Life lessons...from the Kitchen

I have been toying with the idea of a homemade pie for weeks now. I have made pies in the past but back then the crust always ended up being a store bought substitute because yours truly is not a planner and the "pie" idea  is always thought of 30 minutes before the dinner party arrives or 40 minutes before I have to skedaddle through the front door.

"This upcoming pie is going to be perfect because it will arise from a well-stocked pantry and a well-thought out recipe", said the singleton. Being as this is a carefully executed pie, I will attempt to replicate the sweet pastry dough from Page 444 of Dorie Greenspan's  "Baking from my home to yours" (on a side-note: she is brilliant and all her recipes are fantastic). This pie crust was going to turn into a galette. For the filling, I have decided its going to be a quince preserve base and canned peaches with a quick custard.Yes, I did say canned peaches.

Now, now don't judge and wrinkle your nose in disdain.

We have all ( yes even celebrity bakers) used canned fruit in our lifetime. It can be traced back to when we were children. Remember the assorted fruit custard dessert your mum used to make for company? Surely you don't think she cut up all that fruit....(if your mum did, then God bless her)

Eggs - check. Powdered sugar - check. Bookmark for recipe (in case the book closes in the middle of beating those eggs) - check. Off we go. 

And there I relearned it. A life lesson.Right there in my kitchen.

The pastry dough was coming along well. Except I forgot the part where I was supposed to chill the pastry dough for 30 minutes before I add my filling. Slowly but surely, my beloved crust was falling apart in my hands and I could feel cold cuts of butter giving up on me and threatening to turn into kitchen disaster # 560 and have me slumped on my kitchen floor, wailing, because I can't even get a rudimentary pie crust to wield to my will. "I will not give up" said the singleton. "Even a trained monkey can do this, it's so simple." The quince preserve used its super-powers to turn from semi-solid into liquid spilling all over my parchment sheet. The peaches? Well don't ask how even canned fruit decided to revolt against me.

The disheveled pie-crust made it into the oven against all odds and there I was feeling less excited about eating this well-thought out pie that I had mulled over for weeks and almost wishing that I had gone to the store instead. 30 long minutes later, it had baked no doubt but was still no closer to looking like a galette. And then to make matters worse (and because I'm human and want to tinker with something that looks bad in the hopes of making it better), I decided to perform an "omelet flip" to level one side of the pie crust that had sort of turned in. Big mistake, chickadee. Staring in my face, was the cousin of something that even the most accepting member of the pie family would disown. I poured in the custard because I had decided that this disaster was going to run its course and I would just write-off this entire afternoon and start thinking about pie in another six months around Thanksgiving.

Another long 30 minutes later,  my "mess" was ready to be rescued from the oven and back to kitchen counter. "I should at least taste it before I toss it". So I retrieved a spoon, hoping for the worst.

SURPRISE - it was lovely. Lacking in aesthetic appeal? Absolutely yes but absolutely delicious. The buttery crust and sweet peaches and comforting splashes of custard. All of it a winner in my book. 

So here it is my friend, the life lesson. No matter what you're going through and how furiously your boat seems to rock, remember that if you hold on and ride out the storm, it will eventually pass. Such is life in the big world. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel and sometimes even a surprise ending. In this case, a delightful spoon-full of it.

Framboise a.k.a Celebrating the French way!

My darlings, something lovely is coming to life in my oven.

I have been peeking at it through the glass door for the last 45 minutes and my patience is wearing thin. Unfortunately the antsy-ness needs to be in check, until the end of the following day when I present it to my friend at his birthday dinner.


Rewinding to my first Friday morning at home this year, spent, away from work, indulging in uninterrupted "me" time streaming epsiodes of Laura Calder's 'French food at home'. She'd puttered around with some rustic dessert crepes and elegant tarts and then the pièce de résistance, Chocolate Framboise. I was hooked!

Up until that first glimpse of the Framboise, an important decision was looming over my head. I had to settle on a cake that would celebrate my friend and yet bring flair to a grown-up's birthday dinner. You see we're all embarking on our fabulous 30 somethings, so the days of store-bought chocolate cake with generic buttercream frosting and cheap champagne just doesn't cut it anymore. We have traded beer for batter. Really good batter.


And now back to the scene with happy Laura, silver fork, decadent cake and a crown of raspberries. See where I'm going with this?

So it was fate that this framboise should make its way into our life in the form of a birthday cake.


"But as impatient as I am, I'm also known for my generosity". In that statement, lies a promise to bring you my impression of the Chocolate Framboise. After all your patience should be rewarded too, right?

P.S: This cake is best made over two days. So whilst you will suffer terrible bouts of impatience, remember, patient people go to heaven. Dessert heaven.

For my friend

Somebody once told me “Follow your dreams”. When I was a child, I could embrace that idea. No questions asked. Leaping into the unknown with abandon. Easy-peasy!

What they didn’t say was that it would cost you something. And a little more each year you grow older. Sometimes a little and sometimes a lot. We’ll lose some friends, memories, cherished things. We’ll lose heart, will and strength. We’ll experience doubt, intense pain and self-pity. We’ll be subjected to the ridicule and insensitivity of mockers and cowards and others who wished they could go on our journey and be as brave as us. We may have to give up our independence for a while and take a humbling stance. We may have to learn to depend on those who are unfamiliar to us. We may have to uproot our lives and move to a strange city, leave our familiar dinner dates with close friends, give up the thrill of worshipping next to an army of believers each Sunday, forego planning meals for Thanksgiving, a birthday and Christmas, and say goodbye to someone you’re used to seeing every day for the last ten years.

 It’s hard, my friend. My bleating heart understands your torment.

However, if you do continue down the path of ‘dream-living’ these are some things to expect. You’ll have new friends, a new jacket and some new memories. You’ll gain five ounces of bravery and live each day with a little less fear of the unexpected. You’ll own new furniture, and decorate a wall with your favorite paintings. Where you were once a  disciple, you will now lead others to proclaim the good news. You will love and cherish those you left behind a little more. You will have stories to encourage and help others who are battling a crisis and life-changing decisions. You’ll tell them “I thought I couldn’t do it but I’m so glad I did”. You’ll laugh, you’ll hug more and you’ll continue to dream some more.

Somebody also told me that our ability to dream is what keeps us young each day. Stay young my friend and follow your dreams.

Chocolate cake for the soul

Saturday morning: It was cold; it was wet and I was just not feeling the weather.

Saturday evening: It was cold; it was wet but I couldn't care less and this is the reason why.

Old-fashioned Chocolate cake, darling - plenty of good for the soul.

Yes I realize 'Christmas is still on' in my house and shame on me for not tending to the post-holiday ritual of taking down the tree. But would you look at the cake - Who can think 'tree' when we have 'cake', right? I knew you'd understand, poppet.

P.S The cake was for a dear friend's birthday. Her delight at the cake was obvious but I also hope that it scored with Rosie, our baby to be.
A few short weeks later: We have now discovered that Rosie is a boy, and according to his Mommy, showing signs of indignation over being referred to as a baby girl. Yes, he can hear us in there!!

Reflections

I realize it is a little too late for retrospections about the year that passed (and my goodness what a year it was) but I wanted to still pay homage to the non-stop year of surprises which was 2011.

To say that it was a year for big leaps was an understatement. Oh I leaped alright! My baby sister got married, we added a brother to our family, old job took a dive for the worst, new job came in at a point of saving grace, return to home country after a decade, new frontiers in faith, a setback in a family member’s health, God’s healing hand on the situation, many gastronomic adventures, birth of friendships, logging the most time spent in a plane in a year, chocolate molten cake and laughs with fellow high-schoolers, a blast from the past, three countries I’d no longer just know from a map, posing for pictures in the city that never sleeps with lovely artist friend, experiencing freedom from some shackles, Christmas and New Years with my family, and lastly the year I baked the most banana bread.

Goodbye 2011.I am steeped in gratitude, Lord.
Welcome 2012. (Or dare I say it...the year I went to Paris!)

A quick note from the road

Dear Poppet,

I have missed you. It has been ages, I know. I miss being in the kitchen. I miss lazily and greedily savoring cookbooks and food blogs. I miss baking on Sunday. Most of all I have missed regaling you with my adventures on the road.

I have loved every minute of this journey that started in the highlands of Scotland, to the busy streets of London, to the curries from Malaysia and soon the familiar desert tunes from Dubai.

The people, the cultures and most importantly darling, the food has made me weak in the knees. I have tired to catalogue every sight, smell and sound in my memory.

My little suitcase is plump with new shoes, bottles of aged whisky, a tea-set, flowy dresses for tiki nights, a Scottish book of cakes, preserved and spiced strawberries and guavas, aromatic beverage mixes from the orient and a new shade of lipstick. I may end up sitting on the luggage to zip it down but such is the price for wanderlust.

I have a hundred pictures and a thousand words to share with you.

Much love,
Your Singleton.