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Archive for the ‘Cookies’ Category

a treat for breakfast or later...

There used to be a TV commercial for Stella d’Oro cookies that was based on an ages-old Borscht Belt sketch.

(And, it goes a little something…like this:)

(The scene: a typical upper middle class suburban home. The husband enters.)

Husband:  Darling! I’m home! Where are you?

Unseen Wife:  (a slightly muffled off stage voice) I’m hiding!

Husband:  (Looking around, trying to guess her hiding place) Darling I’m home! I brought you flowers! Where are you?

Unseen Wife:  (still a slightly muffled off stage voice) I’m hiding!

Husband:  Darling I’m home! I brought you flowers!  And Stella d’Oro cookies! Where are you?

Unseen Wife:  (opens the door slightly) I’m hiding! In the front closet!

(In the original sketch the husband was bringing the Mrs. a diamond bracelet. That would open a few closet doors in my neighborhood.)

How many times have you walked by the Stella d’Oro display at the supermarket? Funny the stuff you take for granted. I haven’t been to the East End of Boston for many years (Go Eastie!) but many years ago I somehow found myself standing in a bakery in that part of town. (Me? In a bakery?)

This was one of those places where you walk in and think, “Ah, this is the real deal.” They could have used it as a location for “The Godfather.” I remember buying a few slices of Anisette Toast and thinking (brainiac that I am) “Ohhh, like Stella d’Oro.” Time has not diminished my gratitude to whatever god of silence prevented me from saying that out loud.

Stella d’Oro was actually a local New York City brand. What may have started as a little taste of Arthur Avenue and baked just a few miles up the road from me in the Bronx is now baked in North Carolina.

(Out of towners are now thinking, “Ohhhhh, that’s what the Bronx was for.”)

I am someone who is a sucker for a wrapper with a few foreign words. But during all those oblivious trips past the Stella d’Oro display it has never occurred to yours truly that I was usually ignoring a product whose pedigree was also “the real deal.” In the same way that the formerly ethnic bagel became mainstream, Stella d’Oro’s goodies lost their Bronx-Italian identity and became just another cookie (or bread stick.) You can take the cookie out of the Bronx; can you take the Bronx out of the cookie? I don’t have an answer.

For, as much as I’d like to rip the crinkly cello off a package of Breakfast Treats and pretend that I am eating something baked by my (very imaginary) Italian grandmother, what I really must do is appreciate the cookie itself, the baker’s art that went into it, rather than some romanticized ethnicity that I painted on it for my amusement.

The humble Breakfast Treat is really nothing more than a generously-sized, lightly Anise-scented lady finger. Lady fingers belong to a group of items baked from the recipe commonly referred to as “biscuit” (pronounced, biskwee). Things like jelly roll and sponge are cut from that same cloth. How this differs from other cakes and cookies is that the air beaten into the egg whites is the only leavener used. The only fat is usually whatever is in the egg yolks. While perhaps not as tender as chemically-leavened cakes, biscuit is another “real deal.” It requires a little technique—although with a stand mixer the only real technique may be knowing when to turn the mixer off. More importantly, it calls back to a time before chemical leaveners like baking powder which have only been in widespread use since the early 1800s.

I love baking this kind of stuff. It really asks that you pay attention to what you’re doing. There are a few steps, and a couple of bowls—and one bowl is used, washed, dried, and re-used. But I still think it is easier than pie crust.

To celebrate the humble Breakfast Treat / Lady Finger / biscuit, I decided to make my own. Should I channel my (very much imaginary) Italian Grandmother or add my own little style? What the heck: Granny had her shot, and she “did good.” I’m gonna do my own thing. Out with the anise, in with the coffee and cocoa. Hey why not? They’re breakfast treats, and that’s when I drink coffee. And I’ll put chocolate on just about anything.

Be warned: Lady Fingers are usually piped through a pastry bag. Don’t worry about it. As you can see from the picture above, you can just as easily make little round cookies by dropping a bit of dough from a teaspoon. Here are a couple of easy hints: whip the egg yolks until thick, pale, and creamy. Err on the side of over beating them. The egg whites are a different story. Whip just until they hold a peak when you pull the beater out of the bowl. Err on the side of slightly under beating. Over beaten egg whites will “curdle” and dry out.

Granted these aren’t a “rock your world” cookie. They’re mildly sweet which is what makes them breakfast friendly, but you can easily dress them for dinner by drizzling melted chocolate on top or just dipping them halfway. I’m even going to experiment on the next batch by sprinkling a touch of almond praline powder on top before they bake to give them just the kiss of a sweet, crunchy glaze.

Do you think they’d approve in “Eastie”?

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Click here for the recipe for Mocha Lady Fingers.

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

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If it’s sweets you must send Tweets…

Crispy Chocolate Chip Cookies

I have an easy answer to the question, “If you were trapped on a deserted island and could only choose one food what would it be?”

My answer is chocolate chip cookies. I don’t even have to think about it. I am known within my family circle as “the cookie monster”. Do you require further proof?

Warning: this means that I am no pushover when it comes to chocolate chip cookies. I have tasted them all—indeed, with a sense of duty—and have developed a vocabulary of preferences. My choices may not agree with yours, but hey, this is my sun-parched trip to the deserted cookie jar.

My grandmother used to reward my angelic behavior by asking, “Mikey, do you want a cookie?” The singularity of this offering makes me laugh now, but the fact is, that’s how we used to roll. If I was particularly good (always!), I was offered a second cookie. I never felt cheated or deprived; in those days I don’t think it ever occurred to anyone to feed a five or six year old more than one or two cookies at a throw.

Those cookies were grueling for my Grandmother to prepare. But her hard work was my first bit of kitchen education. Granny taught me just the right way to use your thumbnail to cut through the waxed paper that wrapped the box, without having to remove the entire wrapper. (Those were the days before cookies and crackers were packaged to survive Armageddon.)

(Uh-oh. I imagine my Grandmother is looking down at me right now, peeved that her bit of kitchen magic has been revealed. For free.)

Oh, I kid Granny. Actually, I grew up at a funny time. Moms still baked, but convenience foods presented such an undeniable novelty that folks naturally gravitated toward them. The first home baked cookies I actually remember eating were the Pillsbury “slice and bake” cookies. As a kid I liked them, and why not? You smelled them baking. They were warm and a little gooey. As they cooled they set up and got a bit crispy.

Then all heck broke loose. Chocolate chip cookies became big business. Companies opened chains of store-front cookie-only bakeries. My favorites were the freshly-baked Famous Amos cookies they used to sell at Bloomingdales. These were a universe away from the packaged ones sold under that name now. (Wally Amos lost control of the company early on via a bad business deal. Sad for him, sadder still for me. Yes, when it comes to chocolate chip cookies it’s all about me.)

Peggy Lawton Choco Chip cookies

Up in New England we had a great regional brand of packaged cookies. Peggy Lawton Choco-Chip cookies were—are— a deli and convenience store staple. The ubiquity of Peggy Lawtons causes folks to take them for granted. Are they a great cookie? Let’s call them “best in class.” Yes, Peggy Lawtons are a factory-made cookie. But allow me to answer the “great cookie” question thusly: whenever I make chocolate chip cookies I think of them. I begged a friend visiting Massachusetts to smuggle some back to New York for me. Your taste buds sometimes trump logic. Granted, some folks may bite into a Peggy Lawton and say, “I don’t get it.” I simply shrug my shoulders and say, “De gustibus non est disputandum, baby.” (There’s no use arguing about taste…baby.)

As I got older and my knowledge of ingredients, baking (and latin) increased I, like most home bakers, went through my Toll House cookie phase. I consider this to be baking adolescence, for one soon learns to rebel against the Nestle recipe. It starts slow: a few walnuts here, a little coconut there, and soon you’ve created “your” cookie.

I’m not a big fan of the basic Toll House recipe—too soft and too cakey for me—but it does represent a really great jumping off point. Over the years I’ve added all sorts of extra ingredients to make my own version—always with Peggy Lawton and Famous Amos in the back of my head. I’ve added walnuts, or almonds, sometimes peanuts. I’ve used different types of chocolate, including chopping my own from a big block. The really good news is that you can’t mess up the basic Toll House recipe unless you burn it.

These past few weeks I have started presenting a series of basic recipes that do not require a stand mixer, just a bowl and spoon. The further good news about homemade chocolate chip cookies is that they fit the bowl and spoon profile. Of course, mine are a bit different than what you may expect.

The first difference is that I do not use butter, I use butter substitute. Note that I have not used the “m” word—margarine. I use the term butter substitute because many margarine products have less fat and more water, which may cause cookie failure. So, look for products that, like butter, have 11 grams of fat per tablespoon. (I like Earth Balance which is made from healthy fats. My aversion to butter? It gives me a tummy ache. I’m being delicate.)

You can use butter, but there will be some differences, the most notable being that cookies made with butter do not spread as much as they bake.

My biggest variance from the basic Toll House recipe is that I use exactly one half of the butter called for. This takes the focus off of the butter and puts it onto the sugar, resulting in a crisper cookie.

The only real adjustment you must make to the basic Toll House recipe when preparing with bowl and spoon is that that butter or butter substitute must be warm and soft, otherwise you’ll never be able to mix all the ingredients into a cohesive dough.

For the cookies in the picture above, I used milk chocolate chips and slivered almonds. Milk chocolate chips make a big difference: they are so mellow that they blend with the strong caramel flavors of the cookie dough. Feel free to use the expected semi sweet chips, but invest the extra dollar or so in really good chocolate. I used Ghirardelli chips. Whole Foods also sells Guittard, another premium brand. You’ll taste a difference.

Semper chocolatum!

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Click here for the recipe for Crispy Chocolate Chip Cookies.

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

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Gogito ergo tweetum. (#FF @butterflourblog)

Tiger-Stripe Brownies

I come from a long line of politically incorrect folk, on both sides. Maybe it’s my whole Massachusetts liberal “thing” that makes me, perhaps, a bit too acutely aware of these transgressions? But there’s no escaping it. I had an aunt whose cleaning woman was named “Brownie.” But “Brownie” was white, so go figure that one out. Auntie is long gone so I can’t ask her why her white cleaning woman was named “Brownie”, and I can’t ask my Mother; she just rolls her eyes at the mention of Auntie. (I think that has to do with a sister-in-law “thing”.)

(Oh, my. Another Aunt had one of those lawn jockey sculptures in front of her house. During the civil rights movement in the ‘60’s she painted his face white. That Aunt is long gone too, but for all I know the lawn jockey is still there holding his lamp up to his blushing pale face. )

(I could ask my Mother about that too, but I know her answer would be something along the lines of, “She did? My goodness, what a memory you have…”)

Seems to me that the Brownie—and by that I mean the fudgy, chocolate bar cookie— has been teetering on the edge of all sorts of moral decrepitude for ages now. Freud said, “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” but the foul whiff of bathroom humor has also hung over Brownies for me ever since I went to summer camp as a kid. You fill in the blanks on that one. I don’t write that kind of humor. (That would be caused by an uptight liberal “thing”.)

Yet, what are we going to call the Brownie instead? The Chocolate Bar cookie? I think not. It is neither a chocolate bar, nor a cookie.

We liberals have passed this way before. Seinfeld devoted an entire monologue to the racial harmony represented by the Black and White cookie.

I’ll have to go blindly with Freud on this one: sometimes a brownie is just there to satisfy chocolate cravings.

Now, to change the subject slightly (and at this point wouldn’t you?), I recently decided that I needed to unchain myself from what seemed to be an addiction to making things with my Kitchen-Aid stand mixer. I think things had gotten out of hand.

How much marshmallow and whipped cream does one person need to make? I make this claim with only half an apology. Making whipped cream in a Kitchen-Aid mixer is a rush, man. Fast? Let’s just say don’t walk away from the mixer.

Pulling back from this technological addiction seemed a bit limiting at first, but as you can see from the previous paragraph, well advised. Then I reminded myself that my great grandmother came into the kitchen armed only with a bowl and a spoon. (I have skipped a generation. Neither grandmother was a baker. I swear one thought cookies grew in boxes.)

I’ve written about my great grandmother’s kitchen exploits before; she serves as an acute reminder that I can give my Kitchen-Aid a rest and still make some really great stuff. Blueberry Crunch Cake? Done.

In addition to being morally questionable, Brownies are one of the all time great comfort foods. Do you have a friend who just went through a big break up? Nothing fixes a broken heart better than a brownie. (Well, okay, a brownie and some ice cream.) Brownies also make a great birthday cake. To paraphrase a friend, if they don’t like brownies, they must be communist. (Wow. Liberals, communists, Freud, foul whiffs. Happy summer!)

The great unacknowledged truth about brownies is that they are a simple one bowl cookie. Yes, I also know that they say that the best brownies come from a mix, but with all due respect, I disagree on many levels. Shall we break this down?

Cost? The average mix costs about $2.50 per box. To that you must still add your own eggs and oil. Mine? See “quality of cocoa used” below. Cocoa powder is the biggest expense here.

Time? I dunno. Mine are pretty darn fast. And you still have some measuring to do with a mix.

Quality of cocoa used: I know where my cocoa comes from. Betty or Duncan’s? I’m sure it is excellent. (Yes, I’m being condescending.) The truth is, you just don’t know where Betty or Duncan’s cocoa comes from.

Okay, okay, I’ll cave on one area: if you are not much of a baker perhaps the mix is your best bet. I bake a lot, so I have flour and all the other ingredients already. If you don’t bake much you’ll have to buy all that stuff.

But perhaps if you invest in a bag of flour and a tin of excellent cocoa powder you will be encouraged to bake more often? I hear you: a debatable point.

There is one other little nagging item. The mixes contain partially hydrogenated oil, an unhealthy fat. In addition, you need to add your own oil and eggs. My recipe? No partially hydrogenated oil and you can control the quality of all the ingredients, even making the whole thing organic if you wish. No debate there.

What’s the score so far? (Oh, a draw. Darn.)

Okay then, I have one last trick up my (chocolately) sleeve. Tiger stripes. You can’t do these if you make brownies from a mix. These are not to be confused with peanut butter or sour cream which some people—me included—enjoy adding to brownies. The stripes in this recipe don’t introduce any other flavors or ingredients; they are purely for looks. I used to work with a very sweet woman who enjoyed wearing animal prints. These are a toast to her. Make these for someone and they are sure to remember.

You’ll notice that the recipe uses canola oil instead of butter. While there are some health benefits to this choice I must admit I had an ulterior motive. I like my brownies with just a touch of chill on them. I just think the chocolate tastes better that way. If you refrigerate brownies made with butter they aren’t as chewy straight out of the fridge.

The stripes are, of course, optional. If you prefer your brownies monochromatic simply skip that step in the recipe.

That’s a choice “thing.”

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Click here for the recipe for Tiger-Stripe Brownies.

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

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Citrus Cooler Cookies

Here’s a debate that has gone on for many years: Curly or Shemp? I speak of course of “The Three Stooges.” Some folks insist that they were never the same after Curly’s early demise. Others, like me, guffaw at the antics of both gentlemen.

Interestingly enough, “The Three Stooges” were responsible for some of the funniest food-related moments on screen. Yes, there was their famous pie throwing, but you can’t watch them cooking a turkey or inflating a fallen cake with gas without laughing out loud. Well, I can’t. When I have an extended wait for dinner, the quote, “Sorry folks, dinner’s postponed on account of rain” rings in my ears. I won’t go into detail about the latter, but trust me the Stooges were responsible for the delay.

The “Curly versus Shemp” debate is really one of style. It is really a lot like cookies. (Really? Yes, really.) Some years back when fresh-baked cookies became a specialty business, there were two major players: Mrs. Field’s and Famous Amos. Both sold chocolate chip cookies, but for all intents and purposes that’s all they had in common.

Mrs. Field’s Cookies were big, squishy, soft cookies. To me they always tasted like you needed to take them home and finish baking them. I found them a bit heavy and about as subtle as a sledgehammer. (Yes, you read that correctly, I was expecting subtlety in a chocolate chip cookie.)

Famous Amos Cookies were sold straight from the oven at Bloomingdales’. They were small, crunchy, slightly over-baked, and their heavy brown sugar infusion gave them an irresistible aroma as they baked. Those were my cup of tea.

Naturally I don’t expect everyone to agree with my opinion of cookies, even though I am right. But just like anything else, when you bake or cook you are bound to have a style. If there is a hallmark of my style, then thin, crunchy cookies would be it. Again, I admit this isn’t for everyone.

I’d venture to say that the principal reason why people enjoy soft baked cookies is “mouth feel.” They like that smooth, smooshy, mouth-coating blob. Hey, I get it. That’s how I like my ice cream: just north of melted.

A fact perhaps unacknowledged is that baking thin and crunchy cookies requires a bit of extra work. Drop cookies, i.e., those that you drop from a spoon onto a cookie sheet before baking are easy, yes, but tend to be cakey or chewy. To bake a thin cookie requires rolling and cutting, which requires a bit of patience, and a bit of practice, or a few simple changes in ingredients, or both.

Yes, you can slice and bake thin cookies from a log, but you are limited to some basic shapes, the cookies’ uniformity is tied to the sharpness of your knife, and there’s no guarantee that the cookies will be crispy.

Earth shattering problems, eh? But they’ve been on my mind of late because my friend, the artist Laura Loving, recently paid me a huge compliment: she asked me to make some cookies for an upcoming Bastille Day party. She even designated which shapes she wanted, the Eiffel Tower, and the Statue of Liberty. These icons, especially Lady Liberty, appear frequently in her work, and I had baked some cookies in those shapes for a previous party.

The previous party was held during the cold weeks that led up to Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The flavor of the cookies was dictated by the time of year and veered heavily toward spices and ginger. For Bastille Day, July 14^th, a more summery touch seems called for. My little Eiffel Towers were and will remain chocolate, but the Lady Liberty cookies will celebrate summer with a twist of citrus. I had baked a Martha Stewart Lime Cookie recipe some years ago, and decided to adapt it slightly for Lady Liberty.

No drastic change here. I simply added lemon and extra vanilla to the recipe to give these tart cookies a slightly “rounder” flavor.

Here’s the other question: How thin is thin? I usually roll cookies to 1/8 inch, which makes them fairly delicate. It took some practice to learn how to handle dough that is that thin, and I have developed a recipe or two that seems to help. The Martha Stewart Lime Cookie recipe doesn’t really lend itself to being rolled that thin, but I think with a bit of patience all will be well.

In the meantime, you can see from the picture above that I have already had a practice run. Instead of Lady Liberty cookies I made little flowers. Very delicate. Very “afternoon tea.”

The real keys to this recipe are an abundance of lime and lemon zest, and mixing the zest with the sugar, which, like sand, acts as an abrasive to extract the citrus oils. Each cookie has a very juicy taste, yet they remain light and delicate.

So, pinkies up! As Moe said to Curly, “Hey! Where’s your Emily Post?” (Woo woo woo…)

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Click here for my recipe for Citrus Cooler Cookies

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For details about Laura Loving’s Bastille Day open studio, check out the July Promotions Calendar at Vogue Magazine’s website.

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

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Go ahead: tweet this posting. (It’ll bring you good luck.)

Peach Crisp Ice Cream Sandwiches

You’ve probably seen this in old movies: someone climbs a ladder to a high shelf in a library. Pulling a book from the shelf, they blow off the dust, creating a cloud that momentarily obscures the screen.

I thought of that image the other day when I pulled the bowl of my ice cream maker from the back of my freezer. It has been there, untouched, ignored, since last summer. Instead of blowing dust off, I had to knock chunks of frost and ice off. All that was missing was some long lost ancient hiker embalmed in the ice after taking a wrong turn at Shangri-La.

Why has my ice cream maker sat untouched since last summer? Is there some kind of law against making ice cream during the fall and winter? Only in my head, and it is somehow related to the reason I watch Jimmy Cagney in “Yankee Doodle Dandy” only on the Fourth of July: because that’s when you are supposed to watch it.

I ought to know better. Boston (my home town) has always been a die-hard ice cream town. The season or the weather means nothing to Boston’s ice cream appetite. Beantown is an inaccurate nickname; it should be Icecreamtown.

In last week’s blog I mentioned—merely in passing—ice cream sandwiches. Unfortunately the idea stuck in my head and could not be dislodged. Some early season peaches at the market also helped motivate me a bit. They were not quite ripe. In fact, they were as hard as an MLB-regulation baseball. Still, the romance of Fresh Peach Ice Cream for Memorial Day beckoned.

Here’s the plain truth: I think ice cream is much harder to make than anyone will admit. When I was a kid and someone would pull out one of the old hand-cranked ice cream makers, we were so grateful to have a tiny dish of vanilla ice cream placed in our hands still sore from cranking that we barely gave the consistency or flavor a second thought. Vanilla? Wheee!

How many kids over the years have been duped into that cruel manual labor by the promise of a dish of ice cream? Add more ice! Add more salt! Keep cranking! It was right up there with raking leaves.

The modern “freezer-bowl” ice cream makers are easier on the arm, that’s for sure. But be warned: while the spotlight may be off manual labor, it is burning brightly on ingredients, flavors, and technique. I have a bit to learn. Good ice cream doesn’t happen overnight. Wait a minute. Yes it does. That’s one of the things I learned.

The ice cream I was always served from the hand crank freezer was very basic: milk, cream and sugar: basically frozen whipped cream. Not a bad thing, but really good ice cream is made from cooked custard. Hot custard placed in an ice cream freezer becomes…cool custard, but not ice cream. This I learned the hard way.

I found a recipe in my beloved old copy of The New York Times Cookbook (circa 1961) for Fresh Peach Ice Cream. “Perfect!” I thought and got to work. The recipe gives instructions for cooking custard, followed by the one word instruction: “Cool.” After doing a bit of homework (and making ice cream that never froze) I discovered that the instruction should have read, “Chill.” Even better: “Chill for four hours.”

Ice cream experts can correct me if I am wrong, but this is because of the way ice cream freezes: gently, and with constant movement that prevents ice crystals from forming. If the mixture starts off too warm, the ice cream freezer can’t do its work. So I will now and forever think, “Chill” when making ice cream. As the peaches were slightly less than ripe I diced them, as opposed to crushing them as directed in the recipe.

Usually, the cookie portion of ice cream sandwiches is a basic chocolate wafer. But my mind kept drifting to Peach Crisp, hot from the oven, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. What was called for here was a cookie that would bring the sugary crunch of the crisp to the party. This is where I got a little inventive.

As a base I used an old oatmeal cookie recipe I made up a few years ago. My Mom reminded me that ginger and peaches go well together, so I added a bit of chopped crystallized ginger. The big adjustment I made here was to freeze the dough in the shape of a brick, and then slice and bake the dough in rectangles. A generous sprinkle of demerara sugar just before baking added crunch and sparkle.

Following this concept, I also froze the ice cream in a brick. That way I could cut it into pieces that fit the cookies. No scoops here, as assembling was as simple as, um, making a sandwich.These ice cream sandwiches are a bit rich, but what a luxurious and sweet way to celebrate summer. And I just need to remember to “Chill.”

Good advice for making ice cream, and surviving a hot summer.

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Click here for my recipe for “Peach Crisp Ice Cream Sandwiches”

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

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Go ahead: tweet this posting. And thanks for twitteries…

Mint Julep Buttons

The upcoming weekend is a jackpot for Moms who love horseracing: The Kentucky Derby is run on Saturday, and Sunday is Mother’s Day. This reminds me of an old joke: “Horse walks into a bar. Bartender asks her, “Why the long face?”

(Yes, that’s the whole joke. Think about it.)

(Thanks, I’m here all week.)

I used to consider my Mom really tough to shop for; I never knew which meaningless tchotchke to buy for her. The stores were full of stuff: slippers, perfume, and cheap jewelry. My inbox was loaded with offers of flowers, candy, and ersatz mementos, all aimed at Mom.

Then came my big break: my Mom had planned a trip near Mother’s Day, and I was planning to send flowers, but wanted to time the delivery to make sure she’ d be home. She was delighted at the prospect of receiving flowers, but gently and directly informed me that she’d rather have cash.

The irony is that my Mom and I now trade the same small pile of cash back and forth all year long. I send it to her for her birthday, she sends it to me for mine, and then back it goes to her for Mother’s Day. (I hope Andrew Jackson has frequent flyer miles.)

My friend Dori, a Kentucky native, is glamorous, talented, and a busy mom of two kids under the age of four. This is her weekend, for she always throws a splashy Derby party—hats, hams, Derby Pie, and enough southern drawling to melt butter. But now that her kids are getting old enough to understand what’s going on, they’re going to want to party too, and it is likely other, similarly aged children will follow. What’s a horseracing-fan Mother to serve?

Here’s the thing with the Kentucky Derby: it’s kind of a boozy party. What if you are a teetotaler, a lightweight (yours truly), or a kid? The traditional beverage is the much lauded Mint Julep, made from bourbon, a bit of sugar, and fresh mint leaves. Daiquiris or Piña Coladas can easily be “virgin-ized” by taking out the booze. If you do that with a Mint Julep you’ll end up with a glass, some ice, and a few sprigs of mint, or something that tastes like mouthwash. No, it is better to leave the Mint Julep as is for those who are so inclined.

Yes, there’s Derby Pie, but its bourbon-influenced sweetness can be intense even for adults. (You know something is sweet when they tell you that the addition of a bit of ice cream will “cut the sweet.”)

So here’s my Yankee contribution: something subtly sweet, Derby-themed, and kid friendly—in fact kids can help Mom with the preparation.

Mint Julep Buttons introduce the concept of chocolate to the Kentucky Derby palette. Yes, the mint / chocolate combination is similar to grasshopper pie, but much less gooey. The mint julep filling is a bit restrained in its air conditioned coolness, although you have the option of serving the cookies slightly chilled in keeping with the frosty character of their liquid namesake.

The cookie dough, a fairly basic, intensely chocolate drop cookie, is easily made by Mom. Kids can help her measure the ingredients—a good arithmetic lesson—and even the youngest toddler can make an attempt at rolling small portions of the dough into balls (or get happily messy trying.)

Naturally those who desire something with a bit more sophistication can alter the recipe and technique to suit their needs—after all this cookie isn’t just for Derby day. Instead of filling the cookies with the mint julep filling, you can add the mint extract to the cookie dough, although I would reduce the dosage to ½ tsp. Roll the dough on a floured board and cut with cookie cutters, bake, then dip in dark chocolate. Sound familiar? It should. Girl Scouts have been selling these thin mint cookies for years.

Alternatively, you can add the mint extract to the melted chocolate and dip the cookies in that. A slightly easier variation is to roll the cookie dough into logs, wrap the logs in parchment, and refrigerate. Then slice and bake the cookies.

You can preserve the kitsch of Derby day by melting white chocolate, then add the mint extract and a drop or two of green food coloring. Cookies dipped in this will have an old fashioned “Howard Johnson’s mints-by-the cashier-sea-foam” green.

Practice a little retro-chic by melting the white chocolate, splitting it into small portions, and adding a drop of different colors to each to get Jordan almond colors. (Jordan almonds were little pastel-colored candy coated almonds they used to serve at weddings and Bar Mitzvahs.)

Happy Mother’s Day, y’all, and put two dollars on “Dialed In” to win for me…

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Click here for my recipe for “Mint Julep Buttons.”

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Flower Cookie Centerpiece

Mr. Maple Tree, a certain gentleman who resides outside of my living room window, has finally started to sprout leaves. I noticed this development about a week ago when one tiny little green bud appeared at the end of a branch. This week he is displaying what looks like green pom-poms. Soon those will grow into full-fledged clusters of green leaves. Tree hugger? Me?

I love winter, but will happily admit that this year’s snow fest was a bit of overkill on the part of Mother Nature. My winter boots asked for disaster pay. (Rim shot, please.)

Bottom line: finally, spring is here.

In the Big Apple this is school vacation week. I live near a middle school that normally clangs with the screeches of hundreds of teens. But the quiet this morning reminded me of a western town in a John Wayne movie just before the Dalton gang arrives. The only thing missing was the tumbleweeds.

I am an unapologetic Peeps addict, so I tend to think of Easter as Christmas with marshmallow. Oh, and instead of poinsettias, tulips and daffodils are on display. While I’d love to have a garden—and a gardener to maintain it—alas, it seems as a dweller of the big city the only crop I seem to be able to grow with any abundance is dust. (There’s a joke there, somewhere. Something about dust bunnies and Easter bunnies, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet.)

I enjoy watching Ina Garten, TV’s Barefoot Contessa walk outside her kitchen door to snip something from her garden and arrange it simply in a water glass and use it as a centerpiece. I could try the same thing, but there’s no rosemary growing in the hallway. (My landlord would frown on that.)

You do what you can with what you’ve got. I can’t grow flowers but I can bake them. So try this on for size: a little Martha Stewart-style crafts project I call the Butter Flour Eggs Cookie Centerpiece.  I started using cookies as cake decoration a while ago, so it is not a stretch for me to try to find other venues in which to display their beauty. (My first thought was to use them as Christmas tree decoration. But living in a New York apartment, there are a few disincentives to leaving food sitting around.)

At heart the cookies are made from basic shortbread dough—my same easy to roll recipe that I used on Valentine’s Day. To my eye these sugary flowers always look like they were drawn with a sparkly crayon, which makes them perfect for occasions where children will be among the celebrants. Using a bit of royal icing (a/k/a edible Elmer’s Glue) I attached a bamboo skewer to each one and grounded that firmly in a cupcake. Two or three plates of those down the center of a long table will be my centerpiece at Easter dinner.

The color palette is your choice; you can see I gravitated towards groovy ‘60’s yellow and pink. I won’t be insulted if you find my choice a bit loud and decide to go with something a bit more subtle (zzzzzzz). Your choices are as wide as the colors of sanding sugar you can find. For these cookies I recommend rolling the dough to a hefty ¼” thick. Paint a bit of egg wash on the unbaked cookies and sprinkle with the sanding sugar before baking. Cool thoroughly before gluing the skewers with Royal icing and allow a few hours for the Royal icing to harden and dry.

Don’t feel confined by a vanilla cookie or the flower cookie cutter. A couple of Christmases ago I made little chocolate wreaths with Royal icing that looked like brown Wedgewood.

If your kids are home from school this week, the cookie centerpiece is a great project for you to supervise. And if you’re not feeling ambitious don’t worry about the royal icing and skewers: just stick the cookie right into the frosting.

This reminds me of a friend who used to have a country house. No slouch in the kitchen, if you visited him during the winter chances are you would be served a steaming plate of Cincinnati Chili. During warmer months the chili was retired but you could look forward to hand churned ice cream or “Dirt Cake” which was (I think) chocolate pudding and cake served in a real (sterilized)clay pot, topped with chocolate cookie crumbs (the dirt) and a real flower. It was pretty convincing until he started spooning it onto plates.

You can do the same thing with the cookie centerpiece, although for my money the cartoon-y quality of the cookies matches cupcakes better. Don’t go crazy with the cupcakes here—you can even use store bought. I made very simple white cupcakes and placed everything on simple white plates.

No surprise here: as usual for me the cookies are the star of the show.

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Use this recipe for the cookie dough: I Heart Shortbread Cookies.

And it’s not too late to bake for Good Friday or Easter. Click here for my recipe for Hot Cross Buns.

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or thoughts you may have. Thanks!

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The can is purely ceremonial...

I’m beginning to feel self conscious: I’ve been boiling so much sugar lately that I’m afraid my neighbors must be thinking I’ve started a rum factory in my kitchen. The true explanation is quite innocent: I just happen to be baking things that require boiled sugar as part of their magic.

Let me tell you a little story. (Have a seat.) Many years ago I worked with a talented sleight-of-hand artist. While that sounds like the opening salvo of a very old-fashioned dirty joke, it is the truth. Sleight-of-hand artists differ from regular magicians in that everything they do is designed to be witnessed from very close range. While you watch an illusionist pull a rabbit out of a hat, part of your mind is usually doing the work to reverse engineer how the illusionist may have made this happen. At the very least you  know there’s bound to be something special about that hat—some way of hiding the rabbit.

With a sleight-of-hand artist all you see is a few coins, and a couple of pairs of hands, one pair of which likely belongs to you. My usual startled reaction to my co-worker’s tricks (and I use that word with a great deal of guilt) was, “How did you do that?” The answer was always, “It’s magic.” I could never figure out a better explanation.

I get the same zing when I boil sugar to 238 degrees: It never fails to amaze me that a saucepan of clear, dangerously hot, boiling syrup can magically transform into so many different things. Magic.

Sugar boiled to 238 degrees is commonly referred to as being at “soft ball stage.” It is called that because if you put a drop or two of the sugar syrup into a glass of cold water it should form a soft or malleable ball shape. This is cooking chemistry at its simplest. Boil the sugar to a hotter temperature and you get “hard ball stage.” You guessed it: a few drops in a glass of cold water would be hard to the touch.

If you’ve ever had Salt Water Taffy then you’ve had something that didn’t stray that far from soft ball stage sugar syrup. They cool the hot syrup on a marble slab, add a few drops of flavoring and coloring, then stretch and pull the mixture (usually by machine) until enough air has been incorporated that it has the soft milky quality that has pulled us in from the Boardwalk for so many years.

Remember the Scooter Pies I made a few weeks ago? The marshmallow I made to fill them is simply soft ball syrup whipped into gelatin. The frozen soufflé I made for Valentine’s Day had an Italian Meringue base made with egg whites and the very same soft ball syrup. The silky but rich buttercream on your cousin Debbie’s wedding cake likely started life boiling in a sauce pan (cousin Debbie may have her own dark secrets.)

Naturally if I didn’t have a Kitchen Aid-type stand mixer these things would not be in my repertoire. So it is only natural that I should find myself in front of the bubbling sauce pan again, this time so that I can resolve some unfinished business from last year.

A year ago in preparation for Passover, I decided to make Coconut Macaroons. I have an aversion to the kind they sell in the little cans. When I eat those I taste nothing but sugar and the can. I used a recipe I found that employed a generous dollop of coconut milk, a couple of egg whites, and some confectioner’s sugar. On paper it all sounded delicious. On the cookie sheet it was a loose, runny mess. I kept adding things to firm up the mixture: more confectioner’s sugar, a bit of Passover potato starch, even a touch of almond flour. Nevertheless the liquid from the cookies ran, dripped and burned onto the bottom of the oven. Have I ever told you about my fool-proof trick for ridding your kitchen of smoke? That’s because I don’t have one.

I tried that recipe a couple of times. While the resulting macaroons tasted okay they were also a bit greasy from the coconut milk. They were moist, but had no texture because the coconut was so wet it never got a chance to toast while the cookies baked. They were also far too rich for Passover dessert.

Back to the drawing board. This year it occurred to me to follow the k.i.s.s. rule: keep it simple, stupid (the latter referring to yours truly.) One package of sweetened coconut. One small batch of Italian meringue. Done. The result is a cross between a classical French Coconut Meringue (the crunchy kind) and the inside of a Mounds bar. The bonus is that they are relatively very light (as light as anything with coconut can be), and they are painless to make in quantity (you can easily double my recipe.)

Yes, by all means feel free to dip these in chocolate.

If you miss the can, you can supply your own as I did in the picture above.

It is part of the ceremony, right?

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Click here for the recipe for Coconut Macaroons.

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Hey, Scooter Pie!

I remember once being interviewed by a chef for a job as a waiter in his restaurant. He wanted to impress on me that his establishment was a serious place for people serious about food.

Oh, please. I write a blog about food, so I think my love of food and cooking is fairly obvious.  But I have a hard time taking food seriously. I think we need to laugh at it more. About that, I am serious. (Ironic, no?)

For instance, I laughed at a recent article in the New York Times that described the careful process by which many Tokyo coffee houses make their brew. This includes a careful technique for pouring the water over the grounds.

I use a Melitta filter coffee maker to brew coffee at home. I boil the water and then dump it over the grounds. When I no longer hear the “tinkling” sound I know the coffee is ready. I consider this to be the very height of manual work for my coffee because the Melitta replaced one of those machines that ground the beans and then brewed them at the behest of an electric timer. Do I seem like the type of guy who could ever use a special kettle to boil the water and then stand there pouring said water from said kettle over the grounds just so? No sir! (Or Ma’am.)

Obviously my standards for coffee are lowbrow: I like Dunkin’ Donuts Hazelnut coffee. Apologies. As far as the brewing process is concerned all I ask is that my coffee tastes like coffee and that it not have any grounds at the bottom of the cup. Other than that I’m good, thanks.

Another thing about food that always makes me laugh is when I think back to some of the juvenile delinquents, a/k/a Sous Chefs with whom I worked. Some of these folks spoke like “Dog the Bounty Hunter” while describing that night’s special delicately French-inspired meals. And I was expected to not laugh? Really?

Perhaps the silliest aspect of “foodie-land” is the preciousness of food trends. Back in the nineties it seemed like every chef was stacking things in little ring molds. Nowadays sauce is swiped or painted on the plate, usually a fair distance from the item it is supposed to be accompanying.

I appreciate the commitment, skill, and technique these folks bring to their work. But sometimes I think they are cooking for them and not for me.

Even plain ol’ desserts are not immune. Cupcakes have been huge for a while now. Indeed, little stand-alone joints like Magnolia Bakery or Crumbs have become big chains – I think Crumbs even had an IPO a while back. I’m told you can’t swing a dead cat in Los Angeles without hitting a cupcake store. Saturation, anyone?

Just in time for the growth of the cupcake business comes news that cupcakes are on their way out, and are being pushed aside in favor of pie.

PIE??  Okay, now I know someone is playing me for a laugh. The cupcake thing I totally understand. But pie? Here’s the problem: pie needs a plate and a fork. And ice cream. Even if you make a little pie-for-one, the situation is fraught with danger. You want a laugh? Follow me down the street as I eat a pie. PS: Bring a shovel.

It is interesting to note that while the press says “pie”, the food trucks here in New York are saying, “Whoopie.” As in “Whoopie Pie.”

I love Whoopie Pies, but really, aren’t they are just cupcakes turned inside out? (Or are they cupcakes turned outside in? Ah, no matter.) No complaints from me—they’re yummy—but if we’re really moving on from cupcakes, shouldn’t the departure be a bit more drastic?

So, for the next big street dessert, I hereby nominate an item my Mom used to pack in my lunch box. (For the record, no, I don’t remember what was on the outside of my lunch box. Even if I did I wouldn’t reveal it here for fear of pinpointing my age. Let’s just say it was…um…Justin Bieber.)

The item my Mom used to pack in my lunch box was called a “Scooter Pie.” Scooter Pies were called Moon Pies in other parts of the US, Wagon Wheels in Canada and the UK. A close relative of the Mallowmar, Scooter Pies were a chocolate-covered sandwich of two crunchy cookies with marshmallow in the middle.

Granted, I’m sure you can still find the old fashioned crinkly cellophane-wrapped kind if you look hard enough. But my proposal for making these the next big street food is that they should be taken out of the realm of “Hostess” and into the realm of the artisanal or house made.

This is a task made fairly easy by the fact that the packaged Scooter Pies of my childhood lacked three things: freshness, good chocolate, and a certain delicacy.

I’ll admit this was a bit of a project. After all, I needed to make the marshmallow, the cookies, and then assemble the pies and dip them in the chocolate. But be warned: if you invite me to a Barbecue or picnic this coming summer I will show up with these. A bit of work and time, but the result is so worth it.

For the cookies I borrowed a page from an old “alfajores” recipe, the South American sandwich cookie. It is a very plain, almost dusty, vanilla cookie—actually closer to a sweet cracker. (This cookie recipe would also be great for animal crackers.)

Marshmallow? Make your own once and you’ll never look at a “Campfire” bag the same way again. Homemade has a much more delicate flavor, along with the potential for adding flavors beyond just vanilla.

As for delicacy, you can see from the picture that I only dipped my Scooter Pies in the chocolate half way. I had three reasons for this: the pies would be less cloyingly sweet, I wanted to show off my beautiful, flabby marshmallow, and I had less chance of making a holy mess when I ate my Scooter Pie.

So, what do you think? Have we found the next cupcake?

Please say yes. Or get the shovels ready.

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Click here for the recipe for Scooter Pies.

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How many hearts are too many?

As if I needed an excuse. February is here and that means Valentine’s Day is barreling down the road towards us; while many folks associate that with roses, for me it’s all about the chocolate.

I love tradition, and if the old fashioned heart-shaped box of chocolates is your preference, then I won’t quarrel with that.

Me? I think I straddle the fence between easygoing and annoyingly precise. My favorite chocolate (at the moment) is a simple, humble, chocolate bar. Tie two or three blocks of my beloved (and cheap) Damak chocolate together with a ribbon and I’m perfectly happy. Easy? Well, yes, except that Damak is imported from Turkey, is only available in a handful stores here in New York, and can be hard to find because it flies off the shelves. Weeks go by, and (poor me) there’s no Damak Chocolate to be found. (Hear me Nestlè?)

For those who want to shake things up a bit, there are other paths to follow. Last year my Baby Niece hand decorated chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies for her young gentleman. (Okay, yes, I helped.) For others, Valentine’s Day can be symbolized by a special meal. I know one rather zesty young woman whose husband has been well trained: for her the hearts and flowers of Valentine’s Day are perfectly embodied in the guise of sliced filet mignon at Ben Benson’s Steakhouse. Rare please.

My Baby Niece, for one, is indifferent to flowers. Yeah, she likes chocolate—kinda, sorta, I guess. But if you really want to make her happy, something twinkly in a light blue box from the store where Holly Golightly ate breakfast is your best bet. I hate to be crass, but the price of roses on Valentine’s Day makes her preference a good deal. And it won’t wilt after a week.

If there is ever an occasion when it is the thought that counts, when you need to show someone that you’ve been listening, it is Valentine’s Day. The really important ingredient is to know your audience.

Sometimes just a little bit of fuss is all you need.

And if it’s fuss you want, my little Tulipe Paste hearts in the picture above are for you. These will dress up anything—even a Tofutti Cutie— on Valentine’s Day and make it something special. (Apologies to you if think Tofutti Cuties are already something special.)

Unfamiliar with Tulipe Paste? I understand. But if you’ve ever been given a can of those little rolled “cigarette” cookies (usually filled with chocolate cream), you’ve had Tulipe Paste. Pepperidge Farm sells them under the name “Pirouette.” Some pastry chefs refer to these as Tuile cookies.

Are they easy to make at home? Let me put it this way: if you can spackle a wall, you can make Tulipe Paste cookies. (That’s a “yes.”) The good news? The batter has only six ingredients. The bad news? You’ll need couple of items of easily obtained special equipment—some of which you can easily make yourself. (I did.) Hint: it’s worth the trouble.

Tuile Cookies are one of those things like blackened redfish: about fifteen or twenty years ago they were everywhere. Then they were heaped on the junk pile of culinary trendiness; the shag haircut of the pastry kitchen. Okay, maybe not that bad. They still show up swirling around a pile of mousse every now and then. You get my point though.

I like them, and they’re fun, so I’m putting on my rubber gloves and fishing them out of the junk pile. Conniving blogger that I am, I have an ulterior motive: they’re crunchy. But before they are crunchy, they are soft and mold-able—and I think this makes them an invaluable tool in the home baker’s…uh…tool belt. (I myself do not wear a tool belt when baking.)

The most common way 1990’s chefs used the latter phenomenon was to drape the hot-from-the-oven cookies over a bowl. As the cookies cooled they hardened into the shape of the bowl and were served filled with fresh berries and whipped cream—actually, not a bad idea for Valentine’s Day. Make a couple of Tuile Bowls, fill them with a few chocolate-dipped strawberries (make ‘em or buy ‘em at the Godiva store) and you’ve got something special.

Tulipe hearts and Chocolate Gelato

I mentioned that you’ll need a couple of pieces of special equipment to make these cookies. The first is a little offset spatula to spread the batter. The second is a stencil because the basic technique is that the Tulipe Paste is spread into a stencil secured firmly to a baking sheet. To make the bowls you’ll need a round stencil measuring approximately six to eight inches, or you can try making free hand rectangles without a stencil. This is actually a really great technique to get the feel of working with the paste. For my little heart shaped cookies, I made a heart-shaped stencil from the plastic top of a tub of almonds. Take that, Martha Stewart. (The hearts in the picture above are approximately actual size.)

The little heart cookies have approximately the same crunch as potato chips, so add these to some melting dark chocolate gelato or mousse and you get the happy play of sweet, chocolately, and crunchy.

Now, that’s something I can fall in love with.

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Click here for the recipe for Tulipe Heart Cookies and some tips on working with Tulipe Paste .

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