Where the magic happens

Tell ‘em.

lol one day I’ll learn how to take real glamour shots of pastries, but until then.. 

Here we have Yossy Arefi’s Coconut-Lime Cake, sans icing—which, I regret to say, I should definitely have made. I thought single-layer lightning would strike twice, since I opted not to make icing for January’s EVOO Campari cake, and it was completely the right call. Icing on this one would definitely make it more dessert-tasting, since it tastes sort of pound-cakey right now. (Pound cake is a snack, not dessert, right?) Not a lot of lime flavor in this cake, either, sadly, which the icing would’ve remedied. Oh well!

One thing I did nail was the texture. My god, do you see that fluffy, tender crumb?? There are literally air pockets in this cake! Also, the recipe called for coconut oil, and I added it to my stand mixer without melting it first. OOPS. I thought I was doomed for doing that, but maybe that was the secret sauce here.

I don’t know if I’ll make this cake again, since the flavor is not wow-ing me, but I’m really enjoying eating it! For the next bake, I’m considering making malted-milk brownies, brown-butter blondies, or a strawberry shortcake (with rosewater). We will see where the pastry muse leads me.

Made “a little eggplant parm” without eggplant and barely any parm but with spaghetti squash, beets, cauliflower, celery, and onion/pepper tomato sauce that had been in my freezer since before November (maybe earlier). Kept the Panko and anchovy portions the same! 

It’s pretty weird but good!

I’d pre-roast the beets alongside the squash next time, but since this was an exclusive limited-edition winter pantry clean-out special, I doubt that these random ingredients will mingle again in the same casserole dish anytime soon…

I made Ovenly’s salted peanut butter cookies this afternoon and they sure are yum. 😋

In the mood for cry 

A pretty damn good spritz if I do say so myself!!

I adapted from Kate Hawkings’ recipe from “Aperitif”:

3 oz. sparkling wine, 2 oz. Campari over ice, garnished w/a slice of grapefruit rind. ✨

Campari Citrus Olive Oil Cake 🍊

OMGosh is this decade-old tumblog turning into a cooking/baking diary?! I sure hope so!!!

I made Melissa Clark’s Campari Olive Oil Cake as part of the Never Ending Salon bakeoff last weekend and have been slowly savoring it all week with a scoop of my *homemade yogurt* plopped on top.

It’s a very grownup cake. It’s nowhere near as sweet as yellow cake but still has that classic spongey bounce. There is some really beautiful bitterness that comes through with the citrus juice and zest that’s in the batter, along with the Campari, of course. 

I’ll be honest, I’ve never baked anything from scratch successfully before and was like “this is definitely going to taste like a sandy rock” as I was mixing it together by hand into a very liquid-y batter. You know, a self-defeating attitude is never nice, but having low expectations means that this 5-star end result completely knocked my socks off. 

Eating at room temperature is actually better than serving it warm. Having it an hour or two after it came out of the oven was like “wow… this is quite rich” and cooling to room temperature really dials that buttery, oily factor way down.

Also, I didn’t make the Campari glaze from the recipe, though I’m sure the pink color would’ve made it look very pretty. You know what though, I don’t need extra sugar on top of my sugar! It’s really good just the way it is.

Perfectly Scoopable Greek Yogurt Recipe 🍨

(2:10 p.m. start time results in a 8:30 p.m. end time +1 day)

— Add 2 quarts (8 cups) of milk to 3-quart Crock Pot, turn to low setting for 2 hours, 20 mins, until the temperature reaches 180 degrees.

— Turn off Crock Pot and unplug. Let milk sit for 4 hours until the temperature drops to 110 degrees.

— Gradually mix in a ½ cup of yogurt.

— Let the Crock Pot sit covered with two towels for 12 hours.

— The mixture should look and smell like yogurt! Strain in fridge for at least 12 hours.

IT’S SO CHEAP AND EASY AND GOOD!!!! 

I love the kitsch of Valentine’s Day. It is the most aesthetically pleasing holiday to me. I celebrate it, no matter what, even if simply through rituals of self-love.

At a virtual support group that I went to on Thursday, the topic was “starting a new relationship,” which was unfortunate, since the thought of starting a new relationship is not at all in the realm of what I want to do. After some discussion, the group concluded that dating apps were bad. 

I was on dating apps earlier in this pandemic, and I thought that I might find a penpal for some transatlantic sexting, when it became clear to me that dating right now is painful. I haven’t felt physical attraction to anyone in a year. I almost mistrust physical beauty now, with its all-too-easy manipulations. Instead, I have been living a life of the mind, seeking one-sided sensual pleasures through cerebral pathways. I am becoming infatuated with pastry chefs on YouTube and perfume reviewers and philosophy professors whose work I have ringing in my eyes and ears. By extension of their beautiful words and creations and voice and sensibilities, they too are beautiful. I am so voracious and upset that I cannot consume them wholly and that their entire body of work isn’t, in fact, a love note tucked strategically somewhere on the internet for me to find. But then there is a moment in which I detect traces of sameness or sadness or desperation in every video and review and post and article and interview that I consume of theirs. The obvious occurs to me: In attempting to side-step the algorithm and satiate my touch-hungry mind, I have had a hand this whole time in my own influencing. The fractal flattens. The thrill is gone.

Dating apps are bad in the same way that TikTok is bad in the same way that Instagram and think-pieces in the NYT are bad. We have so much to say, so much further down the spiral to descend. Our bodies are drowning while our brains and their capacity to create new problems every day with nothing new to say about them are in fact life preservers. I have felt like a brain in a jar for years, neglecting my needs, angry at myself for having needs and feelings. Angry at myself for being sensitive. Angry at myself for not being able to just feel good, dammit. This summer, it felt like there was a comments section screaming in my head all the time, and so I pulled the plug on my Instagram and Twitter to end the misery, as though I were taking myself off of life support. Feelings continued to come up, and I soothed my guilt.

In Energy Healing: The Essentials of Self-Care, Ann Marie Chiasson, MD, writes, “In our culture, many of us carry the bulk of our energy in our heads, not in our bodies. On the physical level, keeping most of our energy centered upward, in the upper energy centers, can lead to an imbalance of the automatic nervous system, producing anxiety and an overreactive sympathetic nervous system. For the most part, this upward shift has occurred over the past two hundred to five hundred years. Our culture revers the mind, and as a whole, we have our energy focused higher in the body.”

The most sensation I feel in my body on most days is all in my head. Right now, I feel a slight pressure in my forehead and between my brows. Not a headache or migraine, but as though I am continually adjusting to the altitude.

I’m trying to shift the sensation out from between my ears. I’m starting by practicing yoga and listening to my body. I hold the root and sacral chakras as I meditate. I am trying to accept living in the gray space, without being so reductive with labels. I am trying to let go of checklists. I would love to feel a physical pull toward someone again someday, but until then, I want to rebuild trust with my own body.