is age really just a number?

That time of year has come again...
My time to celebrate living!

Some dread getting older and no one ever discusses why. Are those little lines of character (also known as wrinkles) starting to appear? Have you reached that age where all your friends are talking about marriage? Do you find yourself saying, "I'm just aging" as your left knee continues to cause you pain?

Right now getting older isn't a real problem for me since every time I walk into a bar they are convinced that I'm only 17—I guess my character lines aren't really gaping yet. And even though my friends are eager to get married by age 25, I'm too stubborn to live by a concocted time-line. And I'm certain that my knee sometimes hurts because I run too often.

To be honest, the only thing I'm concerned about on this special day is the feeling of satiety.

When I was young my parents so graciously planned parties for me and 30 little kids that were in my class. The cake was probably 9 X 13, but might have been 13 X 18, the latter serving 36-50 people(depending on the size of the slice of course). Either way, the cake never seemed extraordinary because I had to share with too many of my friends. Back then I only wanted to invite my closest friends, but my mom felt it wasn't socially acceptable to leave anyone out. I understood what she was saying and never fought her on the matter, but I don't think she ever saw it through my eyes.

Thankfully by age 21 I was able to celebrate with just three of my good friends and the only stress I had was worrying about too many sprinkles on my two-tiered cake, instead of how many bars to hop. Sure I went out—to a concert and ordered a drink—but it wasn't until after a few of my friends and I indulged in my homemade favorite yellow cake. Call me an oddball, but the color of the butter-cream frosting was really a much bigger issue than the number of acquaintances watching me order my first drink.
And the best part of my 21st birthday was when I hopped out of bed, to peak at my cake resting in a glass dome stand, and realized that I had about 3/4ths of a cake left. This meant that for the next eight days I could continue the celebration and watch my cake get smaller and smaller.

My theory is this: As you get older (unless you've hit a monumental age like 50 or 90) the sharing becomes less of an issue. Even if you're celebrating with 10 of your closest friends instead of three, you'll be old enough to tell them that you really would like to have two pieces saved for tomorrow. Now if you've hit that monumental age where a loved one insists on planning you an outlandish party, you've certainly lived long enough to request a square-shaped, six-tiered, yellow-cake with silky chocolate frosting!

Soon the wrinkles will become more prominent and the bartender might not ask to see my ID again, but if it means another serving of cake then I'm eager to celebrate aging gracefully!

a piece of cake

I'm on a bit of a cake-baking rampage. Looking at my calendar and seeing a birthday makes my ears perk up, like a giddy dog. A special cake was in order for September 19th. It was my significant eater's twenty-first birthday, as well as his two brothers (triplets). My close rapport with all of the boys, compelled me to bake a spectacular cake. I decided to go with my favorite yellow cake recipe (below) and chose a chocolate silk frosting, from Amy's Bread cookbook. My significant eater loves chocolate so I thought this frosting would be a nice treat. This cake is moist with sweet vanilla flavors permeating through eating compacted crumb. The chocolate frosting adds contrasting texture, taste and color appealing to the senses in my body. At first bite the words OOH and AHH rolled out of my mouth, almost reflexively.



At the end of a wonderful celebratory weekend, all I could think about was the warmth and sense fulfillment this cake stirred up inside—as if it literally took over my soul. But the boys could only think about one more piece of cake.

Amy's Bread Chocolate Silk Frosting

3 cups semisweet chocolate chips
1 3/8 cups Confectioner's sugar
3/4 cup Cocoa powder
2 cups Unsalted butter, slightly softened
1 tspn Vanilla extract
1/8 tspn Kosher salt

Melt the chocolate chips in the top pan of a double broiler and set it aside to cool. In a separate bowl, sift together the confectioner's sugar and cocoa powder.
In a mixing bowl, using an electric mixer with a paddle attachment, cream the butter at medium speed until it's very light but not too soft, about 2 minutes. Add the sugar mixture and continue to mix on low to medium-low speed until the sugar and cocoa have been well incorporated. Add the melted chocolate, vanilla, and salt and mix again on medium speed until everything is incorporated and the frosting is smooth and has a good spreading consistency, 1 to 2 minutes. Be careful not to over-mix it or the frosting will get too warm and runny. It should be smooth, glossy, and soft enough to spread but still hold a stiff peak.
The frosting can be used immediately or stored in an airtight container at room temperature, but it should be used within 3 days.

*from The Sweeter Side of Amy's Bread

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This is seriously the best cake I've ever made. The buttercream frosting is the perfect consistency, with the right amount of fluff. The sweet taste beautifully accentuates the softness of the yellow cake interior. I searched for Amy's Bread (one of my favorite bakery's) cake recipe and recreated it in my own kitchen. I still cannot believe how incredible it tastes and how precise the recipe is. I'm telling you that simply one bite is like eating pure happiness. If all of the world's problems could be solved with a special cake, it would definitely be this one.

compliments to ben baron for being a great help in baking this fine cake and eating it too.

Baked Alaska

My infatuation with all-things-delicious is purely genetic. Really, I think my DNA is infused with bursts of flavor and spoonfuls of enthusiasm. When my grandparents came to town, they went out to Oceanaire and raved about the food. My Grandfather, a man with a well-respected palate, described to me the dessert he indulged in—it was called "Baked Alaska." Hearing the words, ice-cream, cake, fire, meringue, left me salivating. I was very curious to see what this fantastic dessert was all about. Since my Gramps and I have an impenetrable bond, especially when it comes to our love for dessert, he insisted on treating me to this mysterious confection. He took me and my parents to Oceanaire, where we made a reservation for dessert—only! It was perfect. In this family, we are serious about everything that we consume so I came fully prepared—I already ate dinner so I wasn't hungry...but I saved plenty of room for dessert. We all ordered coffee, which is pretty standard for my native-New York family, and "one Baked Alaska." As we chatted, my anticipation grew. I didn't know what to expect.
Minutes later, the waiter came towards our table with about an 8-inch plate and with a dessert that looked like a bee-hive covered in whipped cream. He placed it down, right in front of me, pulled out a lighter and lit this dessert. I was in awe, this "Baked Alaska" more than just a scrumptious dessert—it was truly a piece of art (not-so-permanent though).The unruly flames died after a minute and it was time to divvy up this treat. My first bite was like floating on clouds on a cool day—the combination of the fluffy meringue, chocolate cake, and mint-chocolate-chip ice-cream gave me a natural high. The textures were well-balanced, and the flavors were spectacular. This was one of the best desserts I've EVER had.
When Gramps' brother, Uncle Herby, came to town, my parents and I brought him to Oceanaire...just for dessert ( I know, we have our priorities straight). He was very excited to try this foreign confection...and let's just say he wasn't disappointed. I think that this sweet experience was the cherry to his sundae flame to his Baked Alaska.

Readers, have you ever had a Baked Alaska? What was your experience like?

Origin:
This confection is actually a Norwegian dessert. It's called " omelette á la norvégienne" or a Norwegian omelette.
The name "Baked Alaska" was designated to this treat when Delmonico's, a famous New York restaurant, named it in honor of "the newly acquired territory of Alaska" in 1876.

MY FAVORITE

And the winner is... (drumroll)... POLKADOTS! This fine boutique cupcake bakery is conveniently located just blocks away from where I currently reside. When I first walked in  I felt as if I were walking into a Barbie dream house. The home-like architecture and pink wall colors eased my mind bringing my inner-child to my watery mouth, shaping it into a giant smile. I ordered a seemingly simple cupcake, "vanilla with chocolate icing" layered with mini chocolate chips.  The combinations of flavors and textures were anything but ordinary. It was absolutely transcending— moving me (and my tastebuds) to an imaginary world. I closed my eyes allowing all of my senses to wallow in bliss and all I could see were rows of these spectacular cupcakes. 

I have had my share of cupcakes. The local grocery store cupcakes are too commercialized with flavorless sugary icing putting my teeth through agony. Whole foods tries too hard to impress with colorful and outlandish icing designs. Maybe they are trying to compensate— but who's kidding who no pastry chef can can fool me. Sprinkles cupcakes are highly overrated; not to mention overweight with cake dense enough to sink a ship and frosting thicker than the molds dentists use to fit you for a mouth guard.

You know that gritty feeling you have in your mouth after you've been exposed to most icings or awful cake frosting? Now you can forget that. Polkadots icing is smooth, fluffy, and flavorful— just the way it should be. The cake is not too heavy nor too light, providing you with divine happiness with every bite. After years and years of searching for the ultimate cupcake, I have found the one. Tasting Polkadots for the first time was like seeing the city of Venice for the first time— it was like a dream. Lucky for you and me, Polkadots is no fantasy; it's reality.

This calls for a celebration...cupcakes anyone?!

Marble Schmarble

 

What do you think of when you hear the words marble cake? Is it a dense, vanilla and chocolate combination cake? Or is it a pound cake, with both chocolate and vanilla flavors? I'm used to the latter. Every time a close family friend travels to her hometown, she brings back loaves of marble cake from her favorite bakery. The reason why I say "loaves" is because each cake is tightly nestled in a pliable aluminum metal loaf pan. This cake is a moist combination of sweet and savory flavors of vanilla and chocolate. It has the texture of pound cake, for it is heavy and doesn't crumble when dipped in a cup of coffee. 

My great grandfather, as my Dad reminisces (every time he holds a piece of cake in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other), "was a dunker." Grandpa Al wasn't a pro-basketball player, but he was a master of cake eating. His technique entailed dunking a small wedge into a hot cup of coffee. Ahh, he was a great man! I'm proud to have a family so in tune with their taste buds and such formality in eating rituals. 

Prior to baking my first "marble cake" I did my research. I read recipe after recipe, looking for a match for the perfection I am used to. I even searched the dictionary; only to reassure I was making a proper marble cake. The only slice of advice I learned from Miriam, was that this delicacy is "a cake made with light and dark batter so as to have a mottled appearance." That did me no good— I should have realized that Miriam Webster is no Julia Child (well maybe of the communication world). 

I finally settled for the recipe, Marbled Butter Cake. I thought it would turn out to be one of the best dunks I've ever made. I'm an optimist, but it wasn't until I saw my mouth smudged with dark chocolate and yellow batter, that I knew my cake would at least taste good. Well, I guess I wasn't too worried as I was licking the bowl clean. 

As it turns out, my cake complied with Miriam's standards more than my own. It was a delicious cake, but not dense enough for the traditional dunk. If you're looking for a light chocolate and vanilla mixed cake, this is a good recipe for you. Don't fret if you're a dunker, I'll be on the prowl for the ultimate marble cake recipe. 

Cafe Au Lait

I'm fascinated by the omnipresence of coffee. People wake up in the morning and the first thing they do is make a fresh cup. Millions of people are drinking coffee at this very moment— decaf, tall, grande, large, small, cappuccino. There is probably a gas station at which you can pump the coffee yourself, a unique little coffee shop, or a Starbucks around the corner. Coffee

 does not stop at its diversity of flavors and pungency; with all of the extras you may add, one could write a novel. Sugar, cream, saccharine filled sweetener, chocolate, caramel... the list goes on.  None of those appeal to me, for I am a purist (or so I like to think). I like coffee with milk (soy) or what the Italians call caffe latte. This is my favorite drink; a day without it, is a day incomplete. When it's hot outside an iced latte cools me off while providing me with the utmost delight. If it's mid-December a hot latte has a way of warming me and my cold hands up, as my wintery-chapped mouth slowly absorbs the rich flavors.  

If it would provide me with the nutrition doctors say I need, cake and coffee is all I'd consume in a day. I'm not the only one in my family with great-taste— it's genetic. I remember Dad telling me, that when he was just a lad, he'd walk into the kitchen  and on numerous occasions his parents would be sitting around the table with friends and shmoozing over coffee and cake.  I remember the first time I enjoyed coffee was with my father, when I was a young girl. Dad was taking me to buy house-slippers for my cold feet; they were pink with one white embroidered clock on either shoe. Instead of going straight home after our purchase he turned to me half-smiling and said, "Rachael I have a surprise for you." I remember anxiously waiting for Dad to arrive at this "surprise" destination. He finally parked the car and there it was. On the outside there was a sign with a funny shaped woman on it, and I asked what "Starbucks" meant. Dad explained that it was the name of a new coffee shop, first established in Seattle. I never tasted a drop coffee until that day. We went in, and he ordered a tall latte with skim milk. After his first sip, he used the word "superb" as  he always does when describing something he likes. I tried the foreign drink after it cooled, and admitted that I too like the taste of the latte. I vividly remember the cozy velvet chairs we sat in as we absorbed the atmosphere of this new coffee-house, that I would later describe as American imperialism at it's best. 

As I reflect on that day I wonder if I actually enjoyed the taste of coffee or just said I did because I've always wanted to be just like my father, which at the time entailed doing and saying everything he did. Whatever the answer may be, today, I whole-heartedly, genuinely and willingly enjoy the aromatic warm flavors coffee.