How to Choose?

Who is more reliable? This baker:

Or this baker:

There has been much talk of brioche at our house lately, and by "much talk" I mean I brought it up once or twice. This is opposed to never, which is how often we used to talk about brioche. As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I'm very eager to dive in to the gibassier recipe I managed to track down, but the idea made My Dude a little nervous. "Maybe you should try a basic brioche first, before you go throwing down a bunch of money for orange blossom water, whatever that is."

After I took a few minutes to grumble about how he had absolutely no faith in my abilities, I had to concede the point. If I blow it, I'll certainly be glad that I didn't drop a pantload of money on orange blossom water (whatever that is), and if I succeed in making excellent brioche, well, who doesn't like to have some extra brioche around the house?

Ordinarily I would just flip open my copy of How to Bake and get to it, but then I noticed Jacques Pepin's Complete Techniques sitting on the shelf. When I compared the two recipes, I noticed a significant difference: while Nick Malgieri's recipe calls for a sponge or "preferment," Jacques's does not. So whom am I to side with here? The Italian-American baker who has yet to steer me wrong, or one of the most-respected French chefs alive today?

Ugh. I feel like the little kid in "Kramer vs. Kramer." Except that neither Nick nor Jacques know that I'm alive. But other than that? Exactly the same situation.

My fellow bakers, what would you do?

As If You Needed Another Reason to Bake

Hiring a "professional" to provide the baked goods for your special event is no guarantee. I'm not saying I'm the greatest baker out there, but I'd like to think that if I were running the cake decorating department at Kroger or whatever, I'd at least raise the standards to include functional literacy.

Comprehension gaps, hideous frostings, and terrifyingly lifelike cake babies (and more!) at the hilarous Cake Wrecks.

Whole Wheat Flatbread with Pesto, Potatoes and Farmer's Cheese

How big of an idiot am I? I achieved what was probably the height of my culinary career, and I did not take one. Single. Photo. Actually, it's more accurate to say that if I had taken two minutes to locate my camera, our party guests would've devoured the whole thing, and damned if I wasn't going to grab myself a slice. My dear friend Sarah was able to capture the moment when I stuffed it into my face before throwing down her camera and storming the food table herself.

This amazing flatbread/pizza is yet another treat inspired by our recent trip to Portland, OR. My brother-in-law to be was kind enough to take us to Clyde Common for lunch, and My Dude and I loved it so much that we went back the very next day. I had their vegetarian flatbread both times, because I was determined to re-create it for our engagement party. On our first visit, I let myself get lost in the restaurant's laid-back vibe, my cold glass of wine, and my light yet comforting meal. On the second visit, however, I covertly lifted away each layer and discovered just how easy it really was: pesto, thinly-sliced fingerling potatoes, and lumps of fresh farmer's cheese, placed under the broiler until golden.

My favorite thing about this recipe is that it satisfies a pizza craving while still being light and fresh enough to serve on the muggiest, most oppressive days of a New York summer, those days when the very thought of stepping into the un-air-conditioned slice joint on the corner makes me melt into a puddle of sweat and Clinique City Block.

I've posted the full recipe after the jump, but you could easily cut a few corners by using a pre-made pizza dough or crust and a decent jarred pesto and it would still turn out great. To be honest, the pesto is more My Dude's territory, so I think I'll have him write up his recipe in a subsequent entry. Anyway, without further ado...

Whole Wheat Flatbread with Pesto, Potatoes and Farmer's Cheese

Makes two 12-inch pizzas or one 13- x 16-inch pizza.

• One recipe Easy Whole Wheat Pizza Dough (see below)
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 5 or 6 large fingerling potatoes
• 1/2 cup pesto, jarred or homemade
• 1/4 lb very mild, soft farmer's cheese (I used Westfield Farm Capri from Murray's)
• 4 leeks, green parts only, sliced diagonally

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Prepare and par-bake the crust in the center of the oven, about 9 minutes. Let it cool off a little on the baking sheet.

Peel the potatoes and slice them paper-thin, or as thin as you can reasonably get them without slicing off a finger. Heat about 1/4-inch of olive oil in a skillet on medium-low. Add potatoes and cook until tender, turning occasionally. If you notice the edges starting to crisp, turn down the heat. Drain the potatoes on paper towels.

Spread the pesto evenly over the crust in a thin layer. Top with another even layer of potatoes, followed by nickel-sized lumps of cheese.

Turn the broiler to low (if you have the option) and let it heat up. Place the pizza directly under the heat source and broil until the top of the cheese lumps are a nice, golden brown. Depending on the stregth of your oven, it should be about 5-10 minutes, but WATCH CLOSELY. This thing can go from zero to charred in no time.

Top with the leek and serve. But maybe grab yourself a slice first.

Easy Whole Wheat Pizza Dough

Adapted from Nick Malgieri's How to Bake

• 1 1/2 cups white unbleached all-purpose flour
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup warm tap water
  
• 1 envelope (2 1/2 teaspoons) active dry yeast
• 3 tablespoons olive oil

Combine the flour and salt in a large bowl and mix well. In a separate bowl, whisk the yeast into the water, followed by two tablespoons of olive oil.

Make a well in the center of the flour and salt mixture. Pour the liquid into the center of the well and stir with a fork all the flour is incorporated and a soft, sticky dough forms. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let it rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.

Grease a cookie sheet with the remaining tablespoon of oil. Without stirring or folding the dough, use a rubber spatula to scrape it from the bowl onto the oiled sheet. Oil your hands and press, pull, and pat the dough into the pan. If it starts to get stiff and resist, let it rest for a few minutes before continuing. Let the dough rise in the pan uncovered until it starts to puff up slightly, about 30 minutes.

Apricot and Pistachio Tart

Folks, if you want to impress the holy hell out of your future mother-in-law, run, don't walk, to your local fruit stand, buy some apricots, and make this tart. This picture doesn't do it justice, so please don't let my high school photography skills deter you.

In our little household, my dude holds the title of alpha chef, since he has a superhuman palate and claims to be able to tell the difference between varieties of bottled water (Him: "Volvic is more mineral-y. You don't taste that?" Me: "Um.") -- it's like if Jeffery Steingarten and Ruth Reichl had a love child, is all I'm saying. For this reason, when we have guests for dinner I generally leave the menu to him, except for dessert, which I guard with a jealous fury. So when we cooked our first-ever dinner for his parents, I went into compulsive baker overdrive.

Stone fruits have been stunning this season here in New York, so I decided to go from there. Since I don't even buy flour without consulting Nick Malgieri first, I opened up How to Bake, and there it was: an Apricot and Pistachio Tart.

This was only the second tart I've ever made, and the first ever sweet one. I was a little apprehensive, since the first tart I made went largely untouched -- although I think that's because I made it for the Fourth of July, and everyone was drunk and full of hot dogs by the time I served it. But still, that kind of rejection sticks with you. It also didn't help that when I expressed my nervousness to my future mother-in-law, she waved her hand and said, "oh, tarts are easy." Which I read as: "...so if you can't even get this right, you're a class-A dumbass. And a slut."

When I pulled the tart out of the oven, the edges of the apricot halves were lightly browned, and the filling was puffy and golden. Everyone was silent as they dug in their forks and took their first bite.

"Wow." Said my future father-in-law.

"Can I have the recipe?" Said my future mother-in-law.

Victory! [Said like Entourage's Johnny Drama in his "Viking Quest" costume]

Apricot and Pistachio Tart

From Nick Malgieri's How to Bake

Makes one 9- to 10-inch tart, 8 to 10 servings

• One recipe Sweet Tart Dough

For the filling:

• 1 cup (about 4 oz.) shelled unsalted pistachios
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon almond extract
• 2 eggs
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 12 medium (2 to 2 1/2 lbs.) apricots, washed, halved and pitted

For the glaze:

• 1 cup apricot preserves or jam (Kat sez: try to find preserves with little to no added sugar; the apricots pack plenty of sweetness on their own)
• 2 tablespoons water or white rum

Prepare and chill the dough.

To remove the annoying skins from the pistachios, place them in a saucepan and cover with water. Bring the water to a boil. Drain the pistachios and place them on a clean kitchen towel. Fold the towel over the pistachios and give them a good rub; this should help to loosen the skins and make it easier to pick 'em off.

Coarsely chop 1/4 cup of the pistachios and set aside for finishing the tart. Dump the rest into a food processor, along with the sugar, and pulse until the mixture is finely ground (about 1 minute). Add the almond extract and one of the eggs and continue to pulse until the mixture becomes a smooth paste. Cut the butter into 8 or so small pieces, and add to the work bowl, pulsing a few times after each addition. Continue to pulse until the butter is smoothly mixed with the nut mixture. Add the remaining egg and pulse until smooth. Allow the machine to run continuously for 30 seconds and scrape down the inside of the bowl. Add the flour and pulse until just incorporated. Set aside, covered.

Set a rack at the lowest level of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees.

Roll out the dough and line the pan.

Spread the pistachio filling on the dough. If you have a circular tart pan, arrange the apricots, cut side up, in 2 or 3 concentric circles. (I have a square tart pan, so I placed them in evenly-spaced rows.)

Bake the tart for about 35 minutes, until the crust and filling are baked through and the apricots are cooked. Cool the tart on a rack.

To make the glaze, bring the preserves and water or rum to a boil, and reduce until it gets thick and syrupy. Strain out the pulpy bits. Brush the hot glaze over the surface of the cooled tart. Sprinkle the reserved 1/4 cup chopped pistachios around the edges.

Unmold tart. Impress the holy hell out of future mother-in-law.


Sweet Tart Dough

• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened)
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 egg yolk
• 1 1/4 cup bleached all-purpose flour

Combine butter and sugar in a mixing bowl and beat on medium speed for 5 minutes, until the mixture is soft, fluffy, and almost white in color.

Beat in the vanilla and the egg yolk and continue beating for another two minutes, until the mixture is soft and smooth and resembles buttercream.

Place the flour in a strainer of sifter and sift it, all at once, over butter mixture. Using a rubber spatula, fold the flour into the butter mixture until no traces of flour remain visible.

Shape the dough into a rough 12-inch disk, about 1/4 inch thick and cover in plastic wrap. Refrigerate the dough.

To use the dough, fold it in half and line the long edge up against the interior diameter of the pan. Unfold. Gently press - using the palm of your hands and fingertips - the dough against the interior surfaces of the pan.

To finish the top edge of the tart shell, position your floured thumb and index finger of one hand so that the thumb and index finger of one hand so that the thumb is inside the pastry and the tip is against the bottom of the crust. The tip of your index finger should rest against the top edge of the crust. Press gently with both thumb and finger to make the top of the crust straight and even.

If possible, chill until the crust is firm. This will minimize shrinkage. Bake according to the instructions in individual recipes.

Gibassier

I owe it all to Pearl Bakery in downtown Portland, Oregon. As soon as I walked through the doors of this open, airy space, saw its brick ovens and its piles and piles of crusty loaves, I thought to myself, So THIS is the meaning of life.

I've been baking for as long as I've been allowed to use an oven. It started with brownies from a box and Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies, then I gradually progressed to cakes and muffins, then bread and pies. The methodical nature of it appeals to me; mix some of this with a bit of that, heat it up this much for that long, and suddenly your house smells mother-loving amazing.

The best amateur chefs I know are instinctive, quick on their feet, and resourceful. Unfortunately, I am none of these things, at least when if comes to food. I like to make lists, I like check off tasks. If it weren't for recipes, I'd eat cold cereal or takeout pad thai every night. Fortunately, baking rewards rigidity. If you add even a teaspoon too much water to your pie crust, your whole kitchen will explode. You'll just have to trust me on this one.

Anyway, being in Pearl Bakery reminded me of something I had forgotten during my years of outsource-everything New York City. Some people actually get PAID to bake. I know! They're these people called "bakers"! Forrealsies!

I was dying to try the walnut levain, but then my guy spied the gibassier, brioche dough flavored with orange peel, anise seeds, and orange blossom water and sprinkled with sugar. Now, I know some people claim to be anise-averse, but that's just because they've lived their lives under a cloak of ignorance. When used properly, anise can give otherwise plain cookies and breads a lightly spicy, festive taste. It also reminds me of sausage, which is always a plus.

Tragically, I don't have a photo of the gibassier we tried, but in the near future I think I'm going to challenge myself to recreate them using this recipe. Come along on this journey of obsessive adherence to instructions, won't you?

But First...

Does moving the focus of this blog mean that I can't play videos of drag queen Pussycat Doll tribute bands? Because if playing videos of drag queen Pussycat Doll tribute bands is wrong, well...

• MTV
• Music Videos
• MTV Shows
• Entertainment News

A Half-Baked (har har) Idea?

I'm thinking of taking a new direction with this blog. I knew when I started this thing that I'd eventually settle on some sort of a theme, and since I like to save the the tales of paranoia and deep-seated family resentment for my Punky Brewster fan fiction, I've decided to devote this space to my other passion: baking.

Specifically bread. And pies. And cookies. Ooh, and I have been getting into tarts lately. (That's what SHE said!)

Tomorrow I'll share with you the exact time and place that inspired the new direction, but until then I invite you to break through the crusty outside and sink your teeth into the soft fluffy middle of this title...

Kat Bakes.

As if the Zombie Apocalypse Wasn't Enough to Worry About

Now we have monkeys with telekinetic powers. Great.

Pancaaaaaakes!

I am totally that girl who sits through horror films with her hands clamped over her eyes, peeking out periodically to see if it's over yet. Even Candyman scared me. So needless to say, I am not a big Eli Roth fan. Or I should say, WASN'T a big Eli Roth fan, until I stumbled across this scene from Cabin Fever:



Please tell me that kid is in the Hostel series, because I am about to run, not walk, to purchase the entire Roth ouvre.

I Would Prefer That You NOT Write Me a Love Song, Thx

Who is this Sara Bareilles person, and why is her song playing everywhere I go? For the longest time I had her confused with Colby Caillat, who was all up in my face for a while and now seems to have gone away, despite occasional appearances on the music video channel on those little TVs on the treadmills at my gym. But Sara Bareilles! At the liquor store, Whole Foods, the crappy deli – she just won’t quit! I would understand if I was at American Eagle or something, but the liquor store that makes 70% of its profits selling nips for $3 apiece? It’s not right.

Shout Out to Maximus in Merrick!

I love going to Long Island and New Jersey. It looks pretty much the same as the Midwestern town where I grew up -- strip malls, cookie-cutter houses, thinly-veiled despair -- but in other ways, it's like a foreign country. A very loud, velvet track suited country. In this video, John Roberts salutes all the ladies who keep the NYC tri-state area classy:




YouTube, via Jezebel

O, No

So, I got out of work early on Friday, and I was lucky enough to catch part one of Oprah’s two-part interview with Tom Cruise. Okay, obviously, there were a whole lot of dynamics going on there that I cannot even begin to address, but man oh man, what a festival of self-congratulation it was. Even more so than Oprah’s average celebrity interview/circle jerk.

My absolute favorite part was at the end, where Tom drove Oprah on one of his snowmobiles to some picturesque spot overlooking the rest of his property, and they’re standing there with their arms around each other, looking at the mountains, and Oprah turns to Tom and says: “You know what I wish? I wish for you the peace that this mountain can bring.” Tom closes his eyes and nods. “I wish this for you. I really do," she repeats.

Um, he already has it. You’re at HIS HOUSE. That is HIS MOUNTAIN you're standin on. I think even the authors of The Secret would be like, Lady, that’s some pop-psych bullshit.

So reader: those pants? The ones that you’re wearing? I want those for you. And if you are not wearing pants? That freedom you feel? I want that for you. I am just. That. Generous.

"With your flip-flops, half-shirt, short shorts, miniskirt…"*

I’m not going to lie: back in their heyday, I was a New Kids on the Block fan. It was 1988, and as a nine-year-old girl, I was their target demographic. When I confided my musical preferences to my 17-year-old babysitter, she gagged herself with a spoon, then promptly popped a Smiths tape into the stereo of her Buick and played it over and over until I forgot all about Little Joe’s angelic voice.

But I didn’t forget, Cathy. Not really. I just buried it, along with all the words to “Cover Girl” and every step to the “Right Stuff” dance routine. (You know: kick left, kick right, left-right-left, oh-oh-ohoh) Until now.

Okay, so it’s basically a warmed-over version of LFO’s “Summer Girls”-- wow, can I just stop and ponder the tragedy in implying LFO as some kind of benchmark for anything? Besides skankiness? -- but it’s good to see them all out there, right? And who would’ve predicted that Danny would age so well? This bodes well for the entire summer.

*Redundant? Or just really 80's? I can't decide.

I Love New York, But...

Every now and then, very rarely, I miss home. I'm not talking about my family and old friends, who I miss all the time, or my rusty smudge of a hometown (which I never miss), but the little pockets of sensory experience that let me know that I'm safe, that I'm home.

The cold air wafting in from the garage when my father went out to gather logs for a fire.

The brackish taste of well water ice cubes melting in a glass of coke at my grandmother's lakefront cottage.

The smell of the black vinyl seats in Dad's '78 Datsun 280Z.

Vernor's ginger ale.

Vegetable thins topped with Spartan brand mild cheddar cheese, served on a white paper plate.

The cluttered mess of my mother's makeup drawer, smelling of talc and pencil shavings.

Snow.

Wherein I Let a 12-Year-Old Boy Write My Blog

Hahahaha. Bwahahaha.

Teeheehee.

Anything Is Possible

This photo makes me feel like anything is possible: a safe and effective exit strategy in Iraq, a free Tibet, an agreement over Kosovo, lower fuel costs, hassle-free air travel, and single-payer health care. This photo can fold your laundry, do your taxes, write your grandmother a thank-you note, buy toilet paper, re-work your resume, alphabetize your DVD collection, clean the top of the refrigerator, and quiet your noisy neighbors. It is just that powerful. The only thing it can't do is tell me how the fuck I can get a baby panda to sit on my lap. Want.

I [Maple Leaf] Canada

I grew up a little under two hours away from Canada, and lived about a half-hour away during college. I've been to Ontario many times on school trips, and always found it to be a very clean, and above all friendly place. And when a native Midwesterner thinks, "Wow, folks sure are nice here!" you can damn well bet that you're dealing with some exceptionally friendly people.

And why shouldn't they be? They have universal healthcare, they can legally drink at age 19, and with the exception of Jim Carey, they gave rise to some of the finest comedians of the 20th Century. The only faults I can find with Canada are their accents, the comic strip "For Better or for Worse," and the fact that their quarters don't fit in our parking meters. I was going to add Celine Dion to that list, but you know what? After reading this article about Canada providing sactuary for Iraq war resisters, I'm not even going to mention her. You're welcome, Canada.

Self-Pity in Verse

Green shoots break through the soil and
the smell of the moist earth fills my nose

He says he'll go for a bike ride today
down to the harbor where across the water
you can almost see the skyscrapers
swaying

And I
And I
And I
Hate his guts

The library can bite me.

What I Imagine It's Like Working at Star Magazine

Is it just me, or does Ashley Alexadra Dupre, a.k.a. "Kristen" look an awful lot like Sarah from Top Model Cycle 5? Check It:

"Kristen"





Sarah

Same nose, right? Star Magazine: call me! If this isn't worthy of a sidebar, I don't know what is.

Best of the Day

Spitzer? But I Don't Even Know 'Er!

That's pretty much all I have to say about that.