The world shall be saved by cookies, part 1

So I just so happen to be one of those awesome people that is blessedly friends with a pastry chef.  Not just any pastry chef.  Not some token kid trying to play fun at spun sugar, laminated dough or trying to imitate those pretty creations they see in a Whole Foods dessert display case (guilty) with their pastry certificate from a community college.  No, I am friends with Stella Parks.  Who is Stella Parks you may wonder?  Well, if you would like to know a little about her, please allow me to point you in the direction of Food and Wine magazine's May 2012 issue where she is listed as one of America's Best New Pastry Chefs.  Oh, and it just so happens that this is the first list of "Best New..." lists F&W has made just for pastry chefs.  You know... no big deal :)

My meeting of Stella is basically what can only be described as social networking at its very best.  Remember my ranting about how obsessed my brother and I were on the mystical world of macarons?  Well, this intense desire to go above and beyond the amateur world of baking actually began way before he and I decided that one activity that must take place before we headed out on our Summer of 2011 Road Trip was trying our hand at these elusive French sandwich cookies.  (Doesn't calling them sandwich cookies seem to degrading and rude?)  Before he flew out to lovely Phoenix, we agreed to combine forces with our mutual food blog and recipe site expertise and decide one recipe each that we thought sounded the most stable and well written.  He arrived.  We discussed our plans and... you know where this is going, don't you?  In all the 100's if not 1000's of websites, recipes and silly quibblings and ramblins on macarons in the blogsphere, we had landed on the same recipe.  The one and only, BraveTart, aka Stella Parks.  But let's not get ahead of ourselves.  At this point, Miss Parks was still very much BraveTart and just a seemingly awesome and well versed chef with a cool website.

Jump ahead to lots of macaron experimentation, months and a summer later.  I got a Twitter account.  Not really for any particular reason but being that I am a 20-something and have a Facebook, shouldn't I also round out my personality in the social networking prison world and get a Twitter handle as well?  Why the hell not!  It seemed only natural that the first people I should start following would be all my favorite celebrity chefs, authors, actors, comedians, blah blah, you know what I'm talking about.  By some magical twist of fate, I just stumbled on the BraveTart whilst dicking around on Twitter one day.  When I began following her I felt it only right to mention in a personal Tweet to her how much I enjoyed her website and how she had sparked a mutual obsession and love for macaron making between my brother and myself.  To my great amazement and excitement, she responded.  She thanked me for my compliment and was happy that I had gotten into macarons.

Yet another fast forward.  Feeling a little ambitious, I start testing the waters and sending little Tweets to who I realized was quickly becoming my new kitchen super hero about my latest baking projects asking for tips, tricks and recipes.  Then came the prodigal return home for Christmas break.  I was finally going to escape the desert hell hole and return to the lovely midwest, family, and of course copious amounts of weight lifting (have I mentioned yet that I do that? - I do.  A lot.) and coffee drinking with my brother.  Then, an idea struck.  Now was the moment.  I decided to send BraveTart a Tweet asking if by any crack ass chance she would be willing to let two of her biggest fans come into her "pastry dungeon" as she calls it, to watch her in action.  I really don't know what I was thinking.  In hindsight, could I have been put on creeper status any more hardcore?  Seriously... I'm pretty sure all previous experience with logic and social skills were not with with me when I send that send button.  Later that day, whilst on an eliptical machine at the gym I got a... yes.  Wait... what??  YOU MEAN WE CAN COME???  I flipped my lid so hard that I honest to God almost fell off my cardio machine, no joke.  I immediate forgot all about my workout and informed him of why no matter what he got for Christmas that year, it would pale in comparison to the awesome event that I had just secured for us.  We were going to Lexington's lovely restaurant, Table 310, to meet our cyber chef hero, The BraveTart.

I feel like this post is giving way to extreme length so to preserve some interest in my ramblings I think it best to break this story into parts.  The next installment is soon to come!!

p.s. I think I'm starting to like blogging.

p.p.s. I still kinda suck at it.

p.p.p.s. In the words of Julie Powell: "Is anybody reading this?"

A lesson in sharing

Long time since posting. No apologies. That's just how I roll.

I spend way too much time in coffee houses. It's just a fact. I know that as a non-working, post-grad, aspiring artist, the last thing that I should be spending copious amounts of money on is iced coffee. However, I come here not just for the liquid that I honest to God wish could replace all water intake, I come to these havens of Macs and java for the clarity they offer my brain. I am admittedly a loner in many respects. I spend exorbitant amounts of my daily life being surrounded by people and social interaction. I'm a performing artist. Social interaction is my whole being. But, at the end of the day, Meyers-Briggs deems me an introvert. I recharge in the comfort of quiet and the never ending voice of my inner head. I don't mind it. It's comforting in a holistic and undemanding way. Or it is for me at least. Maybe someday at the ripe age of 40 or whatever I'll look back and think that I should have spent more time out with friends, spending money on alcohol or going to dinner with acquaintances trying make better sense of people and cultivating more lasting relationships. But... at least for now, that's not happening. So let's deal with regret later and instead work on enjoying what brings pleasure now. Chill? Great.

Here in the armpit of the US of A known as "Phoenix" *shudder* there is a lovely little spot known to the Tempe dwelling masses as "Cartel Coffee Lab." I have come to be what some might call a "regular" at this coffee hang out and you know, I'm thrilled at that. Oddly enough, I am writing this post from a completely different coffee house. Sue me. It's closer to my current apartment. But aside from just being a regular and being known by name by nearly all the baristas who work there, I'm known more so for a far more exciting thing. My baking. Now, I am not a trained baker. I am just an average 20-something that really enjoys the feel of dough between my fingers and amazing scents coming from my oven. Do I have enough money to support this nerve calming habit? Oh no. Do I do it anyways? Hell yes.

This whole reputation got its start last summer when my brother was in town before we set out on a cross-country road trip that would ultimately end at our parent's house in Ohio. It was a lovely few days spent in Phoenix before our departure and the highlight was discovering ABC Bake Supplies in downtown Phoenix. This awesome little store was where our mutual curiosity into the mysterious and frequently frustrating world of French macarons finally went from fascination to action. There's a lot more to that story but I'll talk about that some other day. Maybe... 

Anyways, we befriended Ashley. Ashley makes the world's greatest and most sinfully delicious cappuccino that you can order in a coffee house. It is a crazy amazing cup of foam that evokes thoughts of toasted marshmallows, that warm fuzziness of putting on underwear that you just pulled from the drier, the happiness that you experience when you wake up on Christmas morning and a whole myriad of delightful thoughts. It's bliss. So after becoming good friends with her we promised her a taste of what would be our first batch of French macarons. It was a glorious moment. Our first batch - vanilla bean shells filled with rich ganache - were perfect and undeservedly so. If you know nothing about French macarons, suffice to say that even the most experienced macaron maker will tell you that they are finicky little shits that will work perfectly in one batch and fall to complete ruin in the next and perhaps most infuriatingly, with absolutely no apparent reason for their failure. But our first shot was glorious. White domes with puffy feet (the spongy bottom layer that is quintessential with macarons) flecked with black specks of overpriced vanilla bean seeds with a layer of nearly back ganache to offset their white purity. Just thinking back to the moment we put these together puts me back in a lovely mood of satisfaction and contentment. Now, as I mentioned before, these glorious cookies are tricky. Our next batch? Fail. Like... inexplicable, stupid, rage inducing failure. What is supposed to be batter the consistency of liquid magma was a pool of pancake batter-like slop that did nothing but just spread out on our baking sheets and well... fail. Yeah. It was a little sad. Ok, a lot of sad. And curse words. But try, try, and try again we did and eventually we had our second batch of perfect macarons. These beauties were chocolate shells filled with decadent vanilla Italian meringue buttercream. We even sprinkled a few of the shells with cayenne pepper for a riff on Mexican chocolate. Macaron success!! 

Armed with these elusive and rare treats we headed for Cartel to present Ashley with our promised goods. The rest is history. After this first baked good giving with Alex, my street cred in the Cartel posse has blossomed and grown. Now, the moment I walk in with a container in my hands, excitement abounds. Before the lid is lifted to reveal with happiness and joy that is within, all working baristas are immediately distracted from their espresso pulling and coffee pouring and in sudden anticipation of what is be unveiled. This is a glorious and soul warming thing for me. My favorite part? The first bite reactions. The eyes closing. The slow chew to be sure that every nuance of the flavor is experienced and savored. The small silence after swallowing to collect their thoughts. The exhale. The eyes open. Then the compliments come. I don't even care if they're lying. It makes me so happy. I love this world of sharing and the exchange of joy and passion. The free coffee is a pretty nice perk as well :D

My birthday was last Friday. My mom was flying into town late in the afternoon to spend the weekend with me and what better way to ring in my special day that will a little baking??? It just so happened that when I was moving apartments, I found a log of frozen double-chocolate shortbread in my freezer that I had been saving. Perfect. Ashley had already promised me a birthday cappuccino and what better way to show my appreciation that with some kick ass shortbread. I baked those babies off and headed over for a little exchange of goodies.

Let's talk about this shortbread, shall we? I found this recipe months ago and it was one of the few times I've read a recipe and immediately walked into my kitchen to make it. I. Love. Shortbread. In my opinion it is the kind of cookies and deservedly so. Anything that can involve so few ingredients and taste that decadent is just a winning flavor event. Any and all shortbread is amazing. But this shortbread is just decadent almost to the point of sinful. Almost all of the flour that goes into normal shortbread is replaced by cocoa powder. Going back to last summer. During our trip cross-country we stopped to visit my friend Christine in Littleton, CO. While there we ventured into Denver and stopped into Savory Spice Shop where Alex and I's lives were forever changed. Well... at least in regard to ingredients anyways. After gawking at all the wonderful things this room of culinary enchantment held, we both bought bags of Black Onyx cocoa powder. I will never again use another cocoa for baking. It's black gold. If I had an addiction, it would be this. Oh. Em. Gee. So dark and complex, it's almost savory in smell. It imparts a rich cocoa flavor to anything is graces its presence with as well as a smokey, deep, velvety sensation that literally takes over all your taste and smell senses. This is the cocoa I used in this shortbread. But the chocolate does not stop there. There is also the addition of just a few guilty pieces of dark 60% cocoa chips. Chocolate on chocolate is basically my version of girl on girl. It's just too good to be true.

My personal secret to immaculately perfect shortbread? Slightly under baked. There's so much butter in shortbread that like pork it can go from perfect to overdone in a heart beat. The solution? Under do it. Just slightly. The cookie will set up when it cools and you will be left with perfectly crispy, crumbly but not super crunchy shortbread that is just begging to be apart of your next warm caffeinated beverage. Or alone. Or anytime. It just wants to be there for you. It wants to please. This is a confection that aims to serve and bring a smile to your face. It loves you almost as much as you are bound to love it. Almost.

So in the spirit of my love of sharing, allow me to share it with you. The dough is split into two logs when you make it. I baked the first log right after it was chilled but the other I froze for the better part of 6 months and it was still perfectly fine. Just be sure to wrap it well in plastic wrap and parchment. I'm a big believer in the power of freezers :)

Double Dark Chocolate Shortbread - adapted from The view from Great Island
(makes about 12-14 cookies, double the recipe if you want to)
oven to 325
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup confectioner's sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup dark cocoa powder
1/2 cup dark chocolate chips

• Put the flour, sugar, and cocoa powder in the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine well. 
• Drop in the butter and vanilla and pulse until the mixture just comes together. 
•  Stir in the chocolate chips and turn the dough out onto a board and form into an 8" log. Wrap it in waxed or parchment paper and twist both ends to secure. 
•  Refrigerate for at least an hour, or overnight. You can also freeze the dough for later use. 
• Slice the log into 1/2" slices with a sharp knife. Put on a parchment lined baking sheet and bake in the center of the oven at 325 for 12 to 15 minutes (I pulled mine out exactly at 12 minutes). They will feel slightly soft, don't over bake them. 
• Cool for a few minutes on the pan and then transfer to a rack. If you're going to give them away make sure they are completely cool before you package them.    

I promise to work on getting better at this blogging thing. More posts. I promise will try...

The first of many a word vomit

I have been inspired by the IR ramblings of my friend, colleague, mentor and brother, Alex to begin jotting down my thoughts in a public setting. Along with him, my father has always said that I should both write more often and someday be a critic - not of anything in particular (though of course the arts and food would be obvious choices) but mostly just because he likes my lingo when it comes to being critical, judgmental and witty. I enjoy being snarky sometimes and at my best I can make people both feel more comfortable and like me more, especially upon first meeting me. So yeah... this is now what we shall call "My Blog." I've kept a blog only once before and it was when I was studying abroad in Rome, Italy the summer between my junior an senior year of undergrad. Holy lord that feels like an eternity ago. But really... it's just been a year and a degree since that happened. Yes, a degree. A master of music degree in Opera Theatre Performance from Arizona State University to be more specific. How fun! Right? Right. We'll go with that. But really, I do love and am intensely dedicated and passionate about my art. It is who I am and all that I am about in a nutshell. But what anything is in its essence is full of branches and nooks and pockets full of oddities, specializations, secrets, information, shortcomings, interests, desires. So yes, I am an artist. I am a performing artist. I sing classical music. But I also bake. I used to be extremely into horseback riding. I think some of the greatest pleasures in life come in extremely minute details like the soft texture of a perfectly ripe fig, the thick head of a pint of Guinness, or wonderful fall days in the midwest when you can actually smell the sweet and natural decay of leaves and cut grass on the wind letting you know that winter is coming but for now you're cozy and in perfect harmony with the time of change. I love reflecting on what beauty goes unnoticed. I like the burnt edges of the folds in a croissant because I know they're the biggest pockets of caramelized sugar. I like thinking of my mom when she sips coffee but lets it linger in her mouth for half a moment both to let it cool in her mouth and let the bitter smokiness of the brew coat her tongue. I like when my dad's face relaxes from a smile but the laugh lines around his eyes never fade. Ever. I like thinking about my brother's soft and yet reassuringly strong hands that can both hold me when I'm in my darkest times with both strength and calm while also being able to break through multiple slabs of concrete. I like to talk about food. It is my favorite part of being a server. Food is like singing to me. It is layers of juxtaposed textures, sounds, smells, memories, thoughts, collaboration. Food takes a team. Food requires individuality. It is the currency of the happy realm in humanity. It is universal and yet completely unique. Food requires no words and yet generates millions. Just the other day I made four new friends just because I shared some homemade lavender marshmallows with them. Now, as novel and crazy sounding as a lavender marshmallow is, you don't exactly make them with the idea or intention of them bringing new and totally awesome people into your life. That is just pure awesomeness. It's the summer of 2012 and the first summer where I will not be going back to school in the fall. In fact, this is the first time in my life I cannot tell someone that I'm a student. I can't mark that in the "employment" section of an application. This is the first summer where when I go to work (when I actually acquire a job) I will be doing so to make money for my life, not just some spending cash on top of mom and dad's good graces or student loans. No, this summer is my first in the real world. Yes, the real world. I said it. Because it's real and it's here and I am now contributing to it. No, it's not the beginning. I'm in the middle of my life. I am right now. I am 5 years from now. I am just going through these days making sure that I am always walking out of my front door ready to kick ass an take names on a moment's notice. It's what I was raised to do. It's what I have trained for. It's who I want to go down in my own personal history as.