Misguided Angel

When it comes to birthday cakes, the members of my family are all creatures of habit. There's my sister and her carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, my brother-in-law and his white cake (out of a box) with white icing (out of a can), my dad with his pumpkin pie (in June), and my mom with hers from the bakery department of the grocery store, with sugary frosting flowers. And, just like the rest of them, every time January rolls around, I put in my request for an angel food cake.

Funny thing about angel food cake- it's my hands-down favorite dessert, but I rarely eat it at any time other than my birthday. I hold it in high regard- a cake to be eaten only on the most special of days ;)

I've also never made an angel food cake. I mean, I've made one from a box mix, but anything that lists a cup of water as it's only added ingredient hardly counts. And since I had all of those egg whites left from the crème brûlée, I figured I'd give it a whirl.

I went with the loaf pan version, since it called for the amount of egg whites I had handy. I've never had much luck with egg whites...this time was no exception. It seems to be a bit lacking in that light, fluffiness that makes an angel food cake so...angelic. Guess we'll have to call it a chubby cherub cake.

Angelic or not, this little cake elicited no complaints.

Have a light and fluffy day, sweets!

xo

I'm Burning For You

It's so simple, really. Some eggs, cream, and a bit of sugar. A little whisking, a little simmering, and a little while in the oven.

And then there's the bit with the blow torch. How is it possible that it has taken me this long to make a dessert that involves a blow torch?

Have a delicious day, Sweet Readers.

xo

Some Like It Hot

The other day, my very pregnant sister called and informed me that the baby told her he'd come out if I made her some brownies. "Oh yeah?" I said. "Yeah." Ever so loving, sisterly back and forthing ensued. Around the time I finally cracked, she informed me that she wanted them spicy. "Spicy?" I said. "Spicy." And how, exactly, did she propose I go about this? She proposed thusly: "You're Betty Flipping Crocker. Figure it out." So figure it out I did.

The ball's in your court, Sister. I delivered the brownies. See what you can do about delivering that Boy.

(Have a spicy day, darlings! xo)

Punky's Dilemma

The other morning, I got up, put an English Muffin in the toaster, and, nothing. It wouldn't toast. I moved it from counter to counter, outlet to outlet, nothing doing. It seemed the toaster had toasted its last piece of toast. Bummer. It was a good toaster, with a special Pop Tart setting that, most of the time, kept the Pop Tarts from bursting into flames. And I really wanted that muffin.

I was left faced with a dilemma. I enjoy the instant gratification provided by a toaster, so there was little breakfast fare on offer that didn't require toasting. I'm not a morning person, and I don't cook, so actually making breakfast was out of the question. That left cold cereal, which is normally relegated to a pre-yoga or late night snack. It'd have to do.

Now, the obvious thought, "gonna have to get a new toaster", never crossed my mind. Nope. Instead I was wondering what to eat for breakfast the next day. So I made granola. One tasty base, limitless breakfast options. No toaster required.

xo

Orange Crush

I was in the produce store the other day. And I was thinking about cupcakes (Well, what else would I be thinking about while browsing produce?). I spied a pile of coconuts, and started musing on shreddy, coconut-textured frosting. The cupcakes themselves would have to be chocolate. Yes yes, definitely chocolate. And instead of adding regular old milk to the batter, I'd add coconut milk. That should work, right? Moments later, I walked out with a big old bag of blood oranges.

The cupcakes, of course, remained chocolate. But the frosting...oh, the frosting! The added blood orange gave it a perfectly pinky-orange hue, and the subtlest, most deliciously sweet and tart flavor. Pure bliss in a paper wrapper.

Wishing you a perfectly sweet and tangy weekend, dear readers!
xo

Mama Mia!

Viola, pasta!

Easy peasy, right? No, I wouldn't know, either (my mama made it). I just stood by, taking pictures and making cocktails. I did eat it, though...delizioso!

Food Escapes

I am not a fan of cooking shows. At all. Perhaps it's because I'm not a fan of cooking. Baking, yes. But I don't cook. And I don't particularly enjoy watching people stand around talking to themselves while preparing a meal. But one night last week I couldn't get to sleep and was flipping around the tv. Somehow, I landed on the Cooking Channel. And I found myself in Venice. With Jamie Oliver. Holla.

I like Jamie. He seems like a good time. And he does good things. I also like love Venice. I mean, it's Venice for eff's sake! The Floating City! So I put down the remote and watched a cooking show...of sorts. While there was plenty of Venetian eye-candy to look at in the background, the cooking part pretty much demanded my attention. There's Jamie, squatting over a fire in some sort of park, making minestrone. There he is again, sitting by a canal, making tiramisu. On his lap.

This week, Jamie asked me to escape to Athens with him. I've always wanted to go to Greece...who am I to refuse? We made tzatziki on a rooftop overlooking the Acropolis. We cooked tuna over a fire on the beach. And we made cheese with an orthodox priest. Can't wait to see where we go next week ;)

Happy trails, my sweets!
xo

This Is What Heaven Tastes Like

Not so many moons ago, I found myself in Paris while backpacking across Western Europe. I fell in love with all that it was, old and lovely and oh so Paris. I wandered the streets, climbed the Eiffel Tower, and swooned over the pâtisseries. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a well-appointed baked good. I ate pastries with absolute relish. I fell head over heels for crêpes too hot to bite into. Languored over pain au chocolat and bowls of coffee. And then there were the macarons. Whole towers of them, winking and enticing me from the glistening windows of Ladurée. They were just the most exquisite, perfect little bites of joy that I had ever sank my teeth into. I dream about them to this day.

A couple of moons later, I found myself in Paris again. This time, it was a blink of the eye- a layover on my way to Rome (don't I just sound so glamorously jet setting? ha!). We were held up in customs forever, and I had just enough time to grab a Vogue from the newsstand in my terminal before my flight took off. There would be no macarons this trip. Sorrows over the absentee macarons were swiftly drowned in copious amounts of gelato, and all was well and forgotten. For the moment.

The other day, my delightful aunt returned from Paris with a little gift. I am a happy girl.
xo