Clumpy Granola

a guest recipe by: my mom

What would you call granola with clumps? my mom asked me as i walked by her desk one morning, uh, i answered, clumpy granola. My family loves granola. A batch lasts about 4-5 day around here, however, my mom as as quick to make it as we are to eat it. It is one of her agenda items; she makes it different every single time striving to reach maximum clumpiness while still using a very scarce amount of oil. After myriad batches of cereal-esque results (12th time?) we settled on massaging a bit of egg white into the mess. The result; clumps. Clumps!

Everyone says their mom is an excellent cook, or baker, or whatever. My mom is uniquely neither. She can cook, she can bake, she can pretty much do everything. But what she is most excellent at is being a mom. I've never had a guest chef on Salty before, who else could possibly be qualified (we are very snobby of ourselves here at Salty), nor have i ever really spoken about my family (who are they?). I'm usually the center of the universe, am i not? But today, this post is for her.


I am moving exactly one week from today; suitcases and boxes are exploding in my room, and my brain is distracted enough to the point of need for medication (or wine). But one of the heaviest things that weighs on my mind is saying goodbye to my family. Now it's not like i've never left before; i went to college, i lived in Paris, i've had houses, apartments, dorms, etc., so i've passed the in-n-out stage with flying colors. I've only been living with my parents since after i graduated last May and got back from Brazil in July, so they are used to me shoving off. But this time it's different. This time there's no Christmas break at the end of the semester or designated time when my student visa runs out. This time i'm actually moving to have a life and for once, to stay put (except for times when we're off adventuring the world). Bluntly stated, the transition is harder on my mom than it is on me. Remember that i am only 23 years old, so i cannot blame her for being melancholy over my departure, especially as it is out of the country. But the reality is that we all leave eventually, and distance is relative. The world is only one place; we're all on it at the same time, there is no falling off. How wonderful would things be if the world (and my mom) viewed the world on the same minute scale that i perceive it on. Seeing is believing.

My mom means the world to me, and i know that without her being who she is, i would have never been able to become who i am; able to make the decisions that i make today. So to my mom: i am not leaving you behind, i am taking you with me. You made me who i am by letting me be who i am. Thank you for being my mom. And if you don't mind, make me some of this granola to take on the plane.

Clumpy Granola

4 cups oats
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup honey
1 cup flax seed
2 cups raisins
1 cup chopped almonds
1 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 sunflower kernels
2 egg whites

mix everything together in a bowl. that easy. spread as thinly as possible on two baking trays, and bake at 250 F for 30 minutes, checking (but not stirring) every 10. it should darken to a golden color, and harden as it cools.

If you are living outside of your home country, please scribble a comment on how your family deals with you being away, or how you deal with someone being away. Any help or encouragement would mean so much to me and those around me. If 50 of you say, "lucky mom, vacations to Brazil!" then perhaps we can convince her :)

a bientot

Blue

The color, not the melancholy emotion.

What do i want to make? was the thought that sat on my mind all week. Why can't i think of something nouveau and creative to wow the masses with. damn it. And why is no one having a birthday! We need birthday cake fuel. My mind is frazzled from mindless work (the kind you make money on) and i can't think of an angle to bake up. The only thought that came to mind was blue. Blue. Blue pastry? I've reverted to primary mode. I think in colors. Excellent.

Like many of you i find unnatural colors in baked goods quite frightening. The bubble gum bright blue ice cream flavor at Maggie-Moo's will always be on my no-list. Sorry E. However, for one reason rather than another, i find macarons to not only be acceptable in unnatural colors, but to be more desirable with each quarter tsp of dye. Why? I'm not sure. Perhaps is the the lackluster taupe-ish hue of a nude macaron, or perhaps it is for the fact that the first macarons to invade my eyes were the bright dye-saturated jewels of the Parisian pastry shop windows that i would stare at on a daily basis. The macaron trees in the Laudier windows, how can you not stare at those. Deep purple, the color of the store, the color of a box of glittering macarons, the color of the sexiest looking sweetie on the planet. Now a vivid macaron image comes to mind; an over-priced pastry shop (perfect for tourists) right across the street from the back end of the church of the Madeleine, late January, and a window filled with a thousand stacked blood-red macarons. Ribbons, bows, trees, glitter. Jesus, what the hell is with these things. When i had (went) to class, i would not take the 40 minutes metro ride home during my 2 hour lunch break. Instead, i would walk 5 minutes down the street, and sit on the floor in the cook-book section of the fnac. 20 different books on macarons. excellent. Did i read most of them? yes. Did i figure out how to make them? yes. and it scared the shit out of me.


I made made them for the first time sometime in October of the following year after i returned to the U.S. And honestly, i found them soothing. Since then i have made hundreds for parties, friends, therapy, and gifts. The last being candy cane and eggnog macarons for a Christmas party which sadly didn't make it onto Salty. The point is, when i need something to make in order to relax, i make macarons. They are nothing special, everyone and their aunt now posts about them ad naseum. But, who cares. I wanted blue. And my babies gave blue.

I don't have much of a blue bias, i love all members of the blue family. Navy, Mediterranean house paint, Tiffany, sky, baby, and of course Portuguese azulejo tile blue. Now, i'm not depressed, no melancholy blues around here today. Just a batch of blue coconut-walnut sweeties, an over-lemony caipirinha, and a surprising soundtrack of norah jones, ray charles, and amy winehouse. endnote.

The stash of blanched almonds sadly found their way into a granola recipe the other day. As such, the costco bag of whole almonds had to be dug into. Skins? Not a problem. We'll mix them with walnuts. No more parchment? poo, only one silpat. What happened to all the pastry bags? I just used them...and i sent my own personal set already on to brazil with measuring cups and teaspoons. Hmm. Plastic baggy it is.

for the shells:
3 egg whites
2/3 cups ground almonds and walnuts
1/4 cup sugar
1 3/4 cup powdered sugar
1-2 tsp food dye

Grind the almonds and walnuts in a food processor with the powdered sugar. Meanwhile, whip the egg whites in a stand mixer or with egg beaters. Slowly add the sugar and food dye, and whip until the whites are stiff. Turn the bowl upside down, if it doesn't fall on your face, you're good. Pour the nut-sugar mixture into the whites and fold using a spatula. Fold 50 times (Tartelette's tip) and scoop into a pastry bag fitted with a wide tip. Pipe small circles onto a silpat or parchment covered tray. Let them rest for 30-60 minutes. Bake for 10 minutes at 275 degrees. Let cool for 2-3 minutes, and carefully remove from the pan.

for the coconut cream
1/2 cup butter
1 1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
2 tbsp coconut milk
1tsp vanilla powder

Beat the butter, add the sugar and whip. Add vanilla, add milk, and whip some more. Transfer to a pastry bag, and pipe a small amount onto half of your shells. Sandwich another shell on top to finish.

The next time i make (try) to make macarons will be in brazil. It may be a while before i find an affordable mixer and an audience to try them. But we will. And they will be better than ever before. A brazilian macaron is different than a french one. I'm not quite sure how it is different, but i will find out. and i will let you know.

a bientot

A Brazilian in Seattle

Where Have I Been?
right here.

I don't know if other "internet writers" take vacations, as not only have i AWOLed the Salty office, but i haven't looked at any other blog in over a month either. Yeah i'm backed up. Did i even turn my computer on? Well you were busy with your families and what-not anyways, so i rest assured that i was not too sorely missed. But holiday vacations are now over, and it's back to work (real work and Salty work). So, happy late Christmas, and happy new years! May your new year bring you 365 great days of thrills, chills, and peppermint pills. 2010 brings quite a few changes here at Salty as well, we're quite an organic column here, and change quite frequently. In this mode I am announcing that the atmosphere here is morphing back toward that of when we lived in France a few years ago, that is stories based on travel, culture AND food stories rather than singular recipe focus. What brings the shift? I (first person, no journalism here, this is personal) am moving to Brazil at the end of January. I am moving into my (very own) house in a small city in São Paulo State with my fiancé H, who is usually referred to as "editor"around here for his non-colloquial perfect English. I am stepping into a different life, but it's what Salty (and a few other staff members) have been needing. We're deathly excited for the new blog (ehem, life) direction, and hope to take you along as we first did when we opened shop in France nearly three years ago. Announcement done. So let's write a story.

H spent the past month with me in my family's home in Seattle, and remember this was his first time here in the US of A. So what have i learned about Brazilians in America? That not even the most expensive and fancy-pants fish and oyster house restaurant on the Seattle waterfront can keep a Brazilian from dreaming about rice and beans. Good grief. Did i end up making rice and beans at least one night? Absolutely not. When in Rome...eat like you're in Mexico. As far as Washington State tours go, I hit this one on the nail (drum roll); we made it to every corner north, south, east, and west. Well, every corner but Walla-Walla as there is nothing in said town but onions and a state pen anyways. Lucky for us Seattle Christmas was quite warm this year; low to mid 40's nearly every day. So, below freezing for a Brazilian. But for a Swedish Fish out of his wrapper, he adapted quite nicely. Right on Red? Not a problem if i yell GO! And unfortunately yes, we do have to leave a tip for the waiter. Phrases learned: Litter and it Will Hurt, Click it or Ticket, and Can i see your ID? American radios play the same song over and over? Yes. Yes they do. And when i say left, i mean right. For once the tables were turned: i - the mute pantomime not afraid to make animal noises in the thick of public overhear in foreign countries around the world collecting nickles for giggles produced, was all knowing for once. Though, i do enjoy the "huh?"of it all. Being on the unknowing end. I'm meant, i feel, to be a foreigner. Smiling for the same awe as when listening to music in a language you don't understand.

There is a bit more to Seattle than Pike Place Market, though we did make it a (first) stop. Actually, we spent very little time in Seattle. North we went to Ferndale, a town practically on the border with Canada where my aunt and uncle have a farm. For the American tour: oh look a farm. And that's a goat. At the farm my professional cooking aunt was the only one to manage to erase rice and beans from the mind with her eggs Benedict, seafood risotto, and an ever-coming supply of the Northwest specialty, smoked salmon. Then we went south to Vancouver, a city just on the border of Oregon. East to Spokane, Washington's second largest city and the home of my alma mater, and then north-west by boat to the pristine San Juan Islands for a "nature"tour, and overly-cutesy bed & breakfast (which i highly recommend with 10 stars). But even with all the fancy tours that i could squeeze into a month, really what we liked most was lying on the couch, not working, being lazy, and making macarons and tarts in the kitchen. Of course, all of this while wearing the new leopard print snuggie.

Impressions: American food would be better if it had rice and beans tucked in the side. Our cars are a bit big. Ferry boats are cute, but oh how quickly you learn to loath them. Christmas is a big ritualistic deal. Americans and Brazilians really are the same, just a little different. Pineapples cost a lot of money and computers and ipods do not. But most importantly; that we are ready to go back to Brazil and start a new life. The Brazilian has already left the building, but i follow in 25. And i'm taking you with me. Nervous? Me too. So until then, let's bake something, because yes i missed daring bakers.....but it won't happen again.


a bientot

Am I Popular?

Cranberry Bread Guest Post Em Português

This has been a busy month, but i guess you don't need me to tell you that. There have been babies born, business started, trips taken, games played, jobs gained, jobs lost, and everything else in between (when i list that, i am not talking about myself. obviously...). It seems that i have been stumbling around in the dark when it comes to Salty over the past 5 months, and i have been. Details are not really needed other than the fact that i, like you all, have been going through a bit of a pinch, a hurdle in the road, an elephant in the room, a blind man staring at writing in the sky...nobody knows what i am saying. Ergo we are back!

At the beginning of the month, the staff members here at the Salty Cod were asked to perform their first ever guest post. And we did. So it seems only fitting that we end the month with another guest post, my aren't we popular these days. Remember this time of year two years ago (no you don't) when we were posting about cooking a 30 pound turkey for 40 Frenchies at our place in Paris? Life rolls on doesn't it. Well, our dear friend Moira in Portugal invited us to celebrate the second anniversary of her blog, Tertulia de Sabores, by being the foreign guest blogger to round out the month long celebration of guests. Maybe you weren't around for the Portugal days, but we at the Salty Cod love all things Portuguese, and Moira's blog is one of our favorites. So we jumped at the bit to provide an American (uh oh) recipe for her readers. You can see the post over at Tertulia, though it is in Portuguese, so we will post the English version here. But we wish to say happy birthday again to Tertulia de Sabores, e muito obrigada por nos convidar para celebrar com você.

In this region of the world (the big one below Canada and above Mexico) the holiday season begins mid November and carries through the New Year. Mid November begins the Thanksgiving preparation, that is preparing a turkey filled menu for 8, maybe 15, maybe even 30 people. Thanksgiving is our big holiday here in the States, other than the 4^th of July (which really is not so special as most countries celebrate an Independence or national day) Thanksgiving is our “look at us we're special and unique” day. Turkey, bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, and – cranberries. More than any other flavor, cranberries are the taste of the season. It doesn't matter what they are in, on, or around, anything with cranberries in it means dark days of winter, large holiday meals, and in no time at all, Christmas Eve festivities.

When Moira asked if my recipe could be American (as I am the special Portuguese-reading “foreign” guest), I was a little unsure what to make. American? What is American food? I am American and I can't even answer that. I have come to the conclusion that American food is anything that tastes good. Italian, Mexican, and Chinese – these, to me at least, are American foods. But when thanksgiving rolled around, and the bowls of cranberries started piling up, I realized that cranberries were not only a symbol of the holiday season, but more specifically the symbol of the American and Canadian holiday seasons (I'm half Canadian, so represent yo).

Now don't throw out small statistics about Chile and Eastern Europe producing a few barrel fulls of cranberries every year, cranberries are without a doubt indigenous to North America, and have yet to really draw a huge international following. Why? Probably because lingonberries taste (nearly) the exact same, and there are plenty harvested in the Baltic. Over 90% of the world's cranberries are produced in America and Canada, from the Pacific state of Washington, to the Atlantic powerhouse producer of Massachusetts. So, what could be more American to post about than the tart and tiny cranberry. Maybe you have been able to find cranberries in Europe, but I remember full well how difficult it was to find them when I lived in France, and where did I find them? An American import store of course, and at 10 euros a can!

If you have never had a cranberry before, know that they are impossible to eat fresh from the bog. They grow in water bogs, floating on the surface like sparkling rubies. They are inedible when raw, and are found primarily in sauces, juices, baked goods, or sweetened and dried. Cranberry sauce is the traditional dressing for a holiday turkey, but cranberry juice is usually enjoyed year round. For bakers, cranberries mean one thing – cranberry bread. Every American has had cranberry bread at one time or another during this season, it is quite standard. Laced with citrus such as orange or lemon, covered in chocolate, or sprinkled with spices, like any type of quick bread you can doctor it any way you like, as long as it has cranberries in it.

It is very easy for one to say that they love every season; I love the heat of summer, oh but I love the beauty of spring, but the colors of fall are so vibrant, and then there is winter – you can't love every season now can you. Maybe I don't love any single one, but rather like them all equally. This year I am a bit more sentimental in maintaining the images of my holidays, habits, and traditions. I am moving out of the country in a few months to start a different life, and I am not sure when I will have my American Northwest holiday again. But smells, sounds, and tastes make the best memories. Even a million miles away, I know I will still be able to taste the cranberries.

Cranberry Bread with White Chocolate and Ginger

2 1/2 cup flour
1 orange, zested
½ cup orange juice
2 tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
4 tbsp melted butter
200 gr chopped cranberries
1 tbsp freshly grated ginger
2 tsp cinnamon
1 cup chopped white chocolate

Method: Sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Set aside. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, butter, juice, zest, and ginger. Add to the flour mixture and combine. Stir in the cranberries and chocolate chips. Divide the batter into greased loaf pans, and bake at 375 for 50 – 60 minutes. Use a wooden skewer to check if the inside is still liquid. Let cool, and drizzle with any remaining white chocolate.

Enjoy the end of November Codet(te)s (pretty clever no? That is how i will now refer to you the reader). So December is finally here. We will begin our regular weekly posts again here at the Salty Cod finally after a few months of strings. Why only now as the hectic season picks up? Well, let's just say we're about to get our inspiration back.

as always,
a bientot

Kaka...

not a poo, not a soccer player, just a cannoli.

Mallory, that looks like poo. Are we supposed to eat it? This month's Daring Bakers Challenge was unfortunately not gummi bears like i had predicted, but something much better, something i have always dreamed about baking. Oh wait, no baking involved. Have i told you that i hate deep frying? Well, i will tell you now. Save doughnuts and chiros, anything coming out of a fryer looks like a piece of crap. More honesty box? Cannolis have got to be the ugliest confection in the book. They are unattractive, look like a cross between a cigar and a poo that is starting to get furry on the ends. And they are a pill to make. Appetizing non? You want to make them now? Go for it, millions of people love them, and for those who don't eat with their eyes first, well they are perfect for you. Have i ever wanted to make a cannoli? No. I am 100% about appearances, if it doesn't look good, the photo won't look good. So how do you make a turd look good? Damn near impossible if you ask me. But you didn't ask me, so we'll try. We don't accept defeat with grace here at the Salty Cod, no we will curse and throw the dough mass in the trash and start over before accepting defeat, even with the chuckles burning down out neck. Oh cannoli you have spleaned me, at least now though we have met. Will you ever be on our bakery menu? Absolutely not. But you know, as with all thing in life, it is never pointless to have performed a task you disliked, you can't know that you don't like something until you try it. So here is the story of a white chocolate cannoli named kaka.

Purple and black are really hot right now. Said the grasshopper. I decided that if i had to make cannolis, i might as well make them when i had to cook, so i waited for Thanksgiving like every other American Daring Baker did. Who wants a Cannoli on Thanksgiving? Well, maybe the Italian American families do; mine is not far from an that though. A gaggle of French Canadian immigrants and a few Norwegians who think they are Vikings and you have a loud yelling stereotypical Italian family dinner table. Brilliant! Back to the story. Cannolis, hmm. The idea in the mind was dough dyed black filled white; piano key cannolis. As i made up the dough and began to fry, my uncle bellows from behind me, that looks like a dog turd!! A fried kaka! Joy. And i still have half the dough left. The rest of the family looks at them nervously, then finishes in a bout of laughter. My aunt adds, oh like krumkaka (Norwegian cookie cone) certainly is kaka! In my defense, i cry, hey! i didn't want to make these! and besides, they'll look better when they are filled. As the rest of my family were to arrive the next day i thought, damn, i better start a batch over. Black cannolis sound better in theory. So next morning, new batch. This time, purple.

The purple didn't solicit much praise either. Oh well, now it's all about the photo. Who cares if they taste like kaka, they'll at least match their appearance. I made up the cream. Shit, didn't drain the ricotta. Try number two, i'm not doing too well with this recipe apparently. 0 for 2. I frost their beards as i wait for it to chill, melted white rolled in crumbled white. Chocolate, that is. Will this damn recipe ever end. Piped. Time for some photos. Will we manage? Will we make the kaka look like a jewel? Is it possible? A Thanksgiving miracle perhaps? At this time i think of Martha Stewart, they say Martha could wrap a poo in tin foil and make a pretty ornament. Martha eh...i can turn this kaka into something that glitters like gold. Really? No. But a girl can dream can't she.

To be fair to the cannoli, appearances aren't everything. They were consumed lickety-split. Beauty is on the inside? Indeed. Said the cannoli to the biscotti: will you still love me when i lose my looks? The reply: honey, i didn't marry you for your looks. Love is blind. Cannolis are a delightful treat (those who ate them reported to me) despite their appearance. Daring Bakers i wanted to yell that this challenge was a fail, but i suppose failing would only be giving up. May we please do something with a cake, a cookie, a bread next time? Anna i'm talking to you.

The cannolis came, the cannolis went. If anything they gave us all a laugh, i always want a kitchen filled with laughter. Thanksgiving at my aunt's house has always been my favorite. And i have no doubt that i will miss it for many years to come, but will be able to look back on it with a wry smile in remembrance of the sweet, crispy fried kaka.

This month's Daring Bakers Challenge was chosen and hosted by Lisa Michele of Parsley, Sage, Desserts and Line Drives. The cannoli recipe is from the book Lidia’s Italian-American Kitchen by Lidia Matticchio Bastianich and from The Sopranos Family Cookbook by Allen Rucker; recipes by Michelle Scicolone, as ingredient/direction guides. Unfortunately the recipe was not completely the same as from the book....so neither was mine true to the adapted recipe posted. I found the dough much too difficult to work with the first time around (sorry Lisa) and therefore went with an alternative recipe. So who's did i go with? A non-adapted cannoli shell recipe from At Home with Michael Chiarello, and i filled it with a ricotta mousse rather than cream to give it a little more structure.

Ingredients: 2 cups flour, 2 tsp sugar, 1/4 tsp salt, 3 tbsp white vinegar, 3 eggs (BIG difference from the recipe used for the challenge), 2 tbsp melted butter, 3 tbsp water (i used wine for the purple color) and oil for frying. The method will follow the same as the recipe used for the challenge.

The kakas were not so bad, i suppose. Will i make these again? I think you'd have to hold a gun to my head. Though if the cannoli are here already, you must have left the gun. Couldn't resist, i'm sure every Daring Baker this month quoted the Godfather at least once. In the end, i believe this was exactly what i needed. A humbling reminder that there are many thousands of things i am no good at making, and that even when you are fumbling in the kitchen, when you are fumbling with your family around, it is all worth it. This is a Thanksgiving i will remember with a smile, and who knows, maybe next year when i feel a nostalgia for Thanksgiving, maybe i'll make a batch of cannolis to remember and laugh. Only joking, not even for sappiness would i make these again. Cannolis, i quit you!

Death of (one) of My Idols

Goodbye Gourmet

It's been over a month since Condé Nast announced that it will be pulling the plug on its nearly 70 year old publication, Gourmet Magazine, and even though there has already been many heart felt cries of anger and misery shouted from blog to blog in concerns to this matter, we at the Salty Cod feel Gourmet, above all the other print publications we dream(ed) of shooting for deserves at least our good bye, and praise for a great run. And to pay a proper Salty tribute to the dying friend, we began this post with an 80 word sentence. Huzzah!

In early October CN announced that it would be discontinuing the print of Gourmet, Cookie (what the hell is that?) and two bride magazines due to both a loss in advertising interest and sales, I suppose. For me, and more likely than not for you and for any other food enthusiast, writer, or photographer, the idea of having a shot or story appear inside Gourmet's margins (or bleeding across two full pages in an aerial table shot) has crossed your mind. Along with Bon Apetit and Food & Wine, Gourmet was undoubtedly one of the forerunners in print food art and writing. Granted i've only been part of the food writing and photography world for about three years now (but i'm also only 23) but i've collected these issues over the years, as thousands of other food photogs have, for inspiration, insight, and well in the words of Tony – Gourmet is one beautiful centerfold of food porn. Even though the chances of ever appearing in the photo credits of a Gourmet issue are slim to none, they've never let slip from my mind, even after decisions to slip the country. Though now, sadly, a photo in Gourmet is one of those little cabbage patch dreams that must be laid to rest.

I can't help but feel a bit guilty for aiding (not being, I am not THAT full of myself. yet.) in the demise of the print industry, an industry that I yet dream to get into. Lovely irony. Blogs, websites and the myriad online recipe indexes are strangling any chance of renewed success in the print industry. All print publications for that matter. I mean look at the kindle, we don't even have to buy books anymore. All in all, are magazines done for? Is Gourmet just the first of many to yet fall? (well technically Condé Nast already folded a couple of other publications, including Men's Vogue. Surprisingly there wasn't much outcry). I've worked for a food magazine, albeit a small North Idaho publication, but the business of publishing is brutal, and the demands for it are waning. Hopefully this isn't the end. There is something about print photographs that have a certain spark and light that computer screen photos lack. Tell you what, if someday they all fold - we'll come out with our own, Salty Cod Magazine, to live on the food mag legend.

In the end we are paying a mourn and tribute to Gourmet, for many years (first issue was January 1941) of stunning photography and inspiring stories about cuisine from every corner of the world. As a food writer, food photographer and travel writer, we will miss you Gourmet, but rest assured we will continue your work for you. Sadly though we now have one less thing to read in the tub.

Thank you to my 11 year old sister G for for braving my big ol' camera to take the photo up top.

a bientot

I'm a Guest

Chocolate Hazelnut Souffles

I've never done a "guest" post before for a fellow blog writer, but now i can say that i have. Mel of Bouchon for Two is traveling through Paris, and asked if i could do a French recipe to share with her readers, as i used to live in France and can provide a sappy yet hopefully entertaining commentary on Parisian nut vendors....so, i made souffles. Hazelnut souffles. Tu sais that it's my first time making souffles too? Yes. So i've learned that they have tricks, and i've learned a lesson in speed photography. Why speed? You have solely two minutes to capture the souffle before he moves on; you have to be quick, no think, just shooting.

I will not post the whole story here - if you click Bouchon for Two (right here) you will be directed toward my story and recipe. Mmm yes, whether you care for souffle or not, it is a story about Paris, nuts, and love. What the hell more could you want? My souffles are tall, dark and handsome- exactly how i like them.

Petite Version:

Souffles, Paris, Love. I remember a while back Aran (pastry chef, author and photographer of Canelle et Vanille) wrote an ode to the souffle as a symbol of romance, and I have yet to drop the connection. A souffle for two is a romantic whisper, a fleeting “spur of the moment” as you have mere minutes to catch its climax before deflation. Similarly, love is a product of chance moments. That is, one fleeting moment stuck among three hundred million other chanced possibilities, the window of opportunity being infinitely minute. A souffle is a mirror image. You are given a chance with every souffle to marvel it before falls, if you miss it you miss it, love is the same way – your chance is as short as a peaked souffle, if you don't take it when it rises, you will miss it, and if you miss it , it is gone perhaps forever. The word souffle comes from the French verb souffler: the breath (gently), to whisper or to blow (ehem, as in a candle). A gentle whisper, perhaps a soft sigh, oh how romantic, how so very souffle.

A souffle for two...what is more romantic than sharing a whisper. Paris is clichéd as the city of love – but is it clichéd? Could it not be true? Perhaps for some, Paris can catch you that one in a million. And then? And then win him over with chocolate and nuts and he is yours forever. Does food always have a metaphor for life? Yes, yes it does. Photographing a souffle relies very little on a photographer's skill, instead it sits on their impulse. Shut up and click, you have two minutes, no time to think, just feel it, press it, capture it. It is now or never. Therefore life and love are your souffle. Take for your own the exact moment you want.

Ah, tu aimes et vouloir plus? Allez vers le blog de Bouchon For Two pour la recette.



a bientot

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.