On good days, random ideas - each a potential hook for a blog post - will float into my head uninvited. I may be watching trees go by outside the window on a crowded BART train. Or scrolling through the daily New York Times cooking newsletter on my phone as I sleepily shovel cereal into my mouth first thing in the morning. Or grocery shopping at Safeway, scanning the aisles for things to drop into an unnecessarily large shopping trolley. Whatever my more immediate pursuit, on good days, the ideas will fly in, thick and fast.
If only things were always like that.
|On a "good" day in the Ferry Building, San Francisco|
On not so good days, no amount of prodding will coax an idea into my head, let alone from my head to the screen.
One of the things that I have missed most about blogging is recalling the recipes I've experimented with in my kitchen, and remembering that special ingredient, added on a whim to a staple recipe, which had the unexpected result of elevating the end product from "good" to "so much better".
And so, when a friend told me the other day that the word blog comes from the words "because it is a log", it made so much intuitive sense to me, that I fell for that made-up theory hook, line and sinker. In fact - and I can say this with some authority, having looked this up on Wikipedia - the word blog is a shortened version of "weblog". I like the made-up version better. "Because it is a log" has so much more personality than "weblog", which signals, unambiguously, that an internet geek was in charge of christening the invention.
And so, because it is a log, I am delighted to return to this corner on the internet, which gives me the space to succumb to nostalgia every now and then, and to reclaim my (admittedly infrequent) writing habit.
I may have suffered a prolonged bout of writer's block for the last several months, but my kitchen experiments have continued all this while.
In my baking experience, plain ole' yellow cakes are the most fiddly. There's something about the alchemy of ingredients that goes into a plain vanilla cake that makes them tricker than other types of cakes. Having burnt my fingers on a few occasions early on in my baking adventures, I've tended to mostly steer away from the temptation of trying out yet another recipe. But when I got a request for a good ole "bakery style" yellow cake with chocolate frosting, I had the perfect excuse to throw caution to the winds and test yet another recipe.
I finally settled on a recipe from Cook's Illustrated, which came with largely positive reviews from online reviewers and very precise instructions that got me interested. Overall, I can say confidently that this is the most success I have had with a yellow cake recipe. I frosted the cake using the Perfectly Chocolate Chocolate frosting recipe from Hershey's website. The frosting recipe called for such copious amounts of sugar that I chickened out, eventually deciding to halve the recipe.
Bad call. As with friends, the more the merrier when it comes to frosting. Depending on the cake, icing can be so much more than the cake itself, as in this case.
One other recent experiment comes to mind. This one has been a runaway success in our home. Have you heard of shakshuka? Simply put, it is a dish of eggs sunny side up on a bed of spiced tomatoes. The bright yellow of the yolks contrasted with the fiery red of the tomato base and patches of egg white make this a natural eye-pleaser.
I remember reading on a blog (I've helpfully forgotten which one) that "shakshuka" sounds like someone sneezing. Isn't that a great description? Not long after, I came across Melissa Clark's version accompanied by a good-enough-to-eat picture of the dish on the New York Times' Food page. So I attempted the recipe in my own kitchen. There were requests for seconds, and soon, every Sunday morning, I was hearing requests for shakshuka before anything else. And that is how shakshuka, which I believe was born in a faraway part of North Africa, became a regular Sunday morning breakfast feature in our home.
|Shakshuka in a pan too small for the yolks to reveal their colors|
(Moral of the story: make a little well in the sauce for each egg;
use a bigger pan)
Shakshuka could not be more different than Cook's Illustrated's fluffy yellow cake recipe in that it is more a concept than a precise recipe. As Clark herself acknowledges, there are as many versions of shakshuka as there are cooks who embrace it. In her version, the tomato sauce is a vehicle not only for the eggs but also for salty feta cheese. Much as I love cheese, we tend not to consume very much dairy, and so I typically leave it out, although I can see that adding the feta to the dish is a genius idea. I always use fresh tomatoes, not the canned ones that Clark recommends. Sometimes, I add chopped green chillies for a touch of heat. Sometimes, I substitute the pungent red onions in her version with sweet white onions, if I have them on hand. I use a generous hand with the garlic, often adding twice as much as her recipe calls for. I also sprinkle on some zaatar, a ground spice powder, which I picked up at a Middle Eastern store at Berkeley. And most importantly, I skip the last step of baking the whole thing (although I suspect this final touch significantly improves the results), but only because I do not have in my cookware repertoire a cast iron skillet that will double up as an oven-proof dish. My point is, shakshuka is as forgiving a recipe as they come. And with the basic ingredients for the recipe being pantry staples - eggs, tomatoes, onions, garlic and oil - there really is no excuse to deny yourself the pleasure of a shakshuka breakfast any longer.
While shakshuka and the fluffy yellow cake were relative successes, there were also some tragic failures. I experimented with a recipe for a delicious sounding syrup soaked Lebanese semolina cake, Basboussa. I boldly substituted the semolina flour that the recipe calls for with coarse semolina, which is what I had on hand. How I wish there were a happy ending to this story. I ended up with a tray of gritty squares. I wound up getting rid of most of it, but not before I vowed to try this recipe another time, with the deference that it deserves.
On the bright side, now that I have an online record of my irreverence for the subtleties of semolina, I am a little less likely to forget the bitter fruits of my cockiness and suffer a second round of gritty squares.