Raisin Scones To Move By

August 16th, 2009  |  25 Comments

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Disclaimer: If you’re a landlord, you may want to shield your eyes from the next paragraph.

Scott and I, being apartment renters, were able to squeeze some benefit out of the current economic recession. Much to our delight, apartment prices in the New York area have dropped just enough to make relocating worthwhile. I admit I wasn’t eager to pack up my long forgotten Long Johns but rationalized that it was all worth it, as I shoved another shoe tree into a box. If the savings could afford us an extra dinner out here and there, then move I would.

Obviously, it didn’t make sense to buy groceries when most of my kitchenware was already stashed, but I also wasn’t willing to pay $7 for a breakfast sandwich on the way to work. So I dug out a bowl and a sheet pan and mixed up this quick batch of scones to bake and freeze. Every morning we pulled a couple of these out, let them defrost on the counter while we got ready, and warmed them for 30 seconds in the microwave. Then we made a picnic on top of the stacked boxes, with a side of  jam and coffee. At first glance it may seem we were living like paupers, but rest assured, those mornings we were kings. These scones made us feel like luxury was in the air. We’d sit there, asses on cardboard, breaking off flaky, buttery bites, and leisurely sipping our drinks with pinkies high up in the air.

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Hazelnut Shortbread With Bite

August 12th, 2009  |  14 Comments

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I’m not naming any names, but my boyfriend Scott has a way of eating that illustrates how much he doesn’t care about food. When a plate is set before him, say, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, he eats all the meatloaf first, THEN all the mashed potatoes. It’s all very mechanical. He gets the food in. The end. Needless to say, to me, it’s like he’s ripping a limb off a torso—not only is it painful but he’s taking apart that which is meant to be whole. A dish, in my humble opinion, should be enjoyed as a medley of flavors and textures, where a fork might meet a different food with each stab.

When I used to work out a dish for a restaurant menu, I’d think of how the components would play off each other. That’s a good time to catch me talking to myself, surely sounding like a typical, neurotic New Yorker. Is there something warm on the plate? Maybe a cold sorbet will make a good contrast. Is the dessert very creamy? Then why not add a crispy garnish. Does it get too cloying and monotonous? Add something that has some acidity to cut through the sweetness. Or maybe the portion is too big. Do none of the flavors stand out? There’s probably too much stuff on the plate, so time to cut back. I was always striving for balance.

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Hello Again, Chocolate Mousse

August 7th, 2009  |  72 Comments

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One fine day in my not too distant past, I decided to spend my lunch hour milling around the Barnes and Noble. Just a regular day, it was, with the usual rows of books, and the usual cappuccino slinging. As I stood there, leafing through Poker for Dummies, my ears suddenly perked up. It was the store announcer crackling over the loud speaker. He was pleased to announce that in 15 minutes, Jacques Torres would be giving a demonstration and signing books in the main area. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!

Needless to say, I did a little jig in the Crafts aisle before bee-lining to front and center. I would get to watch the great Jacques Torres in action and, if I didn’t faint by the end, I’d get to sample a dessert! I was beside myself. In those days, Jacques Torres was on PBS and I watched him fling profiteroles at the audience every Sunday. My cheeks hurt from over-smiling.

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Too bad that smile faded not 30 seconds later when Jacques revealed that he’d be demonstrating chocolate mousse. Suddenly, an overwhelming drowsiness kicked in. Chocolate mousse was so booooooring. It was in every cookbook, on every menu. Everywhere, like pigeons. Anyone with a whisk and an apron could throw together chocolate mousse.

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Lemon Berry Tart

August 3rd, 2009  |  33 Comments

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Eating lemons makes me feel like I’m getting a good cleanse on the inside. After a big, fatty dinner, they have the effect of cutting through all the lingering lard that’s coated the tongue. Even just picturing a slice of juicy lemon sets the saliva into overdrive. See what I mean? It’s happening to you, too.

One of my go-to peasant desserts when I was a kid was this: take a lemon, slice it as thinly as possible, with rind, pith and all and toss it with a generous load of sugar. It was like a game of chicken. Me versus the lemon. The first bite would send my face into all sorts of puckers, but soon my palate would get used to it like a nose gets used to an odor. I could then settle into the intensity of this poor man’s version of a Lemon Head.

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Ginger Ice Cream Might Change Your Life

July 28th, 2009  |  44 Comments

Ginger Ice Cream

Apparently, living under a communist regime makes people do strange things. Take my mother, for example. Having grown up in the former USSR, she employed some KGB tactics and decided to deceive me. Yes, me, her angelic daughter, who clung to her shin for protection. What is it she did that borders on child abuse, you ask?

Until I was 5 years old, she fed me cottage cheese and told me it was ice cream. Yes, ladies and gentleman. I’m looking you in the eye and telling you the truth. I know it’s difficult to believe as these things don’t happen in America. Her reasons are unclear to me to this day. Something to do with her looking out for my health. Pfft, moms.

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