Don't Cry Over Fallen Cupcakes

Don't Cry Over Fallen Cupcakes is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

Have you ever had a bad baking day? If you have, you'll know that they can be as devastating as a bad hair day from hell. Most people don't bake only for themselves. At least, I don't. I've always been very aware of the people I bake for, and I firmly believe that the touchy-feely idea that people can taste the emotions you had while making the food is true. So when I have a bad baking day, it's almost always when the product is going to someone--or many someones--I care about. On top of that, these people usually know I went to pastry school and was a pastry cook, and so should be capable of making a decent cake. All in all, bad baking days are a dogeared and food-splattered recipe for extreme embarrassment in the cookbook of my life.



This past Saturday, I was making the birthday cake for a very dear friend of mine's birthday party. I wanted it to be spectacular, because the birthday girl is pretty darn spectacular herself. I ended up deciding to do cupcakes, and I set out to do two different flavors as soon as I woke up Saturday morning, a chocolate cupcake recipe from The Modern Baker by Nick Malgieri and a white chocolate cake recipe from Pure Chocolate by Fran Bigelow of Fran's Chocolates. I'd had success with the devil's food cake recipe in Malgieri's book twice last fall, and one of my chefs at pastry school used to work for Fran Bigelow and helped with the production of the photos and drawings in the book (if I remember correctly, the hands in the drawings at the beginning of the book are hers), so I trusted both books to have good recipes.

Now, as I said, I've had way too many bad baking days before, and I really wanted to get it right this time. Most of my misadventures in the kitchen have been centered around birthday cakes. I actually swore off making them for a long time, thinking that it was my old, malfunctioning oven's fault that the cakes never turned out right. Also, I knew that the other main cause for substandard baking is my tendency to cut corners and get lazy when I'm cooking in my own kitchen. This was never a problem in school or at the restaurant or the B&B, so now I make very sure now to do things deliberately and professionally when I bake.

I was off to such a good start. Other than some worry over the way the batter for the chocolate cupcakes turned out, I felt very organized and in control of the situation. The white chocolate cake batter turned out to be gorgeous, this billowing silky mass that I'm guessing is what Cloud 9 must be made out of. But the dark chocolate cupcakes...well, I can't tell you for sure whose fault the disaster was on that one. Was it the recipe? Was it my paranoia of over baking them? Was it the unsweetened chocolate I used, that was maybe a little past its prime? Without making the recipe again, I can't say for sure.

The batter was weird, very watery, but I assumed that was because the author's stated intent was to make very moist cupcakes (they were, indeed, very moist, almost fudgy, which I can't fault at all). It was very hard to get into the cupcake wrappers cleanly, even pouring it from a measuring cup with a pour spout, because it was so thin it just ran down the outside of the cup as soon as I tipped it downward. The chocolate also was an issue, as it didn't melt but stayed in little tiny flecks. I wanted to blame the recipe on that one, too, because he instructed to melt it by pouring boiling water over it (and thus, in my mind, creating an environment perfect for the chocolate to seize if it didn't emulsify right away), but then the same thing happened later with a different recipe and the same chocolate. I feel like I underbaked them, but they were in the oven for ten minutes longer than the recipe said, so...I'm still perplexed.

They looked and smelled beautiful in the oven, but fell when they came out, quickly and drastically. I wish I had a picture of those chocolate sinkholes. I was disappointed, mostly in myself because I knew that's where the blame should probably land, given my past track record. But then the white chocolate cupcakes went in, and they looked and smelled so beautiful that I wasn't too worried. After all, cupcakes are easy to hide under mounds of frosting.

Back to the white chocolate variety. I had high hopes these would outshine my failure with the dark chocolate ones. I knew that using a cake batter for cupcakes was risky, but I thought the problem would be overbaking them, not underbaking them. So, once again, I pulled them out way too soon. These, unlike the chocolate ones, ended up being beyond repair, because I waited too long to decide to put them back in the oven and never managed to get them to bake all the way through.

Cue mental breakdown. Tears were shed. Oaths to never bake again were uttered. It wasn't pretty. Bad baking days never are.

Fortunately, Baker Bee rode up on his white horse (i.e. rolled out of bed) brandishing a shiny whisk and saved me, despite my ranting and raving and general foul mood. While I took a soothing shower, he made another batch of cupcakes, this time using a recipe from our trusty copy of Joy of Cooking, which is where I should have gone for my cupcake recipe. Other than the chocolate not melting properly, his were cupcakes--high rising domes of very cake-ish cake.

I was feeling a bit down in the dumps about my lousy cupcakes. The white chocolate ones, despite tasting fabulous, weren't something I could serve to anyone (except Baker Bee, who thinks they taste like the perfect pound cake of all things). My chocolate ones were visibly inferior to Mr. Bee's, which is fine in other areas of cooking but I like to think that I got some sort of useful skills out of pastry school that I can contribute to our kitchen.

Time was running out. I turned to the quickest thing to frost them with that would look impressive: torched meringue. It just looks cool, and it's one of those things like ganache that really isn't hard to make at all, but if you don't know how to make it and brown it you wouldn't know where to start. We had meringue on my wedding cake and everyone loved it. So I started piping it on Baker Bee's cupcakes. I played around with it a bit, remembering the way that piping meringue on top of meringue produced an interesting visual contrast. It looked fun and festive, but what would I do to make the fallen cupcakes not look like ugly stepsisters beside them?

Then it came to me. Earlier in the week, I'd had this strong urge to make Obama cupcakes--faux Hostess chocolate cupcakes, but with the white squiggle writing "Obama" in cursive. Not an original idea, but I really wanted to do it...and then didn't. But on Saturday I had 18 cupcakes with gaping holes staring up at me, and a Kitchen Aid bowl full of Swiss meringue, and...well, you do the math. The fun twist I came up with was to fill the hole with meringue and mound some on the top of the cupcake as well, then torch it before dipping the top in the ganache. That made the meringue a lot more stable, and possibly imparted a hint of toasted marshmallow to the flavor (more research is needed to confirm this). Plus, it made the cupcakes look like they had risen and stayed that way, which wasn't a bad thing at all.

On some of them, I tried to pipe the white squiggle, but the meringue wasn't behaving properly when piped that thinly (hence the bad handwriting on the cupcakes...normally, I'm pretty good at that--oh boy, there goes the old ego again), so I just left a lot of them dressed in only their glossy ganache. Baker Bee thinks I should figure out how to make them fall again in the future so I could make filled cupcakes again, and although I pointed out that there are techniques for getting the filling inside the cupcake, I think it might not be a bad idea.

At the party, I stacked them tiered-cake style with the help of a few cake stands. All together, they looked great. Not perfect, but that's coming from the mouth of a self-critical perfectionist. I was happy with them at the end, and they provided a great sugar high for the rousing round of Cranium and custom vampire-themed Mad Libs. (If you look closely, you'll see that one of the cupcakes was meant to be a vampire.)



The funny thing is that even though both batches were chocolate cupcakes, and I used the same meringue on both of them, with the only difference being the ganache, they were both very, very different cupcakes, both good in their own way. A lot of people seemed to think my fallen ones with the ganache were better, and they certainly were more intense on the chocolate, but the day after I went to have one bite of Baker Bee's cupcakes with a huge crown of spiky meringue on it and ended up eating the whole thing.

Here's the Swiss meringue recipe I use out of my notes from pastry school, in case you're in need of a good one. The beauty of Swiss meringue as opposed to Italian and French is its stretch, gooey, marshmallowy consistency. Technically, Italian meringue is more stable, but Swiss meringue holds up very well on cakes in my experience, and I love the texture of it. The meringue on the gelato coppetta I wrote about in my last post was undoubtedly Swiss, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Swiss Meringue
(printable version)

Egg whites 8 oz (250 g)
Fine granulated sugar 1 lb (500 g)

Procedure

Place the egg whites and sugar in a stainless steel bowl or in the top of a double boiler. Beat with a whisk (more near the end than at first) over hot water until the mixture is hot about 120°F.* Transfer to the bowl of a mixer and whip at high speed until stiff peaks form. Turn down speed to cool.

* I learned to test the temperature this way from my chef at pastry school: dip your finger in, and if you have to pull your finger out immediately because your cuticles feel like they're on fire, it's ready. The warmer the egg and sugar mixture gets, the more stable the meringue will be.

Rainbow Cookies

Rainbow Cookies is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

To finish off writing about the Christmas treats I made, here's my last big project of the season (that I managed to get to: Rainbow Cookies from Sherry Yard's fantastic book The Secrets of Baking.



These were hugely popular with everyone who received them. How could they not be, looking that adorably festive on a cookie tray? Everyone wanted to know what they were, and thanks to Yard's engaging storytelling in her second book, I had details to give them on their Italian origins.

They're very pretty, of course, but they taste much more sophisticated than you might expect. It helped that I used a couple of aging bars of very dark Michel Cluizel (my absolute favorite chocolatier in the world) chocolate in the glaze, but the cake's sweetness and almond flavor are very light and subtle. It was only when I tasted one that I realized there was no almond flavoring in the recipe, only almond paste and almond flour, and I think from the photo in the book I was expecting something with the concentrated flavor of the extract.

The only other modification I did to the recipe was to add apricot brandy to the simple syrup I soaked the cake layers with. In my opinion, that was an Incredibly Good Call, and I would even add a little more next time. The whole effect of the "cookie" was good, but the almond cake needed something extra to stand up well against the chocolate glaze. That could've been the due to the chocolate I used, but I wouldn't want to use anything less potent in the future.

I'll definitely make these again--I'll probably have to, considering how much everyone liked them. Next year, though, I'll cut them in smaller pieces. Mine were pretty small, but I found these were best one bite at a time, and more than once I noticed people wanting to split one.

Macaroons to Make You Believe in Coconut

Rainbow Cookies is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

At the beginning of Life of Pi, the narrator promises that it is a story to make you believe in God. When I got to the end of the book, for a moment I thought that the book had failed in its purpose. However, after a moment of trying to puzzle out what the author meant, I realized it was one of the most brilliant arguments in favor of believing in God, and one that particularly appealed to the writer in me.

So let me begin this way: These are macaroons to make you believe in coconut.

* * * * *

I hated coconut all my life. I don't mean I disliked it; I truly thought there wasn't a single thing worth eating that came from those hard, hairy, brown things. To be honest, I was a picky eater when I was young, but coconut was on its own level. I hated the way it squeaked between my teeth. I recognized it from the first bite of any unfamiliar food. Chewy yet not, sticky but not soft, the appeal was entirely lost on me.

It wasn't just the texture that bothered me. One of my most vivid memories from my trip to Turkey involves coconut, this time in liqueur form. My mother and I devoted a week of our trip to a blue cruise, bay-hopping around south-western Turkey on board an eight-passenger gulet, a wooden sailboat, though if the sail was ever employed during our trip, it was only once.

Our captain could steer the boat one-handed, the other hand occupied by a can of Efes Pilsner. All of my American no-drinking-and-driving mental programming made this amusing to watch, but not concerning. He obviously had the hang of it, and really there wasn't much to run into other than small islands. I figured one of us would see the island coming and grab the wheel. He already let us do that whenever we wanted.

He didn't speak as much English as the other crew members, but he was a likable, relaxed guy all around, friendly and happy. One of the things he seemed most excited about was Wednesday night.

"On Wednesday, we party!" he would repeat to us at odd times, without any explanation.

Considering we were floating on a beautiful blue expanse, rarely sharing a bay for the morning, afternoon or night with more than one other gulet, we thought it was a joke. Who were we going to party with? We were already lounging and tanning (well, not me), swimming, eating and drinking amongst ourselves. I wasn't sure what would change that short of a hot tub dropping from the sky onto our tiny deck.

Wednesday came, and we piled in a taxi van to cross the peninsula to Marmaris. Surprisingly, we made it there alive and spent the afternoon shopping in the bazaar. I found a bracelet at a silver shop there, one so unique that I'm never able to describe it to anyone in detail, which I would subsequently lose in the back of another taxi when we returned to Istanbul.

We returned to our boat, once again surprised to be alive, but tired from the day's trip. The captain greeted us and urged us to join him for the party at the discotheque on the shore.

As a group, we looked at the scrubby, dry, isolated coastline.

Still, the invitation to party was repeated, and it was very tempting to see just how a discotheque was managing to hide in the middle of nowhere. It turned out that "discotheque" was a slight overstatement, at least in my mind. A wooden fence around an outdoor bar didn't quite match the image in my mind. We sat down on cushions around the low table in one corner, chatting with the owner (who seemed to be good buddies with our captain and the captains of the other gulets anchored in the bay) while his sons minded the bar. My mother, who was doing her best to be a bad influence on me during my college years to combat my stick-in-the-mud tendencies, tried to get me to smoke from the hookah. Tried, but didn't succeed. At one point, I looked through a crack in the fence behind me and saw a gigantic shadow of a scorpion. My gaze zeroed in on the very small scorpion throwing it, but it certainly made me question the wisdom of sitting nearly on the ground there.

The coconut in this story--I hadn't forgotten!--arrived then, in small, skinny glasses filled with a dubious pink liquid. I tried to refuse, and learned they were on the house. I took a tiny sip, and my nose wrinkled immediately. Coconut. Jolly Rancher and Coconut in burning alcoholic form. I set the glass down and forgot about it...until another came.

Now, I was pretty used to guys flirting with me in Turkey by then, including the one I usually describe as a Turkish Antonio Bandaras but better looking. I hadn't had any of the bad experiences with it that you hear about from women traveling in foreign countries, just entertaining ones, so I had no problem with it. A glance over at the bar made it pretty obvious why I was getting free drinks. If they'd sent over an endless supply of Diet Coke (I can't believe I drank that), that might have been different, but coconut? I wasn't impressed.

But it turned out that they were making up new drinks just for me, and my mother reminded me that it was rude to refuse hospitality like that, as long as it was harmless. So, I drank both drinks. Or, at least I'm pretty sure I got through them all, since I vaguely remember singing for other drunk people in the "discotheque" under the stars.

The moral of the story is that foreign travel may broaden your palate considerably, but some foods just never have a chance. Coconut did not receive the same invitation into my eating life that many of the other foods I encountered did. Over the next few years, though, a few coconutty things slipped into my diet, like fresh coconut cracked open on the beach on my honeymoon in Costa Rica (it was okay) or coconut milk in Thai curries. Nevertheless, I was fairly certain I'd never like anything that proudly proclaimed a coconut-heavy favor.

* * * * *

With that in mind, cue my disappointment with being assigned to make the coconut macaroons at my first cooking job. I was assisting the American-style baker in the restaurant's bakeshop, and despite the fact that everything I'd tasted of hers then (and now I can say everything since then, too) was the best I'd ever had of those items before, there was no way that I was going to like the macaroons.

Who likes to make food they don't like at all? Not me. Not unless it makes someone close to me very, very happy, and even then I'll get grumpy and complain about it. That aside, I was going to be working with coconut every week, smelling it, touching it. I wasn't pleased.

Still, it was my job, and I did what I had to do while she instructed me how to make the macaroons. I pulsed the coconut in a food processor. I mixed the gooey ingredients in a large bowl. I got my hands all sticky and slimy scooping small mounds of it onto the sheet pan. (My technique had yet to develop then.) They went into the convection oven, and I watched them carefully, turning them so they acquired a golden brown that surprised me, since all the macaroons I'd seen were giant, white balls with shreds of coconut sticking out of them every which way. But they still weren't going to taste good. No way, no how.

Oh my goodness I was wrong.

The differences I'd noticed before all served glorious purposes. Grinding the shredding coconut did away with the stringiness I hated about it. The small size made for the perfect marriage of warm, squishy insides and golden crunchy/chewy outsides. After one taste, it became a ritual for me to eat one hot macaroon every week as soon as possible to when they came out of the oven. They're delicious cold, and actually take on a nice chewiness if stored in an airtight container for a few days, but when they're fresh and warm, they're heaven.

But it wasn't just the macaroons that I came to love. Soon there after, the assistant pastry chef gave me a taste of his coconut sorbet as it came out of the mixer, and I've adored coconut sorbet ever since--as long as it doesn't have shreds of coconut in it. I've even been known to order drinks with coconut rum in them.

Consider this my public apology to my Turkish bartenders for not liking their drinks.

* * * * *

Since we're talking about apologies and forgiveness, I'll confess that I told a bit of a lie at the beginning:

These aren't the macaroons that made me believe in coconut.

I know, I'm sorry, but the recipe isn't mine. I can't bring myself to share the recipe without permission. Something in me doesn't quite want to share it, either, which is strange because generally I'm all for sharing my recipes and knowledge. But these are special. Magical.

However, I'm not going to tease you and then leave you empty-handed. I've been working on a number of variations, tweaked and changed enough that I won't feel like they're not mine to share. Raspberry-Pomegranate, which tastes like a jam sandwich cookie, but with the texture of a coconut macaroon. Cocoa Nib-Creme de Cacao, a grown-up chocolate chip cookie. But the most successful so far was a fusion of two of the variations I've tried: the macadamia nut center and the lime-rum macaroon.

My second run of these today yielded great results. The zest of two limes seemed like it would be too much, but the lime flavor was perfect--blending enough with the coconut to be subtle, but definitely there. I wanted to post the recipe itself tonight, but I have a few things to work out first. I still want to amp up the rum flavor, and the macaroons are spreading too much, most likely due to the fact that I'm still getting used to my oven, but I need to rule out flaws in the recipe before I post it.

In the meantime, I'll demo the technique, which you could probably apply to other macaroon recipes out there.

	First, pulse the coconut in a food processor. You may have to do it in more than one batch, depending on the size of your recipe and the size of your food processor. Add the coconut to a large bowl with the flour and the sugar and mix thoroughly.
	Drizzle melted butter over the coconut mixture, then use your hands to work it evenly in, rubbing any clumps with drier parts of the mixture until you don't see any more clumps. (I apologize for the fact that this photo resembles "yellow snow". This is definitely okay to eat.)
	Whisk egg whites, cream, corn syrup, rum, and lime zest together.
	Pour the wet mixture in with the dry mixture and stir with a spatula--or better yet a bowl scraper--until combined.
	Form the the macaroons with a small scoop and place them in even rows on a Silpat or parchment paper.
	A note on the macadamia nuts: they should be salt-free and toasted. Two or three minutes in the oven at 350 degrees is plenty. Also, if you toast the macadamias immediately before making the cookies, watch them in the oven carefully, because the nuts will heat the macaroons from the inside and speed up the cooking process.
	To put the macadamia nuts in the center of the macaroons, press one into the cookie while it is still in the scoop, and then fill the empty space behind it with the coconut that gets squeezed out the sides. Make sure the bottom of each macaroon is flat and clean.
	Bake the macaroons at 350 degrees for 18 minutes, turning the pan around after the first ten to color them evenly. They should look golden brown and crispy, but not turn dark brown. Cool on racks, and make sure to eat one while they're still warm.

I paired the lime macaroons with a grapefruit sorbet I'd randomly decided to make up a mix for last night to use up some aging grapefruits. They worked quite well together even though they weren't made for each other. The cold and the natural flavor of the grapefruit cut the sweetness in the sorbet, and so it was a counterpoint to the sweeter cookies, rather than competing for the same sort of attention.



Stay tuned...I hope to have this recipe perfected in the near future! They'll only be Macaroons Based off of Macaroons to Make You Believe in Coconut, but I hope that they'll taste good all the same.

Christmas Cookies

Christmas Cookies is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

I'm halfway through documenting my chocolate-covered cherry obsession this Christmas, but I'm going to pause to post some photos of the other thing I was determined to make this year: decorated sugar cookies. Not underachiever sugar cookies, like I've let myself down with before, but ones that I took the time to make look pretty enough that I have to keep sneaking peeks at them, like a narcissist employed at a mirror factory.



Early in the month, I had some friends over to make Christmas cookies with me, and I tested out the sugar cookie recipe in Sherry Yard's The Secrets of Baking. I loved the recipe--I've loved every recipe I've tried out of her books--other than having to learn the hard way that the dough really does need to be quite frozen through the whole process of cutting out the shapes. They kept their shape beautifully, held together after they cooled, and tasted wonderful, buttery with the perfect sugar cookie texture.



Inspired by my favorite store-bought sugar cookies--made by Little Rae's Bakery here in Seattle--I mixed up icing made from powdered sugar and lime juice (yum, though I had to make some with lemon juice for Mr. Bee because wives sometimes cave in like that) and pressed them into a bowl of sanding sugar. They captured the crunch of the sugar on Little Rae's cookies, which is what I love so much about them. The only thing I really needed to change was to make the cookies thicker, so I decided to use that recipe for my cookies later in the month.



When my mom and my sister-in-law came over to bake cookies, I made a triple batch of the cookie dough and rolled it out extra thick, only making about three half sheet pan-sized sheets with all of that dough. It worked just as well thick as it had thin, and I froze all of my trees and reindeer, angels and ornaments to be frosted later on in the season.



Along came the great snow day that went on...and on...and on, until the day had become a week and we still hadn't left the house. With Baker Bee home, it was both hard to get things done and very easy to while away the hours baking and taking pictures of the results. Still, by the morning of Christmas Eve, I hadn't frosted the cookies. I had, fortunately, taken them out of the freezer a day or two before, but that's as far as I'd gotten. I'd had grand visions of whipping up royal icing and piping the heck out of those cookies. You know, proving that I still knew my way around a star tip and so on. But time? Not on my side, at all.



I'd signed up for Food Buzz a couple days before, and there I ran into a tutorial on cookie decorating with glacé icing posted at Our Best Bites. Her cookies looked absolutely beautiful, jewel-like with their colors and sheen, and having the icing actually taste good sounded like a strong point in the favor of glacé over royal, since her recipe was very similar to what I'd done before, only heavier on the dairy than the flavoring, rather than the other way around, and containing corn syrup, which I'd forgotten was a good thing to include.

Still, I felt a little...well, like I was approaching the half-assedness I had set out to avoid in the first place. I was supposed to be spending hours and hours aggravating my poor sore wrist and shoulder with the piping. And the last time I'd tried to decorate cookies with this kind of icing in multiple colors...it hadn't gone well. I remember thinking that those were some ugly Thanksgiving Day turkeys to be putting out on a restaurant buffet.



But there was the time thing, and the snow-exhaustion/cabin fever to account for, and I mixed my powdered sugar and corn syrup and milk together, adding a splash each of lemon and orange extracts. I ended up adding some real lemon juice later, to give the icing more of the bite I enjoyed in the previous cookies I iced, and next time I think I'd try replacing some of the milk with lemon juice, but the cookies really did taste fantastic.



As for the looks? Well, I was worse than a narcissist in that proverbial mirror factory. I love the way this icing looks--how the colors swirl and meld together, how bright the colors stay, how it just shines. And even a week later the icing still isn't hard as a rock like royal icing. (I know this from just having consumed the final cookie left of the batch before starting this post. For inspiration, of course.) I think I like them better than the fanciest cookies I've ever piped. They're much more elegant.



My only complaint is that the shine does dull a bit after the first twenty-four hours, and the edges of the colors seemed to blur just a little, tiny bit over the past week. Of course, that just means they have to be made soon before they're served or given as gifts. And if I make them too early and they start to dull, then I'll just have to eat them myself and start from scratch.

Chocolate-Covered Cherries, Part 1

Chocolate Covered Cherries, Part 1 is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

Printable Recipe

Heading into my senior year in college, my mom and I realized that I was going to most likely be moving not just across town but out of town after graduation and my wedding the next summer, ending the days of having just a short trip on the freeway between us. I'd been getting more and more interested in cooking since the trip we took together to Turkey two years before that, and we both wanted to learn to decorate cakes, so we ended up enrolling in the beginning Wilton classes. And so I started down the path toward pastry school, elbow-deep in Crisco-based frosting in the back room of the local gigantic craft store.

I'm not entirely sure what prompted it, but that Christmas I became obsessed with making fancy little candies for everyone's presents. Most of them are not so fancy in retrospect, utilizing grocery store coating chocolate and far too much sugar, but then and now the crown jewel of it all was the chocolate-covered cherry. I actually used real chocolate to coat those. I didn't know anything about tempering chocolate then, so they were soon covered in blooming cocoa butter (not that I even knew that was the problem), but they still tasted delicious. Ever year since, I've intended to make them again--and make them right this time, with tempered chocolate and invertase (the enzyme used in commercial cherries to make the centers liquefy)--but even when I've acquired the required cherries, they haven't gotten made.

This year, things were going to be different. This year I lined up a cherry-candying buddy, sort of like a workout buddy but more fattening. Geeky Gnu and I made plans to get together and make them as soon as the invertase showed up. We had to wait a bit longer than we liked on account of the fact that Chef Rubber was waiting for the invertase to be made, but it finally showed up on Tuesday. I was feeling lazy earlier in the week, but fortunately I was talked into making the cherries on Wednesday night rather than Thursday night, which was good because the difference between the two was seven inches of snow.

Part of doing things right this time was finding a recipe that called specifically for the invertase, rather than just adding a few drops of the stuff to the one from Woman's Day I'd gotten off of the internet all those years ago. I found some hopeful-looking info by searching eGullet, but as of Wednesday afternoon I still didn't have a recipe in hand. I was wandering through Barnes and Noble, picking up a couple of presents I'd waited too long to order off of Amazon, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but the book I've been looking for all my life, standing there on B&N's prominent cookbook display: Chocolates and Confections: Formula, Theory, and Technique for the Artisan Confectioner.

It had a recipe for fondant--the confectioner's sort, not the kind you peel off of wedding cakes before eating them. It had a full explanation of invertase and how to use it. It had all sorts of technical information about chocolate and sugar I didn't have memorized yet.

It came home with me. I couldn't resist.

After a quick perusal of the pertinent pages, I drained the cherries, reserving the juice, and set about lining them up to dry on cooling racks padded with a double layer of paper towel to absorb the juice. A lot of recipes recommend doing this the night before, but we had to be somewhat flexible dependent on the weather.

A couple quick facts for calculating recipe size:
- Average number of cherries per 36 oz. jar (Star brand, from a two-pack bought at Costco): 73.25
- Average number of wasted cherries per a jar due to missing stems: 6

Once Geeky showed up, we started in on a half batch of the fondant recipe in my beautiful shiny new book. The general idea is to take five parts sugar, one part glucose syrup, and one part water and bring them to a boil while stirring constantly. Since I was approaching this whole fondant thing with a teensy-weensy bit too much confidence, I figured I'd go right ahead and substitute the cherry juice for the water in the recipe without bothering to do any boring math to keep the ratio of sugar and water in line. Whether or not this contributed to some of our later troubles, I can't say. I can say with certainty that it turned the fondant a fairy-tale shade of pink that made the dipped cherries look like a smooth, shimmery bonbon out of a computer-generated cartoon. There's a certain magic to dipping these cherries that makes you not care about the evils of artificial redness.

Once the syrup is boiling, we quit stirring (okay, maybe there was a little forgetfulness in play here and it took awhile before we figured out we were supposed to stop) and cooked the syrup to 243° F (it may have gotten a little higher than that before we got it out of the pot).

Next, we poured it out onto my woefully small marble slab. The directions say to sprinkle cold water on the marble first and then also on top of the sugar; we managed to sprinkle it on top of the sugar, which started spilling toward the edge of the too-small marble due to the fact that I set it down on the one part of our counter that our discount granite guys didn't install anywhere near level.

The action didn't stop once we had that under control. We let the sugar cool to 120° F, more or less, and then began the process of agitating it into crystallizing by scraping it back and forth on the marble, much like one would do with chocolate only much, much more of a pain since chocolate flows and sugar sticks and holds on like the marble is the last life preserver on the Titanic. This required a lot more strength than I was anticipating, so I mostly tried to hold the marble in place and scrape the sugar off the main scraper with a metal bench scraper.

The book says this step should take twenty (very long) minutes for the fondant to fully crystallize, "turning into a short-textured mass." Twenty minutes came and went without the fondant changing from its consistency of a very gooey, sticky cousin of pulled sugar, even as it became tougher and tougher to scrape.

Finally, we resorted to scraping it entirely off the marble and pulling it like it actually was pulled sugar. This helped...to a point. We never got that short-textured mass, but after awhile it did take on more of a...well, I wouldn't say it got any less shiny, but the inside of the mass looked more and more matte somehow, and thus seemed to be fairly well crystallized.

The next step in the directions is to allow the fondant to rest overnight, but we didn't have overnight, so we went straight to dipping the cherries.

To coat the cherries, we heated the fondant over a water bath to 160° F, thinned it a little with some more of the cherry juice (the recipe suggests brandy), and added 1/4 tsp of invertase just before dipping.

Once all of that was accomplished, the dipping went very easily. Keeping the bowl over the water bath (with the gas turned down to the lowest setting) kept the fondant thin enough to coat the cherries without too much trouble. As each one was coated, we let them drip over the bowl, removed the extra fondant hanging from the bottom with the edge of a wooden spoon, and set them to cool on a sheet pan covered with a Silpat.

I don't think anyone who was there could get over how pretty they looked. I really wanted to leave them like that...only the invertase would have left all of that shiny pink sugar in a puddle around the cherry after a day or two. We did give into temptation and try a couple of misshapen and stemless cherries that way, though, and as pretty as the pink ones are, they're much better with the chocolate. So that makes up for having to cover up the sugar coating.

One thing we didn't learn until later was that it's better not to let the fondant coat the stem as well as the cherry. Coating the stem gives the invertase-laced fondant an express lane to the open air, along which it can ooze out and drip all over the chocolate.

Because we only made a half batch of the fondant--enough for about a quarter of the cherries I had drained and dried for us--I made some of the home-style "fondant" I had used the first time I made the cherries and had a couple of helpers cover them with me while Geeky dipped the other cherries in the real fondant. The recipe itself is very straightforward and my only addition to it was 1/2 tsp of invertase, so I won't get into detail on that, but I have a tip or two about how to get it onto the cherries in a smooth and even fashion.

The main trick is to dust your hands/latex gloves with enough powdered sugar that the "fondant" remains dry as you roll. Also, using a smaller piece than you think you need to cover the cherry and squishing it to fit helps avoid making big, clunky-looking cherries. Once you have the cherry covered, put it between your hands with the stem sticking out between the middle and index fingers of your dominant hand. Roll the cherry very quickly and very lightly, around and around. This should make the top and bottom of the cherry smooth, but make the middle stick out, so turn the cherry so the stem pokes out toward you (between your thumbs) and roll it again, still quickly and lightly. Finally, roll it around sort of every which way in your palms to smooth it all over, once again quickly and lightly.

I emphasize the quickly and lightly part because the less pressure you put on the cherry, the rounder and nicer it will look. All of that should take 30 seconds at the most--the quicker you do it, the lighter your touch is likely to be. Hopefully.



The next step is, of course, actually dipping the cherries in chocolate, which will be the subject of the next (hopefully shorter) post. But see what I mean about cartoon bonbons? I love that pink fondant.

Chocolate-Covered Cherries, Part 2

Printable Recipe

Cranberry Meringue Tart

Cranberry Meringue Tart is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

Ever since I first saw the picture of the cute little Mini Cranberry Meringue Pies in Martha Stewart Living a couple years ago, I've wanted to make them. Their photo showed one sliced down the middle, exposing the jewel-like filling and the lightness of the meringue to full effect. I never got around to it, but this year I decided to try all new recipes for Thanksgiving, and this went to the top of my list.

I made a few mistakes along the way. Mistakes like forgetting the egg in the citrus pate sucree (I put it to the left of the food processor and the rest of my mise en place to the right) and experimenting with a store-bought carton of egg whites for the meringue when I didn't have time to make a second batch. However, even without that egg, the pate sucree was possibly the best tart crust I've ever made, and several people complimented it. It uses both lemon and orange zest, a flavor combination that I used in my wedding cake years ago that really seemed to punch up the flavor.

But there was no blessing in disguise in regards to the meringue, unless I count the reminder that things never go well when I try to cut corners. At least this time it was in the spirit of experimentation and not just out of laziness, as usual. I used the Trader Joe's 100% egg whites, and I knew that they weren't going to be ideal when I saw how cloudy they were, but I went ahead and made the meringue. The foam ended up looking, well, very insipid and watery, not the airy dollop of heaven that I wanted to recreate from the magazine. By the time I was done, there was no time left, so the mediocre meringue went on the tart and I did my best to torch it, even though it didn't want to brown properly.

Despite all of that, I don't think I've ever had a dessert disappear so quickly at a big family event or gotten quite so many compliments and questions. I kept being surprised that people liked it, because I wasn't entirely pleased with the mouth feel of the cranberry filling, as pretty as it was. It had that gross texture that comes from too much cornstarch, so next time I make this I'll either decrease the cornstarch or experiment with some of the alternate thickners my husband has been playing with in his attempts at molecular gastronomy, now that we have a kitchen that we can actually cook in again. The xanthan gum marshmallows he made last week were a huge success, so I'm reading up on hydrocolloides now, too.

As I said above, I picked out a number of new holiday recipes to try this year. When I ate meat, Thanksgiving was one of my favorite holidays, and I've been trying to recreate that experience in a vegetarian way for eight years now, with varying amounts of success. This year, though, inspired by the new kitchen, I decided to try to find some new flavors to turn into new traditions, rather than continue to try to recreate the omnivore's version of the holiday. Pretty much all of them (other than a new twist on the savory seitan and mushroom dish I've come up with to stand in for turkey) came from Martha Stewart--I rarely turn to her during the rest of the year, but the recipes in the holiday issues of the magazine are always really appealing to me, so much so that I keep them in their own binder on my cookbook shelf.

Cauliflower Gratin with Endive was delicious--cheesy without being greasy at all, and the Israeli couscous scattered in the bottom of the pan absorbed the sauce but held its shape in a texturally interesting way.

Stuffing was always my favorite part of Thanksgiving, so it took a lot strength to turn my back on the plain old crouton, celery and sage type stuff we always had. The Cornbread, Wild Mushroom and Pecan Stuffing I settled on was so good I just wanted to hold it on my tongue and not swallow it, or even chew it.

We used maitake, hedgehog and oyster mushrooms--I'd never cooked with hedgehog mushrooms, and they were extremely tasty!--so it wasn't inexpensive. Otherwise, I would've made another pan straight away and wolfed it down at home. I have plans to try it with less expensive mushrooms soon. The pecans were a revelation. I've often put walnuts into savory cooking, but I think this was my first time using pecans that way, and they complemented the mushrooms very well.

It seems like we made another new dish, but I can't think of what it was, other than the seitan stuff, where the newness of it lay mostly in my husband's interpretation of how to cook it based on my instructions I yelled from the shower. That and he tried a trick for quickly browning onions by adding baking soda to them that he read about somewhere online. It worked. But it also made the onions completely dissolve...which had the effect of coating the seitan in the onion pulp and frying it onto it. Not what we were going for, but I think I'll do it again next time we make it.

Black Bottom Cupcakes

Black Bottom Cupcakes is now hosted at Pie of the Tiger

I've wanted to have a food blog for a very long time--and I suppose I sort of did for awhile when I was in pastry school--but up until recently the state of my kitchen prevented it. The "vintage" side-by-side range/oven perched atop the cramped, sad formica counters were not exactly practically or aesthetically conducive to it. I wasn't able to enjoy cooking very much, and I couldn't take pretty food pictures, either. But we've gotten far enough through a remodel that I think I can start having fun.

Tonight I made Black Bottom Cupcakes for--as the Toasty Chef calls him--Mr. T's birthday tomorrow. I can blog about them tonight because Mr. T doesn't know about this blog yet. Sneaky, right? We're headed down the coast for a writer's retreat all week, and while we'll have a kitchen where we're going, I wasn't sure what equipment I'd find once I was there, so I figured I'd better come with cake in hand.

I looked through a couple cookbooks in search of a tasty-yet-portable cake that seemed special enough for Mr. T's birthday. Nothing seemed appealing to me that looked stable enough for a five hour car ride and didn't need ingredients I don't have on hand. I was paging through The Joy of Cooking when I came across a recipe for Black Bottom Cupcakes. I used to make Black Bottom Cupcakes back when I was a pastry cook. Scratch that--I used to de-pan the cupcakes after the baker I assisted made them. Which meant I'd never made them before. After checking that I did have cream cheese in my fridge and considering the superior portability of cupcakes, I decided that tonight I'd fix that--even though I've never thought the name "Black Bottom Cupcakes" sounded particularly appetizing, or consistent with the end product, for that matter. The chocolate part isn't just in the bottom, and I think anything with cream cheese in it should advertise that fact proudly.

All in all, I think they turned out very nicely, and they're a fairly simple cupcake to whip up despite the fact that you have to make two batters. I think the baker I used to work with must have swirled the cream cheese part around in the chocolate cake batter, because the boundaries between the two are much more clear than I remember hers being. I like the look of mine better, but swirling would probably improve the texture of the cupcake overall by breaking up the rich center a bit.

Where I went wrong: 1) Despite the fact that I know better (out of sheer fear of ruining a huge batch of cream cheese frosting at work when the job fell to me), I got impatient and beat the cream cheese with the sugar before it had warmed up to room temperature. Not a huge problem because I was baking it, but my worst habit in the kitchen is impatience. 2) I baked them for just a little too long, so the edges are a little crisper than I'd like.

Still, the cupcakes are super moist. I'll definitely make them again.

The Joy of Cooking scores another point. I always feel so domestic turning to it rather than my fancy-shmancy gourmet photo-filled cookbooks.