrots and celery although personally I don’t favour those ingredients because they make things seem a little too beef stewy for my taste. The “Bolognese” sauce I make to this day is based on the version I learned all those years ago back in Leeds University, and I have my first serious girlfriend Cathy to thank for it. It uses ground beef, canned tomatoes, onions, garlic and mushrooms as the primary ingredients, and features a certain secret ingredient – HP Sauce - which I used to be ashamed of until I read that Heston Blumenthal’s version features Worcester Sauce and Nam pla. Now I feel vindicated!

The only truly shameful “old school Brit” ingredient featured in the original university-era version (which I swiftly dropped) was Bisto gravy powder. That was entirely unnecessary, added nothing to the dish, and was clearly included only out of a sort of atavistic British incredulity when faced with the radical notion that a beef sauce does not have to taste at least a little bit like gravy. Honestly, what were we thinking in those days?

Enough preamble. This is how I make it now, and in spite of its lack of "authenticity" (it’s pretty heavy on the tomato) it’s tasty and satisfying and, most important of all, Ann likes it.

Spaghetti Bolognesish

Serves 2

10 oz ground beef
6-8 oz mushrooms (Crimini or Chestnut are nice), sliced
1 large onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (15oz) peeled plum tomatoes
1 tsp mixed dried herbs, Italian seasoning, whatever you call it in your neighbourhood
Salt and black pepper to taste
1-2 tsp HP Sauce, Worcester Sauce or similar brown sauce
1-2 tsp tomato paste

Heat some olive oil in a large frying pan. When it's good and hot, fry the onion until almost softened, then throw in the mushrooms and garlic. Keep it stirring until the mushrooms are looking almost done then add the beef, break it up and stir it around until it's just browned through. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, brown sauce and herbs. Turn the heat down low. Break up the tomatoes with your spoon and get everything nicely mixed. Add your salt and pepper. Let it simmer for as long as you like (within reason) or at least until your pasta's done. Serve it forth. Sprinkle parmesan. Don't tell anyone you put HP sauce in it, for God's sake; I am not Heston Blumenthal and neither are you. Unless you are, in which case, hi Heston! Any chance of a reservation at The Fat Duck in the second week of February? Go on mate, I gave you a namecheck!

(Previously) Bad Teeth and Lousy Food: Sweet Treat

(Next) Bad Teeth and Lousy Food: Eating Out

Same As It Ever Was

Have a look at this slide show of twenty-one New Yorker magazine covers depicting food and dining. Only in New York and in the New Yorker.

The Artful Kitchen: Jessie Oleson

The Artful Kitchen series is back with Christmas Greetings and a look at Jessie Oleson's Cakespy. If you're not already a regular visitor you've been missing a delightful mix of sugar sleuthing and art and you need to go and add it to your favorites right now.

 

Jessie, the artistic mastermind behind Cakespy, attended the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where she studied Illustration. Her most widely recognized work (in the foodblog world, anyway) is of her adorable little Cupcake Guy.

She uses a two-step process for this series. First she draws with pen and ink.

And then she washes in with watercolor. Jessie explains that she does not sketch out her cupcake drawings. She has found that they maintain a certain spontaneity when laid down directly in ink which is lost when too much pre-sketching is put into it, and adds, "If I mess up, I just scrap it..."

Jessie provides some backstory to explain the psyche of her cupcake character here, explaining that he was made with a bit of leftover cake batter and has always had a chip on his shoulder about being the afterthought baked good. She adds (in answer to my probing question) "L'il Cuppie is not presently tied down. I tend to think he plays the field, and have noticed him looking at not only other cupcakes but also a doughnut or two. But never a muffin. There's some rivalry there."

Jessie's interest in all things cupcake began when she was little. "My mom used to make these elaborate 3-tier birthday cakes for us, and with the leftover batter would make cupcakes. These were extra-special because though we had to wait for the cake, the cupcakes were an immediate treat. That has to be what started it all."

While at Pratt, Jessie had a period of happy experimentation painting with cake frosting and candy for many of her assignments. "It was, I guess, my foray into "installation" type art because not only was it visual but they smelled so good. I would love to do more of this type of art but I think that the perishable aspect keeps it at bay."

Jessie's work isn't limited to the illustrations you'll see at Cakespy. She sometimes turns to acrylics and oils ("it's kind of more like working with frosting!") as way of stepping out of the boundaries of the Cupcake Guy world (don't tell him, though!).  Happily for me, I snapped up this marvelous moody strawberry shortcake as soon as I saw it at Jessie's etsy store.

And this elegant slice of pumpkin pie was shipped to my sister (Merry Christmas, Lisa!).

Out in the non-foodblog world, Jessie works as a product manager and art director for ipop, the company manufacturing these magnets (available at Sur la Table, Borders, Papyrus and all sorts of independent retailers).

Thanks, Jessie, for taking the time to answer my questions, and for allowing Redacted Recipes to feature you. You know how we love our food art!

Sugar High Friday: The Proof Is In the Pudding

Well, I've had a favorite bread pudding for a while now and when I saw that Zorra of 1x umrühren bitte had selected a theme of pudding for this month's Sugar High Friday I thought "great! I'll make that lovely raspberry bread pudding!"

Until I realized I'd already posted about it. Damn. Then I thought I'd try to reproduce Annisa's very amazing Meyer Lemon Bread Pudding. But you know... Anita Lo's bread pudding is so perfect I just kinda didn't want to live with the inevitable disappointment.

Then (bear with me, this chain of thought WILL end up in the pudding, really it will) I started thinking about truffle honey because I've got a lovely little pot of truffle butter in my freezer which I whip out now and again to make little truffled egg treats with. ANYway, I found this recipe for Brioche Pudding with Truffle Honey from The Sweet Life: Desserts from Chanterelle by Kate Zuckerman, AND we're going to Chanterelle (mushrooms... truffles... get it?) for my birthday next week AND I've had truffles and honey on my mind... and OMG! it's like the universe is SENDING ME A MESSAGE!

Ahem. Or maybe it's like I've been making too many sweets and my brain has gone into sugar overload.

This pudding is amazing-- even before you've drizzled it with the truffle honey. It isn't elegant-looking but it will make your mouth sing. It tastes caramelized. It tastes deep and dark. It tates like heaven.I promise.

My Modified Brioche Bread Pudding with Truffle Honey

16 slices of brioche, cut 1/2 inch thick
4 tablespoons (1 ounce) butter, melted
1-1/2 cups heavy cream
1-1/2 cups whole milk
2/3 cup sugar
3 egg yolks
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon salt

truffle honey, for drizzling

Preheat the oven to 350 F and butter your baking dish or individual ramkins.

Trim off the crusts and cut each slice into about 6 rectangles measuring 1-1/4 x 1-1/2 inches. Place the bread on a cookie sheet and drizzle with the melted butter. Bake until the bread turns a golden brown. Remove from the oven and turn the oven down to 300 F.

In a saucepan, combine the cream and milk over medium heat and bring almost to a boil.

While the cream and milk is heating, whisk together the sugar, egg yolks, eggs, and salt.

When the cream is ready remove it from the heat and slowly, using a ladle, whisk enough of the hot cream into the egg mixture to warm it. Then gradually pour the warmed egg mixture into the remaining hot cream, whisking constantly. Set it aside.

Place the toasted bread pieces into the buttered baking dish. Pour the warm custard over the bread.

Bake about 30 - 40 minutes, until the bits of bread sticking out turn crispy and brown and the center is set and has a slight spring when touched.

Scoop a portion of the pudding into a dish and drizzle about 1-1/2 tablespoons truffle honey over each serving. Swoon.

Daring Bakers: Christmas Yule Log

I joined Daring Bakers just in time for the December Challenge. For those of you unfamiliar with the Daring Bakers concept, it's an ever-growing group of food bloggers who commit each month to making and posting about the same exact recipe on the same exact day (which will explain why you have been seeing dozens and dozens of Yule Logs today all around food blogland).

The December challenge was chosen by Lis of La  Mia Cucina and Ivonne of Cream Puffs in Venice, who are also Daring Bakers founders. Their choice was to make a Christmas Yule Log which, of course, I had never made before in my life. Nor had I ever made meringue mushrooms. Not to mention Swiss Buttercream.

I decided to test-run the recipes early in the month to allow myself time for retries in the event of a disaster. So one Sunday, armed with a new half sheet pan and all of the necessary ingredients, I rolled up my sleeves and went to work.

I decided to flavor my genoise with chocolate, adding cocoa powder to the flour and cornstarch mix. Making the genoise went very well, until it was time to fold the dry ingredients into the dramatic volume of the egg and sugar mixture. The recipe said to fold thoroughly, and I thought I did. I even worried that I was going to deflate the whole thing in my efforts to make sure I had no unincorporated spots. But when I went to spread the batter into the sheet pan it became clear that all of my ideas about proper folding-in technique were just wrong. As I spread the batter I kept uncovering patches of unincorporated flour. Very frustrating. But it was a test-run and I'd know better for next time, so I spread the batter out and popped the pan into the oven.

Making the Swiss Buttercream was suprisingly easy. It came together perfectly--smooth and delicious with a lovely cafe au lait color. When my chocolate genoise was cool enough I brushed it with Kahlua, spread on half the buttercream, rolled it up with no trouble, and put it into the refrigerator for a while so that it could think about how much it liked being log-shaped.

Layering on the rest of the buttercream was fun. I used a fork to make patterns.

Then it was time to make the meringue mushrooms. Again, surprisingly easy... and so CUTE! The recipe made a LOT of mushrooms, though. MANY more than I could possibly crowd onto my log, and you can see here that I crowded a LOT on.

Then I took photos, just in case, before I tasted it. And here's the thing. The genoise might not have been perfectly folded together, but it tasted really good. The whole thing just tasted great. And I thought why in the world are you thinking you're going to do this again? So I didn't.

You can read the recipe if you click the link.

Sneak Peek!

 

Mini Pies are popping up all over the place! Here is a sneak peek at some of the little darlings we've been collecting. If you haven't already joined the revolution, now is the time! Be sure to check back on New Year's Day for the round-up and complete list.

Cinnamon Leaves

(Please welcome this rare post from my mother, MaryAnne, who contributes so much behind the scenes and so seldom here on this blog-- Ann)

This is a traditional holiday treat for Christmas morning in our family.  I can remember having it as long ago as when I was ten or so (1945).  As I got older, my mother taught me to make them and I brought the recipe and tradition to the Fisher family when I married Paul in 1957.  The tradition has been passed down to our kids and grandkids.  It’s possible that the recipe originated with my Mom or maybe her Mom.  We Googled “Cinnamon Leaves” and didn’t find anything.

The preparation of Cinnamon Leaves is not labor intensive but it does take the better part of a day while you wait for them to rise three times.  You will need a really large ring pan (mine is 12”) or two small ones.  Cinnamon leaves freeze very well.  Let them thaw overnight and reheat wrapped in foil.

Cinnamon Leaves

Dissolve 1 pkg dry yeast in ¼ cup warm water.

Scald 1 cup of milk.  Add ½ cup of sugar, 3 tbsp of shortening and 1 tsp of salt to the scalded milk.  Let cool.  Stir in the yeast.

Add 2 lightly beaten eggs and 1 cup of flour.  Whisk until smooth.  Place in bowl and let rise until light and spongy.

Add enough flour (2 – 3 cups) to make soft dough.  Knead on a floured bread board until smooth and elastic.  Place back in bowl, cover with a cloth and let rise until double in volume.

Melt 1 cube of butter

Mix ½ cup of brown sugar, 1 cup of white sugar and 1 tsp of cinnamon.

Punch the risen dough down, pinch off pieces and roll into balls (a little smaller than a golf ball), dip in the melted butter and roll in the sugar mixture.  Flatten the balls and arrange them in a greased ring pan vertically.  Pour any excess butter and sugar mixture over the top.  Cover the pan and let rise in a warm place for about an hour.

Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes or until brown.  Turn the Cinnamon Leaves out of the pan immediately.

There is a little sampling trick you can use right after the Cinnamon Leaves come out of the oven and have been removed from the ring pan.  Use an ordinary table knife to carefully separate a "leaf" along the separation lines, slide the separated piece out, and push the ring closed.  Nobody is the wiser.  I’ve done this forever and Paul never knew it until I showed him this year.

Enjoy!