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miette's gingerbread with cream cheese frosting

Before I selected this recipe from Miette, I made sure to read the eratta that came out a bit after the book was published. There were a few errors. I printed it and tucked it into the back of the book for future reference. I was tipped off by the Food Librarian who received a new book from Amazon. Since my review copy came from the publisher, I was not so lucky.

Another gorgeous cookbook with scalloped edges, floral green and white endpapers, glossy pages, and pink, green, and black fonts. Photography by Frankie Frankeny details the steps in icing the Tomboy Cake, the perfected mass production of pink meringues, and droplets of dew beading blueberries in the fresh fruit tartlettes, and then some.

But, instead of making the cake, I decided to whip up cupcakes to share with my librarians. We meet each Wednesday morning as part of our website redesign and we take turns bringing goodies to share to make the work more pleasant. Since I'm not cooking much at all, other than the occasional bit of pasta for Elsa and I for dinner, and I've been dying to try a recipe from Miette for ages now, the gingerbread filled the bill. 

Especially since it's made with Guinness. Naturally, when I bought the six pack I ran into a relative with whom I go to church and I felt as if she gave me the MAJOR STINKEYE about the Guinness in my cart, even though she didn't say a word about it. It's not as if I declared "The Guinness is for cooking" cause, y'all know I'm well over the legal drinking age, and as an adult it's not like I need to justify anything to anybody.

Although that's just what I did. Shoo. I swear. Must be living in Appalachia. Or just going to a family/community church. But she lives clear over in Virgnia and it's not like I expected for her to be 50 or 60 miles over in my town shopping at my hippie grocery store anyway!

Enough said. I love cooking with beer. I think that's my calling. Beer cakes, beer breads. The yeastiness is something to behold. 



The preparation is similar to the Nigella Lawson Guinness chocolate cake that I love making wherein you combine beer with other items and let it warm in a large saucepan, stirring regularly, not letting it stick to the bottom, get overheated, etc. etc.

Plus, you'd think I'm such a beginner in the kitchen. And sometimes, I think I am. Instructions said to fill the cupcake liners with 1/2 cup of batter and be done. And that's good news to me because I usually overfill. It's that stomach bigger than the eye dynamic. Then my cupcakes expand and bake well over the liner or cupcake cup/holder, whatever you like to call them. 

I'm not an expert at cupcakes. Nor at icing, either. I'm not a perfectionist. Styling a plate so that it looks picture perfect doesn't make my day. I'm more interested in how it tastes. Because plenty of things look pretty but don't taste worth a hoot. As you can see, my attempt at icing failed. I used my pastry bag with one of the nozzles. It was my first time! Ugh. Such a failure. I need lessons.

Next time I'll use a ziploc bag and no nozzle. Because actually I practiced this technique two weeks ago with deviled eggs at my sister-in-laws house. Her deviled egg mixture was very moist and had to be piped into the eggs whereas ours is usually thick and scoopable. So after an egg or two I had this technique down. Yet in these days of such specialization I know I can easily find a cupcake icing apparatus if I google such a creature. Dare I?

However, the icing was yummy: Typical cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, and I added a smidge of peppermint extract. Or no, was that some other cupcake I made? 

I'm easily confused. 

Whatever. Regardless, the gingerbread was awesome. The recipe is a keeper. The cupcakes grew moister each day I kept them under my glass cake keeper. The blend of so many spices is key. And my use of Penzey's cinnamon (and I forget which one I used, exactly, because I have several blends) is really what made it's flavor so stellar. 

And, I can't credit any foodies for turning me on to Penzey's. It was my knitting guru who introduced me to their fantastic products a few years ago. Yep. Awesome how serendipity plays it part.

So. Miette, from trying one recipe, I'm hooked on the cookbook and other than running my fingers along that sensual die-cut scalloped edge, I'll be flipping through the pages looking for more more more and cooking up more more more!

two nights in baltimore (food content at the bottom)

Work took me to Baltimore a few weeks ago and I spent a short minute calculating how many years passed since my last visit to my mother's birthplace; at least twenty years. The Inner Harbor was rehabbed then, but not quite as fancy as it is today. Deciding between taxicab and light-rail into downtown was short work. Hadn't researched the city properly before touching down, so my decisions were impromptu.

Urban life fascinates me. The walking. The public transportation. Food trucks. The homeless. Buskers. People who don't/can't drive. Once I got that light-rail in my head, and knew it cost less than two dollars to transport me from the airport to downtown, I bought my ticket and hopped on. And that was perfect because it saved me the $30 + tip cab fare that's the flat rate. On the ride, I thought of Ian. Wondered if we lived in Baltimore whether he'd like driving a passenger train rather than a coal train. Then I thought about my mom and her childhood and whether she rode trains when she lived there in the 1950s and 1960s. Naturally, thoughts turned further back to my grandmother and when she lived in Baltimore and whether she and her mother rode a train from Tennessee to Baltimore when they moved there in the 1940s.

Exited the light rail kind of where I thought I should, but not really. Ended up wheeling my carry on behind me along Eutaw Street. Bad idea. Wish I'd known to stop in at Lexington Market where the best Lump Crab Cakes are had at Faidley's. Oh well, missed out on that. They ship. No photos of any of that travail because I wasn't whipping out my camera. Oh heck. I was so out of my element. Everybody knew I was in the wrong place. Several men asked if I needed a ride somewhere. I declined.

My grandparents met in Baltimore after Marie (my grandmother) and her mother, Ada, moved north as part of the Appalachian Diaspora in the 1940s to find work because there was none here. At one time Marie worked at a Planter's peanut plant in Baltimore. Mom and her family returned to Tennessee in the 1960s after Ada died. Thanks to all the years they lived in Baltimore, they developed an everlasting love of crabs, which they shared and cultivated in me by teaching me to eat them and love their taste, and their mess.

The bit of food prep I did prior was thanks to Laura Lippman. If you read mystery, then you may know her work. Lippman writes a series featuring Tess Monaghan set in Baltimore that usually features stake outs in restaurants. The worst part is that Monaghan has shellfish allergies. Terrible thing, that. Lippman also writes other mysteries as well and splits her time between Baltimore and New Orleans, where I'm headed in--oh, let me count the days--six days. I like her on Facebook and she asked what she should blog about. I requested food in Baltimore, because I'm all about food and think everyone else should be too. She and the folks who commented gave me pages of names of restaurants to consider. I kept them accessible in my Droid.

So even though I never lived in Baltimore and had only visited there once before I have a fondness for the city because my mother grew up on High Street, Little Italy, I think. Reading Lippman's books is one small way I pay tribute to my mother. And always carrying a warm fuzzy feeling for Baltimore is another, despite it being quite possibly the dirtiest city I've ever visited. There was trash everywhere. Oh, and a love of John Waters' films.

That initial visit some twenty years ago cinched my love affair with Baltimore and linked the city forever in my mind with drinking because of the city's nonchalant liquor laws. I was twenty but appear younger than my age, which was the bane of my younf life. At thirty-nine, I still get carded and boy howdy it makes me feel gooooooooood. When my ceramics professor took my classmates and I to a crab shacky kind of place near the Inner Harbor for dinner, we sat as a group and ordered drinks, but my experience with mixed drinks was mostly vodka and orange juice, so I was clueless about what to order. Millie, a server at The Peerless, suggested I try a gin & tonic. I loved it. It's been my signature drink ever since for two reasons: It was my first illegal drink, and, as a quasi-Druid who loves all tree-products, (this is how one of my husband's friends described me to him when we first dated "She's a tree hugger. Don't buy her flowers. Buy her a plant") naturally, juniper berries are divine.

Strolling the Inner Harbor after dinner, we entered a shopping area and ordered beer. Again I was not carded. We walked around carrying open containers of alcohol. Just simply unheard of in East Tennessee in 1991 at the time. So, you see, Baltimore had it going on. 

Of course, there was the time, the second time, actually, when I worked as an historical interpreter at Rocky Mount. It's one of those historic places that does first-person interpretation where you become the person and lead tour groups around the cabin and grounds in character. I used my name, Rebecca, and worked with the director to develop my character. She was a Catholic woman from Baltimore who wore very fancy costume. Along with her husband and children, she visited the Cobbs because her husband sought trade opportunities along the Great Wagon Road/Southwest Territory, because believe it or not, East Tennessee was, at one time THE Southwest Territory of the US. But she kept her religion secret and they worshipped secretly because if you know much about religious history in 18th century America, Catholics were persecuted. So there's that whole Baltimore connection going on, too.

This trip I chose my hotel for its proximity to the Enoch Pratt Free Library because I am a librarian. And after the dicey stroll down Eutaw street and a rest in my room, I spent a few hours soaking in the loveliness that is the EPFL, doing a little genealogy research, chatting with the homeless, badgering the reference staff to dig up books on WACS out of their stacks, etc. I've dreamt of visiting its environs for years. It is one of the oldest established free libraries in the US. I am the ultimate library geek. I love books. When I vacation, or travel for business, I learn where the libraries are, and I make point to visit them. 

Thank goodness for Yelp! Luckily Tio Pepe was less than a block from my hotel and so dinner the first night was Spanish. The architecture in Baltimore, at least in the Mt. Vernon district where I stayed, reminded me of Boston how so many businesses and residences were at basement level. Tio Pepe was recommended by someone who commented on Lippman's blog post. Spanish food is not something common in East Tennessee. The sangria they served was the best I've ever had. Most sangria I order is bland, but I was amazed. Good bread, nice butter. 

There's something about Spanish restaurants and their interiors. At least the ones I've been to. They remind me of dungeons. I like them, but they scare me. Lots of white plaster or brick work. Thick-plank black wooden doors. Dangerous ornamental sconces and light fixtures. Like, if you can't pay the bill or undertip, they'll take you to a back room and strap you to a torture device. Tio Pepe's was understated, lots of photos at their website. I took no photos. Didn't seem like the thing to do. Was a fancy, pricey place. I felt odd enough dining alone.

The Tio Pepe in Tampa, FL was over-wrought, more reminiscent of Ripley's Believe It or Not. At the one in Baltimore, the servers were male and were native speaker of Spanish which made me wonder about Baltimore's ethnic enclaves. I know about Little Italy. That's where my grandfather grew up, even though he was German-Irish.

Since I didn't get the lump crab cake at Lexington Market, I ordered a grouper special topped with crab and champagne. Vegetables and potatoes accompanied it. The grouper was light and delicious, and I mostly ate the crab because I was quite full from snarfing the bread and butter. Too bad there was no fridge in my room to take my leftovers to. Nor were there any homeless between the restaurant and my hotel to foist my leftovers onto, either. Sadly, I find Spanish desserts somewhat lackluster and with a full stomach, there was no quibbling.

I dined at Sascha's 527 Cafe the second night, again because of it's proximity to my hotel. I was carless and walked everywhere. I spied it the previous day, noted it's location, and when my stomach grumbled on Wednesday I walked down the brick-paved sidewalk past the lovely verdigris cafe tables and chairs outside their windows and inside their soaring sixteen foot ceiling space for a very early dinner. Having the dining room to myself was lovely. Bright acrylic portraits limned the walls and someone brought bread-sticks and a green olive thingy (how else to describe it?) for me to snack on while I browsed the menu. Their playlist was lovely: Dolly Parton, Nora Jones, and some other homey feeling tunes that segued into jazz, believe it or not.

Went for the Duck confit ravioli because there aren't enough opportunities for me to eat duck in my real life. It was divine. Here's their description: "Homemade Ravioli w. Duck Confit and Mascarpone, Black Pepper Honey and Sage Brown Butter." I didn't expect sweet. Sascha's serves tasting plates, so I also ordered the cheese plate. It was so-so. It's description outdid the reality. Not outstanding, but it didn't fill me up, and that was my goal. The shame is that I've forgotten the name of the Excellent cocktail I drank. It was all gingered up. Perhaps a ginger martini? Simply delightful and refreshing. Who knew Baltimore could be so hot and humid in mid May? No dessert there, either. I browsed their menu, nothing inspired. Is Baltimore known for carrot cake? It was touted as a special or Baltimore's finest, or some such.

Oh, and to not have the air conditioning at Salamander Used Books? Bad Form. There was a box fan. The man selling books said he was waiting to turn it on later for a book group. Why antagonize your customers and add to their misery? 

Actually, I'm eager to return. I didn't visit the art museums. I'm sure there are many more eating adventures I missed out on. There's a cupcake establishment receiving good and bad reviews. There's a pie or cake place featured on the Food Network one Laura told me to visit, but without a car and with no impulse to try the bus system or hop in a cab, I didn't. And another Laura raves about it and so I think I should give it another go for her sake and maybe focus on more nautical pursuits. Or a cocktail tour.

Okay, I got over my fear of taxi cabs about eight years ago and manage them okay. Watching the Bone Collector made me fearful of stepping into strangers' vehicles. I talk to strangers all day, but trusting them with my life is another thing.

Kentucky derby

Have you been to Churchill Down in Louisville, Kentucky? It was my first time at the Kentucky Derby Saturday and there were 164K of us, which set a new track record. The food on the ground was what you'd expect from a festival or fair--fast and deep fried: burgers, fries, cheesesteaks, corndogs, hotdogs, kettle corn, cheesecake-on-a-stick.

Nothing extraordinary, and thus, rather disappointing. No bourbon balls. But, I suspect that if you were in a box, the food might be better. Appearing on the red carpet were Martha Sterwart, Bobby Flay, and Guy Fieri. 

The drinks were mint juleps, lemonade, sodas, beer, and some type of red Bacardi cocktail, perhaps a rum bunch. I didn't imbibe and mint juleps are not my thing. I had a lemonade, but didn't drink much at all. The lines to the ladies rooms were very long. I didn't want to wait, nor did I want to use the public restrooms. The weather was low in the sixties and it rained, but that didn't stop the ladies from wearing their frocks and hats.  

The hats amazed me. I do love hats. 

Besides the frocks and hats, most ladies teetered and tottered through the crowds on their tip-toes on stilettos heels. No doubt their feet ached. Many carried an extra pair of shoes. Some paired galoshes with their frocks. Others wore cowboy boots with their frilly dresses. And still others wore the ugly, ubiquitous flip-flip/thong which I find a most disgusting form of foot-wear.

Or, they abandoned their shoes all together and walked around barefooted, which truly disgusted me. Some men wore thongs on their feet, too. Gross.

The men in their seersucker suits and saddle shoes, simply took my breath away. And men wearing linen suits and vests were debonair as well.

beer bread yall

Bread can be expensive to buy each week, especially if you're drawn to those $4 loaves. We're going through ours by the end of the week. But cheap white bread abounds for ninety-nine cents. How healthy is that? Love my white bread, but I do try for enriched varieties.

I love bread. Toast is easily my favorite food. When I lived in Alaska I didn't realize how much I missed toast until I went home with a friend for Christmas and had access to her toaster. And bread. And butter. It wasn't like I was living in an igloo; c'mon now people, hasn't Palin dismantled all those stereotypes about Alaska? I was at college there living in a dormitory and only had regular access to a communal microwave. I passed on that. Anyway, we make a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Elsa...and ourselves. 

Instead of eating out so often and spending all our money in restaurants, we've had to eat at home more often to save dough and to eat healthier. In fact, I've dusted off my baking stone and returned to making pizza dough and freezing it for later. 

But then working with the dough was so much fun I decided to make sandwich bread as well. I've got the ingredients on hand anyway, so it's basically all paid for already. What is there to lose, other than time? 

My cookbook library lacks titles strong on the bread baking variety, and none of the general ones feature them. I found a stout beer bread recipe in Bon Appetit Y'all.Surprisingly I didn't review it when it was published in 2008. But I sure like this little beer bread recipe. It's quick and easy. A trained monkey could make it.I'll stick with it for a while, though she offers a more complex honey wheat in which you actually use YEAST.

Instead of using stout, I used Red Stripe. It was on hand and it was at room temperature--one of the recipe's requirements. And I didn't want to wait hours for beer to warm. Normally I have oodles of Guinness on hand because it is the best beer to cook with when making DYI mustard or chocolate cakes.

The first loaf was Red Stripe. The photo documents the last piece. We ate it when it emerged from the oven. Oh we're fools for hot bread. Sorry, we actually waited a bit for it to cool before sawing off a piece or two. Delicious. Thick and dense, almost like cake. That's the way I like my bread. Not thin and airy. It was great, really. A wonderful treat.

 

Then I made another loaf the second night and used Killian's which is my most favorite beer of all. Naturally, the bread was excellent. A bit darker, but not quite stout. So when the next paycheck is deposited into the bank, I'll likely stop by the grocery store and pick up an assortment of six beers to further my experiments in beer bread. 

I could wait for a while. I've got a bottle of each of these in the fridge: Sam Adams, St. Terese's Pale ale, Pilsner Urquell, Peroni, Warsteiner, Budweiser, and St. Pauli Girl. I used to say that St. Paulie Girl was my favorite. And I do do love Sam Adams. Actually, they've been in the fridge for a long time. Does beer expire? 

A few other beer-related tidbits. Um, I was in this group at university called Women's Issues Forum. It was for burgeoning feminists. One of our social events was meeting at a member's house and baking bread. One of the breads we baked was beer bread, but I was not so impressed with it. We were more interested in drinking the beer and socializing than baking it.

Something else: Ian's grandfather drove a beer truck. Ian doesn't drink beer though.

There was one more...I don't particularly like beer, either. But I prefer imports to domestic beer, unless the domestic beer is a locally produced item. I'll sleep on the beer anecdotes and perhaps something scintillating will appear in my dream and I can share it with you here.

Oh, I drank a lot of beer in Alaska. Mostly Rainer because it was cheap. I never really liked its taste. It was a means to an end.

It takes me longer to remember what my next point is these days. So I have this Amish cookbook and I threw some water and three packages of yeast into a container in my fridge. I'm making a sourdough starter! Tomorrow would be day 3. There's a 3 to 5 day window when you feed the starter, and then I don't know what because I haven't read that far in the recipe. 

So I would be grooving on my sourdough starter tomorrow except I've got to go out of town for the day to KnoxVile (misspelling intentional). Boo the Vile Knox. But at least I have feeding my sourdough starter to look forward to on day 4 or 5.