When Life Hands You Lemons, Just Start Making Shit

Significant other and I have been in the throws of what seems like a never ending move.  Our friend moved into our place to take over our lease at the beginning of August, we haven't gotten the go ahead to move into our new place (the Internets do not deserve details), and so we've been hopping between friends' houses for almost two months.  We've both been without work, have been relying on savings, and have overall had a pretty terrible time.  Our saving grace has been the generosity, understanding, and love our amazing friends have shown us.  I don't get touchy feely in this blog, but I gotta say that I feel truly blessed.

That aside, this really blows and I'm tired of it.  S.O. has started working and so I've been left to my own devices.  Also one of the friends we've been staying with had his birthday.  Why does this matter?  If you have to ask that question then you probably shouldn't read my blog, but if you've recently had a flare gun to the head and haven't figured it out, it means that I have been baking and cooking up a perfect storm of tasty buttery herby cheesy slut-tastic heaven.  There's been spaghetti, enchilada casserole, cauliflower soup, mushroom stroganoff, blackberry cobbler, and brownies.  All made from scratch and all within the past 8 days.

I would provide pics, but my camera is in a box.  I would provide details about each meal, but that would require putting more effort into composing my blog than the food I make and that goes against my greater sensibilities.  What I can say is this (touchy feely again), when life hands you lemons, when your world is turned upside down and you have no idea what will happen next, remember the people around you who love you and the activities that make you smile.  Those two things, whatever and whomever they may be, will make any situation you face easier.  Thank you to all who have done something, anything, to help us these past few months and, more importantly, thank you to the person thousands of years ago who invented butter.

I Officially Have Big Girl Pants

When I was a teenager I was convinced that if I learned certain skills that could be referred to as "women's work," that I would be setting the women's lib movement back by decades.  I avoided learning basic things like sewing and cooking because somehow keeping my skill set low would help propel women into positions of great power.  Hilary Clinton, you're welcome.

This worked out really well for quite a long time.  While I wasn't completely inept at all things involving heat, my cooking abilities were limited to cheese quesadillas, scrambled eggs, and ramen.  I had baked in high school but avoided cooking anything besides tasty sweets because

I AM NOT A HYPOCRITE!

Ahem.  So then I went to grad school.  I was on my own living in a big city with no money to eat out and no one to cook for me, excluding friends who took pity on a hapless Canadian-American with no practical skills (thank you!).  I don't know if it was hunger, dating a chef, or years of critical thinking in college, but I finally realized that avoiding learning how to cook was doing nothing but making me hungry and excluding me from an entire world of creative expression.  I decided to deal with reality and learn how to cook.  

Let me be frank by saying that I fucking hated it.  I had no idea what I was doing.  Meat terrified me, I had no idea what 'sauté' really meant, and the only thing I could consistently make was rice.  Let's just say it was a bland year and I cooked for no one.  

After finishing my coursework I moved back to the states to be with the guy I laser gunned in the face.  We moved in together, which meant that I couldn't get away with cooking atrocities just for myself.  I was going to have to share it with someone I cared about, meaning it had to be better than it-won't-poison-you standards.  This was easier said than done.  Living with someone who had cooked for upwards of 20 years meant that when I cooked, it was either leave me the hell alone or let's get into a fight.  My hatred of cooking continued.

I believe that one sign of a good partner is that they will push you to pursue things you've shown interest in even when you want to throw in the towel.  Laser gun man did just that.  He was and continues to be blown away by my baking, but it took years to get what I got the other night.  For the first time I made a real meal.  I've made pastas and casseroles and soups and other tasty things before that showed my progression as a cook, but the other night I made a simple yet perfectly executed meal. There were baked potatoes that were rubbed in oil, sea salt, and pepper and then baked in the oven, not the microwave.  I made roasted vegetables with rosemary and thyme.  To top it off I baked chicken coated in garlic, rosemary, and thyme.  See the theme here?  

Everything came out at the same time and was cooked perfectly.  The potatoes had a crispy skin, but were soft on the inside.  The chicken was savoury and moist.  The vegetables were cooked but not soggy with mushrooms that had absorbed all the herby goodness.  For the first time, I had successfully made a proper meal and my chef man said he was impressed.  After hearing that I can say that I have officially put on my big girl pants.

How I Accidentally Ate a Cock Ring and Almost Killed My Friend

It's been a long time for your Nasty Baker.  Life got the best of me and my interest in cooking, not baking, took over (expect the blog's theme to change...slightly).  I've thought about whether or not to get rid of this blog or to try and bring it back with a bang.  I chose the latter.  While I can't promise weekly updates, complex recipes, or even consistent nastiness, I will be blogging once again.  With that, I present to you the story of how I accidentally ate a cock ring and nearly put my friend in the hospital.

My dear friend Betty Page (seen on the left, in front of the drunkard) was getting married and a bachelorette party was in order.  Drinks, presents, more drinks, a hotel suite, and some male genitalia were all a part of the plan.  I had already gotten her the traditional sex toy presents, but wanted to do something more.  I decided to make a game with this and these.

I had it all planned out.  I was going to make a penis cake filled with white buttercream that would 'ejaculate' onto the counter of the hotel suite kitchenette.  There would be a cock ring inside and whoever got the cock ring in their piece would win some lube and a bullet vibrator.  Fun for all, right?

I chose a fairly easy batter recipe for the cake and went with a Bailey's Buttercream for the filling and "frosting."  Before putting the cake in the oven, I looked into the melting temperature of silicone.  Everything I read lead me to believe that I could easily and safely bake the cock ring in the cake.

The cake finished baking at about 10pm.  It inverted perfectly and I set to work hulling my penis cake, munching along the way.  About half way through I remembered that I'd put the cock ring in the left ball.  Realizing that I'd carved away most of that, I panicked.  I hadn't come across it and as I poked through the whole testicle, there was nothing to be found.  Not only that, but I had eaten the pieces I'd cut out.

Oh god, I just ate a melted cock ring.

Still freaking out, I checked to see if there are any health concerns one might have for accidentally digesting what is supposed to be silicone.  If it was silicone, which it wasn't, then I would be fine.  Since I didn't actually know what the cock ring was made of, I opted to hop aboard the denial train and pretend nothing bad could happen to me.  So far I've been fine, but I fully anticipate archeologists to unearth my remains one day only to find a complex puzzle that could only be answered by combining alcohol, a cock ring, and too many skittles.

At this point it was almost 11pm and the party started the next day.  I had to get to the hotel beforehand in order to set up the ejaculation scene, so to say that I was rushed would be an understatement.  I hopped in my car and ran to Kroger where I begrudgingly bought two boxes of Duncan Fucking Hines Devil's Food Cake Mix.  For those of you who know me, you know that I never ever buy pre-mix boxed cakes or brownies or anything.  I make it all from scratch every time.  Buying those red boxes was a hard thing to do especially when it was for my friend's bachelorette party.

I ran home and made the cake again, this time sans cock ring.  It thankfully inverted perfectly and I carved away.  I whipped up the Bailey's Buttercream and inserted the cock ring into the filling (always buy a set ladies).  Why I didn't do this the first time is beyond me.  The cake was ready for its setup.

The next morning I skipped out on the breakfast festivities for the party in order to get the cake ready at the hotel and I must say it looked ridiculously spectacular.  Our camera was lost that night so at this point I have no pictures to show how violent the penis cake was ejaculating.  It was all over the counter and was dripping on its cake-y head with such force that it looked like there was a cum fire.  It was art god damn it, art with a cock ring.  Despite what had happened it was perfect.  I then set off to meet the girls for lunch and to begin our drunken escapades (let's go!).

Despite the chilly spring air and some light rain, we had a blast.  We had so much fun in fact that I didn't pay attention to Betty Grable here telling bartenders not to give her bourbon because of a severe allergy.  Over and over she refused whiskey, scotch, etc. because it bring on a severe asthmatic episode and she would have to be rushed to the hospital.

durrrrrrr

We headed back to the hotel with hot pizzas in tow and a hot stripper en route, the cock cake waiting.  It went great.  She and everyone else LOVED the cake.  We ploughed through the pizzas and started in on the cake.  Guess who got the cock ring?  None other than my asthmatic friend.  We all started eating and chatting and laughing.  Everyone remarked on the tasty buttercream and than Ms. Grable goes,

"This is so good, what is in this?"

"Homemade buttercream with Bailey's,"  I say proudly.

"Bailey's?"

"Yeah, Bailey's."

"You know I'm allergic to bourbon, right?"

uhhhhhh

Ms. Grable went to bed shortly after that and I left with my head hung low.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't avoid her for a few weeks after that.  I was mortified.  Thankfully nothing happened to her.  There was so little Bailey's in the buttercream that she had no reaction.  She also hasn't held it against me at all, making her one classy broad.

There it is.  The story of how I accidentally ate a cock ring and could have easily put my friend in the hospital.  Now what lessons have you learned from this?

Help me!!!

There is something I've wanted to make for years now and for a variety of reasons I have yet to take it on, Cheesecake.  I can boil down this (inexcusable) avoidance into a series or bullets:

1. I didn't have a springform pan.  I now have a springform pan and so this excuse has been a load of shit since Christmas. 
2. My mother's cheesecake recipe is the best in the world and she won't share it.  How do you try and tackle the best, especially when the best belongs to your mother?  The answer is you look in the mirror, grab your genitals, and say "Stop being a wuss and make a goddamn cheesecake."
3. Without the best recipe, I am left to search for one.  This is not a problem in and of itself, but it leads to this post's rant and purpose.

New York style cheesecake should be UGLY.  It should be cracked all over the top, inconsistently brown, and just appear unattractive.  That is why people started putting unnecessary toppings on them; it was because they would sell more of them and not because they tasted better.  If anything, toppings made cheesecakes sickeningly sweet, distracting the tastebuds from the beautiful simplicity of the rich and dense cheesecake.  Any and every cheesecake I have ever had that was uniform and attractive tasted like crap.  They were greasy, flavourless, and were a waste of my time, money, and use of my mouth.  

So with that, I am asking you all to provide your recipe suggestions in the comments of this post.  I am currently considering the following, and would love feedback or thoughts from y'all.

http://www.simplyscratch.com/2011/10/new-york-style-cheesecake.html

For the love of god, HELP ME MAKE A HIDEOUSLY DELICIOUS CAKE!!!!

Soft Pretzel Freak Out

There are certain things I've baked that, before starting, made me very nervous.  They are things that seem impossible to make at home simply because they are so widely available everywhere.  My self-defeating logic is that if it's simple to make, people would do it and I had not heard of anyone making soft pretzels before.  Then again, I'd never heard of anyone making pop tarts before either.

I went with old reliable for this one, aka Smitten Kitchen.  Her recipes are easy to follow and seem less daunting than other recipe blogs I've found.  To say that this is my favorite would be an understatement.  Her blog and approach is what spurred me starting my own online account of my baking.  Suffice it to say, I highly recommend her.

I started by making the dough, which was easy enough.  I thought it was pretty dry when I get it ready to set for an hour, but my fears (why do I always get so freaked out?) were unwarranted as the dough came out perfectly.  After following all the steps, I started working the 16 pieces of dough.  That was difficult simply because I had to rub my hands together with the dough for what felt like a god damn hour.  16 soft pretzels.  What the hell was I thinking?  I have got to start halving recipes for Christ's sake!

The part that also made me nervous was the poaching of the pretzels, which I had no idea was what made them pretzel-y.  Just some baking soda and sugar in boiling water, reduce to a simmer is what turns bread into ballpark style soft pretzels!  I put salt on half the batch and cinnamon sugar on the other (unfortunately I went too easy on the sugar).

They turned out AWESOME!  My neighbor and our guests that night loved them and we all ended up eating about 3 a pieces.  Again, why the hell did I make 16 soft pretzels?!

To summarize, Smitten Kitchen is the shit, soft pretzels at boiled, and use more sugar.  Nomnomnomnom!

Mucus Monkey

In preparation for a get together, I decided to make Monkey Bread.  I'd been eyeing this recipe for quite some time, but had talked myself out of it for a variety of reasons, like time and inexperience.  At 8 o'clock on a Friday night, I has a fuck-it moment and I went for it.

As with every single recipe I ever do, I am plagued with doubt.  The dough seemed too sticky and then too dry.  I ran out of melted butter and used a bundt pan that is screaming to be replaced.  I literally do this to myself each time I bake, yet 90% of my endeavors turn out delicious.

Thankfully the Monkey Bread was part of the 90%...I think.

After letting the dough rise twice and baking it, the inversion turned out fine.  The cream cheese glaze looked and tasted great.  I stole a piece to 'make sure it's done,' and god damn it was tasty.  About an hour after finishing it, about 2am, it was time for bed.  The next day would consist of being with great people who would eat the bread and say 'yay.'

Nope!  Instead I woke up with a cold.  Boyfriend went and I have yet to hear how well the Monkey Bread was received.  My mucusy invaders is also why this post is both long and uncharacteristically dull.  Mucus acts as a fun filter, both inbound and outbound.  Booooo!

Absentee

My last post consisted of somewhat of an online existential breakdown.  Why am I here?  Does anyone like me?  WAAAAH!  I then fell off the face of the earth, likely leaving readers to think that I had committed digital suicide and was now living in a hole somewhere.

Not true.

Instead, two very significant things happened in my life that completely derailed both blogging and baking (insert sad face here).  The first distraction happened shortly after New Years.  I had just bought myself the first car I've had in over 4 years and everything was coming up Nasty.  I was finishing up at work one day when boyfriend called and said, "You need to come home.  We've been robbed."  After gathering my things, I come home to find the place completely trashed.  Both of our computers were gone, my camera, my bike, and a lot of jewelry.  Our dining room and bedroom were hit hardest with things strewn everywhere.  Through anger and tears, I did manage to crack a smile when I saw that my $400 stand mixer was still sitting under the worktable in the kitchen.

This is called perspective.

While the jewelry stings because some of it was given to me by my grandmother, it is really the bike that still hurts.  I loved and hated that bike.  I had bled and sweat on that bike.  I had felt every single bump of every road I'd traveled on its solid steel frame.  It took thighs of a similar construction, which it gave me, to get the thing uphill from a dead stop.  But it was my bike.  I had fallen and soared and smiled and cried on that bike.  It's gone and it breaks my heart.  Having said that, none of my bakeware was taken.  None of my knitting gear was taken.  Our cat was not hurt or lost.  Boyfriend's art was not touched.  Neither of us were hurt.

This is again called perspective.
The robbery did lead us to realize that, while adorable, our cat is a terrible theft deterrent.  So, we got this guy.

Meet Conjunctivitis Clyde!  Our 1 year old American Bulldog who farts and licks things incessantly.  He's perfect for our home and we're quite fond of him.  The cat is less than impressed, but she's slowly coming around to the thought of something bigger and hairier than her hanging out around the house.


Between the robbery, insurance, and a new dog, things have been hectic here at home.  But there was yet another distraction.




I WENT TO FUCKING ISTANBUL!!!!
That's right, Turkey, with lamb and Bosphorus and delight and other really fantastic Turkish things.  I had been planning this trip for work for about 2 months along with some partners connected with the government over there.  As part of my job, I lead a delegation to Istanbul Fashion Week.  Seriously.  The planning was mayhem and the trip was exhausting, but it was absolutely amazing AND I get to go back in May.  Fuckin eh, right?

So this is why I have been absent.  There has been almost no baking, but that is going to change.  I plan on making Monkey Bread this upcoming week and will update accordingly.  For all those who dealt with my digital existential issues, thank you.  It means the world to me:)

Presentation vs. Flavor Explosion

Living in Michigan has it's up and down sides.  There is fantastic produce, the people are kind, and hiking is great here.  Also there are few jobs, a strange obsession with cars, and a higher-than-normal occurrence of allergies.  For boyfriend and I, however, Michigan also means great distance between us and our families.  This is both a positive and a negative.  While we get to have our run of the place without worrying what our mothers will think of the state of our bathroom, we also have to travel for at least a day to see our families.  In 2009 we went to Minnesota and spent Christmas there.  It was lovely, but extremely busy with running around the Twin Cities seeing everyone we ever possibly knew while living there.  In 2010, we went to Nova Scotia to spend Christmas with my dad and step-mom.  It was much more relaxed and while we had a great time, taking an entire day to fly there and another day to fly back was a bit much.  So for 2011, we decided to stay in Michigan for the holiday.  Knowing that I would have an entire week off, my only option was to go batshit crazy and bake something really out of hand.  So I decided to make this.

You see those layers?  That spike of caramel?  See how perfect it is?  I wanted to do that.  I wanted a challenge, something that would help bring my baking to the next level.

Looking at the recipe, I knew I would have to spread this out over a couple of days.  On day one, I started with the sables.  The recipe is very easy, but the dough was very crumbly.  This concerned me as I rolled it out and then as I baked the cookies.  They turned out wonderfully though.  Buttery and delicious, definitely worth eating on their own.  I was off to a great start and feeling confident, I looked at boyfriend and declared that all I had to do was "two things" on Christmas day.  Ha.

Back tracking just a little, I was unable to find cranberries anywhere.  Apparently the only time of year when you can get them is Thanksgiving and so if you want anything cranberry for Christmas, buy early and store them.  This was little issue in the end as raspberries were on sale and sounded great with maple and walnut.

On Christmas day, I began making the raspberry gelee.  I had started out thinking that reducing the berries down would only take 20-30 minutes.  Again, ha.  Not only did the raspberries take over an hour, but I had to strain them twice to get all the berries out.  More importantly, the gelee would not thicken enough.  I doubled the gelatin in the god damn thing and still it was runny.  I reached my 'fuck it' stage and put it in the fridge to cool.

With the sables and gelee finished, all that was left was for me to make the mousse.  Sounds easy enough, right?  Well I had never made mousse before and had no fucking idea what I was doing.  My first try resulted in scrambled maple eggs, leaving me without enough maple syrup for the finishing glaze.  My second try took over an hour (again) and seemed very runny.  Looking at the recipe, I was to halve the mousse and incorporate some of the gelee into one half of it.  I did this and it destroyed any hopes I had of achieving a presentation even remotely close to what is seen in the recipe.

After letting everything cool, I started assembling.  First the maple mousse (which turned out great), then the gelee (which was runny), then the mousse/gelee mix (which was a terrible consistency), and then topped with the sables that were not resting on top of the other ingredients like I had hoped.  I put the little bastards in the freezer and dipped some walnuts in caramel to give the semblance of a fine dining dessert.

After chilling in the freezer, I removed the monstrosities and ran a knife around the edges.  I then inverted and...nothing.  I ran the knife again and...nothing.  I slapped the dish a few times to loosen the dessert out of the molds and...nothing.  My presentation was officially ruined.  I served them to boyfriend and myself in their cooling dishes with the sables on top and the caramel walnuts on the side.  The dessert was delicious.  I mean really phenomenal, but I couldn't get the presentation right and that is the story of my baking.

I can bake just about anything.  I don't mean that to sound arrogant or conceited.  I mean that I have a love and a skill to make delicious baked goods, BUT I am terrible with my presentation.  I'm not a visually artistic person.  I'm a writer by trade and so while I would love nothing more than to be able to make beautiful baked goods, I am left making ones that taste wonderful but look like Sloth from The Goonies made them.

It doesn't matter though, because people will still eat and love what I make.  Now if only I could incorporate a pirate ship...