{DBC} sans rival

I feel like it's been months since I've done a DBC. Which is, well, true, since I've missed the last two. I just did not have the copious amounts of time necessary to spend baking croissants and breads.

Not that November has been any less busy, but now that papers, end-of-term assignments, and thesis proposals are established and underway, a large part of my mind has been freed up for things totally unrelated to academics.

[Things aside from BBC television, anyway, which, as it were, I've finished all of save for Merlin, and even then weekly airings keep me from spending hours upon hours in front of the TV.  I've even had time to read actual literature and finally got around to finishing The Things They Carried (a four-year long endeavor, not because my capabilities of reading a 200-page novel are deficient, but because I've never just sat down and read it all the way through), which is a feat in and of itself and quite possibly my biggest intellectual accomplishment of the semester. Some might say I lead a sad existence. They would probably be right.]

But I saw this month's challenge and knew I had to participate. Not only was it something that didn't have yeast or gelatin in it, but was something I could finish up in one afternoon and looked gorgeous to boot.

Filipino Sans Rival, originally a French dessert comprised of layers of dacquoise and a rich buttercream frosting. Admittedly, Tommy and my version is pretty much the farthest thing from the traditional as you can get while still cheating your way by calling it a "Sans Rival," but it made for a really delicious dessert.

I'll give you the recipe for ours, but if you want to go the traditional route, omit the cocoa in the cake and chocolate in the buttercream, and use cashews instead of almonds.

Baking and Super Smash Bros seems to be the established norm whenever Tommy comes over for DBC. It makes we wish DBCs were a weekly occurrence, if it wouldn't mean that I would probably end up having to drop out of university.

Filipino "Sans Rival"
Adapted from the November Daring Baker's Challenge

For the dacquoise, you'll need:

• 10 egg whites, at room temperature
• 1 tsp cream of tartar
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cocoa powder
• 2 cups almonds, finely ground

For the French buttercream, you'll need:

• 5 egg yolks, at room temperature
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup water
• 2 1/2 sticks [20 tbsp] butter, softened and cut into cubes
• 2 oz bittersweet chocolate, melted

To prepare the cake:
Preheat oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit and grease and flour four 9-inch pans (or two 9-inch pans, keeping in mind that you'll have to bake an additional two batches). Make sure you grease and flour them very well, as the dacquoise becomes quite sticky. Set aside.

In a clean and dry stainless steel bowl, whisk the egg whites on high speed until frothy, about two minutes. Sprinkle with cream of tartar. Gradually add sugar and cocoa powder, a couple of tablespoons at a time, until stiff peaks form, 7-10 minutes. Fold in 1 3/4 cups of the ground almonds, reserving about 1/4 cup to garnish. Divide the batter equally among the four pans (or divide half of the batter equally among the two pans, reserving the other half of the batter for when the first two cakes are done). Bake for 25-30 minutes, until set. Now is a good time to make the buttercream. Once cakes are down, allow the them to cool for a couple of minutes in the pan, but then overturn quite soon onto cooling racks.


To prepare the frosting:
Whisk the egg yolks on high speed in a large bowl until they've turned a pale yellow and have doubled in volume. In a medium saucepan, whisk the water and sugar over medium flame until a syrup has formed. The sugar should be a very pale amber color, but make sure to remove from the heat before it caramelizes. With the whisk still running on high speed, very carefully pour the syrup down the sides of the bowl. Continue beating on high until the mixture comes to room temperature, about 15 minutes. Still on high speed, add butter, one tablespoon at a time, until fully incorporated. Add in melted chocolate and whisk for another 30-60 minutes, until uniform. Refrigerate the buttercream for at least one hour before using, and whip it smooth before frosting.


To assemble the cake:
Place one layer of dacquoise on a serving plate. Frost the top with about 2 heaping tablespoons of the buttercream. Place a second layer on top and frost. Repeat with the remaining two layers. Using the remaining buttercream, frost the top and sides of the cake. Press the reserved ground almonds along the sides or top of the cake. Garnish with whole almonds, if desired.

I very much loved the look of this cake. Images flashed before my eyes bringing back memories, visions of small patisseries in Italy, with layers of homemade cakes piled high with thick, creamy frostings, imperfect in their presentation but beautiful in their simplicity, rustic in a very comforting, understated way.

Those are always the cakes that taste the best, after all.

I myself am not partial to meringue, for the most part, and really detest buttercream frostings, so I didn't have very high expectations for this cake. Not that I doubted it would be tasty; rather, I didn't expect to like it as much as Tommy or Noosh might. I was gravely [fortunately?] mistaken, and really just had to drive the thing over to Shea to give to Matt for fear that I would spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with my head in the fridge, cutting slices and eating them with a fork straight off of the serving plate.

It was tantalizingly good.

In fact, I so loved the soft, chewiness of the dacqouise that it was the inspiration for one of my Thanksgiving desserts [and a huge hit with the fam, so clearly dacquoise is the ticket].


And now, another month is gone, and there's only December standing between me and 2012. It's the point in the semester where I'm so, dangerously close to being done that making myself study for finals and finish up term papers is actually physically painful.

I just want to be home, snuggled up under covers, finishing up Assassins Creed: Revelations, and eating enough home-cooked meals to rival a bear preparing for hibernation. Is that too much to ask?

cherry bakewell tart

I don't consider myself a terribly profound or sentimental individual, but I do occasionally experience bouts of musings of a more existential nature, complete with extremely one-sided conversations with myself [all in my head, of course] about life. Then again, working in almost total silence for eight hours a day, five days a week, with nothing but an iPod for entertainment and the occasional interesting read, gives my little brain ample time to think about anything and everything.

As of late, the topic has been that of firsts. My parents never kept a "baby book" or whatever, so there's no real record of my first steps [probably more falling than actual walking], or my first word [probably "doublechocolatechipcookie"], or my first tantrum [probably at 4 weeks]. But I do remember firsts that meant something to me at the time.

My first concert was Hellogoodbye, with Boys Like Girls opening for them, if that's any indication as to how long ago that was. My first real vacation was Disney World, when I was around 5 and terrified of roller coasters, but appreciative of older cousins who were kind enough not to berate me for it. My first injury was a broken elbow, after a spontaneously idiotic jump off the couch, and I still have the mark to show for it. My first instrument was the piano, one I continue to play away at, in all senses of the word "mediocre", to this day [the second being the flute and the third being 3-hours worth of self-taught guitar (which was, needless to say, a failure of epic proportions)].

But it was only just recently, skimming through my ever-expanding culinary bookshelf, that I stumbled upon my first cookbook. Desserts You Can Make Yourself. I'm not even sure it's still in publication. Mom bought it for me while in Pakistan when I was around 8 or 9 and already exhibiting an insatiable appetite for all things sugar, and consequently, the creation thereof. It was an English cookbook [yes, metric units and all] written for children like me, choc-full of endearing hand-drawn pictures and one-sentence baking instructions, and so naturally I fell in love. Mom and I spent many a summer evening baking pound cakes, sponge cakes, and jelly rolls from this book. I even recall my uncle once paying me $5 for requesting a chocolate cream pie [which really is divine], and the incredulous joy it brought me.


[After all, when you're 10 years old, a $5 payment for dessert is basically free license to develop a lifelong dream of opening up a bakery.

Or, perhaps that's just me.]

And perhaps one day I'll be trying the cherry pie.

Okay. So, admittedly, this recipe doesn't come from my cookbook. I assume that including desserts with the level of precision and time required for this tart goes against the marketing strategy of a cookbook geared towards children.

But I felt a pang of nostalgia for my nonexistent British roots, and so was inspired to bake something traditionally English. Not to mention perfectly fitting, what with the release of Deathly Hallows part II last weekend.

[I've also begun season one of the Doctor Who revival. ...Yeah.]

Cherry Bakewell Tart
Adapted from merging tons of varying recipes into one super recipe. [i.e. another Sherlockean experiment.]

For the shortcrust pastry, you'll need:

• 1 cup flour
• 1/2 cup almond meal
• 1 stick butter, cold and cut into cubes
• pinch of salt
• 5 tsp sugar
• 2 egg yolks
• 2 tsp cold water
• 1 egg white

For the frangipane, you'll need:

• 3/4 cup preferred fruit jam or preserves
• 10 tbsp butter, at room temperature
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 3 eggs, beaten
• 1 egg yolk
• 3/4 cup almond meal
• 1 lemon, zested
• 1 tbsp sliced almonds

To prepare the pastry crust
Pour flour, almond meal, butter, and salt into a food processor. Pulse until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the egg yolk and water and pulse until dough comes together. Flatten dough into a disc, cover with plastic wrap, and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Once chilled, lightly grease a 9-inch fluted tart pan. Roll pastry into a disc of about 1/4-inch thickness and line the tart pan. Cut any excess pastry off the sides of the pan. Using a fork, prick holes on the base and sides of the pastry, and then cover loosely with plastic wrap and chill for an additional 30 minutes. [You want to handle the pastry dough as little as possible, and keep it as cold as possible.]

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Once the pastry has chilled [again], bake for about 10 minutes. Remove from the oven, brush the base and sides of the pastry with egg white, and bake for another 3-4 minutes. Allow pastry to cool.


To prepare the frangipane
Cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add in eggs and egg yolk, one at a time, until incorporated. Fold in the almond meal and lemon zest. Set aside.


To assemble the Bakewell tart
Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Spread fruit jam or preserves evenly over the base of the cooled shortcrust pastry. Carefully spoon the frangipane mixture over the jam, and spread evenly. Bake the tart for 20-25 minutes, until the surface is a light gold color and the custard has set. Remove the tart from the oven, press the slice almonds evenly over the top, and return to bake for an additional 5-10 minutes, until golden brown.

Cool tart to room temperature before removing from the pan. Dust the top of the tart with powdered sugar before serving, if desired.

I've been to London just once in my life, so far, and have only a vague [read: half-blind in a dense fog] recollection of the grandeur of Big Ben and Trafalgar Square. But it's a city that I would love to visit again in the near future [I'm currently trying to persuade mom to agree to take me there after graduation, but only time will tell if my nagging is successful].

Even more so, the English countryside, but I feel like any good trip to the UK needs to start in London. Waking up to fresh-baked scones and clotted cream, spending cold evenings eating mince pies and Sunday roasts, and finishing every meal with a sticky pudding or fruit tart, all the while walking through bustling streets lined with bookshops, patisseries, and museums.


[And, ideally, chance encounters with Colin Firth, Hugh Laurie, and Benedict Cumberbatch.]

A little gooey in the middle, but that's what I get for turning down the oven temperature halfway through. Listen to the recipe, kids. [For the record, it was still irresistibly good.]

In any case, until the time comes, I'll stick to baking. Cherry Bakewell tart, specifically. Bakewell tarts are a very English dessert, dating back about two centuries, consisting of pastry crust layered with a fruit jam and frangipane [almond pastry filling], baked to bubbly, custardy goodness. I went with cherries because they happen to be exquisite, and I love them.

[The cherry preserves were simple, so I won't give a formal recipe for them. Basically cooked them in a saucepan over the stove with a splash of water until boiling, then added some sugar and lemon juice. Cooked for a wee bit, dumped the stuff into the food processor, crushed them, put them back in the saucepan, added about 2 tbsp of cornstarch, brought to a boil for about a minute, and then turned off the heat. Any sweet cherries will do.]


Regardless, I'd recommend going for a jam that veers on the tart end of the sugar spectrum, as the frangipane is quite sweet. The combination of the two is lovely on one's palate. I'd also recommend some sweetened cream on the side for this one. Not so much vanilla ice cream; it'd be too heavy. But plain, alongside a cup of tea or coffee, too, is delightful.

Much of the recipe can be prepared ahead of time, as well, and I would recommend it. The curd and pastry dough will keep well in the fridge for about a day [separately, of course; don't assemble until right before baking]. Store-bought pastry dough and jam works just as easily, though I always prefer traveling the 'from scratch' route. Your prerogative, as always.

And now the entire flat [apartment] smells like cherry tart. I figure it's time to put on the kettle [I don't own a kettle], make some tea [most likely grab some milk from the fridge], and read a novel [definitely watching Doctor Who until I pass out].

I anticipate a wonderful evening [at least I'm honest].

torta di grigna

I hate moving. Not that I get particularly attached to any one location, so the issue isn't the fact that I'm leaving a house I've lived in for 11 years. I will miss the familiarity, of course, but as for the house itself. Well, when you're moving about 2 miles away, it's not going to be much of a loss.

The problem with moving is the moving. The boxes, the cleaning, the stress, discovering old things you thought you had thrown away, and regret not having thrown away because they bring back awkward memories of your childhood idiocy and embarrassing old hobbies [though, mountains upon mountains of Barbie dolls and miniature toy cars make quite an interesting dichotomy].

It's Sunday afternoon, and between absorbing the defense's closing arguments in the Casey Anthony trial [yes, I have been following this trial since my return home, and find it highly interesting, if not very sad] and listening to my father steam-clean the carpet for pending potential buyers coming to visit the house, I imagine how hectic the next month or so is going to be. Full of stress, cleaning, and boxes.

After all, there are 11 years of memories in this house. That's quite a lot to fit into cardboard and ship off.

Nonetheless, today I go back to the apartment, and I'll be there for the next two weeks. [Note that my return home aligns perfectly with the release of Deathly Hallows Part II. This is not a coincidence.] And by then, I assume I will spend my weekend home folding clothes and squeezing trinkets into small compartments, trying my best not to break anything [and probably failing anyway].

So it was only fitting that when I baked a chocolate and almond cake this morning, mom solemnly told me, in no uncertain terms,

"Sabeen, this is the last cake you are ever going to bake in this house. Ever."

I responded with a raise of my eyebrow and look of deadpan indifference. And then we both laughed, sliced the cake, and took a break from the chaos.

Since the start of the summer, I am pleased and mortified to say that I have ordered 5 new cookbooks. This brings my total collection up to...a number which is far too disconcerting to share. [Also, I'm not exactly sure how many. But it is a lot.] One, which I am currently enjoying immensely, is Jessica Theroux's Cooking with Italian Grandmothers. Jessica shares colorful stories of her year spent in Italy, traveling from Tuscany to Sicily, staying with twelve or so different nonne, tasting and cooking her way through the country's diverse, regional cuisine.

Basically, what I wish my life was always.

This torta di Grigna, or cocoa and almond cake, comes from the mountains of Lombardia. It's a dense cake, though not terribly sweet, so would be perfect with afternoon tea or coffee.

Or, if you're me, some sweetened cream or vanilla ice cream on the side to make it decadent.

Torta di Grigna
Adapted from Cooking with Italian Grandmothers

You'll need:

• 1 1/2 cups [2 1/2 sticks] unsalted butter, softened
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 5 large eggs, separated
• 3/4 cup heavy cream [substitute with whole milk if cream is unavailable]
• 1 cup raw almonds, chopped
• 2 cups flour
• 2 tbsp cocoa powder
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp baking soda
• pinch of salt 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and grease a 9-inch springform pan.

In a bowl, cream butter and sugar with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add egg yolks and cream and mix on medium-high speed until fully incorporated, 3-4 minutes. Using a wooden spoon, stir in half of the chopped almonds [reserve the other 1/2 cup], flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, and stir until blended. The batter is thick and stiff, so it may take a fair amount of effort to mix the batter well.

In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Gently fold the egg whites into the cake batter, stirring with the wooden spoon. Spoon the thick batter into the prepared pan and spread it out evenly. Sprinkle the top of the cake with the remaining chopped almonds.

Bake for 60-70 minutes, until the center of the cake is springy, but not jiggly, and the edges of the cake begin pulling away from the sides of the pan. Allow the cake to cool in the pan for about 10 minutes before transferring to a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temperature.

It's a pretty good cake. Airy and light, despite the denseness, and the flavor of the almonds is warmly nutty without being too overpowering.

It was also a nice centerpiece for the downstairs table for our potential buyers, so a win-win situation all around.

On an unrelated note, I have never had more television shows on my list than I do currently. I did have an entire week to get to it, but I honestly think I watched a grand total of maybe 3 hours of TV since my return. [The trial doesn't count. That's current events. And anything relevant to life never counts as a waste of time.] But, really, when did television actually get good again? Sherlock, Camelot, Rome, Battlestar Galactica, How I Met Your Mother, Modern Family, the list goes on.

Good thing I've got nothing else to do for the next six weeks.

{DBC} maple mousse-filled almond cupcakes with cream cheese frosting

I am not the biggest fan of splatter films. Mainly because of the unnecessary amount of disturbing gore.

Do I care how many ways the directors of Resident Evil can hack and slash away at their poor, defenseless protagonists?

Do I really want to sit down and agree to watch a marathon of Scream films on my own volition?

Does it interest me how many of my irrational fears Saw is able to play on and give me nightmares for days?

Not in the least.

Ironic, given how much Assassin's Creed I've played this semester, but that's besides the point.

So you can imagine my unwillingness to watch Zombieland back when it had just been released. You can also imagine how persuasive my cousins and sister can be.


Truth be told, despite the gore, it was a sweet movie. Bizarrely profound, too, for a zombie flick.

Rule #32: Enjoy the little things.

Now, I'm not really one for proverbs, particularly cheesy ones that appear in pop culture as a sad excuse for contemporary philosophy. But I'm also a cheesy person, at heart, and some of them strike in me a chord that resonates more than it probably should.

But I loved that line.

Loved it for its simplicity, its accuracy, its innocent optimism.

Loved it for the juxtaposition of a group of nondescript individuals trying to survive in a world falling apart around them, with sheer determination and will to survive solely in order to finally enjoy a Twinkie.



...I could do without the Twinkie, but the sentiment remains the same.

It has been a long month, to be honest. I've been ready for it to be over since week one. It just felt like swimming in an endless sea of work, papers, studying, stress, with no lifeboat in sight to guide me back to shore. But upon reflection, it wasn't bad at all. Heard some phenomenal news from a friend, visited a few other dear friends who I hadn't seen in months, strolled through grounds on quiet, breezy evenings, got a few new clients for henna, played an obscene amount of video games that would probably shame a college male, and baked.

Baked cupcakes, again, if you can believe. The April Daring Baker's Challenge was a maple mousse serve in an edible container. At first I thought, chocolate cups, of course. But chocolate and maple? Sugar overkill. So that idea was shot.

For a minute I was stressed out. Heart pounding, mind racing, eyes darting across cookbook pages to try to determine what on earth I could do instead. Bacon cups were definitely an option, and were actually recommended in the challenge recipe. But...expensive, since I would have purchased turkey bacon, and would have needed quite a lot of it.

And then it hit me: almond. I love almond and maple together. But I didn't want to make a nut crust out of almonds and almond flour, because I speculated that it wouldn't have held up well. So instead, I [with tons and tons of help from Tommy and Noosh, as always!] went with an almond cupcake, hollowed out some of the inside cake, piped it with maple mousse, topped with a neutral cream cheese frosting, and warm, crispy turkey bacon.

[Yes, I was skeptical at first too, with the bacon, but really? It's delicious. Just...delicious.]

Maple Mousse
Adapted from the April Daring Baker's Challenge

You'll need:

• 8 oz pure maple syrup
• 4 egg yolks
• 1 package [1 tbsp] unflavored gelatin
• 1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream

In a medium saucepan over medium-high flame, bring maple syrup to a boil then remove from heat. In a separate bowl, whisk egg yolks. Pour in some of the hot maple syrup into the egg yolks, whisking constantly, to temper the eggs. Pour the egg yolks back into the saucepan and whisk thoroughly.

In a separate bowl, pour 1/4 cup of the heavy cream and sprinkle gelatin on top. Let sit for 5 minutes, then heat for 45 seconds in the microwave (in increments of 10-15 seconds) until gelatin dissolves completely. Whisk the gelatin mixture into the maple syrup mixture and set aside.

Whisk maple syrup mixture occasionally for an hour, or until the mixture has the consistency of an unbeaten raw egg white.

Whip the remaining heavy cream until stiff peaks form. Stir 1/4 of the whipped cream into the maple syrup to lighten the syrup. Fold in the remaining cream. Refrigerate for at least an hour to set.

Remove from fridge and divide mousse equally among serving dishes. Keep chilled until serving.

Almond Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting
Adapted from Sugarplum Musings and Cathy's Kitchen Journey
Makes 24 cupcakes

For the cupcakes, you'll need:

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup almond flour
• 1 tbsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 3/4 cup [1 1/2 sticks] butter, at room temperature
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 2 tsps almond extract
• 1 cup milk
• 5 egg whites, at room temperature

For the cream cheese frosting, you'll need:

• 1 8-oz package of cream cheese, softened
• 1/2 stick butter, softened
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and line a cupcake pan with papers.

In a large bowl, beat butter on medium speed until fluffy. Gradually add in sugar, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add in extracts. In a separate bowl, combine flour, almond flour, baking powder, and salt. Alternate adding the flour mixture and milk to the butter mixture, beginning and ending with flour. Mix until just combined. Set aside.

In a clean, dry, stainless steal bowl, whisk egg whites until stiff peak forms. Mix 1/3 of the egg whites into the cupcake batter, to lighten the batter. Gently fold in remaining egg whites.

Divide batter equally among cupcake papers, filling each paper about 3/4 of the way full. Bake for 20 minutes, until tops are golden brown. Let cool in pan for at least 10 minutes before removing.


To prepare the cream cheese frosting, beat cream cheese, butter, and vanilla on medium-high speed until fluffy. Reduce speed to low and add in confectioner's sugar. Mix until smooth, and refrigerate until using.


To assemble cupcakes, remove a small cone from the center of each cooled cupcake. Put the mousse inside of a piping bag or ziplock bag with a hole cut out of the corner. Pipe mousse into the cut-out centers of each cupcake, filling them generously. Frost with the cream cheese frosting. Serve immediately, or refrigerate until serving.

Yes, some months are longer than others, and yes, sometimes the stress feels like it'll never end, but if you only remember to enjoy the little things, it's never as bad as you think.

...I think finals are in a week.