Quite frankly, I am not sure when my Christmas cookie traditions began. I know that when I was a child, Mom would bring home the bags of Nestle Toll House chocolate chips and she would inform me that I was responsible for baking the chocolate chip cookies. I was always excited and proud to bake them. I actually think I was a baker one year for Halloween and borrowed clothes from the restaurant my grandmother worked in so my costume could be very realistic. Somewhere along the way, my interest in cooking and baking faded. Of course, this was probably during the times when I couldn't afford much in the way of ingredients and had to resort to boxes of macaroni and cheese or ramen noodles. During the holidays, I would attempt a few cookie recipes, but nothing over the top.
When I moved to Santa Fe and had the first spacious kitchen in my life, I began to take more of an interest in cooking again. My first Christmas in Santa Fe, I had planned to bake several different kinds of cookies and didn't really know what I was going to do with them. I remember baking biscochitos and thinking that I was pretty cool for cutting them into the shape of New Mexico with a cookie cutter I had ordered online. I also baked red chile cinnamon cookies, obviously influenced by my surroundings. Soon, I had amassed so many cookies and had to start coming up with a plan to distribute them- mainly because I couldn't eat them all and I didn't want them to go to waste. I ordered some gold boxes with my initials on them from Williams-Sonoma. In retrospect, I find them slightly pretentious. I had those boxes for a few years after that because I had to order so many to have them personalized.
I began delivering cookies to all of my clients and friends. Anyone who dropped by, came to dinner or even the mailman got a box. After Christmas, I received a few thank you notes, but I didn't really understand the impact of my cookies until the following Thanksgiving. I started receiving e-mails and phone calls asking if they would be receiving my cookies again. So this is when I started being a little more mathematical about my cookie baking. After a few years had gone by, my cookie list had gotten so long and I had to calculate how many cookies I could physically handle baking and when I had to begin. Baking the cookies was the easy part- it was the preparation that was the difficult part. I had to plan which doughs would freeze best, how long each cookie would stay fresh, what I was going to box them in and how they would be delivered. I used to ship cookies after sending a "test box" to a close friend or two a couple of weeks before to see if the cookies would arrive crumbled or not. Many times they did and I just chose not to ever ship cookies again.
When I started to work for Macy's, I remembered thinking that I would have to leave my cookie days behind me when I was barely able to function outside of retail during November and December. Fortunately, this was not the case. During my first season with Macy's, I remembered overhearing another manager mention they were wrapping gifts for all of their sales associates. I went into a full panic and started wondering how I would afford gifts for several dozen associates. Then I remembered the cookies. I went into a last minute baking sprint and stopped at the Dollar Store for a few packs of holiday-themed goodie bags. I passed out the cookies with little response, and again, I did not know the impact of the cookies until the following year when I started getting requests again.
When I moved to Vegas, I used to bake with my friend Lisa, who I rarely refer to as Lisa, but Jack!e. You can read up on how she got that name in a previous post- but we actually call each other Jack!e and it must be with the exclamation point and not with an "i." This is how we determine whether we are talking about each other or someone actually named Jackie. We coordinated our days off together to bake (even though our boss had asked us not to be friends anymore since Lisa was promoted to a higher position than me and he thought it would look bad in front of the other managers. I will never forget how I was expected to ditch my good friend of several years because of a promotion). I had purchased a box of vintage cooking magazines from e-Bay, which I am known to do, and one of the magazines featured recipes from every First Lady in American history. I was intrigued by many of them, but not intrigued enough to try Rosalynn Carter's meatloaf aspic (I am totally making that up, but this was the caliber of recipes in the magazine). I found the very last page to be Hillary Clinton's Chocolate Chip Cookies. A very modest recipe compared to the other ladies' choices, but there was a little paragraph about how she chose to use shortening instead of butter, add oatmeal and increase the salt. I wanted to try them.
So I baked a batch on my own and could not stop eating them. John can tell you that I was addicted to the cookie and continued baking them at least once a week for a month. I did not bake them that Christmas, but did make about 20 dozen to take to our overnight inventory at Macy's. I put them in the break room when I got there and by the time we took a lunch break, I saw they were all gone. I figured I had a hit on my hands. Jack!e asked me for the recipe. I was reluctant to give it to her, because I knew I had the best chocolate chip cookie and was afraid that she would steal my thunder. Well, turns out, the following Christmas, we lived in separate states, so I figured that I could allow her to have the recipe, since our audience would not overlap. Jack!e continues to use this as her sole chocolate chip cookie recipe, as I do. No offense to Nestle, but I do not follow the directions on the back of the package after Hillary has shared her secrets with me!
I brought the recipe all the way to Sacramento and now, back home to New Mexico. While in Sacramento, I still had my personalized gold boxes and started creating a few more elaborate cookies to include. The boxes were fairly large and it took a lot of cookies to fill them. I knew that I could not bake this many cookies before Christmas and had to decide on only including a few in my "cookie circle." The sales associates would only receive a small snack bag of chocolate chip cookies. The VIP Cookie Circle would receive the full assortment.
While I was preparing cookies in Sacramento, I remember John feeling really proud to see what I was producing in our kitchen. He said the boxes looked so beautiful, like those boxes of chocolates you would get for Valentine's Day. He said that he always liked how there would be a list of what the chocolates were in the box and volunteered to create a menu for the VIP Cookie Circle boxes. It really made all of the difference in the presentation. John decided to start the menu with the always-included Hillary Clinton's Chocolate Chip Cookie, naming it my "Signature Cookie." After handing out the boxes, I received so many calls saying how they thought it was so cool that I had a "Signature Cookie." The chocolate chip cookie has remained my signature, although this is the year I decided to change it to the Jack!e Chocolate Chip Cookie. With a slight adjustment in the recipe, and the fact that Hillary hardly has the time to bake nowadays, I thought it was a valid adjustment in the cookie menu.
I had to take a couple of Christmases off from baking, once promoted to the MTM position at Macy's, but this year I decided to pick up where I left off. If you got the box, you are VIP Cookie Circle. If not, I am sorry and hope that I can bake even more next year. Keep in mind, I am just getting started again, so my list was quite small. I will have better planning next year, I promise. I actually have dreams about cookies, too. I had a dream one time that I was named the Patron Saint of Cookies. My favorite, though, is a dream where I have so much demand for my Christmas cookie boxes that I have to begin using a lottery process to determine who gets them every year.
This year's VIP Cookie Box menu (that John made for me):
The Signature Cookie: Jack!e Chocolate Chips
Checkerboard Cookies
Lemon Poppy Seed Crisps
Gingerbread Snowflakes
Lemon Shortbread
Orange-Cardamom Madeleines
Cranberry Coins
Rum Raisin Shortbread (in extra-special, limited boxes)
Friday, December 23, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Tater Tot Casserole and John
So, shortly after I started dating John, I moved to Albuquerque from Santa Fe. John worked very late at night and I would come home from work and cook a full meal. I would take it over to his apartment around midnight, so he would have something to eat for dinner when he got home from work. Most of the time, I was waiting for him by the time he got home and it didn't seem to matter what I cooked, he would eat whatever it was. Occasionally, he would request something specific, a repeat recipe maybe, but never picky.
Every now and then, John would offer to cook for me. What I learned through the process of eating home-cooked meals with him was that he had a few weaknesses when it comes to certain foods. Tater tots would be a good example- particularly when Napoleon Dynamite seemed to catapult tots back into their limelight. I don't know what I had prepared on this one particular night, but it was a casserole of sorts. John said, "wouldn't it be great if there was a tater tot casserole?" And of course I made a mental note.
The next day, I was googling "tater tot casserole" and finding dozens of horrifying recipes. I finally found one that I thought I might be able to stomach. Don't get the wrong idea- this is a heart attack waiting to happen. The recipe requires two sticks of butter, a pound of sour cream and even some cornflakes. That's only three of the dozen ingredients. I justified it because it has onion in it and that is a vegetable.
Well, wouldn't you know it, the casserole was a hit. Every now and then, maybe once a year, the casserole makes an appearance. Both of us realize that it is enough calories for a week and we shouldn't be eating it, but it is sinfully delicious...
Every now and then, John would offer to cook for me. What I learned through the process of eating home-cooked meals with him was that he had a few weaknesses when it comes to certain foods. Tater tots would be a good example- particularly when Napoleon Dynamite seemed to catapult tots back into their limelight. I don't know what I had prepared on this one particular night, but it was a casserole of sorts. John said, "wouldn't it be great if there was a tater tot casserole?" And of course I made a mental note.
The next day, I was googling "tater tot casserole" and finding dozens of horrifying recipes. I finally found one that I thought I might be able to stomach. Don't get the wrong idea- this is a heart attack waiting to happen. The recipe requires two sticks of butter, a pound of sour cream and even some cornflakes. That's only three of the dozen ingredients. I justified it because it has onion in it and that is a vegetable.
Well, wouldn't you know it, the casserole was a hit. Every now and then, maybe once a year, the casserole makes an appearance. Both of us realize that it is enough calories for a week and we shouldn't be eating it, but it is sinfully delicious...
Saturday, September 24, 2011
The Drive-In Theater and Mom & Dad
Remember the Drive-In Theater? I barely do. My parents loved the movies and when you have kids, I think it's probably harder to go nowadays. We all know that you can't take kids to every movie- either the rating is R or you can't find a babysitter or you were the parent with the crying baby right in the middle of the theater once. The drive-in was a way around all of that.
Mom and Dad almost never seemed to plan the trip to the drive-in. We would be sitting at dinner and you could feel them getting restless. Something would go wrong, like we would drop the Kool-Aid or the pot of spaghetti. Ultimately, one of them would say, "we have to get out of here." And simultaneously, you could see the light in their eyes when they both thought, "who wants to go to the drive-in?!" And we would get into our highest gear to hurry and get ready. Mom would instruct me to get the popcorn popper out. She would go change into jeans and a sweatshirt and then come back to get the popcorn started. "Get the butter, she'd say." We would pop so many batches of popcorn in the little popper.
And we didn't have the hot air popper or the microwave popcorn. We used the old-fashioned, oil driven popper. She would get her Weiss Market paper bags out, unfold them and we began filling the bags with each batch that was done. We'd drizzle butter and shake the salt over the top and then close up the bag and shake it for a while to coat each piece. We'd end up with two or three bags of corn and head out to the theater. Each bag would look like it might fall apart from the oil and butter leaking through slightly. There were spots all over the bag, but it smelled so delicious.
On the way to the theater, Dad always insisted on running into one of our favorite corner stores- Stewart's, where he would pick up random pieces of candy: always a Fifth Avenue Bar, Twizzlers and maybe some M&M's for Mom. My brother and I would sit in the back and when we got to the movie, Mom would spread a blanket over us. I honestly cannot remember one movie I saw at the theater, but I remember Mom and Dad would have all of the windows down, so they could hear the audio from the little box next to our car. My brother and I would have a bag of popcorn of our own and after finishing our candy and popcorn, I think we must've fallen asleep. Now, doesn't that beat staying home with a babysitter?
I miss the drive-in. You know what was funny about it, though? Nobody ever really seemed to care what movie was playing.
Mom and Dad almost never seemed to plan the trip to the drive-in. We would be sitting at dinner and you could feel them getting restless. Something would go wrong, like we would drop the Kool-Aid or the pot of spaghetti. Ultimately, one of them would say, "we have to get out of here." And simultaneously, you could see the light in their eyes when they both thought, "who wants to go to the drive-in?!" And we would get into our highest gear to hurry and get ready. Mom would instruct me to get the popcorn popper out. She would go change into jeans and a sweatshirt and then come back to get the popcorn started. "Get the butter, she'd say." We would pop so many batches of popcorn in the little popper.
And we didn't have the hot air popper or the microwave popcorn. We used the old-fashioned, oil driven popper. She would get her Weiss Market paper bags out, unfold them and we began filling the bags with each batch that was done. We'd drizzle butter and shake the salt over the top and then close up the bag and shake it for a while to coat each piece. We'd end up with two or three bags of corn and head out to the theater. Each bag would look like it might fall apart from the oil and butter leaking through slightly. There were spots all over the bag, but it smelled so delicious.
On the way to the theater, Dad always insisted on running into one of our favorite corner stores- Stewart's, where he would pick up random pieces of candy: always a Fifth Avenue Bar, Twizzlers and maybe some M&M's for Mom. My brother and I would sit in the back and when we got to the movie, Mom would spread a blanket over us. I honestly cannot remember one movie I saw at the theater, but I remember Mom and Dad would have all of the windows down, so they could hear the audio from the little box next to our car. My brother and I would have a bag of popcorn of our own and after finishing our candy and popcorn, I think we must've fallen asleep. Now, doesn't that beat staying home with a babysitter?
I miss the drive-in. You know what was funny about it, though? Nobody ever really seemed to care what movie was playing.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Baked Potato Sundae and Penny & Mom
I honestly do not remember who told me first about the Baked Potato Sundae at the Cowgirl in Santa Fe. What I know is that I have made it one of Santa Fe's popular tourist attractions ever since I got wind of it. I don't know what I was thinking when I first found out, but I actually had memories of the awful tourist-type ice cream flavors I have experienced in the past. For instance, I will never forget being in Cape Cod and having someone offer me Lobster Ice Cream (I, of course, tried it) and then seeing things on people's menus like Green Chile Apple Pie. Not to put these to shame, necessarily, they are all intriguing... but I may have thought that the Baked Potato Sundae was actually a baked potato. And quite frankly, it would not have made it less appealing.
I arrived at the Cowgirl shortly after hearing of this invention and proceeded to eat my entree quickly. I think I even informed the waiter that I would be ordering the Sundae early on, so he would know to expect it when I was finished. After confirming my order, my dessert had arrived and I could not believe it. Here a baked potato, with butter, sour cream and chives was sitting before me. But when I dip my spoon into the middle of the potato, I see that it is, in fact, vanilla ice cream. True love at last! The pat of butter sitting on top, the waiter informed me was banana butter...the sour cream was whipped cream....the chives were bright green pistachios...the potato was the ice cream, molded into the shape of a potato and dusted with cocoa.
I thought this was the best invention and apparently began sharing with the public immediately. I spread the word like wildfire and people would constantly ask me what they should do while in Santa Fe. I'd skip past the plaza, the cathedral and go right to the sundae, as embarrassing as that is... and many have taken my advice. I think my advice to stop and get the sundae was enough to get them there to try it, as most of the advice they had gotten from the locals would be the best place to get a really good taco, a great museum or the opera.
I somehow gave my sister the hint that there was a baked potato sundae and to this day, I am convinced that her first visit to Santa Fe was solely to experience this dessert. I knew that between the two of us, we would never forget the first time we shared this little "secret."
Years later, when my mother decided to tag along with Penny for a trip to New Mexico, we were sure to stop at the Cowgirl and we had told Mom that we were going to get the Baked Potato Sundae. I don't remember what she had said exactly, but it was something like, "What the heck..." And so the three of sat there with three spoons awaiting it's arrival. We devoured the sundae, all the way to the end. Everytime the potato arrives, I am in amazement that someone thought to make this up. I haven't had one since the family visit. I am thinking that it might be time to get one soon.
If you are ever in Santa Fe, please don't miss the Baked Potato Sundae.
I arrived at the Cowgirl shortly after hearing of this invention and proceeded to eat my entree quickly. I think I even informed the waiter that I would be ordering the Sundae early on, so he would know to expect it when I was finished. After confirming my order, my dessert had arrived and I could not believe it. Here a baked potato, with butter, sour cream and chives was sitting before me. But when I dip my spoon into the middle of the potato, I see that it is, in fact, vanilla ice cream. True love at last! The pat of butter sitting on top, the waiter informed me was banana butter...the sour cream was whipped cream....the chives were bright green pistachios...the potato was the ice cream, molded into the shape of a potato and dusted with cocoa.
I thought this was the best invention and apparently began sharing with the public immediately. I spread the word like wildfire and people would constantly ask me what they should do while in Santa Fe. I'd skip past the plaza, the cathedral and go right to the sundae, as embarrassing as that is... and many have taken my advice. I think my advice to stop and get the sundae was enough to get them there to try it, as most of the advice they had gotten from the locals would be the best place to get a really good taco, a great museum or the opera.
I somehow gave my sister the hint that there was a baked potato sundae and to this day, I am convinced that her first visit to Santa Fe was solely to experience this dessert. I knew that between the two of us, we would never forget the first time we shared this little "secret."
Years later, when my mother decided to tag along with Penny for a trip to New Mexico, we were sure to stop at the Cowgirl and we had told Mom that we were going to get the Baked Potato Sundae. I don't remember what she had said exactly, but it was something like, "What the heck..." And so the three of sat there with three spoons awaiting it's arrival. We devoured the sundae, all the way to the end. Everytime the potato arrives, I am in amazement that someone thought to make this up. I haven't had one since the family visit. I am thinking that it might be time to get one soon.
If you are ever in Santa Fe, please don't miss the Baked Potato Sundae.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Day of the Dead Cookies and Valerie
When I first moved back to New Mexico, my friend Valerie would start bringing in vegetables from her garden. She would bring them to work and lay them in front of her on her desk. People would walk by and see them. She almost never had to beg anyone to take them. The sad part was, by the time I saw them and inquired, they would all be spoken for- but each still laying out there staring at me still until each lucky winner was off the clock and came back to claim their prize. I always hoped one would forget to come back for their squash and I could just take it home as a consolation prize. Never happened.
She eventually got sick of me whining and one morning, she had placed a bag of miscellaneous squash on my desk when I wasn't looking! Delighted to find several large zuccinis, I immediately raced around the corner to her desk to let her know that I had just found a recipe for zucchini bread that I wanted to try. She told me about a recipe for chocolate zucchini bread and I was intrigued. She invited me over the following weekend to have a zucchini bake-off!
Shortly after the decision to bake zucchini breads, she asked if I had any cookie cutters that would be suitable for Day of the Dead. Well, of course I gathered my tote bag of Martha Stewart cookie cutters and headed on over to spend the day with Valerie. Of course, we had our assistants who happily took off to fetch us ingredients we may have forgotten.
I remember feeling incredibly relaxed and completely at ease sharing a kitchen with Valerie. We planned out our day and in the end, we had what seemed like dozens of zucchini breads- plain and chocolate. We also made beautiful and delicious Day of the Dead cookies. Skulls decorated with brightly colored flowers. I have not made Day of the Dead cookies or zucchini bread since then and each time the season is upon us, I think I will forever be reminded of the baking day with a dear friend.
She eventually got sick of me whining and one morning, she had placed a bag of miscellaneous squash on my desk when I wasn't looking! Delighted to find several large zuccinis, I immediately raced around the corner to her desk to let her know that I had just found a recipe for zucchini bread that I wanted to try. She told me about a recipe for chocolate zucchini bread and I was intrigued. She invited me over the following weekend to have a zucchini bake-off!
Shortly after the decision to bake zucchini breads, she asked if I had any cookie cutters that would be suitable for Day of the Dead. Well, of course I gathered my tote bag of Martha Stewart cookie cutters and headed on over to spend the day with Valerie. Of course, we had our assistants who happily took off to fetch us ingredients we may have forgotten.
I remember feeling incredibly relaxed and completely at ease sharing a kitchen with Valerie. We planned out our day and in the end, we had what seemed like dozens of zucchini breads- plain and chocolate. We also made beautiful and delicious Day of the Dead cookies. Skulls decorated with brightly colored flowers. I have not made Day of the Dead cookies or zucchini bread since then and each time the season is upon us, I think I will forever be reminded of the baking day with a dear friend.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Corn Pudding and P. Susan
So the year this story takes place has escaped me, as time often does. But I had recently moved to Santa Fe and my friend P. Susan dialed me up to let me know she was planning to make a last minute reservation to fly in for Thanksgiving. Surely I had invited her a million times and she finally took me up on the offer. Our good pal, Katharine Moore agreed to tag along and I couldn't be more delighted.
I know they hadn't planned to stay more than a few days, which was probably good because P. Susan was somehow agreeing to sleep on the hard, brick floor in our living room next to the fireplace. I was constantly worried and having major anxiety thinking she would roll so close that her long hair would get clipped by the flames. It didn't happen, thank goodness.
When my two friends arrived, my friend Jeff was already visiting from Chicago and so my house started to get crowded. We didn't seem to mind, because during the day we could still use the patio when the sun was out. Before she even arrived, P. Susan inquired about the Thanksgiving menu. I went down the usual list- turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, broccoli casserole, sweet potatoes... and I'm pretty sure she stopped me at the end with, "No corn pudding?" Corn pudding? Whoever even heard of such a thing? She said she would not eat Thanksgiving dinner without corn pudding. After finding out more about it, the dish sounded wonderful and I was surprised to hear it was a savory dish and not a dessert. I asked for the recipe. She didn't have one and started rattling off ingredients she thought were involved: corn, creamed corn, cream, butter, a crusty topping, eggs, sour cream, cornmeal? I am not sure she knew at all what this dish was made with and I was left to my own devices. I pulled about a dozen different recipes, all of them omitting at least one of the ingredients she listed. I could not find the exact recipe. I remember calling her and going over each recipe- after each one, I could sense her stomping her foot, "NO! That is not it!"
Eventually, I had to just purchase all of the ingredients and hope that I could put together something that resembled her favorite Thanksgiving dish. Turns out, we did it! And it is a wonderful compliment to so many meals. I hadn't thought about it in a while, but I recreated the dish recently for a family dinner. It came out just as beautifully as it had the first time around and I managed to create it by memory. I think this dish will now become part of my own Thanksgiving tradition, all of these years later...
I know they hadn't planned to stay more than a few days, which was probably good because P. Susan was somehow agreeing to sleep on the hard, brick floor in our living room next to the fireplace. I was constantly worried and having major anxiety thinking she would roll so close that her long hair would get clipped by the flames. It didn't happen, thank goodness.
When my two friends arrived, my friend Jeff was already visiting from Chicago and so my house started to get crowded. We didn't seem to mind, because during the day we could still use the patio when the sun was out. Before she even arrived, P. Susan inquired about the Thanksgiving menu. I went down the usual list- turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, broccoli casserole, sweet potatoes... and I'm pretty sure she stopped me at the end with, "No corn pudding?" Corn pudding? Whoever even heard of such a thing? She said she would not eat Thanksgiving dinner without corn pudding. After finding out more about it, the dish sounded wonderful and I was surprised to hear it was a savory dish and not a dessert. I asked for the recipe. She didn't have one and started rattling off ingredients she thought were involved: corn, creamed corn, cream, butter, a crusty topping, eggs, sour cream, cornmeal? I am not sure she knew at all what this dish was made with and I was left to my own devices. I pulled about a dozen different recipes, all of them omitting at least one of the ingredients she listed. I could not find the exact recipe. I remember calling her and going over each recipe- after each one, I could sense her stomping her foot, "NO! That is not it!"
Eventually, I had to just purchase all of the ingredients and hope that I could put together something that resembled her favorite Thanksgiving dish. Turns out, we did it! And it is a wonderful compliment to so many meals. I hadn't thought about it in a while, but I recreated the dish recently for a family dinner. It came out just as beautifully as it had the first time around and I managed to create it by memory. I think this dish will now become part of my own Thanksgiving tradition, all of these years later...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Schwan's Ice Cream and Kenon
I can't remember when my mother decided to start ordering from the Schwan's man. He would drive his truck through our neighborhood and we used to see him carrying in cases of goodies to houses all around us. Occasionally he would stop at our house and leave a little order form with a brochure. He talked to Mom a bit and then she always said, "No thanks, not today..." But one day she finally gave in. I'm not sure what changed her mind, but I could guess she probably thought she didn't have anything for dinner and this would save her a trip to the grocery.
One of the first things she ordered was the little, frozen push pops. They're called Push-Ems and they came in two flavors- Orange and Raspberry. They definitely had a distinct flavor somewhere between yogurt and sherbet. I always thought the orange flavor was much better than the raspberry. They were very good and they didn't last in our freezer for too long. I remember my brother liking them a little bit more than me.
One day off of the school bus, we were walking down the street, turning the corner to our house and my brother saw the Schwan's truck parked in front of our house. He didn't even tell me what he was going to do before taking off at full force to make it there in time to see if Mom had gotten the Push Ems. By the time I made it to the house, the Schwan's man was pulling away and Kenon was running up to me with his ice cream. From the time the pops were delivered, it was almost a contest to see who could eat more. We would sneak into the freezer when no one was looking and run outside quickly to eat them so Mom didn't see us. She definitely used to say, "Not til after dinner," if she saw us looking for ice cream after school.
I haven't had one of these in a long time, but I bet they still taste the same. It wouldn't be the same if I didn't have one with my brother, though.
One of the first things she ordered was the little, frozen push pops. They're called Push-Ems and they came in two flavors- Orange and Raspberry. They definitely had a distinct flavor somewhere between yogurt and sherbet. I always thought the orange flavor was much better than the raspberry. They were very good and they didn't last in our freezer for too long. I remember my brother liking them a little bit more than me.
One day off of the school bus, we were walking down the street, turning the corner to our house and my brother saw the Schwan's truck parked in front of our house. He didn't even tell me what he was going to do before taking off at full force to make it there in time to see if Mom had gotten the Push Ems. By the time I made it to the house, the Schwan's man was pulling away and Kenon was running up to me with his ice cream. From the time the pops were delivered, it was almost a contest to see who could eat more. We would sneak into the freezer when no one was looking and run outside quickly to eat them so Mom didn't see us. She definitely used to say, "Not til after dinner," if she saw us looking for ice cream after school.
I haven't had one of these in a long time, but I bet they still taste the same. It wouldn't be the same if I didn't have one with my brother, though.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Butter vs. Margarine and Mom & Dad
I don't think either of my parents would have considered this to be a great debate in my household when I was growing up, but I always found it of great interest. My mom always said that she grew up using margarine and my father grew up using butter. What was interesting about it, is that Mom always preferred butter to margarine. Dad preferred the margarine to butter. I don't remember what their reasoning was, truly. I know that we always used to have margarine in the refrigerator and much later, we would have the tub of Country Crock spread for every meal. Dad preferred to have bread and butter with most of his meals and I think that was probably where the preference for margarine stood. It was usually much easier to spread on a piece of bread. Now, I will be honest, we didn't ever have a nice loaf of Italian bread or French bread. Nothing of the sort. He used to grab a few slices of generic, white, sandwich bread and that would suffice. My brother and I would copy him- who could resist of a serving of bread and "butter?"
I never quite thought through the "spreadability" of butter until there was a great debate at my babysitter, Sharon's house when I was a kid. Burt and Sharon used to watch many kids at their house and I used to even take the bus from school to her house and wait for my parents to pick me up. Sometimes they would be a little late and we would be the last kids to be picked up. I remember Sharon saying that we would be staying for dinner on those days. She would prepare something very simple, like spaghetti. One afternoon, I remember them sitting down to eat at their small kitchen table and Burt was so upset with her. She didn't have any margarine and only had butter. He had to wait for the butter to come to room temperature before he could spread it across a piece of bread and therefore, dinner was delayed by about a half an hour. I, on the other hand, tried to spread the butter across my sandwich slice of bread with little success. I ended up with giant pats of butter barely sticking to the surface and eventually tore through the center of the slice. Interesting. Burt claimed that margarine does not act that way and melts much faster. He explained to me that margarine even melts faster on hot food. I tested this theory a few times after on hot vegetables and mashed potatoes my mother would serve. It was true!
Mom used to get butter for special occasions like holidays. I know she preferred the taste of butter and I was interested to compare the difference. I must agree with Mom. I would rather be patient and wait for butter to soften at room temperature before using a product like Country Crock. The taste of butter is unlike any other and I know that there are certain things you just can't skimp on: a baked potato, a piece of bread, corn on the cob and God forbid, a baked good like pies and cakes. Butter only, please. Recently I purchased a Butter Bell crock which keeps butter at room temperature all of the time and it is safe. I recommend that everyone try it if the reason you are not using butter is because it isn't spreadable. I keep it on my kitchen counter and nothing makes me happier at mealtimes than when I have the butter ready to go. Afraid of the calories and fat in butter? Get over it, use it in moderation and know that most cultures wouldn't be caught dead eating a butter substitute.
I never quite thought through the "spreadability" of butter until there was a great debate at my babysitter, Sharon's house when I was a kid. Burt and Sharon used to watch many kids at their house and I used to even take the bus from school to her house and wait for my parents to pick me up. Sometimes they would be a little late and we would be the last kids to be picked up. I remember Sharon saying that we would be staying for dinner on those days. She would prepare something very simple, like spaghetti. One afternoon, I remember them sitting down to eat at their small kitchen table and Burt was so upset with her. She didn't have any margarine and only had butter. He had to wait for the butter to come to room temperature before he could spread it across a piece of bread and therefore, dinner was delayed by about a half an hour. I, on the other hand, tried to spread the butter across my sandwich slice of bread with little success. I ended up with giant pats of butter barely sticking to the surface and eventually tore through the center of the slice. Interesting. Burt claimed that margarine does not act that way and melts much faster. He explained to me that margarine even melts faster on hot food. I tested this theory a few times after on hot vegetables and mashed potatoes my mother would serve. It was true!
Mom used to get butter for special occasions like holidays. I know she preferred the taste of butter and I was interested to compare the difference. I must agree with Mom. I would rather be patient and wait for butter to soften at room temperature before using a product like Country Crock. The taste of butter is unlike any other and I know that there are certain things you just can't skimp on: a baked potato, a piece of bread, corn on the cob and God forbid, a baked good like pies and cakes. Butter only, please. Recently I purchased a Butter Bell crock which keeps butter at room temperature all of the time and it is safe. I recommend that everyone try it if the reason you are not using butter is because it isn't spreadable. I keep it on my kitchen counter and nothing makes me happier at mealtimes than when I have the butter ready to go. Afraid of the calories and fat in butter? Get over it, use it in moderation and know that most cultures wouldn't be caught dead eating a butter substitute.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Margaritas and Grandma
I know that I have repeatedly reminisced about my grandmother visiting me in Santa Fe. I suppose that time in my life is so special to me for a number of reasons. Most of all, because I was self-employed at the time, it was so easy for me to adjust my schedule and take the time to spend with her while she was here. Growing up, I rarely had the opportunity to spend time alone with her. She has five children of her own and has nine grandchildren. Usually if we were at Grandma's house, it's because everyone was at Grandma's house. There were certainly times when I was younger where I remember spending the day with her and going to the grocery store with her. But spending time with your grandmother when you're an adult is different than when you're a kid.
I cherished every minute when Grandma came to Santa Fe. We planned out each day and packed it full of fun things to do. One of the best parts of our trip was an early morning walk around the plaza, peeking into shops decked with new goods in century-old buildings. We stopped at a store called Gift N Gourmet. Those of you that know me well and know my previous stint as a sales rep, will know that I often make fun of stores that have an "N" in place of an "and." I think it is funny what people name their businesses. I especially love when they can't decide what to name their shop or don't even know what they want to sell, so they put "N Things" at the end of the shop's name. Nonetheless, Gift N Gourmet isn't a bad shop at all. It's right on the plaza and is packed full of wonderful southwestern goodies for tourists to take home and put in their kitchen. Or, in my case, even acceptable for a local. Grandma noticed the margarita set in the window. Not an unusual set for Santa Fe, but definitely substantial in the sense that the glasses were a little deeper than ones you might find at a store like Target. You could hold more margarita in these glasses. The glass was clear and tinted with blue around the edges and had a pitcher to match. The glass set brought us into the store and we began a full shopping spree.
Whenever Grandma visits anywhere, she insists on picking up little gifts for everyone in her life along the way. It's interesting, too, because she doesn't just pick up a dozen of something. Each gift is picked up because it reminds her of that person in some way. I always respected that. She will bring you a little treasure and it always speaks right to you. So while in Gift N Gourmet, she found a few things to bring home to her loved ones. She gathered a handful of things and then at the last minute, she added the margarita set. Four glasses and a pitcher. I knew immediately that this glass set was for her. I pictured her sitting on her screened-in porch with a couple of my aunts. I imagined how proud she would be to serve freshly made margaritas in her new glasses. She would wait for one of my aunts to say, "Oh, these glasses are so nice! Where did you get them?" And she would be elated to say that they came from Santa Fe. We left the store with more than one bag and walked to the car. Then we drove to the famous Santa Fe flea market.
The Santa Fe flea market is unlike any other. Well. I should say that it used to be unlike any other. Recently, it has morphed into another reincarnation which I am not particularly a fan of, but several years ago, it was an event. Grandma and I beelined it directly to the snack bar where we picked up our freshly squeezed watermelon juice. We picked which side of the outdoor market we would start our shopping and strolled along under the perfectly blue sky. We stopped at each booth and admired the craftsmanship of potters, jewelers and weavers. In between, we stopped at the little antique booths. One of the booths had almost nothing to sell and I wondered how they stayed in business. The woman manning the booth struck a conversation with me immediately and was so passionate about what was on her one banquet table. I was drawn to the set of glasses on her table. I had never seen anything like them. They are bright, transparent orange. The sun was hitting them and they looked like little jewels sparkling. I couldn't help from picking one of them up and inspecting it. I thought that it was carnival glass and would have that iridescent finish, but no, they were just pure orange throughout. It was a complete set of four and I then inspected each one to see that they were in perfect condition. The lady told me she couldn't believe she found them at a yard sale and had never seen anything like them before after so many years in the business. She was charging quite a bit for the glasses- more than I could imagine paying.
Grandma and I continued through the market. She picked up a few things here and there. When we completed our stroll, she said she wanted to go back to that lady's table. She did. And she bought me those glasses. She said that she saw my face when I was looking at them and she wanted me to have them. I couldn't believe that these beautiful glasses were mine. The nice lady wrapped each one individually in newspaper and put them in a paper bag. I could not have been more excited.
While we were packing the car with our goodies, Grandma said that we would have to do some reorganizing to my kitchen cabinets to make room for all of the glasses. She said she wanted to go home and use the new margarita set she had gotten for me. I couldn't believe it- surely she had gotten that set for herself and I tried to talk her into keeping it. She said it would be too difficult to get the glasses home and besides, she wanted to make margaritas and sit on the patio. Well who could resist an afternoon margarita in the Santa Fe sun? We stopped at the grocery store and went to the liquor department where I grabbed the tequila and Grandma reached for the margarita mix. I said, "Uhhh, no." She had just spent all of this money on these beautiful glasses, I insisted that we don't use a mix. I bought a giant bag of fresh limes. I gathered the rest of the supplies, including margarita salt.
Minutes later, at home, Grandma began unpacking the new glasses and washing them out as I squeezed the limes into the pitcher. I remember her taking a few remnants of the limes I had squeezed and adding them to the pitcher because she said it looked so pretty. We opened a bag of chips and cracked open the salsa. We brought everything outside to the patio. We ended up skipping lunch that day and went on to finish off the entire pitcher. I had the most wonderful conversation with my grandmother that afternoon- one that I will never forget. Grandma told me all about her childhood that day. She told me about her family and her friends when she was kid. We talked about her mother's food, how she learned to cook and compared many recipes. She shared so much with me that day and I am so grateful to have had that day with her.
Unfortunately, my margarita pitcher and two of the glasses broke during one of my many moves. I have constantly been on the lookout for replacements, but have not had any luck. I have found similar pieces, but not like the ones Grandma bought. However, I still have every one of my orange glasses. I have always packed them in a box of their own when moving and have used extra bubble wrap to be sure they would remain intact. I rarely use them because I am so afraid of breaking one of them. I do still have two of the margarita glasses and whenever I grab one from the cabinet, I think of that very day with her on the patio. I always wonder if I am using the glass that she used.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Mayonnaise and Mom
I have thought for a long time that I should include the topic of mayonnaise in my blog. Truly, in order to include it, I had to think about how mayonnaise became such a topic on my food brain. Well, I know where it started. It was because of my mother.
Mom loves a good burger. She doesn't make simple burgers in the sense that she won't make them unless she has all of the ingredients. One of the many meals that Mom always came back to, was the hamburger and frozen, crinkle cut fries. She would make her burger patties in advance and keep them on one of her Corelle plates, wrapped in plastic wrap in the fridge until it was almost time to eat. Meanwhile, she would prep her toppings- lettuce, tomato and onion. Please note that I do not remember her placing cheese on the burgers. She didn't spend much of her grocery budget on the bun, but she got the ones with sesame seeds on top. With fries in the oven, she would fire up her aluminum fry pan and get the burgers going. It usually took her a few batches to make burgers for all of us (some of us requested two patties).
She would leave the fries on the cookie sheet on top of the stove and you could serve yourself. I would grab my plate, with bun open and get my fries. At the kitchen table, she would have the veggies spread out on a couple of plates and condiments in the middle. Mom always, always reached for the mayonnaise first. Dad always, always commented on this. He would say something like, "Whoever heard of a hamburger with mayonnaise on it?" I have to admit. I was not a fan of the mayo option on a burger at first. It took me a while to try it. Not my brother. My brother always put mayonnaise on his, too. He was also ridiculed by my father for this bizarre condiment choice.
I finally got my nerve up to try mayonnaise on one of my burgers and I have never turned back. In fact, I no longer put ketchup or mustard on my homemade burgers. Only mayonnaise. Occasionally, the conversation regarding mayonnaise would escalate between my parents at the dinner table. Dad would continue telling her she was crazy and Mom would tell him that he doesn't appreciate Hellmann's Mayonnaise (Best Foods brand, West of the Rocky Mountains) because he grew up with Miracle Whip. I don't know if this is true. But Mom did the grocery shopping and you would never have seen a jar of Miracle Whip in the refrigerator at our house. I didn't even know what Miracle Whip was until I was at a friend's house in sixth grade. His mother told us we could make a sandwich and when asked what I would like on mine, I asked for mayonnaise and was handed the Miracle Whip jar. It didn't even look the same and I knew when I reached my knife into the jar, I was not getting mayonnaise. But I figured, "How bad could it be?" I have refused to eat the self-proclaimed "salad dressing" ever since.
Here is what happened in a nutshell. My mother created mayonnaise monsters. Honestly, sometimes I think my brother and I are the mayonnaise police. We often note at parties that someone has made potato salad or macaroni salad with Miracle Whip. These are not very miraculous salads. I beg of you, if you are someone who creates these salads, please warn me before I take a bite. Mom typically served mayonnaise-based salads if we were grilling out. In the summer months, since we were not in school, she would make a giant bowl of macaroni salad and leave it in the fridge for us to snack on. Usually, it was gone the next day. We craved mayonnaise.
I still only use real mayonnaise in my house and luckily I have found a partner who is on my side. His mother, too, has always used real mayonnaise. Recently, we were invited to a friends' house and she made deviled eggs. I love deviled eggs. I dove toward the tray and John grabbed my hand and said, "Uhhhh, Miracle Whip, trust me." I didn't know what to do. I already had one in my hand. I didn't want to be rude and put it back on the tray. I certainly didn't want to get up and throw it away. I decided to just eat the egg in one bite and deal with the consequences. I still cannot handle the taste. I want to, I do. I sometimes can be found buying the salads in the grocery deli department. They look so good in the container. I even go towards ones that say "Mustard Potato Salad," figuring that with all that mustard in there, maybe I won't taste the Miracle Whip. I usually end up taking a bite or two and throwing it away. John is probably smarter than me- he doesn't take a bite at all. I'm glad that he doesn't. I would have to question my relationship with anyone who has a different opinion than mine. I will never have Miracle Whip sitting next to my Hellmann's and I resent that I have to look at the "salad dressing" jars next to the mayonnaise at the grocery store. I cringe everytime.
I continue to make Mom's burgers, with lettuce, tomato, onion and mayonnaise. I even like dipping my fries in mayo. I have saved the recipe for chocolate cake on the back of my Hellman's label. Yes, mayonnaise in my chocolate cake, folks! You can sometimes hear my mother say things like, "Just add a scoop of mayo to the recipe, it makes it so much better!" My brother, on the other hand.... I think I have even seen him eat a hot dog with mayonnaise once.
Mom loves a good burger. She doesn't make simple burgers in the sense that she won't make them unless she has all of the ingredients. One of the many meals that Mom always came back to, was the hamburger and frozen, crinkle cut fries. She would make her burger patties in advance and keep them on one of her Corelle plates, wrapped in plastic wrap in the fridge until it was almost time to eat. Meanwhile, she would prep her toppings- lettuce, tomato and onion. Please note that I do not remember her placing cheese on the burgers. She didn't spend much of her grocery budget on the bun, but she got the ones with sesame seeds on top. With fries in the oven, she would fire up her aluminum fry pan and get the burgers going. It usually took her a few batches to make burgers for all of us (some of us requested two patties).
She would leave the fries on the cookie sheet on top of the stove and you could serve yourself. I would grab my plate, with bun open and get my fries. At the kitchen table, she would have the veggies spread out on a couple of plates and condiments in the middle. Mom always, always reached for the mayonnaise first. Dad always, always commented on this. He would say something like, "Whoever heard of a hamburger with mayonnaise on it?" I have to admit. I was not a fan of the mayo option on a burger at first. It took me a while to try it. Not my brother. My brother always put mayonnaise on his, too. He was also ridiculed by my father for this bizarre condiment choice.
I finally got my nerve up to try mayonnaise on one of my burgers and I have never turned back. In fact, I no longer put ketchup or mustard on my homemade burgers. Only mayonnaise. Occasionally, the conversation regarding mayonnaise would escalate between my parents at the dinner table. Dad would continue telling her she was crazy and Mom would tell him that he doesn't appreciate Hellmann's Mayonnaise (Best Foods brand, West of the Rocky Mountains) because he grew up with Miracle Whip. I don't know if this is true. But Mom did the grocery shopping and you would never have seen a jar of Miracle Whip in the refrigerator at our house. I didn't even know what Miracle Whip was until I was at a friend's house in sixth grade. His mother told us we could make a sandwich and when asked what I would like on mine, I asked for mayonnaise and was handed the Miracle Whip jar. It didn't even look the same and I knew when I reached my knife into the jar, I was not getting mayonnaise. But I figured, "How bad could it be?" I have refused to eat the self-proclaimed "salad dressing" ever since.
Here is what happened in a nutshell. My mother created mayonnaise monsters. Honestly, sometimes I think my brother and I are the mayonnaise police. We often note at parties that someone has made potato salad or macaroni salad with Miracle Whip. These are not very miraculous salads. I beg of you, if you are someone who creates these salads, please warn me before I take a bite. Mom typically served mayonnaise-based salads if we were grilling out. In the summer months, since we were not in school, she would make a giant bowl of macaroni salad and leave it in the fridge for us to snack on. Usually, it was gone the next day. We craved mayonnaise.
I still only use real mayonnaise in my house and luckily I have found a partner who is on my side. His mother, too, has always used real mayonnaise. Recently, we were invited to a friends' house and she made deviled eggs. I love deviled eggs. I dove toward the tray and John grabbed my hand and said, "Uhhhh, Miracle Whip, trust me." I didn't know what to do. I already had one in my hand. I didn't want to be rude and put it back on the tray. I certainly didn't want to get up and throw it away. I decided to just eat the egg in one bite and deal with the consequences. I still cannot handle the taste. I want to, I do. I sometimes can be found buying the salads in the grocery deli department. They look so good in the container. I even go towards ones that say "Mustard Potato Salad," figuring that with all that mustard in there, maybe I won't taste the Miracle Whip. I usually end up taking a bite or two and throwing it away. John is probably smarter than me- he doesn't take a bite at all. I'm glad that he doesn't. I would have to question my relationship with anyone who has a different opinion than mine. I will never have Miracle Whip sitting next to my Hellmann's and I resent that I have to look at the "salad dressing" jars next to the mayonnaise at the grocery store. I cringe everytime.
I continue to make Mom's burgers, with lettuce, tomato, onion and mayonnaise. I even like dipping my fries in mayo. I have saved the recipe for chocolate cake on the back of my Hellman's label. Yes, mayonnaise in my chocolate cake, folks! You can sometimes hear my mother say things like, "Just add a scoop of mayo to the recipe, it makes it so much better!" My brother, on the other hand.... I think I have even seen him eat a hot dog with mayonnaise once.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Bagels & Cream Cheese and the Moschino Girls
While going to school in NYC, it always felt like I had the least amount of money out of everyone there. I showed up to school with my beaten up Levi jeans and a couple of worn out t-shirts. I worked two part-time jobs while at school and still couldn't afford to drop a dime on a new outfit. I remember someone saying to me, "I just love that you don't care. I love that you just dress that way and don't care what everyone else thinks of you." I didn't know what to think when they told me that. I remember being very upset about it for days and crying on Katy's shoulder about it. Katy always made me feel better about everyone at school.
My daily budget while at school was about $2.00. Mom would send me care packages with things like ramen noodles, macaroni and cheese, cans of tuna and soup. I used what was in the care package for dinners and spent my $2.00 on lunch. Usually, I would just get two cheeseburgers at McDonald's and wait to eat them until I got home so I could have a glass of water with them. Occasionally though, I woke up hungry. On my way to school I would be tempted by all of the carts of food on the street. I could manage to resist until I reached my destination and I would ultimately splurge on a hot chocolate and a plain bagel with cream cheese. Total- $2.00. It was .75 for a hot chocolate and $1.25 for bagel and cream cheese. This, to me, was the best deal in all of New York. The bagel was fresh and plump. If you have never had an NYC bagel, they slice their cream cheese from a giant slab and just give you the slice. I remember the cream cheese slice being about an inch deep and more than covered the surface of the bagel. Sometimes you would get more cream cheese than bagel. The hot chocolate, well, it was watery, but had a lot of sugar in it and did the trick for someone that didn't drink coffee at the time. The thing is, if I spent the $2.00 on the bagel and hot chocolate, I would know that I could not eat lunch. It was a trade-off and somehow I would justify this purchase until about 3pm when my stomach started growling and I would kill for something to eat to the point where I would wrestle someone to the ground for a Jolly Rancher. Sometimes I had a little bit more than $2.00 and I knew that I could buy something like a banana or apple at the deli on the corner to get me through lunch.
I would walk into class with my bagel in a paper bag and my hot chocolate in my hand. Now, there was a group of girls that always seemed to be dressed to be on a runway. I referred to them (and still do when talking to Katy), as the Moschino Girls. They didn't just have the Moschino belt or Moschino jeans, they had a closet full of Moschino and wore the outfits as they were shown in ads on the pages of Vogue magazine. Moschino is definitely one of the designers that I would think you would not want to wear head to toe, as it ends up coming out a little over-done. Especially at 8am on a Tuesday. But these girls never failed to show up wearing an outfit that costs a million dollars. I specifically remember one girl wearing an outfit one day that was all black. She had on a t-shirt; long, black coat; very tight, black pants that flared out at the bottom; boots with a very high heel; and a gigantic silver belt, with a buckle that was about a half foot wide and said MOSCHINO in capital letters. When she turned around, I saw that her outfit read MOSCHINO in white all down the back. Just when you thought she might be wearing another designer and was just dressed in all black. Nope. Moschino- all down the back of her jacket and jeans.
I remember the Moschino Girls huddling in a group and staring at me. In my t-shirt and Levi jeans. The looks they gave me were probably just them looking over the room, but to me, as insecure as I was back then, they looked like they thought I was the biggest idiot for not wearing designer clothes and eating a designer breakfast. They would share breakfasts that I could only dream of eating. One of them would bring beautiful chocolate croissants, another would have a beautiful platter of fruit and the other would bring individual bottles of juice with names I've never heard of before and extra fancy bottles of water. Surely all of this was purchased at a city deli, but to me, it seemed a little extravagant. Perhaps if I had more than two bucks to my name, I wouldn't have thought so. I definitely got used to making fun of the Moschino girls and couldn't wait to get to school to see what they were wearing. To this day, whenever I am eating a bagel with cream cheese, I imagine them looking over at me as if I was the scum of the Earth in my beat up clothes and cheap breakfast. I always thought it would have been fun to show up to class wearing Moschino like they did and then an hour into class, have a caterer show up to deliver a 7-course meal.
My daily budget while at school was about $2.00. Mom would send me care packages with things like ramen noodles, macaroni and cheese, cans of tuna and soup. I used what was in the care package for dinners and spent my $2.00 on lunch. Usually, I would just get two cheeseburgers at McDonald's and wait to eat them until I got home so I could have a glass of water with them. Occasionally though, I woke up hungry. On my way to school I would be tempted by all of the carts of food on the street. I could manage to resist until I reached my destination and I would ultimately splurge on a hot chocolate and a plain bagel with cream cheese. Total- $2.00. It was .75 for a hot chocolate and $1.25 for bagel and cream cheese. This, to me, was the best deal in all of New York. The bagel was fresh and plump. If you have never had an NYC bagel, they slice their cream cheese from a giant slab and just give you the slice. I remember the cream cheese slice being about an inch deep and more than covered the surface of the bagel. Sometimes you would get more cream cheese than bagel. The hot chocolate, well, it was watery, but had a lot of sugar in it and did the trick for someone that didn't drink coffee at the time. The thing is, if I spent the $2.00 on the bagel and hot chocolate, I would know that I could not eat lunch. It was a trade-off and somehow I would justify this purchase until about 3pm when my stomach started growling and I would kill for something to eat to the point where I would wrestle someone to the ground for a Jolly Rancher. Sometimes I had a little bit more than $2.00 and I knew that I could buy something like a banana or apple at the deli on the corner to get me through lunch.
I would walk into class with my bagel in a paper bag and my hot chocolate in my hand. Now, there was a group of girls that always seemed to be dressed to be on a runway. I referred to them (and still do when talking to Katy), as the Moschino Girls. They didn't just have the Moschino belt or Moschino jeans, they had a closet full of Moschino and wore the outfits as they were shown in ads on the pages of Vogue magazine. Moschino is definitely one of the designers that I would think you would not want to wear head to toe, as it ends up coming out a little over-done. Especially at 8am on a Tuesday. But these girls never failed to show up wearing an outfit that costs a million dollars. I specifically remember one girl wearing an outfit one day that was all black. She had on a t-shirt; long, black coat; very tight, black pants that flared out at the bottom; boots with a very high heel; and a gigantic silver belt, with a buckle that was about a half foot wide and said MOSCHINO in capital letters. When she turned around, I saw that her outfit read MOSCHINO in white all down the back. Just when you thought she might be wearing another designer and was just dressed in all black. Nope. Moschino- all down the back of her jacket and jeans.
I remember the Moschino Girls huddling in a group and staring at me. In my t-shirt and Levi jeans. The looks they gave me were probably just them looking over the room, but to me, as insecure as I was back then, they looked like they thought I was the biggest idiot for not wearing designer clothes and eating a designer breakfast. They would share breakfasts that I could only dream of eating. One of them would bring beautiful chocolate croissants, another would have a beautiful platter of fruit and the other would bring individual bottles of juice with names I've never heard of before and extra fancy bottles of water. Surely all of this was purchased at a city deli, but to me, it seemed a little extravagant. Perhaps if I had more than two bucks to my name, I wouldn't have thought so. I definitely got used to making fun of the Moschino girls and couldn't wait to get to school to see what they were wearing. To this day, whenever I am eating a bagel with cream cheese, I imagine them looking over at me as if I was the scum of the Earth in my beat up clothes and cheap breakfast. I always thought it would have been fun to show up to class wearing Moschino like they did and then an hour into class, have a caterer show up to deliver a 7-course meal.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Wedding Cake and Penny
A few years ago, my sister called me and said she was getting married. I was happy for her because I knew her fiance was the right guy for her. She first asked if I would be in her wedding. She knows from many conversations that I don't really go to weddings, much less participate in them. I don't know why I have a strange hangup on weddings. Some of my friends have suggested that maybe I'm a little bitter because it is against the law for me to marry in most places.... perhaps. I'm not sure. I just never really enjoyed most of the weddings I have been to- recently though, I've attended a few weddings where I have been extremely close to the bride and that makes all of the difference in the world. That happiness for someone else makes the ceremony and the reception all the more fun. After I agreed to be in the wedding, she asked if I would bake her wedding cake. Whoa. My heart started beating really fast and I kept asking if she was sure. She knew that over the year or so before, I had taken a few cake decorating classes. I had never made a wedding cake, though. I decided to take on the challenge.
Now, I never would have taken on such a big task if my sister did not reassure me that she absolutely was not bridezilla. She didn't care about the cake at all. This made it so much easier. I have watched so many TV shows where the bride debated about her cake for months and the bakers would say that the cake is the most important part of the wedding. Not in my sister Penny's case. I told her that it could be a disaster and the cake could end up being crumbled up on a plate with a few flowers. She said that was fine, that it was no big deal and she just thought it would be nice to have her brother bake the cake.
I probably went about the whole thing in the wrong way. Looking back, I could have done so much more to make the cake a success. Instead of outlining the project and experimenting with different techniques, I went right to my go-to recipe for frosting- a simple butter cream and then decided to use fondant which I had learned in my last cake class. To keep it simple, I figured I would use fresh flowers that matched the ones she was using in her wedding.
I purchased several round cake pans that would stack nicely and immediately got to work in my Vegas kitchen. For some reason, I had not worried much about how the cake would taste, but how it would look on display. I baked a few layers and began coating the cakes with butter cream. I rolled out big layers of fondant and started placing them over the cakes. Trying to smooth it out, I encountered all of the disasters that go along with fondant. The tearing, the holes, and air bubbles. After practicing a few layers, I think that I finally mastered fondant. I convinced myself that if there were any imperfections, I could cover them with flowers. I didn't practice much after that and showed up in Ohio to bake this cake.
I think I probably started a little too early and I think that I hadn't planned out the task the way I would now. The cake took me a couple of days and I added raspberry extract to the filling of butter cream because Penny told me that Nathan liked raspberry. I probably could have asked that before a few days before the wedding. I could have used actual raspberry filling instead of butter cream with raspberry flavoring. Instead, I carried on as if I knew what I was doing.
When we met with her caterer, they asked if I wanted them to peel the fondant covering from the cake, and I said sure. I worked for days on the cake and kept the layers protected from guests at the all-night bachelor party. My sister-in-law, Stacy was in charge of picking me and the cake up from the house. We did that with success and I saw concern on her face when she saw the cake. It didn't look good and I was nervous about the humidity. We got the cake to it's table and I began decorating with the fresh flowers. Suddenly the cake came to life and even Stacy admitted she didn't think it was going to look good but that it surprised her and looked great. I was so happy that it was able to be on display, knowing that the actual cake being served to guests was a giant sheet cake in the kitchen. All I had to do was make the cake look good and I had achieved that. I was relieved.
Now, years later, I wish I could know what I know now. I have since experimented with many different frostings and decorating techniques. I could have made the cake so much better and even made a cake that people would want to eat. Raspberry filling is so easy for me to make now, using fresh raspberries. Vanilla butter cream can be transformed into a Swiss meringue with vanilla beans and fondant can manipulated to create flowers. But that's okay. I think the cake served its purpose and it meant a lot to me that my beautiful sister would want the cake to be made by me. I'm glad I had the experience, but would probably not do something like that again, honestly. I now pay close attention to wedding cakes when I go to weddings. I notice the work that goes into them more now and I appreciate the little details on the cakes. Cake is a delicate medium to work with and it takes years to master the art form.
What my sister did for me by asking me to bake her wedding cake is simple. She got me to Ohio several days earlier than I normally would've shown up and we got to spend more time together. Penny is one of my best friends and I am so lucky to have her. We had such a great time together, as we always do and I won't ever forget being a part of her wedding.
Now, I never would have taken on such a big task if my sister did not reassure me that she absolutely was not bridezilla. She didn't care about the cake at all. This made it so much easier. I have watched so many TV shows where the bride debated about her cake for months and the bakers would say that the cake is the most important part of the wedding. Not in my sister Penny's case. I told her that it could be a disaster and the cake could end up being crumbled up on a plate with a few flowers. She said that was fine, that it was no big deal and she just thought it would be nice to have her brother bake the cake.
I probably went about the whole thing in the wrong way. Looking back, I could have done so much more to make the cake a success. Instead of outlining the project and experimenting with different techniques, I went right to my go-to recipe for frosting- a simple butter cream and then decided to use fondant which I had learned in my last cake class. To keep it simple, I figured I would use fresh flowers that matched the ones she was using in her wedding.
I purchased several round cake pans that would stack nicely and immediately got to work in my Vegas kitchen. For some reason, I had not worried much about how the cake would taste, but how it would look on display. I baked a few layers and began coating the cakes with butter cream. I rolled out big layers of fondant and started placing them over the cakes. Trying to smooth it out, I encountered all of the disasters that go along with fondant. The tearing, the holes, and air bubbles. After practicing a few layers, I think that I finally mastered fondant. I convinced myself that if there were any imperfections, I could cover them with flowers. I didn't practice much after that and showed up in Ohio to bake this cake.
I think I probably started a little too early and I think that I hadn't planned out the task the way I would now. The cake took me a couple of days and I added raspberry extract to the filling of butter cream because Penny told me that Nathan liked raspberry. I probably could have asked that before a few days before the wedding. I could have used actual raspberry filling instead of butter cream with raspberry flavoring. Instead, I carried on as if I knew what I was doing.
When we met with her caterer, they asked if I wanted them to peel the fondant covering from the cake, and I said sure. I worked for days on the cake and kept the layers protected from guests at the all-night bachelor party. My sister-in-law, Stacy was in charge of picking me and the cake up from the house. We did that with success and I saw concern on her face when she saw the cake. It didn't look good and I was nervous about the humidity. We got the cake to it's table and I began decorating with the fresh flowers. Suddenly the cake came to life and even Stacy admitted she didn't think it was going to look good but that it surprised her and looked great. I was so happy that it was able to be on display, knowing that the actual cake being served to guests was a giant sheet cake in the kitchen. All I had to do was make the cake look good and I had achieved that. I was relieved.
Now, years later, I wish I could know what I know now. I have since experimented with many different frostings and decorating techniques. I could have made the cake so much better and even made a cake that people would want to eat. Raspberry filling is so easy for me to make now, using fresh raspberries. Vanilla butter cream can be transformed into a Swiss meringue with vanilla beans and fondant can manipulated to create flowers. But that's okay. I think the cake served its purpose and it meant a lot to me that my beautiful sister would want the cake to be made by me. I'm glad I had the experience, but would probably not do something like that again, honestly. I now pay close attention to wedding cakes when I go to weddings. I notice the work that goes into them more now and I appreciate the little details on the cakes. Cake is a delicate medium to work with and it takes years to master the art form.
What my sister did for me by asking me to bake her wedding cake is simple. She got me to Ohio several days earlier than I normally would've shown up and we got to spend more time together. Penny is one of my best friends and I am so lucky to have her. We had such a great time together, as we always do and I won't ever forget being a part of her wedding.
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