5. canada: nanaimo bars [and a moment of solitude]

'Solitude' is a condition that I'm well-acquainted with as of late. I've been back at the apartment since last Sunday and have the place to myself. Not only that, I have more or less all of grounds to myself, save for those poor, overachieving, GPA-boost-seeking souls here for J-term.

As for me, I'm here working part-time, which is actually getting me nowhere whatsoever since I spend every waking hour that I'm home with my feet propped up on a table laid with half-read books, a carelessly discarded PS3 controller in desperate need of charging, and the Mac open to tabs of Facebook, Tastespotting, and Amazon.com for easy-access online shopping.

[Needless to say, any money I've made so far has already been spent on the first four novels in A Song of Ice & Fire, two new scarves, and about three cartons of eggs I picked up last week for breakfasts.]

In any case, "solitude" has never been a word I've found melancholy or deplorable, or one associated with the social status of an elderly cat-lady. In fact, I love being alone. It's a characteristic my mother has found baffling ever since my toddler years, when I was perfectly content to sit by the window in my crib and engage in whatever musings strike a 2-year-old without the need to cry out for mom's attention or caregiving. I'm not sure why, but I just rarely feel lonely, and very much enjoy having hours upon hours to spend doing whatever I want.

Lately, that has been books. Now, I'm not one for new year's resolutions. I mean, I make them, in my head of course, with all intention to break them as quickly as possible and save myself the later self-loathing. So, in an effort to keep up tradition, I mentally drew up a list of unachievable resolutions. The list included the usual - lose 20 pounds, will myself to sleep earlier than 3am on weeknights, do a better job of keeping in touch with family, etc. etc. But I also made one serious resolution that I do actually intend on keeping: read more.

[I figure, if I'm going to be up until 3am anyway, I could at least spend it doing something intellectually stimulating, instead of just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, making tragically desperate wishes for TARDISes and a 4.0 gpa.]

I mean, I realize that it has only been 8 days, but having read literally about 1,000 pages of literature since the start of 2012, I think I'm doing rather well so far. In any case, it's more than I'd read for pleasure during the totality of the 365 days of 2011. Currently I'm in the middle of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones and absolutely loving it. I work my 5-hour shifts every morning, come home by 3pm, and spend the remainder of the day alternating between novels and BBC television.

[Sherlock's back on for series 2 and I've definitely seen the first episode at least 5 times; another feat, seeing as how it was released exactly 7 days ago. Also not very surprising since this is me we're talking about.]

Today, though, has been a bit lazy. I haven't actually read at all yet, and spent the morning cooking, submitting philosophy papers to random journals, reading up on summer internships, and baking. First time baking in a little while, and so I settled on something I've always wondered about:  nanaimo bars.

Nanaimo bars are a delightful little treat from one of my favorite countries in the world, Canada. I actually did not realize prior to actually making them that they don't actually require any baking. [This was, in fact, so surprising that I felt the need to use the word "actually" thrice in the previous sentence.] Instead, they just chill out, layer by layer, in the fridge until they settle. It's a rather casual baking experience, which was even more welcome since I've tried my very best to move as little as possible today. The end result is a bit sweet for my tastes, but undeniably worth it for the ease of preparation.

Nanaimo Bars
Adapted from bakedbree
Yields 16 squares

For the crust, you'll need:

• 1/2 cup [1 stick] butter
• 1/4 cup brown sugar
• 3 tbsp cocoa powder
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 2 cups graham cracker crumbs
• 1/2 cup walnuts, chopped
• 1 cup coconut flakes

For the middle layer, you'll need: 

• 1/4 cup [1/2 stick] butter, softened
• 2 cups powdered sugar
• 2 tbsp vanilla custard powder
• 1/4 cup heavy cream

For the chocolate layer, you'll need:

• 1/4 cup [1/2 stick] butter
• 4 oz semisweet chocolate

To prepare the crust:

Line an 8x8-inch square pan with aluminum foil, but do not grease. In a medium, heat-proof bowl, melt butter, brown sugar, and cocoa over a double-broiler [or microwave]. While the mixture is hot, whisk constantly while slowly pouring in the beaten egg. Be vigilant about whisking as to avoid scrambling the egg. Switch to a wooden spoon, add in graham cracker crumbs, walnuts, and coconut, and mix until the mixture comes together in a sort-of dough. Dump the dough onto the base of the pan and press it evenly along the base. Stick the pan in the fridge for 45-60 minutes.

To prepare the middle layer: 

Cream the butter, powdered sugar, and custard powder in a bowl. Slowly pour in the heavy cream and beat on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Pour filling onto the chilled crust and spread evenly with a spatula Stick the pan back into the fridge for another 45-60 minutes.

To prepare the chocolate layer:

Melt the chocolate chips and butter in a heat-proof bowl until the mixture is smooth and shiny. Once the middle layer has firmed up, pour the chocolate on top and spread it evenly with a spatula. Chill the bars in the fridge for at least 60 minutes before removing from the pan and slicing. Cut into 16 squares and serve. Bars can be refrigerated for up to 5 days.

Yes, I realize that geographically, it makes no sense to move from Afghanistan to Canada, and that I hadn't actually planned on hitting Canada in my gastronomic journey around the world for quite some time, but I like spontaneity. [And many of the Asian desserts that I have on my list require fruit that is not currently in season, so I figured that jumping around from country to country keeps things interesting and prevents me from going against nature.] 

As for the bars themselves, I love the crust on these; it has everything I love about an unhealthy food item. Graham crackers, nuts, coconut, butter, and brown sugar. I mean, it really just doesn't get any better. The middle layer I'm less keen on, but it's more a fault of my personal character [I don't like the taste or texture that accompanies custard powder] than the actual bars. But sandwiched between such a delightful crust and a guaranteed-to-be-delicious ganache layer, I couldn't stop myself from nibbling on the bars as I sliced them up. 

A fine dessert, over all.

As I said before, I have no problem with solitude. I rarely feel lonely and am perfectly content being able to sit like a log on my sofa in PJs for the entirety of the day with nothing but my books, my BBC Sherlock, and my David Tennant to keep me company. But when one has the house to herself, one also runs into the problem of having all of one's dessert to herself. This may not seem like a bad thing to those not in the house who may actually want to partake in said dessert, but for the one all alone in the house, it is a bad news bears situation. Consequently, I've layered the bars up in some tupperware, stuck them in the freezer, and plan on taking them home with me when I head back next weekend to share with the family.

Of course, that's not to say that I've kept a couple in the fridge for some dessert after tonight's dinner, but no one has to know about that.

fish custard [and a wibbly-wobbly halloween]

Friday morning began with a much-needed lie-in until 10am, and still I didn't feel like getting up. Buried under comforters on a bed of pillows on an overcast, autumn morning... all I really wanted was a steaming mug of tea and a cookbook to read.

But, you know, on the day of a wibbly-wobbly Halloween get-together, you force yourself out of bed, do a bit of cleaning and laundering, turn some Madeleine Peyroux on the stereo, and simmer up some salted caramel.

Chelsea and Liz have had a few dinner parties already this semester, so Noosh and I decided it was our turn to host...something.

[Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.]

But really, Halloween weekend called for one thing and one thing only: a Doctor-Who themed party.

Not that, you know, all of my friends are fans. In fact, the vast majority haven't watched. So really, it was more of an excuse for me to wear a bow-tie and cook up some fish custard.

"Fish Fingers" and Custard
Adapted from The Comfort of Cooking and Bakingdom
Yields 4-6 servings custard, about 2 dozen fish fingers

For the salted caramel custard, you'll need:

• 4 cups whole milk
• 6 tbsp cornstarch 
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 cup sugar
• 2/3 cup water
• 1 tsp salt

For the fish fingers, you'll need:

• 1 1/3 cup flour
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/2 cup [1 stick] butter, at room temperature
• 1/2 cup plus 2 tbsp confectioner's sugar
• 1 egg
• 1/2 tsp vanilla
• 5 graham cracker sheets
• 2 tbsp butter, melted
• 1 tbsp sugar

To prepare the custard:
In a medium-sized bowl, whisk 1/2 cup of the milk, the cornstarch, and vanilla until blended. In a large saucepan, heat water and sugar on medium-high heat until boiling. Don't stir, but swirl the pan around to mix. Once boiling, lower the heat so that the syrup is at  a simmer. Simmer until the caramel turns an amber color, add in salt, and swirl until incorporated, 8-10 minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat and slowly pour in the remaining 3 1/2 cups milk, whisking constantly, until combined. The sugar may clump up spectacularly, but that is okay. Return the pan to the flame and heat on medium-high heat until just boiling, and then reduce heat to a simmer. Whisk the mixture until the caramel dissolves and the mixture thickens a bit, about 10 minutes. Add in the cornstarch mixture and whisk on medium flame until the mixture thickens, about 5 minutes. Pour the custard into a large glass dish or other heat proof dish. Allow the custard to cool, at least 30 minutes, then cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 2-3 hours, until the custard has thickened fully and set.


To prepare the fish fingers: 
In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar on low speed, then increase to medium speed until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Add in egg and vanilla and mix, scraping down the sides of the bowl when necessary. Lower the speed and gradually add in flour mixture, mixing until just combined. Cover the top of the bowl in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In a food processor, pulse the graham crackers, butter, and sugar until the mixture is crumbly and sticks together. Once cookie dough is chilled, roll into "fish fingers," about 2 inches long and 1/2 inch wide. The smaller the better, as they will expand quite a bit while baking. Roll the "fish finger" in the graham cracker mixture to "coat" and place on the baking sheet. Repeat with remaining dough, allowing about an inch space between cookies on the sheet. Bake for 14-16 minutes until golden brown. Allow cookies to cool on the sheet for about 5 minutes, then transfer cookies to a wire rack and let cool completely.

Serve "fish fingers" with custard. They taste splendid when eaten together, or either can be enjoyed separately. Allons-y!

Noosh and I first stumbled upon this recipe a few months ago, and immediately I fell in love. The graham cracker "coating" is absolutely brilliant, and give the cookies the appearance of honest-to-God fish fingers. Words cannot describe how enamored I am with these things. They taste fantastic as well, which is only a plus, really.

So after about 9 hours of cooking custard, baking fish fingers and jammie dodgers, listening to everything from Louis Armstrong to Don Omar with Noosh preparing the TARDIS door, our apartment was full of the sounds of laughter, chatter, music, The Green Lantern, Hello Kitty, and Freida Kalho, a rather disturbing-looking cockroach, unnamed doctors and Sabeen's-apartment-occupiers, hilarious and somewhat horrifying Bollywood dancing, and happy mouths munching on good food. A success in all senses of the word, over all.

And by the time we were done cleaning up by around 1:30, I promptly passed out and slept for about 9 hours straight.

And I've spent the vast majority of the hour and a half I've been up uploading photographs and listening to Cabin Pressure on Youtube [quite the brilliant radio show, sent to me by a sweet friend who knows of my utter obsession with Benedict Cumberbatch's brilliant theatrical timing and jaguar-hiding-in-a-cello voice], not really wanting to get out of my comfortable bed.

Having discarded the suit-jacket, the bow-tie, and the formal button-down, though, I must say it's nice not to have a career that requires me to dress up like a flamboyant British gentleman on a daily basis. Fun as it was, I'll leave it to the professionals.

I much prefer watching them from the comfort of my living room sofa.


Preferably with a bowl of fish custard in hand.

4. afghanistan: shir berenj [and turning twenty]

Time never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes fleeting, sometimes unending, never enough, and so many names. Seconds, minutes, hours. Days, weeks, months. Years. Decades. Centuries. Millennium. Clocks, wristwatches, pocket watches, timers. Calendars, planners, schedules. Deadlines.

Wibbly-wobbly, really.

It's been, what, two weeks since my last post? A while, comparatively speaking. A lot can happen in two weeks. Attending a concert [Mat Kearney], writing a few papers [political theory and Spanish], reading a few books [class assignments], finishing another season of television [Torchwood], a trip out of town to attend another concert [Fleet Foxes in DC], starting a new job [tutoring], volunteering [soup kitchen], screaming with joy when a favorite screenwriter gets nominated for an Emmy [Steve Moffat for Sherlock, obviously], turning twenty.

Twenty years old. It's a strange feeling. I mean, I started school early so I'm the last among friends and peers to turn twenty. Many of them are already twenty-one, if not much older as is [taking a course with grad students makes one feel rather little, particularly when one is invited to go out for drinks with course professor and said students]. But still. One-fifth of a century. Two decades. Twenty years. 1,040 weeks. 7,280 days. 175,316 hours.10,518,975 minutes. 10,483,200 minutes. 631,138,519 seconds.

A lot can happen in twenty years.

But this isn't the time to reminisce about it.

I am, though, fortunate. Extremely so. For knowing the people that I've met, having the friends that I do, and a family that is always there. I sometimes forget it, but I'm always reminded. Particularly when I'm confronted with three different birthday cakes in the span of two days, an all-expenses paid dinner [parents are indispensable when you're in college], some meaningful gifts, and a load of well-wishes.

Cake from mother? Check. Cake from friends? Check. Life-size cardboard cut-out of the Tenth Doctor? Check.

You know, I'm pretty damn happy.

Birthday weekend started out like all great weekends should: a phenomenal dinner cooked by Mr. Sparta [I still dream about those mascarpone-stuffed dates...] and spectacular birthday carrot cake by Mrs. Sparta [orange-zested cream cheese frosting is such a revelation!]. I spent the beginning of the weekend in DC with Chelsea's family, Matt, Rudhdi, and Liz for a Fleet Foxes concert, and Chelsea's family graciously offered to prepare a birthday meal beforehand. The dinner was absolutely amazing, the concert was incredible, and there was tons of hilarious conversation on top of it all.

What did I say before about being blessed to have the friends that I do?

Came home Saturday afternoon, during which Farnoosh refused to let me open the fridge, as she and Tommy spent Friday afternoon baking a birthday cake for me. So I was forced to keep to the couch, having all fridge-items brought to me by Noosh, until going out for a delicious Thai dinner with Zack and Jerm in tow. Once we got home, Tommy came over and I finally got to see the dessert: an absolutely gorgeous chai cake with honey-ginger cream cheese frosting. It was beautifully constructed and tasted phenomenal in its complexity and similarity to a chai tea latte. And thus day two of the birthday weekend ended, yet again, in tummies full of sugar.

As for today, the 'rents drove in for the afternoon [as they always do] to take us out for a lunch of kebabs [as they always do]. I love the familiarity, especially since it means that mom has prepared a rich, dark chocolate torte to celebrate [as she always does]. They stayed for a while, we caught up since I hadn't seen them in over a month, enjoyed some of the cake from yesterday, and then cut into another one. And now, lying on the couch with a knit blanket, best friend by my side, flicking through channels on the new television [present courtesy of my father], and plates of cakes just eaten skewed across the coffee table, I can safely say that I am in a good place.

Twenty years old, and in a good place. A surreal feeling, but one that I think I will enjoy getting used to.


As for this dessert [because God knows that after three cakes I really just need another pound of sugar to throw me into a coma], I cooked it up earlier today before my parents arrived, and after a breakfast of leftover chai cake with milk. In the style of Middle Eastern puddings, which I love dearly, shir berenj is a Persian rice pudding. This one I've made in honor of Afghanistan, with a quite a bit of help from Noosh as well.

Shir Berenj
Adapted from Turmeric and Saffron, alongside some of Noosh's expertise.

You'll need:

• 1 cup basmati rice, rinsed and soaked in 2 cups water
• 1 cup water
• 5 cups milk [whole milk preferred, though 2% will do as well]
• cinnamon, to garnish
• honey, if desired
• fruit preserves, if desired

Rinse and soak the rice in cool water for at least two hours (preferably overnight). Then, rinse water and pour the rice into a deep, nonstick pot. Add the water and heat over medium flame until the water comes to a boil. Reduce heat to a gentle simmer, and stir occasionally until the rice absorbs all of the water, 10-15 minutes. Slowly pour in the milk and continue stirring over low flame until the rice has soaked up the milk, 30-40 minutes. Be sure to stir occasionally as to prevent the milk from burning.

Once pudding has cooked [the rice will be soft, but shouldn't break apart], remove the pan from the heat and let the pudding cool for 10-15 minutes. Pour the pudding into serving dishes and flatten the tops using a spoon. Sprinkle cinnamon over top of the pudding. Serve immediately with honey or fruit preserves to sweeten, or cover the tops with clingwrap and refrigerate until serving.

It's an easy dessert, really. Cooks for a while over stovetop, similar to seviyan, and the end result is a thick and creamy custard. Milk-based puddings are, for the most part, all made in this way: slow-cooked over a low flame for the milk to thicken to sweet, melt-in-your-mouth goodness. In other words, delicious.


You know, turning twenty has made me think about how quickly time goes by, and how much can happen in just a few years [if not two weeks]. But perhaps it's time to stop thinking about time. Time means that these cakes won't last forever. And that means that I'll have to stuff my face now and savor each moment.

[one year ends and a journey begins] seviyan

“Great restaurants are, of course, nothing but mouth-brothels. There is no point in going to them if one intends to keep one’s belt buckled.”
- Frederic Raphael

If you've ever read this thing before, you'll know that I have an obsession with food. A rather obvious obsession with food. That's why I started this thing, really: to publicize my gastronomic antics in an outlet much preferable to texting friends miles away about a phenomenal slice of cake eaten at such-and-such restaurant, or sending camera-phone photos to my mother every time I bake something new and enthralling.

Granted, I still do occasionally resort to the texting method aforementioned, to friends who'd appreciate those antics without raising an eyebrow too high in question, if I've eaten something particularly delicious. It's just a love that should be shared, I think.

Anyway, that was 1 year ago. Exactly 365 days. 365 days since I first signed onto blogger and made this silly old thing. But it's grown to be more than just a silly old thing.

Still silly, of course, but more meaningful to me than I originally thought it'd be. Perhaps in my subconscious mind, it's a vain attempt at self-preservation. Perhaps it's a method of escaping from the trivialties of the day-to-day to a place where I don't feel obligated to do anything, really, and can stop thinking about the stresses of university. Perhaps it's because it's become way to learn, not only about baking and photography, but about life and about myself.


Or perhaps I just really, really, really like food.

No matter the reason, I'm happy to be here. I thought I'd keep this up for a few weeks, a few months at most, but it's become bigger than that. It's become a source of comfort, something I know will always be here for me to come to when I want to stop thinking. Something to remember things by, from vibrant photographs of blackberry flaugnarde to the lingering taste of apple pie on the tongue. Something that makes me appreciate Farmer's Market tomatoes and coffee dates with friends, espresso and lemon pound cake on the table.

I'm just...happy to be here, honestly. Not much more to say than that.

Aside from thank you, to you wonderful people. You wonderful people who read this silly old thing. And put up with my antics. And hopefully walk away with something afterward. A way to pass time in a dull lecture, a growling stomach, a new recipe, or maybe even a new perspective on something as ordinarily beautiful as food.

But enough of the sap. Cheese is for eating, after all. [shutup Sabeen]


Not only is today the 1-year anniversary of this blog, but it also happens to be Eid. So, obviously, as if I weren't already going to bake something in celebration, I knew it had to be something special. And so I decided to take a drive home for a bit, spend some time with mom, reminisce about Eids past [back when I could actually be home to celebrate], and cook some seviyan.

I really just love this stuff. Could eat it by the pot. Easily. I won't even notice how much of it I've eaten until there's none left, and then all I feel regrettable about is the fact that there was hardly enough for me. I've been downing this stuff since I was born, basically, and it's one of my all-time favorite sweet treats. Still, it's something mom only makes on special occasions, so when I was home this weekend for an early Eid celebration, I knew I wanted her to finally teach me the trade.

Granted, a lot of the weekend was spent cursing Irene for a loss of electricity, but therein lies the beauty of gas stoves.

Interestingly, mom says that a Pakistani woman is only considered of marriageable material if she can cook a good pot of seviyan. Wondering if I should be proud of myself for successfully accomplishing this supposed feat, or terrified of being married off in the near future.

Seviyan
Adapted from mom's recipe book

You'll need:

• half a gallon of whole milk
• 1 cup crushed vermicelli noodles
• 1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
• a pinch of ground cardamom
• 1 drop of kevra, if available [alternatively, 1 drop of rosewater works as well]
• chopped pistachios or almonds to garnish

In a large saucepan over medium flame, heat milk until just boiling. Lower the temperature to a gentle simmer. Stir in the crushed vermicelli noodles and stir. Keep stirring at a simmer for 40-50 minutes, until milk has thickened some. No need to stir continuously, but return frequently [every 5-10 minutes] as to make sure milk isn't boiling or burning. Be vigilant about scraping the sides and bottom of the pan.

After milk has thickened a bit, add in sweetened condensed milk and combine. Finally, add in kevra [or rosewater] and ground cardamom. Stir for another 5-10 minutes, to allow the sugar in the condensed milk to thicken the pudding further. Remove the pan from the heat and let rest for 5 minutes. Spoon pudding into serving dishes and top with ground nuts of choice. Be sure to do so before the skin forms on top of the pudding [which, by the way, is the best part]. Let pudding cool to room temperature, at least, before serving. Pudding tastes best after a few hours in the fridge, and will stay good, covered, for up to 5 days.

And now, this recipe leads me to my big blog project for the year [Two years? Three years? Deadlines have yet to been set, saying how it's unlikely they're to be met. But I digress].

So, I like to bake. Obviously. But more than that, I like trying new things. It's why I joined the Daring Bakers back in January; it gave me an excuse to bake things that I normally wouldn't have a reason to.

And now that this is the end of one year, and the beginning of another, I thought, "what better way to keep myself entertained during my third/fourth/post-grad year of college than to impose some sort of unreachable culinary goal that will inevitably leave me wondering why I've decided to undertake the challenge in the first place?"

Thus, I dub today the commencement of my blog project, Around the World in 50 Sweets. What am I going to do, you might ask? And did I really need to select such a corny title? Well, I am going to take a culinary tour around the world, starting in South Asia and the Middle East, traveling east through Asia and the Pacific Islands, Down Under, across the sea to South America, up north through Central America and the Caribbean to the good old' US of A, a short trip up to Canada, a boat ride across the Atlantic to Africa, a scenic backpacking trip through Europe, and finally through the Chunnel to the glorious United Kingdom. Fifty desserts to give myself and you all a taste of our world, one both enormously large and strikingly small, full of fantastic people with fantastic recipes to match. All with nothing but a whisk, mixing bowl, and a bag of sugar by side.

[Okay, so I'll have some flour and almond extract from time to time, but the above sounded more poetic. And yes, the title is staying.]

Is this crazy? Probably. Is this going to but an enormous dent in my bank account? Most certainly. Am I actually going to finish this by the end of my third year, as was my original vision? Hugely unlikely. Am I going to end up regretting this?

...well, that goes without saying. Mostly for my thighs. But at least the journey will be fun.


And so, I bring to you today journey number one, the place where my story begins, all told through a bowl of seviyan: Pakistan. Jasmine trees, Great Illustrated Classics, henna tattoos, calls to prayer, grandmothers and grandfathers, noisy rikshas, dusty streets, afternoon ceiling fans and hot summer nights. A homage to my parents. Childhood familiarity. My beginning.


A good place to start, I think.

peanut butter banana cream pie

Skies have been rather overcast lately. The threat of rain looms constantly. Occasionally following through on its promise with bursts of lightning and roars of thunder. Everything's gray. The air smells different. Mom hates this sort of weather; she finds it depressing.

I love it, though. Three months ago, I'd hate it. Three months ago, overcast skies and rain storms meant humidity, air too thick and heavy to breathe comfortably, hair puffing up unceremoniously, and general sulkiness. Now, they mean cool nights, gentle breezes, excuses to curl up on the couch under a knit blanket with television and a good cookbook. They tell me about the autumn to come, my favorite time of year.

Particularly this autumn. Not so sure why. I don't anticipate for it to be the best autumn of my life, or anything, but then again, I don't really think of time that way. What's the point in compartmentalizing the better times from otherwise good ones? Seems silly. Too much effort. Plus, comparing now with the past isn't really...plausible. I'm a different person now than I was this time last year. Not in a positive or negative way, or anything, just...different. Older, maybe wiser, maybe more naive, what have you. So, no, it's not going to be the best autumn of my life. But it is going to be lovely.

It will be busy, of course, what with the semester starting up this week. Lots of seminars, finishing up major requirements, working part-time, volunteering, internship-hunting, etc. etc. But there will be hiking, and apple-picking, and pumpkin pie-baking, and reading, and meeting friends for coffees, and quality television, and an unending list of books, and new video games, and photography, and concerts, and traveling.

Or maybe even none of that. But even still, I love to watch the leaves change. And that's enough to make me excited.

But, you know, peanut butter banana cream pie helps. Especially when your best friend is back at the flat to enjoy it with you.

[I have, by the way, watched so much BBC that at this point, "flat" is making its way into my everyday vocabulary. It takes so much less effort to say than "apartment." Wonder why it hasn't caught on here.]

Peanut Butter Banana Cream Pie
Adapted from Matt Lewis and Renato Poliafito 

For the crust, you'll need:

• 2 cups crushed graham crackers [approximately 16 full crackers]
• 1/2 cup walnuts
• 1/2 cup flour
• 2 tbsp sugar
• pinch of salt
• 6 tbsp butter, cold and cut into small cubes

For the vanilla custard, you'll need:

• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 1/2 tbsp cornstarch
• pinch of salt
• 1 cup heavy whipping cream
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 2 egg yolks
• 1 tbsp vanilla
• 1 tbsp butter
• 4 ripe, but firm, bananas
• 2 tbsp lemon juice

For the peanut butter topping, you'll need:

• 4 oz cream cheese
• 1/2 cup powdered sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/2 cup smooth peanut butter
• 2/3 cup chilled heavy whipping cream

To prepare the crust:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and grease a 9-inch pie dish. In a food processor, combine graham crackers, walnuts, flour, sugar, and salt, and crush until coarse. Toss in cold butter and pulse until the mixture comes together. Press the graham cracker mixture on the bottom and sides of the pie pan. Bake for 13-15 minutes, until lightly golden. Let pie crust cool completely.

To prepare the vanilla custard:
Whisk sugar, salt, and cornstarch in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Once the mixture is smooth and uniform, continue whisking and slowly pour in heavy cream, milk, and vanilla. Whisk until blended, and then add in egg yolks, one a at a time, and whisk. Whisk until mixture comes to a boil, and continue whisking for 5-6 minutes until mixture thickens. Finally, add in butter and whisk until the custard is uniform. Pour the custard into the cooled pie crust, and chill until set, at least one hour.

Slice the bananas into uniform pieces and toss with lemon juice. Layer the sliced bananas evenly on top of the cold vanilla custard. Return to the fridge while you prepare the peanut butter topping.

To prepare the peanut butter topping:
Beat the cream cheese and powdered sugar on medium speed until smooth and fluffy. Add in vanilla and peanut butter. In a separate bowl, beat chilled heavy cream on high speed until stiff peaks form. Fold heavy cream into the peanut butter mixture until incorporated. Dollop the peanut butter mixture over the sliced bananas. Return the pie to the fridge and chill for at least 3 hours before serving.

Noosh moved back in a few days ago, but we hadn't really gotten a chance to hang out until this weekend, what with her unpacking and me working. This also happens to be our last free weekend before term starts, so we figured, what better way to bond than bake something delicious and see what shenanigans the TARDIS is getting into?

[Oh yes, I've gotten her into Doctor Who. I feel like I'm single-handedly propagandizing BBC television in the United States.]


...okay so the real reason for the baking is that Noosh brought a ton of bananas here with her, and I already had quite a few, and we can't actually eat them all before they go off. So, naturally, baking with them was the best option. Plus, ever since watching the episode of Throwdown where Bobby Flay battles Matt Lewis and Renato Poliafito, I've been dying to make this pie.

Erm. It's freaking delicious. Best banana cream pie I've ever eaten. Gorgeous, subtle hint of peanut butter, strong banana flavor, amazing crust [my own creation, thank you very much!], silky smooth custard, fluffy, creamy, crunchy, freaking delicious. I wish I could patent this recipe, but all credit go to Mr. Lewis and Poliafito.

Brilliant men, those two.



As for me, I'm going to spend my last day of summer finishing up Doctor Who, sleeping, and watching rain storms.

blackberry flaugnarde

Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.

-Seamus Heaney

I rarely dream. It's none too surprising, given that most of the time I can't seem to sleep long enough to dream.

[Insomnia is a cruel mistress, though one that has led to me bookmarking quite a number of recipes I hope to try in future, since clearly I have little else to do at 2am than skim through cookbooks when my mind refuses shut off.]

But sometimes when I do dream, they're recollections. Of course, I'll have the odd one where I'm a wolf sprinting through the Mines of Moria and end up at the Sultan's palace kickin' it with Aladdin [true story], but occasionally I'll wake up with flashes of memories playing before my eyes, with my mind trying desperately to reach out for them before they dissolve.

Walking along the beaches in Sicily. Sitting under the jasmine tree in my grandmother's front yard with a book in hand. Weaving in between the Douro Valley with the vineyards and river waltzing past. Having a conversation with an old friend, perched on armchairs in half-lit rooms with mugs of coffee and knit blankets, residual ache of nostalgia when I wake up.

During the academic year, I don't dream at all. I also sleep far less then than I manage now, so it's unsurprising. But here at the apartment, with nothing but the quiet sounds of cars driving in and out of the complex and peaceful hum of the ceiling fan at night, I've found myself dreaming more than usual. I don't mind it, but it only leads to endless musings.

[Though, since I'm back to working full-time, I welcome the musings. They break up the monotony of quality assurance checking and keep my mind away from pining for food.]

As of late, the musings have been of summertime. Aside from the heat, I adore summer. Italian countrysides, Portuguese rivers, Spanish beaches, Pakistani rooftops under summer stars. Farmer's Markets, peach-picking, sunbathing, napping. Long days, lazy mornings, afternoon rainstorms, warm nights.

It's rejuvenating in the best way imaginable.

With the start of August came the start of Ramadan, one of my favorite times of the year. Not that I particularly enjoy the fasting aspect of it [it's mainly the thirst that's uncomfortable], but then again, the point really isn't to enjoy it. Rather, it's incredibly spiritually energizing. I love it. I feel peaceful. Content. Like there's no reason to worry about trivialities.

But even aside from Ramadan, I love this time of year because summer's coming to an end. I'm sad to see the season go, of course, and definitely not in the right mindset at all to start reading David Hume and Spanish literature, but from a gastronomic perspective, it's beautiful.


Peaches in all their rosy hue lining the stalls at the Saturday market, bright summer squashes springing up like daisies, scarlet tomatoes glistening in the sunshine, berries waiting to be blended with yogurt and honey for smoothies, crisp apples beginning to make their appearances in orchards, the scents of oregano, parsley, and tarragon wafting through market aisles and carrying with them countless menus for summer dinners.

Quite suitably, I purchased some blackberries this weekend. Though, since they were purchased along with strawberries, blueberries, apples, and plums, and since I am, in fact, the only one making use of the fridge, I may have overestimated my ability to eat all of this fruit prior to their going-off. But I hate seeing seasonal produce go to waste cannot, in any right state of mind, allow seasonal produce to go to waste, and so I decided to bake. [Duh.]

Blackberry Flaugnarde 
A bakedbeen original

You'll need:

• 1 cup fresh blackberries
• 3 eggs
• 2 tsp vanilla
• pinch of salt
• 2 tbsp agave
• 1/3 cup almond flour 
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1/2 cup heavy cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and butter and flour a 9-inch glass baking dish.

In a medium-sized bowl, whisk the eggs. Add in vanilla, salt, and agave and whisk until blended. Add in the flour and incorporate. Finally, add in the milk and heavy cream and mix thoroughly.

Pour about 1/2 cup of the egg mixture into the prepared dish. Place the blackberries evenly across the base of the dish. Pour the remaining filling slowly on top of the berries. Bake for 40-45 minutes, until the custard is set. Let cool 10-15 minutes. Sprinkle confectioner's sugar over top the flaugnarde. Serve warm, with a dollop of sweetened cream or vanilla ice cream if desired.

Blackberry flaugnarde. A pretty, delicate, French dessert, on the cusp of being a flan. Flaugnardes are basically clafoutis, though clafoutis are exclusively made with cherries [hence the alternate name]. Semantics aside, flaugnardes are baked custards, eaten warm and absolutely brilliant on solitary summer evenings when berries are in season and there's little else to do besides watch episodes of No Reservations and Doctor Who. The dessert is divine, beautiful in its presentation and charming in its simplicity. I think a peach and cinnamon flaugnarde would be lovely, as well; perhaps something to try later this season.

I had to remind myself, constantly, not to nibble at it while it was in the process of being made, since there was still daylight out and I was still fasting. Definitely the biggest challenge of this Ramadan so far.

And I'm sure once this over, I'll be dreaming about it. Perhaps the nostalgia will have me baking it again quite soon.

As for the rest of the weekend, I'm thinking about paying a visit to the orchard nearby, pick up some more peaches and see if any apples have decided to pop in yet. And after that... perhaps a very long nap.

Yes. Definitely a very long nap.

In other news, earlier this week I discovered that the second season of Sherlock has been pushed back, from this autumn, to May 2012. This can only mean two things:

1. I am most certainly going to fail my spring finals, and
2. I may actually expire from broken heart before then.

Really, though, there are only so many reruns of a three-episode series I can watch before my heart pines for more. [Needless to say, this already happened after about the fourth rewatch, a few weeks ago.]

Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, what are you doing to me?!

{DBC} frasiers and [im]perfectionism

Time flies by far too quickly for my liking. Individual days seem to drag on forever, but weeks vanish in the blink of an eye.

Disconcerting. Somewhat.

The moral of the story is that I'm not looking forward to having to be a real person. I'm very much enjoying student life, and not so much the thought of applying for internships. And jobs. And financial insecurity. And bills. And no longer having free time to watch inordinate amounts of Sherlock, Doctor Who, and others in what my Netflix profile has dubbed "Suspenseful British TV Shows".

Daring Bakers' Challenges, fun and exciting as they are, are more or less constant reminders of this rather unfavorable phenomenon. I feel like as soon as I submit one, I'm already writing up a post for the next. Only 12 challenges in a year, and we've finished seven. Frightening!

But I digress. I'll not be depressing.

I like to imagine that this is endearing in a 4-year-old-attempting-to-do-something-overly-sophisticated kind of way. Like long-division.

Though, I was pretty bummed to have missed last month's challenge - baklava - because it was so unexpectedly exciting. This month we've returned to the land of custard-like layered desserts with frasiers. I, of course, don't mind the custard; in fact, I adore custards.

It's more the layering bit that irks me.

Not that it's not pretty. Or scrumptious.

Just that I'm not very good at it.

And my perfectionist tendencies instill in me a feeling of self-loathing every time I unravel them.

Practice makes perfect!

[I just...need to practice...]

Fraisiers are lovely little French desserts [they would be] consisting of sponge cakes layered with custard and sliced fruit, topped with almond paste.

Delicious, in other words.

I had Tommy over to help me out, as per always, and we had a phenomenal time. He actually came over two consecutive evenings, since the dessert requires a bit of refrigeration and we both work full-time, so we spent one prepping the cake and custard and the second layering, cooking dinner, and eating while chatting over A Study in Pink [my plan is for this obsession of mine to permeate into everyone else's life, like a hugely entertaining breed of mold (also less horrifying than this poor analogy would suggest)].

As for the recipe, I'll just copy and paste. It is pretty long and elaborate, and doing absolutely nothing mentally stimulating for the past 4 weeks has left me rather lazy.

Frasiers
Adapted from the Daring Bakers' July Challenge

Basic Chiffon Cake:

Ingredients:

• 1 cup + 2 tablespoons (270 ml) (5½ oz/155 gm) all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon (5 ml) (4 gm) baking powder
• 3/4 cups (180 ml) (6 oz /170 gm) sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon (2½ ml) (1½ gm) salt, preferably kosher
• 1/4 cup (2 fl oz/60 ml) vegetable oil
• 3 large egg yolks
• ⅓ cup + 1 tablespoon (3.17 fl oz/95 ml) water
• 1 teaspoon (5 ml) pure vanilla extract
• 3/4 teaspoon (3¾ ml) (3 gm) lemon zest, grated
• 5 large egg whites
• ¼ teaspoon (1¼ ml) (1 gm) cream of tartar

Directions:

1. Preheat the oven to moderate 325°F (160°C/gas mark 3).
2. Line the bottom of an 8-inch (20 cm) spring form pan with parchment paper. Do not grease the sides of the pan.
3. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the flour and baking powder. Add in all but 3 tablespoons (45 ml.) of sugar, and all of the salt. Stir to combine.
4. In a small bowl combine the oil, egg yolks, water, vanilla and lemon zest. Whisk thoroughly.
5. Combine with the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly for about one minute, or until very smooth.
6. Put the egg whites into a stand mixer, and beat on medium speed using a whisk attachment on a medium speed, until frothy. Add cream of tartar and beat on a medium speed until the whites hold soft peaks. Slowly add the remaining sugar and beat on a medium-high speed until the whites hold firm and form shiny peaks.
7. Using a grease free rubber spatula, scoop about ⅓ of the whites into the yolk mixture and fold in gently. Gently fold in the remaining whites just until combined.
8. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes or until toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.
9. Removed the cake from the oven and allow to cool in the pan on a wire rack.
10. To unmold, run a knife around the sides to loosen the cake from the pan and remove the spring form sides. Invert the cake and peel off the parchment paper. Refrigerate for up to four days.

Pastry Cream Filling:

Ingredients:

• 1 cup (8 fl oz/250 ml) whole milk
• 1/2 teaspoon (2½ ml) pure vanilla extract
• 1/8 teaspoon (1/2 ml) (¼ gm) salt, preferably kosher
• 2 tablespoons (30 ml) (10 gm)cornstarch
• 1/4 cup (60 ml) (2 oz/55 gm) sugar
• 1 large egg
• 2 tablespoons (30 ml) (1 oz/30 gm) unsalted butter
• 3/4 teaspoon (3¾ ml) (4 gm) gelatin
• 1/2 tablespoon (7½ ml) water
• 1 cup (8 fl oz/250 ml) heavy cream

Directions:

1. Pour the milk, vanilla, and salt into a heavy sauce pan. Place over medium-high heat and scald, bringing it to a near boiling point. Stir occasionally.
2. Meanwhile, in a stand mixer add the cornstarch and sugar. Whisk to combine
3. Add the eggs to the sugar and cornstarch and whisk until smooth.
4. When the milk is ready, gently and slowly while the stand mixer is whisking, pour the heated milk down the side of the bowl into the egg mixture.
5. Pour the mixture back into the warm pot and continue to cook over a medium heat until the custard is thick, just about to boil and coats the back of a spoon.
6. Remove from heat and pass through a fine mesh sieve into a large mixing bowl. Allow to cool for ten minutes stirring occasionally.
7. Cut the butter into four pieces and whisk into the pastry cream a piece at a time until smooth.
8. Cover the cream with plastic wrap, pressing the plastic wrap onto the top of the cream to prevent a skin from forming. Chill in the refrigerator for up to five days.
9. In a small dish, sprinkle the gelatin over the water and let stand for a few minutes to soften.
10. Put two inches (55 mm) of water into a small sauce pan and bring to a simmer over a medium heat.
11. Measure 1/4 cup (2 oz/60 ml) of the chilled pastry cream into a small stainless steel bowl that will sit across the sauce pan with the simmering water, without touching the water.
12. Heat the cream until it is 120 F (48.8 C). Add the gelatin and whisk until smooth. Remove from the water bath, and whisk the remaining cold pastry cream in to incorporate in two batches.
13. In a stand mixer, fitted with the whisk attachment, whip the cream until it holds medium-stiff peaks. Immediately fold the whipped cream into the pastry cream with a rubber spatula.

Simple Syrup:

You may choose to flavor the syrup. One way is to use flavored sugar (for example: apple cider sugar, orange sugar, or vanilla sugar) or to stir in 1-2 teaspoons of flavored extract. You may also infuse with herbs or spices, if desired or add four tablespoons (60 ml) of fruit juice or liqueur while the syrup is cooling.

Ingredients:

• 1/3 cup (2⅔ fl oz/80 ml) (2⅔ oz/75 gm) of sugar, flavored or white
• 1/3 cup (2⅔ fl oz/80 ml) of water

Directions:

1. Combine the water and sugar in a medium saucepan.
2. Bring the mixture to a boil and let the sugar dissolve. Stirring is not necessary, but will not harm the syrup.
3. Remove the syrup from the heat and cool slightly.
4. Transfer syrup to a lidded container or jar that can be stored in the refrigerator. Simple syrup can be stored for up to one month.

Fraisier Assembly:

Components:

• 1 baked 8 inch (20 cm) chiffon cake
• 1 recipe pastry cream filling
• ⅓ cup (80 ml) simple syrup or flavored syrup
• 2 lbs (900 g) strawberries
• confectioners’ sugar for dusting
• ½ cup (120 ml) (5 oz/140 gm) almond paste

Directions:

1. Line the sides of a 8-inch (20 cm) spring form pan with plastic wrap. Do not line the bottom of the pan.
2. Cut the cake in half horizontally to form two layers.
3. Fit the bottom layer into the prepared spring form pan. Moisten the layer evenly with the simple syrup. When the cake has absorbed enough syrup to resemble a squishy sponge, you have enough.
4. Hull and slice in half enough strawberries to arrange around the sides of the cake pan. Place the cut side of the strawberry against the sides of the pan, point side up forming a ring.
5. Pipe cream in-between strawberries and a thin layer across the top of the cake.
6. Hull and quarter your remaining strawberries and place them in the middle of the cake. Cover the strawberries and entirely with the all but 1 tbsp. (15 ml) of the pastry cream.
7. Place the second cake layer on top and moisten with the simple syrup.
8. Lightly dust a work surface with confectioners' sugar and roll out the almond paste to a 10-inch (25 cm) round 1/16 inch (1.5 mm) thick. Spread the remaining 1 tablespoon (15 ml) of pastry cream on the top of the cake and cover with the round of almond paste.
9. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours.
10. To serve release the sides of the spring form pan and peel away the plastic wrap.
11. Serve immediately or store in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.

Despite the aesthetic imperfections, it was mouthwateringly good.

And now I'm determined to master the art of layered desserts.

...Eventually.

In other news, Friday is my last day interning. Bittersweet goodbyes.

I'm also out of food, again. Deciding whether or not laziness will outweigh my need for dinner. Raw cookie dough is always an option. And tomatoes. It's a wonder I'm still alive.

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].

dark chocolate pudding

I love sleeping in on Sundays, waking up to a bright sun streaming in through the blinds and lighting up the room. I love walking into the kitchen and not having to turn on any lamps, because the natural sunlight is enough to give the apartment a warm glow. I love opening the door to a fresh, cool breeze and knowing that spring is just inches away.

Not to mention that turning on the telly and finding out that it's abc's Harry Potter weekend is also a lovely surprise.

Though I suppose, in retrospect, this is probably the worst weekend for something as enticing as a Harry Potter movie marathon to be going on. It just diminishes my already lacking motivation to write start this paper I have due tomorrow.

Then again, since I will be referencing Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in aforementioned paper, perhaps it's warm-up before I start. A sort of mental prep, if you will.

Dark Chocolate Pudding
Adapted from The Shoebox Kitchen

You'll need:

• 1 cup heavy cream
• 1/2 cup half & half
• 2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/2 tsp vanilla
• 3/4 cup sugar [substitute with erythritol for a low-carb variation]
• pinch of salt
• 3 egg yolks
• 1 heaping tbsp cornstarch
• 2 oz unsweetened chocolate

In a medium saucepan over medium flame, heat heavy cream and half and half. Whisk in sugar, vanilla, salt, and cocoa powder until blended and most of the clumps are gone.

In a separate bowl, whisk egg yolks and cornstarch until smooth. Once chocolate cream mixture is warm, ladle a spoonful of the cream into the eggs and whisk continuously, to temper the eggs. Pour the now-warm egg mixture into the saucepan and whisk. Continue to whisk until the custard starts to bubble slightly. Remove saucepan from the heat and add in the unsweetened chocolate, whisking until melted.

Pour the custard into a food processor and blend for 60 to 90 seconds. This will eliminate any remaining clumps in the custard. Distribute the custard among glass bowls or ramekins. Cover the tops of the custards with plastic wrap and refrigerate until set, 2-3 hours.

Serve with sweetened whipped cream, if desired.

Still, it would probably be in my best interest to start that paper at some point today...

...well, maybe once this movie's over.

{DBC} vanilla panna cotta with balsamic strawberry compote

...is it time to go to Spain yet?

[hello midterm season goodbye social life]

Another Daring Baker's Challenge! I can't believe it's already been a month since the last one. Admittedly, I was nervous about it, particularly since both this and the previous one lie in the realm of mousse-like custards, and I wasn't totally satisfied with the last one. This time, though, we're taking a trip to one of my favorite countries, Italia.

Panna cotta, originally from the northern region of Piemonte, is a custard-like dessert of milk, cream, sugar, and gelatin. When chilled, the gelatin causes the custard to set into the shape of whatever bowl it's poured into, and thus can be turned over onto a plate or served as is in the bowl. Often, panna cotta is eaten with berries, fruit coulis, or any sort of of dessert sauce.

Gah, just hearing the name makes me want to hop on a plane and go back to Italy.

For this month's DBC, we had to prepare a panna cotta of some sort with Florentine cookies [the recipe for which I will post up separately]. I decided to go with a classic vanilla panna cotta topped with a tart, balsamic strawberry compote. I prepared the panna cotta on Friday, allowed it to set in the refrigerator overnight, and had Tommy over [as always!] on Saturday to help with the compote and the Florentine cookies.

The panna cotta recipe given for the challenge used 3 parts heavy cream and 1 part whole milk, but I didn't have enough whole milk on hand so substituted with 1 part half and half. The given recipe also used a combination of honey and granulated sugar, but I wanted to cut the sweetness a bit so used only granulated sugar. It's a pretty versatile dish, though, so feel free to play around with it. Just make sure to keep the appropriate ratios in mind!

Vanilla Panna Cotta
Adapted from epicurious

You'll need:

• 1/4 cup cold water
• .25 oz [about 2.5 tsp] unflavored gelatin powder
• 2 cups whipping cream
• 1 cup half & half
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp vanilla

Pour 1/4 cup cold water into a small bowl. Sprinkle gelatin over top of water and let stand for about 15 minutes, until the gelatin softens. Heat water in the microwave in 15-second intervals until gelatin dissolves. Set aside.

Combine whipping cream and sugar in a medium saucepan over medium heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Remove pan from the heat and stir in vanilla and gelatin. Divide custard mixture into ramekins. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and chill until set, at least 6 hours and up to one day.

To unmold panna cotta, dip ramekin in a bowl of hot water for about 20 seconds. Invert ramekin onto a serving plate, gently shaking and tapping the sides of the ramekin to loosen the panna cotta. Top with desired sauce and serve immediately.
However, panna cotta can be served in ramekins without unmolding. Just top with desired sauce before serving.

Balsamic Strawberry Compote
Adapted from savory sweet life

You'll need:

• 1 pound [about 2 cups] chopped strawberries
• 2 tbsp sugar
• 1 1/2 tbsp balsamic vinegar

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, cook strawberries, sugar, and balsamic vinegar for about 10 minutes. The sauce is done when it can coat the back of a spoon. Remove from heat. Let cool to room temperature before pouring on the panna cotta.

we had a pretty epic feast this afternoon.

The consistency of the panna cotta is beautiful: silky smooth and bursting with vanilla flavor. The compote is also a delicious contrast; the acidity of the balsamic strawberries plays off the delicacy of the panna cotta well. I checked out some of the other bakers' desserts and they are absolutely stunning! Mine leave much to be desired in comparison, but the others have given me inspiration. Be sure to creep on tastespotting and foodgawker in the upcoming few days, as I'm sure each will be flooded with images of some gorgeous panna cotta.

In other news, a combination of watching Tangled for the fifth time and finishing ACII has left me in a very Italian mood. Not that the former really took place in Italy, but the kingdom dance always makes me feel as though I'm perusing Sicily. Plus, all the snippets of Italian [most often cursing, but nevertheless] in ACII has made me want to retake the language.

[The cursing is unrelated here. Sort of. I can't help it that cursing sounds so much more emphatic when it's done in Italian.]

Anyway, my point is, I need to get me on a plane to Italia ASAP.

Ciò che si mangia con gusto non fa mai male.