Reactionary

The 2010 November Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Simona of briciole. She chose to challenge Daring Bakers’ to make pasta frolla for a crostata. She used her own experience as a source, as well as information from Pellegrino Artusi’s Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well.

The holiday season is around the corner and by the time this post goes live. it would have already begun. I have to admit I dreaded looking at the Daring Bakers site to find out what the challenge would be. Who needs more stress when I’m already dealing with unbelievable timing challenges. But this one was a blessing. What better to lift the blues that stem from the anxiety of a too-full calendar than a classic Italian crostata.

I have my own idea what what pasta frolla should be but since it is a Daring Bakers challenge, I had to follow along at some point, especially given that we could fill it with whatever we wanted. Yes, finally I don’t have to buy cream! There were two versions of the pasta frolla given and I used the second one:

Version 2 of pasta frolla

In this version of pasta frolla, I have played with different kinds of flours, using almond, whole-grain barley and, most recently, coconut flour instead of some of the all-purpose flour. If you want to try a different version of pasta frolla that uses some flours that you wouldn’t normally use, this is a good recipe to try. All the flours listed below (whole-wheat pastry, almond flour, coconut flour and barley flour) are available at health food stores. You may even find them at well-stocked supermarkets.

The preparation for this version of pasta frolla is very similar to the preparation for Version 1.

Ingredients

* 1/3 cup [80 ml, 75 g, 2 2/3 oz.] superfine sugar or 1/2 cup [120ml, 60 g, 2 oz]powdered sugar (see Note 1.)
* 1/2 cup [120 ml, 65 g, 2 3/8 oz.] unbleached all-purpose flour
* 1/2 cup [120ml, 65 g. 2 1/4 oz.] whole-wheat pastry flour
* 1/4 cup [60ml, 28 g, 1 oz] almond flour, or almond meal, or coconut flour
* 1/4 cup [60ml, 28 g, 1 oz.] whole-grain barley flour or unbleached all-purpose flour
* a pinch of salt
* 6 tablespoons[90ml, 85 g, 3 oz] cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
* 1 large egg, lightly beaten
* 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract (you can also use vanilla sugar; see Note 2.)

Directions:

By hand:

1. Whisk together sugar, flours and salt in a bowl.
2. Rub or cut the butter into the sugar and flour mixture until it has the consistency of coarse crumbs. You can do this in the bowl or on your work surface, using your fingertips or an implement of choice.
3. Make a well in the center of the flour and butter mixture and pour the beaten egg and vanilla extract into it.
4. Use a fork to incorporate the liquid into mixture and then use your fingertips.
5. Knead lightly just until the dough comes together into a ball.
6. Shape the dough into a flat disk and wrap in plastic wrap. Place the dough in the refrigerator and chill for at least two hours. You can refrigerate the dough overnight.

I used almond flour and white unbleached and substituted the 1/4 c. of barley flour for the same weight of buckwheat flour I had sitting in my cupboard from an as yet-unfulfilled need to make breton pastries of various kinds. Oh, yeah, I also bought it because it was at the farmer’s market and it looked cool. I would be way richer if I stopped buying weird things at farmers markets just because I can. Back to the pasta frolla, I made it by hand of course. All you need is a bench scraper and arm strength. I hate washing dishes and even if I owned a full-size food processor I still wouldn’t use it to make a simple shortcrust.

As for the filling, this was my favorite part of the recipe. I had a jar of refrigerated fig jam I made a few months ago and had been dying to use it in some way. This was the excuse, even if I ended up using all of it. My friend has a fig tree and I harassed her until she gave me a few pounds of them. They were beautiful, perfect Black Mission figs and to think they were in her yard doing nothing broke my heart. I don’t usually can.. I never can or preserve anything but these were too good to pass up. I boiled them with some water, lemon juice, and a liquor of some kind (brandy? I forget), and sugar and then used my immersion blender to grind them all up. I gave my poor friend some and the last of it I kept in a jar in the fridge until the opportunity presented itself. Now I think I should have saved it for Christmas but this recipe was too timely and November is starting to run out.

I never make things you have to decorate since my patience doesn’t exist and other things usually precede making decorated food in my daily schedule. But since I’m working on another project that involves Rome and the challenge of a classic Italian recipe, I went for it with images of the beautiful apricot crostate I have eaten all over Rome like the shop near the Pantheon and then my daily bar near Termini by the school I attended…

Sorry, I just had a moment. Anyway, I rolled out the remaining dough and cut it into near-even lengths with I then rolled to hide that they weren’t exactly alike. I made a bold attempt at braiding them the way people with far more skill than myself do. I had forgotten to save some egg wash so I just sprinkled the whole thing with powdered sugar and stuck it in the ready oven. About 15 minutes in, I sprinkled it with sliced almonds and sprinkled more sugar to help the browning process. I don’t know how long it was in the oven (I don’t own a timer) but I went back to get it when I started to smell it while watching Glee. Browned and beautiful, I left it to cool on the stovetop and then covered it for the night.

I had a piece the next morning which is when I took the pictures. Accompanied by a homemade cappuccino, it reminded me, a little, of the Eternal City.

Grazie mille, Simona.

November 27th, 2010 | Food |  Print |  Send it | Comments (1)

As the year’s NaNo comes to a close, I’ve reached by word count but the story is still only about halfway and suddenly I’m short on words. It’s like the need to get words down for something as insignificant as a word count was more motivation than actually finishing a story I thought I cared about. They’re in Capri and it’s not going well. I just can’t figure out which path to take, it’s like I’m at a crossroads or one of those old Choose Your Own Adventure books. What if the twist I pick is the wrong one and it ends up killing the story? What if…? Well, the Lemony Snicket pep talk is just the thing. It’s in character, it says all the right things, and it’s one of the more motivating things I’ve ever read and I laughed aloud when I got to the end. I have to report it here to keep it for posterity since the NaNo site gets trashed and revamped every year while this blog will not unless my life really takes an amazingly awesome or gruesome twist.

Dear Cohort,

Struggling with your novel? Paralyzed by the fear that it’s nowhere near good enough? Feeling caught in a trap of your own devising? You should probably give up.

For one thing, writing is a dying form. One reads of this every day. Every magazine and newspaper, every hardcover and paperback, every website and most walls near the freeway trumpet the news that nobody reads anymore, and everyone has read these statements and felt their powerful effects. The authors of all those articles and editorials, all those manifestos and essays, all those exclamations and eulogies – what would they say if they knew you were writing something? They would urge you, in bold-faced print, to stop.

Clearly, the future is moving us proudly and zippily away from the written word, so writing a novel is actually interfering with the natural progress of modern society. It is old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, a relic of a time when people took artistic expression seriously and found solace in a good story told well. We are in the process of disentangling ourselves from that kind of peace of mind, so it is rude for you to hinder the world by insisting on adhering to the beloved paradigms of the past. It is like sitting in a gondola, listening to the water carry you across the water, while everyone else is zooming over you in jetpacks, belching smoke into the sky. Stop it, is what the jet-packers would say to you. Stop it this instant, you in that beautiful craft of intricately-carved wood that is giving you such a pleasant journey.

Besides, there are already plenty of novels. There is no need for a new one. One could devote one’s entire life to reading the work of Henry James, for instance, and never touch another novel by any other author, and never be hungry for anything else, the way one could live on nothing but multivitamin tablets and pureed root vegetables and never find oneself craving wild mushroom soup or linguini with clam sauce or a plain roasted chicken with lemon-zested dandelion greens or strong black coffee or a perfectly ripe peach or chips and salsa or caramel ice cream on top of poppyseed cake or smoked salmon with capers or aged goat cheese or a gin gimlet or some other startling item sprung from the imagination of some unknown cook. In fact, think of the world of literature as an enormous meal, and your novel as some small piddling ingredient – the drawn butter, for example, served next to a large, boiled lobster. Who wants that? If it were brought to the table, surely most people would ask that it be removed post-haste.

Even if you insisted on finishing your novel, what for? Novels sit unpublished, or published but unsold, or sold but unread, or read but unreread, lonely on shelves and in drawers and under the legs of wobbly tables. They are like seashells on the beach. Not enough people marvel over them. They pick them up and put them down. Even your friends and associates will never appreciate your novel the way you want them to. In fact, there are likely just a handful of readers out in the world who are perfect for your book, who will take it to heart and feel its mighty ripples throughout their lives, and you will likely never meet them, at least under the proper circumstances. So who cares? Think of that secret favorite book of yours – not the one you tell people you like best, but that book so good that you refuse to share it with people because they’d never understand it. Perhaps it’s not even a whole book, just a tiny portion that you’ll never forget as long as you live. Nobody knows you feel this way about that tiny portion of literature, so what does it matter? The author of that small bright thing, that treasured whisper deep in your heart, never should have bothered.

Of course, it may well be that you are writing not for some perfect reader someplace, but for yourself, and that is the biggest folly of them all, because it will not work. You will not be happy all of the time. Unlike most things that most people make, your novel will not be perfect. It may well be considerably less than one-fourth perfect, and this will frustrate you and sadden you. This is why you should stop. Most people are not writing novels which is why there is so little frustration and sadness in the world, particularly as we zoom on past the novel in our smoky jet packs soon to be equipped with pureed food. The next time you find yourself in a group of people, stop and think to yourself, probably no one here is writing a novel. This is why everyone is so content, here at this bus stop or in line at the supermarket or standing around this baggage carousel or sitting around in this doctor’s waiting room or in seventh grade or in Johannesburg. Give up your novel, and join the crowd. Think of all the things you could do with your time instead of participating in a noble and storied art form. There are things in your cupboards that likely need to be moved around.

In short, quit. Writing a novel is a tiny candle in a dark, swirling world. It brings light and warmth and hope to the lucky few who, against insufferable odds and despite a juggernaut of irritations, find themselves in the right place to hold it. Blow it out, so our eyes will not be drawn to its power. Extinguish it so we can get some sleep. I plan to quit writing novels myself, sometime in the next hundred years.

–Lemony Snicket

November 26th, 2010 | Scrivener |  Print |  Send it | Say something

The year’s NaNoWriMo started painfully. I had a good idea, but for the first two weeks I was barely making my word count and only leaving things in for the hell of it to help my total word count. The novel felt flat, listless, dead, drained of all the excitement at its birth last spring. Had it been too long? Did I wait too long? Was it overripe? Had I moved on?

Well, you know what they say about writing your way through it? I used my big sequence earlier than I had wanted hoping something shook out. And did it ever. It wasn’t where I thought I wanted it originally, but it became the catalyst for this steamroller of a story that’s grown up after it. It’s a different story than the one I thought I wanted but maybe I wanted the wrong thing. You know what they say about sculptors removing the extra stone? It was like that. Now it’s incident after incident. The writing is still rough, but the most important thing, the PLOT has taken on a life of its own and this baby is writing itself.

When once I did it like homework, knowing I had to since it would be physically impossible to write the requisite words before the deadline, now I cannot stop. I’ve written over 10,000 words this weekend ALONE and I have off tomorrow and then the Thanksgiving weekend. Not only will I fulfill the necessary count, I’ll exceed it and get a roaring narrative out of it. It is unbelievable.

November 22nd, 2010 | Scrivener |  Print |  Send it | Comments (1)

John, Paul, George, and Ringo... on iTunes where they belong.

Now on iTunes.

November 18th, 2010 | Tech, Tunes |  Print |  Send it | Say something

The Mevlana Mosque and Museum in Konya, Turkey

It took me a while to post, thanks to being busy, shellacked, and decompressing. This was the weirdest yet most rewarding trip I’ve ever taken. It was with a tour group but the country was so fascinating, so different from anywhere I’ve ever been that the two, the complacency inherent in being in a tour group and the daring in being in Turkey, balanced each other out. Beautiful, cosmopolitan Istanbul is easy to be in for someone who lives on the Eastern seaboard and has a list of her favorite cities. The hinterlands of Turkey, on the other hand, were another thing altogether. It was the first time I felt that I am no longer at home. Headscarves were actually very common, the language is bewildering, and after dark the streets make it clear it’s a man’s world.

History has been written here, though, by those with the guts to write it. Alexander and Julius Caesar, the sultans, Asia minor, Anatolia, the Crusades, Hector and Priam, all words written into legend, words that are legend. They’ve been through here. The hills and mountains and olive groves in places look like they must have looked thousands of years ago. History speaks and lives and breathes here, against a backdrop of small farmers, minarets, and open markets. Tourism is a large part of the economy but Turkey hasn’t sold its soul. I had the feeling we were catching it just before the old world vanishes. I can recall that in a short list of missed photographic opportunities: the hills on the way to Konya with a little village in the plains at the bottom complete with red roofs on the stone houses, Hieropolis perched at the top of the calcium deposits at Pamukkale and the modern village at the bottom, our tour bus crossing the tracks behind a train with a shepherd and his flock of sheep walking along the one-lane road. Oh, baby. If this is Asia, then I want more of it, though there is still a time and place for the warm and familiar places like the Piazza del Popolo in Rome.

That’s where my fictional characters are talking right now, and I must return to them. CIao, a piu tardi.

November 6th, 2010 | Life, Shutterbug, Travels |  Print |  Send it | Say something

Life is so funny.

The latest crash– potentially devastating– was Friday. I laughed. I had to. It’s a detail that can’t be helped and you can’t make things be different just by will alone. I’ll never forget the look of their faces. I sat there stunned than, but then, the next day, I laughed and I’ve kept on laughing. This trip is coming right when it’s most needed. When I get back, everything will be different.

It’s the unexpected that happens and I didn’t see this one coming, though I knew somewhere in my being that something was wrong. And that’s what it was.

October 4th, 2010 | Life |  Print |  Send it | Say something

The September 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Mandy of “What the Fruitcake?!” Mandy challenged everyone to make Decorated Sugar Cookies based on recipes from Peggy Porschen and The Joy of Baking.

That’s great for Mandy and the unbelievably hard-working members of the Daring Bakers. I didn’t do it this month. Why, you may ask. Here are a few answers: A.) I’m exhausted. B.) I blinked and September went by. C.) I’ve worked so many extra hours I can afford a new fall wardrobe. But most importantly, I just don’t like sugar cookies. Sure, I could dump off the lot to the locusts at work, but why make something I don’t like? Also, I don’t like precious decorations on food, sorry. I am not Ferran Adria nor his countryman Salvador Dali. I don’t paint and I don’t paint with food.

After getting through the month eating mostly cheese plates and omelets because I was too tired and burnt out to make anything else, I finally had a day off today that was dedicated to baking. A coworker is going to do the 3 day walk for breast cancer and still needs to raise money for his team. He’s so well-liked, that people at work have decided to have a bake sale this coming Friday to help him raise the final tally. I used the bake sale as an excuse to go to town. I shopped in the morning and baked slowly, leisurely all afternoon. I ended up making two different cookies and got more than the estimated amount. That never happens. In total, I make 11 dozen cookies. Baci and ditte di mandorle. They’re plain, dry, fine and go beautifully with coffee. My favorite kind.

What I made instead of the sugar cookies.

I haven’t put the baci together yet, so I didn’t photograph them. If I have time, I’ll make the ganache tomorrow and sandwich them. If I don’t, they’ll go plain. They’re good enough as is and I didn’t even have to melt any chocolate.

So, sorry Daring Bakers, for not being part of the club this month, but I just couldn’t. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming…

September 29th, 2010 | Food, Life |  Print |  Send it | Comments (3)

… and gave the basket a push.

I’m backing out early before it burrows in any deeper.

September 28th, 2010 | General |  Print |  Send it | Say something

Thanks for the triumph of style over substance. Our anxious state of being and a world in chaos lends witness to the grave of all good intentions. This is *fun* and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, Heart on Sleeve Psychotics.

September 19th, 2010 | Tunes |  Print |  Send it | Say something

It’s on now. I’m caught in another one. These never end well. Before anything is even underway, I’m already looking for the fire exit.

In other news, I went to an awesome wedding this weekend, put a hole in a bottle of Tanqueray, and that song was the song of the night.

I don’t want to be friends.

September 6th, 2010 | Life |  Print |  Send it | Say something

Blog-checking lines: The August 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Elissa of 17 and Baking. For the first time, The Daring Bakers partnered with Sugar High Fridays for a co-event and Elissa was the gracious hostess of both. Using the theme of beurre noisette, or browned butter, Elissa chose to challenge Daring Bakers to make a pound cake to be used in either a Baked Alaska or in Ice Cream Petit Fours. The sources for Elissa’s challenge were Gourmet magazine and David Lebovitz’s “The Perfect Scoop”.

How very retro. Now if I could just get Don Draper to come over to share it with me.

It wasn’t to be, the rendezvous between Don and me, but the Baked Alaska turned out pretty well. I made the Brown Butter Pound Cake as instructed by the recipe Elissa posted, to the letter. Granted, I was rushed on the day I made it thanks to the party I was going to. It could have used a couple more minutes in the oven, I think, but I needed to get it to start cooling so there was a small dip in the middle of lightly undercooked cake. Maybe the undercookedness also contributed to the greasiness I felt in the cake that I’ve never found with any other pound cake I’ve ever made (not like I make it a lot). People liked it, though. I lopped off about a three-inch piece off one side and took the rest to the party where it was eaten and enjoyed. Not my best moment, but we were all a little soused and the fat in the cake helped sop up some of the alcohol.

I measured out out a piece that would fit into a little plastic container I had the next day and stuck in the freezer along with a layer of ice cream. I did not make the vanilla ice cream indicated, for the very simple reason that I’ve been working unbelievable hours and couldn’t bear to have to make a custard. I own The Perfect Scoop and made David’s slightly simpler Fleur de Lait ice cream instead. It’s one of my favorites. I had had it in the freezer poised and simply softened it the next Sunday after the hootnanny to fit over the piece of cake. I wrapped the two in plastic and left it there until the next weekend.

Since I was making a small Baked Alaska, I used only one egg white to make the meringue with rational downgrading of the rest of the ingredients. I covered the little cake in the meringue, froze it for a little while and then stuck it in the oven. I had thought of getting a torch since I didn’t think the oven would be able to brown the meringue just right. I’m glad I didn’t get one. The oven did it, look at the blackened peaks.

It may have looked better with an ice cream that created more contrast between it and the white meringue, but in my semi-delirious state, I just couldn’t be bothered. The Fleur de Lait was already made. It was delicious, but if I had to do it again, I would make that adjustment as well as making a genoise rather than a pound cake. I found the cake to be far too hard. If I let it thaw more, the ice cream would melt. Either way, I think Don would like it.

P.S. That adorable bottle out of focus behind the cake is fig jam I made with the last pound of the heavenly fruit I forced my friend to give me. That color is beautiful.

August 27th, 2010 | Food |  Print |  Send it | Comments (2)