Boring Christmas Post!

Christmas dinner was very low-key this year.

The menu:

Steaks seared in butter and olive oil with mushroom-shallot-red wine garnish

Mashed potato/yam combination (with more butter, of course!)

Brussels sprouts with mustard vinaigrette

Christmas cookies and coffee for dessert

All in all, a satisfying dinner, and a good day. By the end, despite the coffee, I fell into bed and slept like a log. I baked all day, so it's not surprising. Today, it's back to work--the snow is finally melting and the temperature's up, so I feel a little better about leaving the warmth of my home for the harsh outside world.

No new developments as far as Germany goes. I'm working on a photo collage for the second application, and all is going well. Hopefully, I'll have more interesting news to write about in a month or two.

I'm trying to be zen.

Yes. I am calm. I am a rock in a Kyoto rock garden, tended by calm, bald monks in traditional koromos and tabi. They carry rakes, and they move elaborately, gracefully, as they create rippled patterns in the small pebbles surrounding me. There is moss growing on the walls, nine hundred years old, that surround me. These walls have seen many monks, many worshipful pilgrims, many curious tourists. Built from hard-packed earth, they are constant and watchful, the truest guardians I could hope for. A soft snow falls, blanketing me. The monks fix a vegetable and tofu oden for their supper. They are cold, but they are happy in their faith and tranquility. And I am a rock in their garden, one more piece in a calm, quiet life.

I'm trying. But I'm not zen. Not at all. I am upset. And disgusted. I hate it when life springs nasty surprises on me. That's all I can say, for now.

But I have Germany. I'm working hard on phase two of the application, because I'm determined to go. Especially now. I'm holed up in my house, at the mercy of nature (which has brought a deluge of snow to my city), and am going a bit stir-crazy. Still haven't done any Christmas shopping, which could be a problem, as Christmas is only three days away. Somehow, amid the financial crisis and craziness of this year, the holiday has been forgotten.

More Forms...

Some new forms came for the scholarship today. Extremely excited and my love of checking boxes and filling out reams of tedious information stimulated, I immediately set about filling out what I could. I, of course, need numerous odds and ends, but the deadline's March 1st, and I'm relatively sure I can be finished by then.

I also have been informed that I must now submit to an interview to assess my character/eligibility. Time to crack the ol' guidebooks and start the mock-interviews. Fun?

I'm actually pretty excited.

Chocolate Chip Saga--Pt. I

I cannot remember a time when I didn't love chocolate chip cookies. Semi-sweet chocolate chips melting into brown-sugary vanilla chewiness...these simple and versatile cookies are perhaps my favorite dessert of all time. They are one of my closely held comforts in life, evoking memories I tend to forget, and making the world seem calmer, lighter, more satisfying with each bite. Starting a few years ago, I began to bake several batches of chocolate chip cookies a year--whenever I was in need of a calming, satisfying activity, I'd start mixing up a batch, perhaps taking a walk to the store to obtain the necessary chocolate morsels. It was in the first few months of my cookie baking resurgence that I noticed something--all of my cookies were coming out too thin. I remembered fondly the cookies of my childhood, baked by my mother on cold days. They were perfect, always seeming to come out buttery but a little more cakey than chewy; this consistency has managed to stick in my mind, urging me on. But those first cookies I made, after having gone years without making so much as one, were not as I remembered. They were far too chewy and greasy. I decided to do some research, and that is what kicked off what I now refer to as 'The Chocolate Chip Saga'--my quest for the elusive cookie of my childhood.

After much research (thanks, Harold McGee, and others, for taking the time to put cookie info into your books), I managed to get the information I needed to improve upon my recipe. My mom had always used the one provided on the back of the chocolate chip package, but the two sticks of butter it recommended were causing the cookies to spread out too much during the baking process. A large amount of fat in proportion to the amount of flour results in a cookie that spreads more, becoming thinner and more chewy. In addition, the amount of white sugar (3/4 cups) was the same in this recipe as the amount of brown sugar. White sugar crystallizes when baked, resulting in a thin, crispy texture that I didn't want. I researched the various repercussions of more versus fewer eggs, but in the end decided that my first task on the quest for a better cookie would be to tweak the flour:butter:sugar ratio.

With this in mind, I set out to find a new recipe that contained less butter. A jaunt through the books in my kitchen soon yielded results: The Joy of Cooking, that lovely book used by generations of home cooks, contained a recipe that only called for a stick of butter, and much less sugar. Unfortunately, it didn't use nearly enough flour to bulk up the cookies--once again, they spread out in the oven, becoming chewy and just a tad too greasy. They were also strangely salty (though I, being a fan of the chocolate chip fleur de sel cookies at a certain local bakery, rather liked this unexpected detail). The Joy of Cooking had not exactly failed me, but I wanted more out of my cookies. I baked my way through those in The Best Recipe (for all their trial and error, the cookies were not that good and were too crispy) and in the Doubleday Cookbook (my mom's alternative to the chocolate chip package--didn't turn out the way I remembered them at all). I tried combining different portions from all of the above, but could not get the consistency I was looking for in a cookie.

I was beginning to give up hope. Then, one day, my friend Paige gave me a chocolate chip cookie from a batch she'd baked the night before. My god! It was nearly perfect. That cookie was a beacon of hope for me. I realized that I was not crazy, that my memories of cookies past were not mere figments of my imagination. Suddenly, I was inspired to continue my research. Did I, like any sensible person, politely ask Paige what recipe she had used? No. The thought didn't cross my mind until much later. Needless to say, that perfect cookie was the catalyst that enabled my later discoveries. Not long after the day of Paige's cookie, I was informed of the death of an amazing woman and long-time family friend. She was funny, interesting, intelligent, and renowned for making some of the best chocolate chip cookies around. They were a staple in her household--she always had a fresh-baked batch on hand. These cookies were very cakey, and while delicious, were slightly different than those I remember my mother baking for me. Nevertheless, I was overjoyed when I received an e-mail containing the legendary recipe. I made a batch as soon as I could. Voilà! These cookies were cakey--not greasy at all. This was a result of the butter to flour ratio: one stick of butter to three cups of flour. Additionally, this recipe calls for the addition of liquid (milk or juice--I opted for milk) and uses more brown sugar than white. I, however, being my finicky self, was not satisfied, despite the newfound texture. Much of the delicious buttery/brown sugar flavor was lost because of the excessive amounts of flour. I wanted a cookie that was less dense and dry; a perfect balance between cakey and buttery. 

The next time I made the recipe, I decreased the amount of flour to two and a half cups. This did not produce much of a difference in the cookies. I was disappointed. But in the last week, being snowed in, I finally got the chance to work on the recipe once more. I cut down the flour once again, this time to two and a quarter cups. I increased the amount of vanilla (from a half teaspoon to almost a full teaspoon), hoping to bolster the flavor of the cookie a little, as the large amount of flour tends to leave it a little flat. This time, I also left the dough in the fridge overnight, as I've been reading that it greatly improves texture. The next day, when I baked the cookies up, they came out looking beautiful. They were really nicely browned this time, and did not spread out too much. Best of all, they did not puff up quite as much this time, which I assume is the result of my second decrease in flour.

It was time for the taste test. My assessment: improved, but there's room for even more improvement yet. The cookies this time were slightly less dense, but they still lack an overall roundness of flavor. Next time, I'm thinking of increasing the vanilla and salt, as well as continuing to decrease the flour by small increments. Hopefully, I'll be able to arrive at a happy medium between dense and thin, without having to completely start from scratch. Who knows--it may come to that. For now, all that's certain in that my quest continues. And I will not give up. Stay tuned for Part II of the Chocolate Chip Saga. There probably won't be much of a wait.

Day One.

I express mailed my application for a scholarship to Germany today. I guess it's official now. I really am voluntarily opting to leave my comfortable city for a foreign country.

Lovely.

I'm nervous, and I find myself unable to say more at the moment. Just decided I'd post a boring little update, as I'm trying to hope for the best and (for once in my life) don't want to "over-think" things just yet. In other news, the snow has turned to hard, unforgiving ice, and the city isn't out of its coma yet. Film has yet to be developed. Oh, the woes of winter.

The First Snow

It is snowing for the first time this year, and the city is blanketed in white. It is really lovely, but I can't help feeling a little jaded/annoyed, as I had planned to spend the day in the public darkroom/photo lab on my side of town. Unfortunately, this photo lab is still quite far from my house, and public transportation (ugh, the bus) is looking like the only option at the moment--no chains for the car's tires. Well, the upside is that I may yet get a walk in the snow with friends out of this, or perhaps use the day to do some baking...or both! For now, I should probably just enjoy the beauty outside my window.

I may be living in Germany at this time next year.

It's crazy. I'm thinking about it, and it still doesn't seem real to me. I'm not sure yet if I'm actually going to go, but I'm hoping that I do. At the same time, however, what keeps going through my head is the mantra: "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

I might be out of my mind. I don't really care to think about it. And I'm trying not to think about the adjustment from my lovely city of residence at the moment (I really do love this place) to a new city in a country I've never been to and can barely speak the language in. When the opportunity presents itself, however, who am I to turn down travel (not paid for by me, I might add) to a new and interesting place? Especially Germany, where I've always wanted to go? It's interesting, because my schooling here in the United States has always included a lot of anti-Germanic spiel. I never took much stock in it, since my amazing grandmother is from Germany, and I feel that Hitler is not a fair representation of all Germans. Just as I wouldn't want to be judged solely on my country's choice of leaders (although that's looking up now), I feel it's only fair that Americans not pass judgement on the now two, three, four generations of people who have been born since the time when the decision was made to give Hitler power. Do I worry about neo-Nazis and skinheads? A little. I've read reports of them. But there's a sizable population of them living in Idaho, and white-supremacist conventions have taken place in the suburbs of my city, so there's not much more risk in Germany than here at home, from my perspective. The world will always have its fringe populations of haters.

That said, I've been doing some research on Germany. The first comment I got on going to live there, from my friend Naomi, was this: "If you can stand eating sausages all the time, then go for it!" Now, I love a good sausage, but I could not live off of them 24/7. I need vegetables and curry (curry is a staple of my diet--Indian, Thai, Japanese, I'm crazy for it). But after googling food in Germany, I have managed to find out that there is hope. Germany appears to have not only other types of European cuisine, but Thai and Middle Eastern as well! Of course, the first thing I worry about is whether or not the food will be good...typical.

Anyway, end of long post. Off to do other things, like developing the beautiful film I finished shooting yesterday. More about Germany, food, and possibly snow later.

Two Pies

I baked an apple pie this week.

David called and asked if I'd come over and help him bake a pie--he had some apples lying around that he couldn't let go to waste. Of course, I told him I would help him out, for who am I to resist the challenge of baking one of the potentially most delicious desserts there is? Apple pie is so simple, yet so delicious and comforting. I've been meaning to bake one for a while, and I was even thinking about baking yesterday (before I remembered that I had other errands to attend to).

Anyway, by the time I got to David's, I'd talked my way into commandeering the pie-baking process. I'd had this recipe for crust sitting around on my desk for a few months. I was curious to try it, as attempted pie-crusts in the past have ranged from pretty damn good to mediocre/not very good (thankfully, I've managed to sidestep inedible). Somehow, I convinced David to let me use the recipe, plus another from Cook's Illustrated for the filling. He's actually one of the nicest, least-argumentative people I know, so that might have something to do with it.

Long story short, after dough preparation, an unplanned trip to the store for better apples and a lemon, more dough preparation, making filling, and finally pie assembly, glorious smells were coming from the oven and life was good. Baked the pie per the directions in the Cook's recipe, and the crust was golden-brown and perfect about five minutes early. Luckily, it was extremely cold outside, so about twenty five minutes on the back stoop resulted in a perfectly cooled pie, ready for consumption. The verdict: 

Best. Crust. Ever. Flaky, delicious buttery flavor, tender...everything the recipe said it would be. And it held up well, not getting soggy or mushy. The filling was loaded with great flavor, although I thought it would have been a bit better with less lemon and allspice, and perhaps a little less nutmeg, as well. I'm a light-spice kind of girl.

The second pie I baked last night was a pizza. Actually, it wasn't really pie-like at all, as it was baked on a cookie sheet. David invented the topping combination, and I must say that the end product was quite delicious. Here's the recipe:

1 bag pizza dough

cornmeal for dusting cookie sheet

1 can Roma tomatoes (I like Muir Glen Organic)

1 bunch basil

2 cloves garlic

pinch of oregano

balsamic vinegar

olive oil

pitted nicoise olives

red onion

ricotta cheese

mozzarella cheese

1. Pour tomatoes into sieve set over a bowl and strain, stirring to get rid of excess juices.

2. Turn tomatoes onto cutting board and chop.

3. Strain again--tomatoes should be chunky, but also kind of smashed by now.

4. Peel and chop up two medium-sized (or large--hell, you can add as much as you want) cloves of garlic into pieces roughly the length of the head of a match--maybe a bit bigger.

5. Into a small cast-iron/nonstick skillet, pour enough olive oil to cover the bottom in a very thin coating.

6. Heat oil, then toss in garlic and fry until just golden.

7. Toss garlic and oil from skillet in a bowl with the tomatoes. Add a splash of balsamic vinegar, a pinch of oregano, and taste. If the mixture needs salt, you can add some, but canned tomatoes are generally salted and the sauce probably won't need it.

8. Sprinkle a cookie sheet with cornmeal. Stretch out the pizza dough and place on the cookie sheet. Spread dough with tomato sauce.

9. Grate as much mozzarella as desired, and sprinkle it over the pizza. Add desired amount of ricotta, placing lumps (for lack of a better term) of it around pizza. Add olives (whole or chopped--doesn't matter) and onions (sliced thinly). This pizza would also be excellent with some mild or spicy Italian sausage, salami--really any type of spiced Italian meat.

11. Bake until crust is golden brown and cheese is bubbling. Can't remember how long it took, but I think we baked it at 425.

12. When you take it out of the oven, chop up some basil and sprinkle liberally over the top. The more, the better.

I meant to post this long ago, but I got lazy.

Blankets

I just read an amazing book. Well, it was two days ago, actually. My friend David handed me an extremely heavy birthday present, artfully wrapped in newspaper. What did I behold when I peeled back this lovely exterior?  A big, beautiful book called Blankets, by Craig Thompson. But here's the extraordinary thing about it (for me, anyway):

Blankets is a graphic novel.

And by graphic novel, I mean graphic novel. Hard-core readers of such books (I'll call them the pictorially literate) argue that much of their preferred literature falls under the 'graphic novel' banner. I am not one of them, and consequently, I can't get it out of my head that to be a true graphic novel, a book needs some form of novel-esque gravitas, some sort of truly adult theme. In this respect, Blankets is what I think of as a true graphic novel. It confronts some extremely difficult and disturbing themes, including molestation and little children getting the hope bled out of them. That said, it is one of the most sincere, touching pieces of literature I've read recently, illustrated or not. If one is, as I am, a graphic novel skeptic (though Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis also blew me away), this book will change that. It's mostly a story of the author's first love, and somehow he captures that teenage giddiness and anguish perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that I felt I was reading a strange, rehashed version of my high school romance.

I don't do this book justice. But something this powerful in exquisite illustrations...it's a rare treat for a prose junkie like myself.

Birthday was excellent. Aside from excellent reading, I devoured some of the best apple pie I've ever eaten, and spent the day (off of work--yay!) in the company of good friends. C'est la vie, et la vie c'est bon!

Thoughts on Birthdays.

Tomorrow is my birthday. This got me to thinking about birthdays past, and feeling a bit nostalgic. I remember, as a little girl, the anticipation I felt at finally having achieved another year. I would wake up with a tautness inside of me, a sensation that drove me out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. My mom always baked a birthday cake, but best of all, she let me help. I remember watching as she measured the flour, there in the warm kitchen, November rain slapping against the old windows. The house was always drafty in the late fall and throughout winter, but on my birthday, the kitchen was the most warm and comforting place I can remember. For years I insisted upon the same chocolate cake. Between each layer was hidden a sweet stripe of my favorite raspberry jam. Outside, it was spread with whipped cream and decorated with slabs of bittersweet chocolate. This outer shell was my favorite part of the cake, as it was simply melted chocolate bars spread very thinly, dried and broken into shards. The comforting smell of melted chocolate would fill the entire house, and I was allowed to lick the spatula often enough that a ring of chocolate inevitably appeared around my mouth. 

I don't remember many of the presents I received as a child, but the ritual of cake stands out in my mind. Mom never baked from a box, and to me--even now--the baking of a cake is, at its core, one of the tenderest gestures of love and devotion that can be offered by one person to another. Receiving a cake fills me with a feeling of childish delight and contentment; to be baked for is to be truly loved.

This new year, I think, is going to be good. Today I saw an old family friend for the first time in over half a year, steamed milk for a latté perfectly, and invited a few of my wonderful coworkers to a birthday get-together. The trees are brilliantly red, apples are ripe, I have coffee for tomorrow morning, and it's storming outside. Beauty.