Ano da França...

Tropical French Macarons for a Sweet Victory

It's been nearly a month since Rio de Janeiro was chosen to host the 2016 summer Olympics. If somehow you hadn't yet heard, just pretend you did. Rio beat out Chicago, Madrid and Tokyo in the bid to hold the 2016 games, the city was chosen October 4th in Copenhagen, a decision that has sparked much joy coupled by expected grief. For Brazilians, for South Americans, and for anyone else who has a soul (mmm) the Rio victory symbolizes both a boost for Brazilian nationalistic pride (only a few Brazilians already have big heads) and a reaffirmation that indeed Latin America is finally coming into the world spotlight it has long deserved. Naturally there has been quite a bit of hesitation from both the Brazil-lovers and Brazil-haters (is there even such a thing? a Brazil-hater?) on the chosen city; "Rio is such a dangerous city" - "The money could be put to better use" - "All those tourists, such easy targets, Rio is a war-zone, what are they thinking!?" bla bla bla. But true. Sure Rio has a lot of problems, watch City of God and you won't disagree. But there are thousands of people living in Rio who aren't murderers, drug dealers, gang members, thieves, or helicopter snipers. There are millions of good people living in Rio and around Brazil who deserve the Olympic games. So here at the Salty Cod we wish to ask you to stop thinking about the negative aspects of Rio 2016, and instead close your mouth (preferably over a macaron), lay down your doubts, and celebrate with us that World Cup and the Olympics are going to be back-to-back in a country that will very soon take over the world. This is not a political blog, but we wish never-the-less to say stick it Chicago. Is there writing in the sky? BRASIL!!!


For those of you who don't know, one of our staff members here at the Salty Cod happens to be a Brazilian, so there has been much celebrating in and around the office and test kitchens. So what do we do to celebrate? Why, bake French pastries of course. With no room to brag in our novice qualifications as a patisserie (what qualifications?), I am quite good at making macarons. Yes, i said that. While no where near the skill set of say Helen or Aran whose recipes i've used over the past couple of years to navigate making my own macarons, i've done it enough, (and in quantities that would make some cry), that i know the ratios and timings in my head. What can i say, i like macarons. I lived in Paris, they are gluten-free, and i'm a self absorbed snob who secretly revels in the smug-pleasure of knowing that mine turned out with feet and yours need to see a podiatrist. Either way, a personal treat for a personal topic (mmm yes i take Olympics very personally). So i decided to make macarons, it's the year of France in Brazil anyways, so c'est absolutement parfait pour l'occassion. Then i realized Daring Bakers was doing October challenge macarons- merde, are you kidding me? Well, can't post macarons twice in a month. So. I'll save my idea. And celebrate my (excuse me, their) victory at the end of the month. This is my second month with Daring Bakers, and so far it has not been quite all that daring. Puff pastry and macarons....perhaps next month will be gummy bears.

What makes these macarons Brasilian besides their tri-color? There are Brazil nuts ground in with the almonds in the shells, and the fillings are assorted cheese mixtures with tropical fruit. Idea Original: creamed cheese with guava, but, no guavas in this part of the world. Ergo Idea Supplemental: creamed cheese with pineapple, creamed cheese with banana, and creamed cheese with avocados and apples. Is that a Brasilian macaron? Yes. Yes it is, verdade! Are there any macarons in Brazil now? I will say most likely not. Will that always be the case? Most certainly not.

So what do you know about Brazil aside from the capital as Buenos Aires (please catch my sarcasm here), tropical fruit hats, beautiful naked women, coconut water on the beach, hunky Latin lovers (scratch that), and children playing barefoot soccer in the womb? Nothing? Oh come on, even doctors had ideas. The smartest of medical school trained professionals know to ask (i am referring to my own...lady doctor here) if there are refrigerators in Brazil. Hmm, good question, as it may be difficult to hook up electricity to the Amazonian tree-houses all Brazilians live in. Well, maybe there is no Spanish word for refrigerator. To this point i believe the Rio Olympics are justified in of themselves; the world will be forced (through a month long series of Travel-Channel specials, McDonalds commercials and Visa advertisements) to see that Brazil is not a country of jungle people in grass skirts; me Tarzan you Jane- but a country as, if not more, rich and diverse than all the other tough guys out there. The Olympics may not be for 7 more years, but well, i think it's worth making a note today, tomorrow, and everyday. Carnival is year round non?! So why not the Olympics!

This month's Daring Bakers challenge was hosted by Amy S of (i have no idea what her blog is). The recipe is by Claudia Fleming and is found in The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern. However, as i enjoy making macarons, i suggest you try using instructions from Helen of Tartelette, she is, without hesitation, a great teacher for those wishing to attempt a macaron for the first or twentieth time.

Petite French cookies to celebrate such a thing? What can i say, j'adore le Bresil.

*disclaimer: yes i know the capital or Brasil is Brasila not Buenos Aires and that Brasilians speak Portuguese not Spanish.....don't yell at me i was trying to be funny to make a point!

a bientot

Peter Piper Pipped

Cracked: Vols-au-Vent for Daring BakersWhy the hell does it seem ages since i have been here? Probably because it has. I will tell you how truly painful it is for a blogger to be cut from their lifeblood, from their home: (play your small violin now) it is not unlike pepper spray reaching your cornea, or being stabbed in the thigh with a dull blade, or hitting your head on the corner of a pointy cabinet; a hiatus here at the Salty Cod is like, well it is......making us realize that life is not always as easy as we would like it to be.

I don't think we ever stop going through transitions, whether it is adapting to a new place of habitation, a new job, a new relationship or a new idea; we are constantly going through today what changes our habits of yesterday. When i started this blog almost two and a half years ago (had to make sure to get that half in there...i'm 5'9 and a quarter, don't forget that quarter) i started a habit of myself that i fell in love with. Nothing could keep me from blogging. I'm in a random foreign country alone on a park bench: blog. Last karaoke night of the year at the Irish Pub down the road: blog. Easter, Christmas, thanksgiving: blog. It's 2am and there are yet 3,000 more words due on Alexander's trek through the Orient: blog. Will you go on a date with me: blog. Sleep: blog. Girl's night out cocktails: blog. I have chosen blogging over many things; aside from an ailing family member or friend, what is there that i do, or could do that is more important than this?

Oops. It appears that there is something after all. This revelation, however, does not attach any less importance to Salty. no no nothing like that. In the end what it is is realizing that i don't blog because i have to, i blog because i choose to. And sometimes, i have to choose to wait. Transitions. Transitions are glasses that let you go from dark to light without changing them. But they are also moments when you stack your priorities and weigh the outcomes. Oftentimes, the result is an exploded suitcase and a never-ending cup of tea.

I am twenty three years old. I am sure you were twenty three years once. I graduated college nearly 5 months ago, and am adjusting to two new jobs that take six of my seven days....i'm back with my parents for a bit, did you know? Do you care? I am preparing my rook, bishop, and queen for a move that you will not believe; and it is in the middle of this that i have realized that there are times when we have to sacrifice what we want in the moment in order to get what we want for the future.

But now, we have a post. Three weeks in want, we have a post. In conversation with my editor (who obviously hasn't had much to edit) i realized that the ducks were finally falling into the basket, and that it was finally ok to blog. and the tears come streaming down my face! But oh holy crap! I had forgotten i had finally signed up for the Daring Bakers, after a two (and a half) year stint of protest (daringness for being different) i sucked it up and cracked and wanted in! and i'm almost ready to be kicked out on the first challenge, ahk!

so apparently there is an actual due date that is not just the end of the month...forgive me, i'm blond. will that work? If anyone yells at me, i would just like to point out that Christy at 5 Types of Sugar was late too. Saying that sounds like she's pregnant (she's not) but i love giving her a hard time.

So i rushed to the secret club page (only secret club members are allowed in)...puff pastry. ah ok. i've done puff pastry. wait....puff pastry, dear god why! of all things other than baguettes, puff pastry takes hours! gaw! I don't mind making puff pastry, had i not spent many hours making it about two months ago, i wouldn't have minded so much....but it really is (pardon me) quite a bitch to make. Well. a challenge is a challenge is it not. Touche.

Vols-au vont is the actual challenge; a puff pastry cup filled with a sweet or savory. My only edge is that i have made these before, a Christmas party about three years ago filled with a spinach concoction i have yet forgotten. But on a strict time budget, puff pastry is no bueno. Meh. Salty is no wimp. Alright, Sunday we make the puff pastry dough, and Monday we bake it up. Now we must be creative with the filling...did you know that red peppers can grow in a Seattle backyard garden? they can. hmmm. peppers. Pepper, cheese, cream, cilantro, salsa cream pipped into a puff pastry! Ah sweet that's fast!

The recipe for puff pastry dough can be found here, as the September 2009 Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Steph of A Whisk and a Spoon. The Vols-au-Vent are based on the Puff Pastry recipe by Michel Richard from the cookbook Baking With Julia by Dorie Greenspan.

Pepper pipped mouse:
ingredients:
8 oz cream cheese
1 cup whipping cream
1 bell pepper
2 tsp bloomed gelatin
chopped cilanto
enough salt to taste
red/cayenne pepper (did you know they're the same?)

method: mix all ingredients (except cream) in blender or food processor until smooth. Whip cream until stiff, gently fold in mixture, and pipe into your cups.

As i've already said, i've made puff pastry for croissants before. However what was produced here, was not puff pastry. hard. dense. where are the flakes? are there any flakes? i am not exactly sure what went wrong, perhaps i was too violent with the poor dough, or went too fast. but i think in the end it was my attitude. in mallory fashion, of course. Well, now we know. take more care, or you will have a ton of pie dough in the freezer.

So i guess i'm a daring baker now, right? no hazing? well. maybe not yet. i'm on the in-crown of baking blogging now eh? we'll see how long i keep it up. but. you know. i think i just may do it.

Change is good. change means we're learning. i like this home here too much to ever give it up. but i must drop my infantile ideas of its condition-less priority. Maybe there will be three weeks again where i cannot come home. In a perfect world, i come home every week. but life's not perfect.

yet.

A challenge just means i have to work harder to get it. if you didn't fight for it; sometimes it is not worth having. we're here. we're baking. we're photographing. we're growing. and we're figuring out the tricks. so keep with me friends. i won't disappoint.

a bientot.

September 7th

My Virgin Lily Cake.

It's raining in Seattle on this September 7th. Autumn has now officially begun. It goes like this: because the rain falls from the sky ever so gently, the light steady stream remains on the leaves of the sponge trees until they become rain trees. Then, when the steady wind blows in off the west side of the Puget Sound, the leaves of these soggy trees will dance; continuing the rain even though it has passed. This is real rain in the Pacific Northwest. Ensuring a steady six or seven hours followed by the banana slug parade. But i don't mind the rain, not here. Here is where it should rain. No where else. But summer is over. I can hear the mourning bells ring. and i laugh. Happy September 7th.

Do you know what today is? The answer varies depending on who you are. In the US, today happens to be Labor Day, so wave the red, white and blue. In Brazil, today happens to be Independence Day, so wave the yellow, blue, and green. And today also happens to be September 7th, a special day for the staff here at the Salty Cod, a two year commemoration of our team, if you will. So September 7th is quite a cause for celebration, and a Salty Cod celebration implies cake. a real cake. a fondant cake. a lily cake. on y va.

My virgin lily cake is indeed a virgin; this is my first fondant cake. Fondant cakes are typically associated as wedding cakes, but they don't have to be. any special occasion will do. How will i ever make your wedding cake if i do not practice first eh? I've long goggled after fondant cakes, putting them up on the "out of my league" shelf. I did the same thing with French macarons until i found myself making one hundred for a party. so. man invented fondant, man controlleth fondant, and Salty follows suit.

The one thing that has always scared me a bit about cake fondant is the taste, it savors highly of crap. Though i dearly love marshmallows, as the pink ones are my thing, the thought of putting marshmallow fondant in my stomach is not on my wish list. Therefore, after working some image freelance for my good friend, ex-neighbor, and professional caterer C, I asked with a pretty please for the secrets of her fondant recipe. Not only did i get the recipe, but i received a pot of inverted sugar and a hunk of her preferred white coating chocolate. Score one for the Salty Cod! Thank you C, couldn't have done it without you. It tastes like candy!

It really was not as difficult as I thought, though it is not as perfect as i would have liked it to be. A little lumpy in spots, and not as divinely symmetrical as it should be. But close enough for government work, and for our first attempt. What would you say if i told you it was gluten free? Ahk, i suppose would be the correct response. Well, as with most of the things i make for other(s) here, they can seldom be eaten by the intended recipient who is oftentimes in another state/country. Therefore if you can't eat it, i better at least be able to tell you what you missed. And this cake is half intended for me, as i am the paycheck writer at the Salty Cod.

The cake is an extremely dense dark chocolate cake, as are most gluten free cakes. Though with this particular cake, density was a bonus. The denser the cake, the smoother the fondant. The crumb coat used was a raspberry buttercream--when i say coat, i mean coat. Very thin, a crumb coat on a fondant cake should be only just enough to make the fondant stick to it. The fondant itself is a white chocolate fondant comprised of gelatin, white coating chocolate, inverted sugar, confectioners' sugar, and (gasp) i don't have white shortening, so i used butter. but somehow it worked. And, i melted the white chocolate in a double boiler. If only the women in the kitchen at that barbecue could see me now. As i am a fondant novice, i sufficed with one tier and a simple skype-blue ribbon around the parameter. simpler the better some say. and who wants a fuss of details and dobs when the real focus is on the white lily that was carried to me by three African swallows.

If you are an American, happy Labor Day. If you are a Brazilian, happy Independence Day. If you are a crew member here at the Salty Cod, thank you for contributing the Sweets. Salty is good, but without Sweets, we got nothing.

A rainy day, this September 7th. The moral of the story: when lilies bloom in a vase next to a blue ribboned cake, there are only four things to say: salut, ca va? i made you a cake. the flowers are lovey, te amo.

a bientot

A bit of Travel Writing

Salty Sunday of Philosophical MusingFriends--I can call you friends, after all you're crazy enough to keep coming back to poke a nosy eye into my life, ergo we're friends. And now it is time for Salty Sunday; a moment of philosophical prose. lucky you. It is time for a house clarification: there are three main components of the Salty Cod: fancy pants baked goods, photography, and travel writing. It says it right there in the header. Often the last is forgotten though. We have never been nor ever will be uniquely a food blog. Sometimes food sometimes travel, and sometimes neither? Perhaps this removes me slightly from the community, but what can i do; i'm a slashy.

About a month ago i wrote this article for a travel writing contest on ah-ha moments. I knew i would not win as i exceeded the 200 word count by nearly double. what can i do, i'm a brat. But perhaps on this Salty Sunday of Philosophical Musing, i should resurrect it for someone other than a rejection inbox to read. I will preface it by letting you into something personal; i miss Brasil and what i left in it so much that it hurts.

Under the Stars in Ouro Preto

What a bloody tourist town. We walked past the main square, Tiradentes, as a group of tourists crowded around a gaggle of street performers syncing a drum beat. Tonight was not my mood for entertainment. In our hands were plastic cup caipirinhas purchased from a sticky floored locals-only bar; half the price but twice the flavor. One block past the square—all was deserted. We climbed the stone wall surrounding the Cathedral, Aleijadinho's masterpiece. Are we allowed to sit here? No one near to stop us. I looked at the sky while swinging my legs against the centuries old brick; “you know,” I began with a slight hiccup, “I see the same moon in Seattle...now lets see...where is the big dipper?” “The big what?” my accomplice replied. I stopped short—ah yeah, southern hemisphere. i had forgotten I was somewhere else. How the hell does an American forget that they are in Brasil. So we have the same moon, but different stars. A connection yet a cut. It looks like the difference is merely in the details; big picture little picture. “I don't know what is a dipper,” he went on, “but there are, others you can see...” he resolved as he pointed ubiquitously “up” toward the constellations whose distances, in reality, dwarf our own perceived continental chasms into minute scales of nothingness. My eyes filled and began to salt my caipirinha. Was a bit too sweet anyway. Why do i feel no pangs of homesickness. I looked again to the moon, the same moon, and I knew I was not so far away; how could one feel homesick whilst in their own backyard.

Revelations: The medical test for the feeling of place is simple: if when stabbed with the realization of being far from home there occurs no pain or remorse at or around the injection site—then the diagnosis is that you are home already. Ah-ha.

I scraped the last crystals of sugar off the bottom of my cup. That was the strongest mojito i've ever had. I slid off the stone wall, I won't feel it on my bare legs until tomorrow. For a tropical country, Brazilian winter nights are pretty damn chilly. But enough with the stars, my lemony lips tell me. In a cobblestone town, you have to watch where you place your feet; eyes to the ground, and give me your hand. It is now time to walk home.

A bientot

Boston Cream...Tea Cakes

What's So Boston about it Anyways?

Confession: I have never, ever, consumed or created a Boston Cream Pie--though i have always been a fan of the yoplait of the same name. But until today, i didn't even know what the trifled layers consisted of. So since confessions are being made; i will admit one more: i've never actually been to Boston either, Holyoke and Amherst are as close as i've gotten. But guess what; though i don't give a damn about baseball, i own a redsox cap and curse the yankees. And Boondock Saints--that's a quality film. So though i've never been, Boston definately deserves some love. And who cares if a Boston Cream Pie is merely a dumpy yellow cake mid-layered with a basic vanilla cream custard, and topped with chocolate sauce; everybody's gotta start with something. So let's make it a little more stereotypically Boston, if you know what i mean. With tea and liquor. Now that's what i'm talkin about.

The Boston Cream Pie carries the name for the sole reason that it was first created in a hotel kitchen in Boston, and according to Wikipedia that hotel was the Parker House Hotel (Bobby Flay was just going on about some biscuit rolls of the same name....i'm haunted) by a French pastry chef named Sanzian (apparently sans prenom). After learning that the pie was merely layers of yellow sponge cake, vanilla custard, and chocolate--i was somewhat dissapointed. Custard and a cake? Hmm, well, not much of a challenge there (sorry Sanzian). But the Salty Cod won't settle for basic bakery mediocrity, no. No, we insist on mucking around with classics that have held their own against the test of time--until now.

Thanks to Christy, Aussie pastry chef of 5 Types of Sugar, we have a couple of boxes of high quality black tea leaves--untaxed no less. To incorporate the leaves into the yellow cake, the milk and butter used were steaped in the leaves, that were also crushed into powder and incorporated in. Thus, we give you a tea-sponge. Boston and tea, can't get more cliche than that. Oh wait--yes we can. The vanilla custard is a little bland; Irish cream liquer mixed in? yes please.

Boston Cake:
ingredients: 1 cup flour ~ 2 eggs ~ .5 cup sugar ~ 3 tbsp butter ~ .25 cup milk ~ 1 tsp baking powder ~ pinch of salt ~ 1tsp vanilla ~ lose leaf tea

method: 1) sift flour and baking powder together 2) boil butter and milk in a small sauce pan, add tea leaves and steap 3) beat sugar and eggs in mixer, add flour and milk mixture. pour into lined baking sheet (this is a flat cake, you cut circles out of it) bake at 325 for 10~15 minutes. cool, and cut circles.

Cream: Martha Stewarts vanilla custard cream + 2 tbsp Irish Cream.
Chocolate: boil heavy cream and poor over dark chocolate.

Assemble: using pastry rings (or aluminum foil and duct tape) layer cake, cream, cake, and top with chocolate. freeze until set, and then paint top with gold dust.

We do intend to go to Boston some day--someday. I've visited my sister who studies at Mt. Holyoke, but, as anyone will testify--Holyoke is no Boston. But it's nice for, well, for studying, and breaking into churches after hours--but that's another story. A Boston Cream Pie has nothing to do with Boston; but it has everything to do with a Salty Cod afternoon of baking to get through....well, life. Boston Cream Cakes to pass the time away instead of looking out the window in a dream; busy yourself to make the missing of another lessen. Damn i need a job already...but i believe this Boston Cream shenanigans desserves further investigation: my editor and i will have to take take a business trip there someday soon--and get back to you on our findings.

In the words of Holy Golightly and Fred-Baby: The British are coming the British are coming! But in this case, the Brazilians. -exactly. oh how things come together.

And a word to our dear friend and Associate S--we at the Salty Cod want to tell you today, tomorrow, and the next day: cool story Hansel. so don' worry, be happy. i'll buy you a caipirinha.

a bientot

The Salty Cod Special

A Salty Poissant and a Frozen Banana Mousse

Is a fish taco shaped like a fish? no. So does bread shaped like a fish taste like fish? Not this time. Every time i interview a baker or bakery owner, i methodically ask (as does every one in the business) so, what's your specialty? the best seller? what is the self named product? After posing the question a couple dozen times to others, the astoundingly obvious though blatantly ignored fact finally hit me in the face: what the hell is my specialty? Oh right, i don't have one. But i need one? Yes. Magazines and food writers always focus on the one show stopping killer at each joint, so we gotta start experimenting with this now, while we're still young nobodies. Young? Yes. I'm younger than you. And we have a fish croissant now, or rather a poissant. on y va.

I had an unlucky run with polenta the other day, much trickier than it seems. Therefore we were very anxious for this one to work, two slips is a lost audience. Flipping through The Bread Bible, looking for the type of bread that would best hold the fish shape, we fell on croissants. of course, croissants, c'est francaise, pourquoi je ne la pas pense? Did you know we spent a year living in Paris. we did. But can you shape a croissant like a fish? We shall see, never made a croissant before...never made puff pastry before....gulp.

Have you ever attempted this type of pastry dough? No? good for you. It's a bitch. It takes how many turns and at how much time in the fridge in between? gawwwww. But, baking for adventure, relaxation, and stress release (yes, i synonymed myself, poets license) caters the allowance for 9 hours, right? right. just keep telling yourself that. The process from start to finish was indeed 9 hours, and they turned out "alright" as croissants, however not as flaky and a little denser than i would have liked. meh. First times just mean that the next will be better. I turned the dough four times, refrigerating 40 minutes between each turn, but it is a bit hot and muggy here, and my man-handling of the final rolled dough into freeform cut fish perhaps made it a bit overworked. I learn from my mistakes. Regardless, the scaly (flaky) wrigglers emerged from the oven tasting as croissant like as possible. good thing too, because they were made with wheat bran and parmesan cheese. yes.

You know i can't do anything exactly according to directions. So i put wheat bran in it. Take that you age old perfected French pastry technique! All it does is give it a look of a robbins egg. The main taste difference in the Poissant, is the half cup of parmesan cheese massaged into the butter square. A cheese croissant. Like a pao de queijo, but not. The chewy flaky cheesy croissant shaped like a fish; that is our special. At least it is until we make fish shaped dinner rolls.

Banana mousse has nothing to do with the fish biscuit. It was a leftover dud from the polenta dissaster, don't ask. Well, poissants for the next dawn's breakfast, which is a summer breakfast, so banana mousse....frozen! much nicer in photos. I do all this for the photos. you do know that right.

Poissants:
ingredients: 2 cups flour ~ 3 tbsp wheat bran ~ 12oz butter ~ 1/2 cup ground parmesan cheese ~ 1.5 tsp yeast ~ 2 tbsp sugar ~ 1 tsp salt ~ 3/4 cup tepid milk ~ an egg for the wash

method: 1) mix flour, sugar, and yeast THEN salt (you will murder the yeast if you don't mix it first) then with the dough hook, mix at slow speed while you add the milk, once all wet, mix on #4 (kitchenaide) for 4 minutes. 2) greese a bowl, cover and rise 30 minutes, then refrigerate for 2 hours. 3) make butter square: sprinkle bran and a tbsp of flour on plastic wrap, then plop down butter (soft) and cover with another peice of wrap. massage until you make a sqaure ~4.5 inches. refrigerate, but not until its hard, just dont let it melt. 4) roll out dough to a square, and splace the butter sqaure inide at an angle offset, then fold over the dough edges to make an envelope around the butter, and seel with water. refrigerate for 30 minutes, then roll out, fold in half, press down, and refrigerate for 40 minutes. repeat 4 times. 5) Roll out, cut into fish, arrange on lined baking sheet, and refrigerate for 2 hours. bake at 400F for 20 minutes, rotating after 10.

Frozen Banana mousse:
ingredients: 2 bananas ~ 1.25cups heavy cream ~ 2tbsp cointreau ~ .25 cup sugar ~ 1tbsp water ~ 2 gelatin leaves ~ 1 lemon, squeezed

method: 1) soften gelatin in water 2) puree bananas, sugar, cointreau and lemon, add soft gelatin. 3) whip cream to soft peaks, gently fold in puree mixture, and pipe into a mold, bowl, or form that can be frozen. then freeze.

Perhaps it is time, after two years of gaining, losing, mixing, and holding readers from various coordinates around the globe, that we spend a moment on our namesake. Why would anyone ever name a bakery The Salty Cod? Well, the cod, morue, bacalhau--what have you, is a guide. He keeps you going straight on your course, or he makes sure he breaks you from it. He is the scapegoat when you can't explain how your life has taken you to this present day. He is to blame when you do what appears a "crazy" act in the eyes of the world; the cod made me do it! Crazy is in the eye of the beholder, if we were endowed with cod eyes, following what you want would not seem such a crazy concept. But we don't have cod eyes. That is why we must trust that he knows where he is leading us. Even if you don't know what you want, he does. So follow him.

a bientot.

In a Corn Castle

Sweet Corn Ice Cream and Corn Flour Madeleines

There does indeed exist a corn castle. Connect to this concept: driving down the freeway; you see giant billboards advertising "come, pick apples!" or "the best fried chicken for the next 200 miles!" "World's largest Pumpkin patch, Next four exits!" And each kilometer that you draw nearer, the signs begin to mount, urging you on, "almost there! almost to the freshest bite of fish you'll ever have!" just around the next bend...it is in this very fashion that i arrived at the corn castle. No not the world's largest structure supported by cob columns, but a road side stop shop decorated dino-land water park style to create a facade akin to a castle of ears filled with--yep, you guessed it; corn. Corn as far as the eye can see. Oh how corny. on y va.

I kid you not, a castle of corn does indeed exist. Three actually, and all on one very long stretch of Brasilian high way. of course i'm still talking about Brasil, get used to it. They are called Castelhinho Pamonha, litterally little corn castle, and they are filled with corny treats. Sweet corn tamales (pamonhas), corn juice (suco de milho), corn cakes (bolos de milho), cuscuz (i have no way of explaining this to you), corn cookies, corn candies, polenta, and finally--what i had requested upon arrival, Sorvete de milho: corn ice cream. I had come across it goggling food gawker one evening, and since i have been stolen by its curious concept: a vegetable in an ice cream? We initially pulled over to pick up a bottle of suco de milho, but as we stepped out of the car, H registered, Ah, we can get you corn ice cream here! Corn ice cream? i thought with a smile, it's nine in the morning. Let's do it. The creamy concoction came out of the machine as a soft serve into the cup awaiting its arrival, two spoons please! Brasilians eat a lot of corn, not to imply that North Americans don't, but Brasilians use it in a much wider array that, well, tastes a hell of a lot better than creamed corn casserole.

The cream of the crop, pun intended, is the sorvete de milho. At least in my opinion, and who could care for anything else? That being the case, i have grown attached to corn, not only for it's gluten-freeness, but because it finally tastes good. Sitting at my desk in Seattle, staring out the window, and longing with every fiber of my being to be back in Brasil with H and the rest of the family, i decide that it is time for the Salty Cod to pay closer attention to this summery warm weather treat. Ice cream is my guilt, or rather my non guilt, never say no to wine, chocolate, or ice cream, and to the ears of any North American, the concept of corn ice cream is slightly repulsive. Therefore, i must break, convince, and enlighten. C'est possible? watch me.

I hate canned corn. But i don't mind it if it's an ingredient, no dad, eggs scramble mash surprise doesn't count. A recipe for ice cream: one cup whole milk, one cup cream, sugar, a pinch of salt, and your ingredients. Let us think. This is Brasilian. So let us proceed: one cup whole milk, one cup heavy cream, one can condensed milk, and 1 cup corn. Maybe a little vanilla. A pinch of cinnamon. This is a Salty Cod confection, after all. It's first tasters: my brother R and Sister K. R: it tastes like ice cream, with a background of corn. K: background? try foreground. Success? Well, they said they would take another spoonfull. It's unexpected, that's all, K continued. Unexpected? Well, the unexpected is the best kind.

Another corny treat; mais mais, eu quero mais! Corn cakes. Very similar to North American cornbread, though less dry and with, gasp! flavor! are very scientific. I decided to honor the teaching of Aunt P, who made my 23rd birthday cake in a blender with milk cups, hand full measurements, and hey you like cheese, let's put some in! Experimental fashion. Ergo, corn cake Madelines reflect the same kitchen daringness--nose goes.

Sorvete de Milho (Sweet corn Ice Cream)
Ingredients: 1 cup whole milk ~ 1 cup whipping cream ~ 1 can corn, drained or one cup cooked and de-cobbed ~ 1 can leite condesado ~ 1 tsp vanilla extract ~ 1 tsp cinnamon

method: 1) in a blender, liquefy drained corn along with the milk 2) strain through a blender, press with a spoon to get all liquid. Discard pulp 3) return corn milk to blender, add cream, condensed milk, and everything else and mix well 4) refrigerate until quite chilly, at least an hour 5) process in an ice cream maker, or if you are doing it old-school style, god speed to you.

Corn Flour Madelines:
Ingredients: 1 cup corn flour ~ 1 egg ~.5 cup sugar ~ .5 cup milk ~ 2 tbsps melted butter ~ .25 cup Parmesan cheese ~ 1 tsp baking powder ~ pinch of salt ~ some vanilla ~ some cinnamon ~ some love. damn it.

method: mix wets. mix dries. combine. spray a madeline pan, bake at 350 for less than ten minutes. please don't burn.

In two months, H and i spent over 32 hours in the car together (we like to travel). So when the sign screams at us 50 kilometers until the best traíra! brandishing a cute little fish holding a trident, we know we're gonna stop. And when we do, and find the place a complete bust on service, but escape with a memory of a tiny red armchair made for 2 year olds that i somehow managed to squeeze my ass into, a parking lot kiss that yes i remember, and a laugh as we wave at the giant crowned fish statue as we pull out, then it was without a doubt, all worth it in the end.

Sweet corn ice cream in my little kitchenaide off in the distance of the pacific northwest; castles made of corn can be home to a fairy tale princess too. Or perhaps, just to a cod-girl. One scoop, spoon, lick of the drip on my finger and my mind is flown body and soul to that car ride, to the corn castle, to the shared cup that numbed my fingers in the car on our way to Sao Paulo. ice cream at nine in the morning. And then a cake, and i am transported one month later (in the car as well) eating Aunt P's corn cakes after the failed king of traíra. Life is a collection of connections, you just have to make them. Corn, ah. I could eat a pool of you. Taste, smell; these memory triggers outlast all others. Distance does not have to be a terrible burden. If you make the right recipes, it can, and only will enhance and make yet greater every memory that causes your saudade. And yes, i'm talking about corn ice cream. So stop off at the cheesy billboard. You may in fact catch a great memory, at least one to keep you warm until you can catch the next one.
A bientot

Mining Goodbyes In Ouro Preto

Two dwarfs Lost and Found in the Mines of Minas Gerais

Vila Rica do Ouro Preto. Village rich in Black Gold. In English the phrase refers to oil. But there is no oil here. Actually, there isn't even anymore gold. No silver. No more gems. No miners. What is there then? Well besides the seven dwarfs, there is a Salty Cod, swimming to the splash of his own dancing echo against the red mud and dripping granite. He's still in there, bouncing up the cobbled city streets, pretending that time doesn't move, that like the preserved colonial city of an antique past, time stands still. Never Ending of the moment when most happy. sun rising in the west, and moon rising in the est. But fish can't bounce up streets, you say. But this one can. he grew wings. On y va.

Minas Gerais; Portuguese for general mines, is the fourth largest and second most populous state in Brasil. Still rich in mineral and grantie production, Minas is known for three things: mines, cheese, and farm house wood fire meals. Residents, known as mineiros (miners) are considered inhabitants of "deep Brasil," less urban, more Portuguese, no beaches, less African cultural influence, so more--country. I say this and then drive through the capital city, Belo Horizonte (beautiful horizon), that though nearly only a quarter of the size of SP, gives one that Orlando feeling. Minas is home to many historical sites, cities including Diamantina, Tiradentes, Serro, and Ouro Preto. The last being a UNESCO world herritage site, and also where we happened to go. In 1697 after gold and gemstones were discovered in the region, Portuguese colonials hanging out in Rio de Janeiro started the construction of the estrada real, "royal road" to begin mining production. The presence of the colonials and slaves led to the creation of the largest urban city in South America at the time. What remained following the gold rush was a time-capsuled portrait of colonial Brasil. Walking the cobbled streets of Ouro Preto, one is instantly transported to the curving alleys of Oporto and Lisbon. The city is Brasil's living history, a portrait of how history has coursed Brasil into the country that exists today. It is an old world European city, just as say colonial Jamestown is--though an actual city.

There would be no Brasil as we know it today without it's Portuguese colonial past, so for better or for worse, they are bound together in one past. So no matter what ones feelings may be regarding the age of exploration and colonization, we are all who we are by a rickety string of events that we owe if not respect, then at least attention to. A colonial past held in a city sprinkled with fairy dust, Ouro Preto allows one to feel that time can still if you try hard enough.

What was i doing there. Archeological work. Yeah that'll be the day. If you must know, last Wednesday happened to be my birthday. 23 and i'm not dead yet! Each year that happens i feel the need to celebrate such an achievement. As do many people that i hold present in my life. Usually i receive presents. Wrapped boxes of clothing or trinkets. But this year i received a bit more: a trip. Some of you are aware of my historical past--that being my BA in history for which my research was in Portuguese colonization. what a coincidence. When H suggested that he take me on a trip to Ouro Preto for my birthday, i grew glossy eyed. Portuguese colonial architecture is my thing. Really? Is this too good to be true? How can life really come into itself so full circle. A twilight zone, a perfect that is too perfect. What luck has chanced that i get to be so perfectly happy. I beleive that perhaps it has to do with knowing exactly what you want. maybe.

So how long will it take? hmm, replied H, maybe eight hours. Oh joy, we seem to love immensely very long car rides. The last we went due south, now we go north! Hmmm. Driving through Minas Gerais is like driving through mid-west farmland, but with hills. Many hills. We drove in the direction toward Belo Horizonte, to keep to the paved highway rather than dusty dirt roads. those still exist? After passing the capitol city, we headed south east toward Ouro Preto. Now, being the most popular tourist destination in Brasil for US travelers, there are many resources for visitors once arrived. Such as maps. As we entered the city, we passed one such station that offered resources of this nature. we should stop and get a map, i said. Nah, H replied, let's just drive around and find someplace to eat and a hotel first. hmmmm. i like maps, but fine. two hours later we have somehow driven (forward and in reverse) down every winding road in the city (and dirt ones on the outskirt) including dead ends. Hmmm, H began, let's go back and get a map. what! isn't that what i said in the beginning! No, you said should. It's different. What! You brat just admit. Eventually we solved the problem by picking up a local kid on the streets to back-seat us to a reasonably priced lodging. In tourists towns, hotel advertisers are common on the streets. They receive royalties for bringing in clients. Ours led us to a few overpriced and overbooked Pousadas, the equivalent, i would say, to a small bed and breakfast type lodging, until we found a small cozy offering that was reasonably priced. A little ski cottage, though in warm weather. Afterward we proceeded to a restaurant where, after a day starved from eating nothing but a little leftover corn cake, we consumed a feijoada, a couple caipirinas, and some Minas truffles. Hey--it was my birthday present after all.

A whole day of being tourists. Hooray! but what to do first. I know, replied little miss European jet setter, we walk the winding streets with no direction. So we did. Well in a city with twenty baroque churches, it is not very hard to stumble upon one. Actually all we had to do was turn a corner and boom smack in the face. One of Aleijadinho's. The architect and sculptor, Alejadinho, literally meaning "little cripple" is one of Brasil's most famous artistic historical figures responsible for the design and sculpting of nearly all the churches in Ouro Preto, as well as commissioned works in other parts of the country. We went into a couple...the ones without a monetary entrance fee. houses of god she be free and open to the public, i silently (or not so silently) cursed. Ah well, enough of churches. There are far too many to attempt them all. On to the mines.

Down the road was located a little mine, the mina do chicorei, an old gold mine whose whereabouts fell out of knowledge until accidentally discovered in the 1940's by a woman who bought the location to open a restaurant. Little did she know she bought a historical gold mine. Once discovered, she opened the mine for historical observance and tourism. Oh yeah and she still runs her restaurant out of the same place. We got through the tight squeeze of a tunnel led by our "guide" who offered us hard hats. I must say it was fun crawling through the red clay puddles of muck, ducking under low rocks in the dimly illuminated cave. haha! But what a nightmare it must have been to be a chained down slave digging day in day out. Experiencing historical concepts of the kind such as this, is perhaps a way of tribute to those of the past who suffered, as we survive their memory. Hard hats off to you.

The following day we checked out and headed to the neighboring town of Mariana to visit the most famous tourist trap in the region: the mina da passagem, the largest historical gold mine open to the public in the--world! A rickety seat belt-less mine car ride that would have the word lawsuit written all over it in the US ride down into the must cavern is followed by a guided explanation of the mine's historical pertinence, as well as a look at the underground pools that are very popular with cave divers the world over. Watch out though, the ride will put you back twenty four reis per person.

After the mines we drove through Mariana, a city seemingly better planed than Ouro Preto. More fancy pants if you ask me. We had lunch on traditional Minas cuisine: pots of food cooked over a a wooden fire (actually still sitting over a wooden fire) that you scoop onto your own plate. Excellent! beans and rice...and variations...and meat. Yeah i'll miss that.

Finally it was time to go, to start the eight hour drive back. The thing about being in a time capsuled town, is that you begin to beleive that you yourself are without time. But time doesn't stop. And it doesn't in this town either. For though it looks old, it continues to move. As do we all. As we drove back, the reality of my departure back to the untied states the following day began to sink in. And i felt my heart begin to tear, as it longed maybe, to stay time capsuled along with the stone pillars and cobbled alleys of the fairy book town.

The things i will miss the most of Brasil are these: boiled mandioca, pao de queijo, guarana, my other family, and above all others, having my editor close. They say you can't appreciate the things you have and love without being away and losing them first. Whoever first said that needs to be shot. I have loved every moment of my time in Brasil, even the less enjoyable ones. Never have i eaten so well. never have i felt more at home. never have i felt so happy. Time capsul--who wants the world to stand still. We move forward, the city gets plumbing. And we get ready for the next move. Nothing stands still. It only gets better.

This is not the end of Brasil, as much as my never ending tears wish me to think it so. It is neither an end nor a goodbye. On the contrary; it is only the beginning. I am ready for the roller coaster. When you put your fate in the hands of the cod fish, and trust that he knows where he is leading you, then the adventure has begun, and you must beleive that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The cod can never offer a guarantee, but he can offer hope. And who could wish for anything more.

So in the words of Tony, life definitely does not suck. how could it.

an a bientot--but i see it more as an on y va

Everything Is Gluten Free in Bahia

The Month of Much Independence
What a cheep shot eh? I didn't even go to Bahia and yet i get to stuff my face full of its bounty. successss. Well if there's anything that will get you somewhere, it's having sampled it. And i would say that the late night arrival of the Jet Setting sisters as they opened their suit cases full of edible goodies (you know you're with the right crowd when food takes up the place of clothes) and after a showering of hugs D turns to me with glee "all sem gluten! everything we found it all!" Now whether or not the notion was pulled particularly for me or not doesn't matter, there isn't a way in the world one could be left feeling less than a hundred dollars. As half the state of Bahia exploded onto the kitchen table in edible form, and midget camera cards were shoved at me to download quickly for prompt viewing, i was lost amidst the excited sped laughs of the travelers as they recapped the week away to see family that nearly three decades had separated them from. One doesn't need words to understand what's going on; happiness is a pitch, a taste, and a look. I knew exactly what they were saying, in hieroglyphic form. And this cod fish biscuit? Dear god somebody pinch me. on y va.


Where is Bahia? What is Bahia? It sounds like a beach. No, i didn't say the Bahamas. Located in the northeast corner of the country, Bahia is the fourth most populous state in Brasil, of which its capital city, Salvador, is undoubtedly what gives Brasil its most famous image abroad: Carnival dancers and beach bums sitting around drinking coconut water. success. But wait--isn't that Rio? Hmmm, i dunno. It's very difficult after all to give a nation that is larger than the US only one image of stereotype. A Paulista, Carioca (from Rio), a Bahian (?), and a Bahhh-ian (hehehe, people from Porto Alegre. I guess they are gauchos eh?) are as stereotypically different as a Texan, an Orgonian, and a New Yorker. so a priest and a Rabi walk into a bar...Bahia is the archaic Portuguese word for bay, as the state was named after All Saint's Bay, of which Salvador sits atop the cliff. Bahia pulls the second greatest volume of tourism in the country, behind what i can only presume must be Rio di Janiero. When images of Brasilian afro-influenced heritage arise, it is historically from Bahia and the rest of the northeast where they originate, as Bahia was a center of the sugar cane harvest that relied heavily on African slave labor.

A central historical region, Bahian architecture is left over from the colonial Portuguese who settled in the sixteenth century and created, in essence, mini Lisbons and Oportos. Bahia, like Minas Gerais, more so than the southern states of Brasil, maintains a much more historical connection to the colonial past as a direct result of occupation. Cabral arrived in 1500 at Porto Seguro on the southern Bahian coast; fifty years later, settlers founded Salvador, and either their saudade for the homeland or lack of creativity influenced not only the architecture, but the city planning and decor as well. Salvador--full name being São Salvador da Baía de Todos os Santos, "Holy Savior of All Saints' Bay," (you can see the need for abreves here) is the capital and largest city. D is from the city Vitória da Conquista, the third largest city in Bahia after Salvador and Feira de Santana, and as word has it has grown astronomically over the past couple decades due to commerce, industry, coffee production, and the status as a university town (Universidade Estadual do Sudoeste da Bahia.) The return after thirty years was to a city that was much different for her, though at the same time much the same.

So what of this food then. The topic: biscuits and banana leaves. biscuits? yes. my eyes widened as bag upon bag of biscuits all pretty, pale, and sparkling emergered one after the other. and these are all gluten free? Alongside the biscuits were other Bahian traditional goodies; little coconut cakes, pressed sugarcane candy in a banana leaf--gold mine. Eager to try everything--at the same time--i was confused slightly by how a few of those present reached for nothing. You see, H explained to me in front of everyone under the guise of our secret language, they look down on Bahia, to them this would be like someone in the US bringing back a whole bunch of junk from Mexico. hmmm...really? well, all i can say is--sucks to be them.

All of the biscuits, though they tasted like almond, were made from flour of mandioca root; aka tapioca. Mandioca, manioc, polvinho, goma, puma--it all come from the same root, a magical "everything begins here" tuber that i have come to adore. my next novel: I fell in Love with a Manioc, (July 2012.) Crescents, pills, sticks, twists, salty, sweet--you can make anything from mandioca. And what have we here...aqui, isso é do bacalhau. excuse me? bacalhau? Cod fish Cookies? are you for serious? Truth: they taste like a less-dried out version of nabisco chicken in a biscuit; aiater R you would be very pleased with these.

Aside from the never ending stream of pale-faced biscuits that appeared from Felix's bag; there appeared alongside a plethora of Bahian cheeses and some sweet candies, among them rapadura. Technically known as tijolo, the Portuguese word for brick, because it is usually made into a solid brick form that is fairly preserved and durable. Pretty much it is a hunk of pure sugarcane juice with spices such as cinnamon and a LOT of ginger, nuts, and even fruits. Hmmm, i thought as i racked my brain to try and communicate what i was tasting, para mim, euuuh, isso é um sabore de natal. gingimbre é muito natal. mmmm. You can find out more about rapadura here or at more my level here. Rapadura first appeared in the 18th century by slaves who worked on the sugarcane plantations; high in minerals and other things that seem to give one energy, it was a crucial part of the diet as it preserved well and could last for long periods of time. according to H, this is the food that has and always will keep people from starving. For its history, the candy is commonly considered comida de pobre, food for the poor (yes i translated that myself).

As i thought of what H had said about Bahia being considered lower class it all made sense; there is much prejudice to be found anywhere, i began to think; perhaps that is how i would act if someone unloaded on my dining room table a bag of grits and collards brought back fresh from Mississippi, blech, i would think, southern food. I am not sure where this prejudice came from, i have no aversion to the culture of the southern states of the US, on the contrary i have never even experienced them, but somehow, somewhere along the way, the image and notion was planted, there is a sense in the back of my mind that connects such types of food as poor food, as country food, as lower class food. Food is as much a marker of social status and class boundary as anything; we have to be careful to not allow that to get in the way of our taste buds, else you may find yourself in regret for having missed out on something intrinsically delightful. It is impossible to control ingrained thoughts, but it is what you do with them that matters.

When I sat down to "talk out" what all these edibles were with D, she mentioned how the day happened to be Bahian independence day. what? it's its own country now? When Brasil broke from Portugal, Bahia was the last state to join the independent confederation. It is not the Brasilian independence, she continued, that is---September 7th, i cut in, i know that day. It happens to be one of my favorite days. Back to the subject--Brasilian Independence was declared on September 7th 1822, though a pocket of elite loyalists in Bahia remained true to the Portuguese crown--hmm sounds familiar, we call them Tories, but eventually they shoved off for Canada--the loyalists somehow stood their ground in battle until finally falling to the union on 2 July 1823. Hence 2 July is Bahian independence. Huh, i responded, July seems to be a very hot-headed month for revolutions; the Americans on the 4th, les Francaises on the 14th, and the Bahians on the 2nd. AND the most important of all--the Canadians on the 1st. Well. A triangle quadrangle connection of my three four favorite countries. how presh. So happy birthday Bahia, happy birthday US of A, happy birthday O Canada, and while we're at it--vive la France!

Biscuits, Bahia, Independence, family--life doesn't suck. And with a biscuit made out of cod, a weekend visiting friends and family on the back of a red motorcycle, getting lost in the neighboring city of Sorocaba on the way to another festa julhina, a backyard barbecue for little brothers entire English class, and night time riding with old jazz music--life definitely does not suck. oh did i mention the cod cookie?

a bientot