love.life.eat
a relentless pursuit of the perfect home + dish
au revoir, my sweet!
Posted on April 30, 2013
Maison Georges Larnicol (Images 1-5) – Who wouldn’t fawn over self-serve chocolate? I felt very much like a kid in a candy store…oh, wait. | Stohrer (Images 6-9) – a Parisian institution that won my heart during my last visit, so much so that I had to go back for an eclair. | Maison Colette (Image 10) – their pastries are so darling, their meringues so pink and light that you will wait, willingly, on the long lines for a taste.
the sweet life in biarritz + a ‘do not disturb’ sign
Posted on April 28, 2013
Biarritz was only this morning but it feels like decades past. The train back to Paris hurtled so fast through the countryside, you’d think it was on the run, and I couldn’t help but think that the ocean now felt small, like some sort of tableaux in sepia, a blue dream I had in the morning to then wake in a cold metropolis. Truth be told, I’m having a tough time making adjustments, of finding my way back. It occurs to me that I’ve spent much of this time thinking, so much so that it sometimes feels dangerous, as I have a habit of so easily slipping into a life vibrantly lived in my head.
Instead, I share the pretty diversions, the edited for television version of these past three weeks, simply because there are things that should always be kept offline. I don’t want to be figured out or resolved. I want to be the person who sorts out my life, and lately I’ve been recoiling from people who dole out unsolicited advice like sweets, tell me I should be doing this, that or whatever. At times my reactions have been visceral, irrational, abrasive because I can sense in their words and facial expressions that they want a kind of closure, a finishing of sorts. They want me to snap to it, be the Felicia they want to know or think they know. They want a refreshed LinkedIn page that puts an end to all that. They want to say, so, we’re done here, right?
Even if their words imply none of the above, right now I just need to hold up my DO NOT DISTURB sign. I need to surround myself with people who are comfortable with the words, I don’t know. I need to be around people who put down their phone while we’re eating.
Oh dear. I just realized I was supposed to write about pastry, wasn’t I?
The good news is that you can’t really get a terrible sweet experience in Biarritz. While it’s true there are fanciful shops that will make you gasp over the cost of a piece of chocolate (most of which are located along the waterfront), Biarritz offers incredible chocolates, breads and Basque treats that had me shaking from sugar. My favorite was the very simple gateaux basque, a cake-cum-tart with a crumbly, semolina consistency that is filled with cherry compote, cream or chocolate. From the cracked crust to the delicate filling juxtaposed with the dense texture of the cake, you’ll fawn over the texture + flavor plays. It’s so simple, yet, SO PERFECT.
My choice spots are Real Chocolate (bark chocolate that will have you keeling over from the richness), Maison Adam (finally, a macaron I can actually tolerate!), Le Secret des Pain (the best loaves of bread, beignets and cakes you’ll have in Biarritz), Gateaux Basque at the Miremont (with an ocean view that isn’t too shabby) + all the local boulangeries in Les Halles.
Trying so hard to slow that train down…
the sweet life in paris {2}
Posted on April 23, 2013
Indulge sweetly at: Carette (1-3) | Pozzetto (4) | Popelini (5) | Sébastien Gaudard (6-13) | Eric Kayser (14-18)
the sweet life in paris {1}
Posted on April 20, 2013
Today it occurred to me how much silence has the capacity to alienate. It is true that there is an invisible line — on one side there are those who speak French, and on the other side are those who don’t. After four months of studying the language, preparing myself for this trip, when I open my mouth it’s as if cotton swans out. Fumbling for words, I find myself stuttering, speaking softly and apologetic, until finally the poor waiter takes my order and scurries off. Bakeries are easier because it’s so procedural, whereas restaurants and shops offer one a more mindful exploration. One wants to linger. You might have walked in with an appetite for a particular totem or dish, and then you find yourself pontificating on the origins of a truffle, or the carvings on a piece of unfinished wood. All of this requires a rich vocabulary that I don’t have. I know it in English, sometimes I even think in Spanish (chalk it up to a bilingual childhood), but French aludes me with its irregular subjunctives and gesticulations.
Yet, I’m armed with my apps and prepared phrases and I try to keep life simple. I used to think that I wanted to live in Paris, but being in an apartment, buying groceries, navigating the subway system, has somehow taken the gloss off the city. And while I love it still, it reminds me of an aged New York with its raspy voice, mouthful of smoke and neroli perfume. But I do know this — no city rivals Paris in terms of pastry and blooms, and I’ve had my fill of them both. Traveling between the banks can be exhausting, but I used these Odyssean walks as ways to make the sweets downright necessary for fuel!
After reading the pastry smack-down involving my beloved eclair, I decided to pay a visit to L’ Eclair de Génie, located in the Marais district of Paris. Up until the past year I’ve had nothing but contempt for the eclair, as so many bakers have destroyed the delicate flavor balance with too much sugar, goopy cream, soggy pastry, and cracked chocolate that’s somehow medicinal. One could argue that it’s easy to bake a muffin or a cookie (I could argue both sides), but French pastry is a fine art, and poor technique can make for a crap pastry. But all was changed during my last visit to Paris, and I’ve now become a devotee. So believe me when I say that the accolades for L’ Eclair de Génie are well-earned. The simple, minimalist shop showcases the eclairs like jewels, and you can have your pick of the basics: chocolate, coffee, salted butter caramel, or the exotics: framboise/rose, pistache/orange. I opted for two: the caramel and the Madagascar vanilla dotted with buttery pecans.
You should know that I devoured both, outside the store, within seconds. I didn’t even have the class to walk around the block. No, I ate both of the eclairs, standing up, in plain sight.
After a day of walking, I needed a space to rest and enjoy a sweet treat in front of window. I found my way to Mamie Gâteaux (6ème), and slipped inside and immediately felt like I was in the home I always wanted. Rustic gastronomic accouterments, a proud display of tarts, pies and delicate cakes, and the workshop wooden tables, lent a comforting feel to the popular spot that tends to draw the brunch crowds on the weekends. But on this particular afternoon, it was quiet, and I curled up with a fig tart, fizzy lemonade and lots of coffee. And it occurred to me that I need to do this more often: sit somewhere with a book and a sweet.
The air had cooled and the once bright sun started to slouch a bit, and wouldn’t you know that I got a call from a sweet friend who happened to be in Paris? When I called her back, I apologized for missing her call because I was picking out chocolates at Patrick Roger. Of course you were! she laughed, and we met up for an afternoon coffee/hot cocoa and I shared some of my choice chocolates with my name twin. We marveled over the buttery pralines, the dark chocolate covered ginger, and truffles that ooze oceans of flavor. While the prices are a challenge, the goods are worth it. Shopping at Patrick Roger and marveling over the artistry harkens one to think of purchasing couture.
And while most of the shop owners spoke English (after my wretched attempts at making inquiries in French), I miss the way I am at home, when I have the words to ask so many questions, the words to share how the whole of my body wakes at a bite, but I’m mostly left with syllables and gestures and my sharing this love with you.
dispatches from florence: food in firenze {1}
Posted on April 11, 2013
Would you believe that as soon as I dumped my bags at the hotel and yelled at Alitalia, I ran out into the streets of Florence determined to eat. Typing this now, I’m pining for a green juice as I’ve never eaten so much pasta, focaccia, gelato, and parma ham in a span of three days. Imagine the moment when I set eyes on a chicken breast — I nearly cried. Don’t get me wrong, a woman loves her crudo with the best of them, but I am longing for some virtue. Or for my Tracy Anderson DVDs to arrive in Florence. THANKS, ALITALIA!
But onward! When traveling to Florence, elastic is highly recommended. Leggings, yoga pants, anything that will refrain from reminding you that no sane person should be eating gelato at EVERY. SINGLE. MEAL. or BEFORE. AND. AFTER. MEALS. (read: me). I first hit up Venchi, home to artisanal chocolate since 1878. From the cocoa-topped, feather-light cappuccinos to the whipped dark chocolate gelatos to the rows of wrap individual chocolates, you will want to bathe in nougat. Spy on the robust outdoor leather market from the upstairs nook, whilst sipping your coffee.
Since it was a few scant hours since my last gelato fix, I decided to hop into Coronas Cafe. Located near the Duomo, you’ll find unexpected flavors (figs, passionfruit, coconut creme, mandarine, meringue) along with the usual suspects, and the price is pretty favorable for an ice cream that was creamy, light, luscious and flavorful. The space is open + colorful, and if you’re not keen on cones and sweets, swing by the other side for a bevy of mortadella sarnis, crudos, sandwiches, cookies, cornettos and other Florentine delights. You won’t be disappointed, and since it’s been a few hours since my last gelato, I might slip out after writing this post and tuck myself in an alleyway with some passionfruit. Consider me addicted.
Usually I eschew all eateries recommended by hotels, as they’re often in financial cahoots, leaving me with tepid greens, suspicious lighting, and an outrageous bill. However, everyone in the free world has raved about my hotel, which I quite like save for the odd smell in the lobby (for another time, friends), so I decided to break my cardinal rule and ferret out recommendations from the concierge. And I’m glad I did, for Caffe Pitti was an exquisite pick. Steps away from the Ponte Vecchio and located on the Palazzo Pitti, the restaurant offers traditional Florentine dishes with a touch of creativity. Their quite known for their truffles from the natural reserve of San Miniato, a true rarity which highlights Pitti as the one and only place where each dish assumes an extraordinary depth. For fifteen euros, I enjoyed a delicious primi of pesto and perhaps the best chicken I’ve had in years. Soaked in lemon and butter, the breast was tender, falling apart, and begged to be consumed, voraciously. And if you’re not keen on a full-on meal, you can opt to order a DIY sandwich from Botteghina, where you can sample local cheeses and meats from the region — all on fresh focaccia.
Are you surprised that I found a cookie? I stumbled upon Migone, an old-school sweets shop located near the Duomo. Although the prices are steep (I spent $40 for these cookies + a few packages of homemade chocolates), the confections are decadent. You’ll find traditional Florentine sweets including panforte, ricciarelli and cantuccini, as well as delightfully packaged chocolates and candied sweets. Well worth a visit, albeit an expensive one.
Finally, a former coworker informed me of a sandwich spot I would’ve surely missed: All’Antico Vinaio. If you’re aching for a spot that is purely patroned by the locals, this is it. It’s a proverbial shoebox joint, with a great wine list and a terrific selection of fresh meats and local cheeses. The bread, my friends, is FUCKING OUTSTANDING. I stood outside the eatery and devoured my sandwich. Did I mention that the bread was WARM and YIELDING. I will definitely be back for more.
Would you believe this is only my first day? Clearly I’ll need some Crisco to make it through customs at JFK.
love.life.eat. of the week: in which a woman shakes in her pants in anticipation of her european holiday!
Posted on March 4, 2013
love.: As most of you know, next month I’m spending three weeks traveling through Italy and France. People who know me well know that I am a woman who likes to be prepared. To that end, I’ve spent endless hours preparing my itinerary of hidden chow spots, tucked-away streets and art that will put my heart on pause. Some of my choice favorites: Localers, a service offering cool day tours by Parisians. At present, I’m swooning over the food trips. Whilst in Paris, I will definitely pass time in these coffee shops, as recommended by Sous Style. After over a decade of traveling to Paris, photographer and writer, Janelle McCulloch, serves up a sumptuous take on her picks for art, architecture, fashion, vintage, food, and all the hidden streets that are a must-visit in her vividly photographed book, Paris: An Inspiring Tour of the City’s Creative Heart. Clearly, any advice Ines de la Fressange doles out I’m certain to follow. So I snapped up her beautifully bound, Parisian Chic: A Style Guide, and it’s chockfull of etiquette, tips and Ines’ picks for the ultimate Parisian holiday. Finally, the Bloggers Guide to Paris is a must-print {while you’re at it, devour all of Pret-A-Voyager’s posts, please!} When in Rome, I plan to follow Twitter friend + travel writer, Erica Firpo’s tips to the letter.
When it comes to apps, I’ve scored David Leibovitz’s divine Paris Pastry Tour, because if David’s writing about it, it’s certain to be DELISH. And to help me with my pitiful French and non-existent Italian, I’ve already downloaded the simple Mindsnacks apps.
**If you have any links, resources of tips for me, please share them in the comments section. I’m headed to Rome, Florence, Siena, Paris, Bordeaux, Biarritz, and possibly Basque country.
Brief aside: Golden Tip Cups. Aren’t they dreamy?
life.: Just as I ceased the endless trip vacillation {Basque country, no, Switzerland!}, do I read about Ashley’s visit to Southern Spain. You will fawn over the rich history, architecture and the sloe-gin vibe. Meanwhile, Jessica’s literary riffs remind me why I’m so delighted to have returned to books, articles, criticism with such fervor. Some days it feels as if I have a tapeworm when it comes to literature, and trust me, this is a good thing.
eat.: Indulging my passion for chocolate + chocolate are these yummy Homemade Bounty Bars. While I’m noshing on this and pretending to be more virtuous I can feast on Quinoa Salad, x3, Carrot Soup + Blood Orange Oil, Sweet Potato + Rosemary Biscuits.
love.life.eat. of the week
Posted on February 10, 2013
love: Alexander Stille’s take on memoir writing: After all, in writing about my parents, wasn’t I something of a body snatcher? | The world through a child’s eyes: Bianca Giaever asked a six year old friend what her movie should be about, and this is the result | Alice Munro’s heartbreaking, soulful story collection, Dear Life | The glee I feel embarking on a book-buying blitzkrieg: Lawrence Wright’s exhaustively researched book on Scientology, Going Clear (read his New Yorker article, which was the impetus for the book), Matthew Sharpe’s You Were Wrong, because Matthew is our new Don DeLillo, and Ali Smith’s There but for the, because her writing is surprising and always puts me on pause.
life: my extraordinary life change | Discovering Frankie Thompson’s blog, an ex-Londoner who decided to leave it all and travel the world | Design Sponge’s really smart round-up on social media etiquette, do’s + don’ts.
eat: chocolate profiteroles with passion fruit | brown butter rosemary sage cornbread | white chocolate coconut banana s’mores
chocolate chip scones: a scone only a mother could love
Posted on January 29, 2013
Make no mistake — these scones are ugly as sin but believe me when I say they were delicious. I’ve been battling this lately, the notion that all food photos have to be beautiful and awe-inspiring, sometimes unrealistically so. We’re drawn to the pretty and the perfect; our hearts covet the things that we see. We crave the idyll, we’re voyeurs who love to pore over photographs of the contents of someone’s home, closet, pantry or wallet. This is also why you’re seeing a slew of bloggers talk about “keeping it real” in 2013, how they want to show the boring, unseemly sides of their lives to give some color to the carefully-honed “reality” they architect in their online spaces.
Make no mistake — I’m a victim of this need for perfection just like anyone else. I held back posting this recipe for a month because every time I looked at the final scone shots I found myself shaking my head, thinking: This is too ugly for type. This is a scone only a mother could love. And the excuses piled on.
However, this morning I woke up and started thinking about the imperfect, and how that is so much more beautiful than the artificial stuff we see in movies and magazines. In the mess lies the passion. In the misshapen lies the devotion. Nothing is every worth it if there is no struggle, if it’s too easy, too pretty, so with that I hit the publish button and here you go.
Yummy, semi-frightful looking, scones.
INGREDIENTS: Adapted from Karen DeMasco’s The Craft of Baking
1 3/4 cups (210 grams) all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling
1 tbsp plus 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cups plus 2 tbsp granulated sugar
1/2 tsp kosher salt
6 tbsp (85 grams) chilled unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup (84 grams) semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 cup plus 2 tbsp heavy cream
1 tbsp Demerara sugar
DIRECTIONS
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the flour, baking powder, granulated sugar, and salt. Add the butter. Put the bowl in the freezer for 5 minutes. Then beat the mixture on low speed until the butter is broken up into pebble-sized pieces, about 3 minutes.
Add the chocolate chips. With the mixer on low speed, add 1 cup of the cream and mix just until the dough comes together. Using your hands, knead the mixture in the bowl to bring the dough completely together.
Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured surface and roll it into a 7-inch round, about 3/4 inch thick. Using a sharp knife, cut the dough into 12 wedges (8 if you like bigger pieces), like pieces of pie.
Place the pieces on a baking sheet, spacing them 1/2 inch apart. Cover with plastic wrap and freeze for 15 minutes or chill in the refrigerator for 1 hour. While the scones are chilling preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Brush the scones with the remaining 2 tablespoons cream and sprinkle with the Demerara sugar. Bake the scones, rotating the baking sheet once, until the baking tray once, until they are golden on the edges and firm to the touch, about 20 minutes.
Transfer to a wire rack to cool. The scones are best served the day they are made, but they will keep in a airtight container at room temperature for 3 days.
love.life.eat. of the week
Posted on December 23, 2012
Today I woke at dawn and thought, there’s so much magic in the world, I want to be present to see all of it. So I paced my apartment in the dark while my cat raced around my feet, and I pulled back the curtain in front of my deck to see all of my deck furniture huddled together with my rug covering the lot. Normally, this would enrage me because come morning I have to venture out into the cold and re-arrange all the furniture. But at that moment I thought of a woman protecting her young. That image lulled me back to slumber.
There’s so much to love this week, where do I start?
love.: After immersing myself in the latest issue of Kinfolk, where people like me who love food tell stories, I stumbled onto Gather, a biannual publication, a food-lover’s journal with staying power. Filled with recipes, lush photography and rich, soulful words, you will want to stock this book on your shelf. I’m running out to procure my copy today. Speaking of dreamy, you might have noticed that I’ve traded my handbag obsession for a linen and bowl one. Randomly, I discovered Dreamy Whites, a shop, blog, and life beautifully lived. You’ll fawn over the vintage linens and delicious bowls, and this au lait bowl* made me weep. And if we’re talking about lush, can we just prattle on about Brooklyn-based Apotheke? Homemade soy candles, soaps, body oils, scrubs and moisturizers, if you’re not won over by the heady scents and serene packaging (and the fact that it’s a locally-run business), you’ll appreciate the fact that I’ve met the proprietors on three separate occasions at Brooklyn Fair, and they are quite possibly the nicest people EVER.
life.: Reading Kinfolk’s profile on Buvette owner, Jody Williams, is the most impassioned piece of writing I’ve read in a long time. Her food odyssey takes her all over the globe, and although she’s not classically trained, she sought to create a space that would force people to gather.
eat.: Let’s start off with the unexpected. I’ve passed The Elbow Room many times since it’s been opened and never once thought about stepping in. Maybe it’s my fear of stadium-base eating (the eatery is located at the new Barclay’s Center in Brooklyn), but I’m glad I finally ventured in because the macaroni and cheese is remarkable. From traditional cheddar mac with a crumble topping to the cheeseburger mac with tangy dill pickles to the margherita mac, you’ll find wholesome, fresh ingredients, a melange of flavor and a tasty takeaway treat. Clearly I have to barricade myself in my home in fear that I might just crave Elbow every.single.day. It’s not every day that someone blowtorches your treat. Such is the scenario when you visit the very talented and passionate folks who run S’More Bakery, an online shop that sells the finest handcrafted s’mores this side of the east coast. The crunch of the graham cracker (the nutmeg, cinnamon and hint of vanilla is REAL, people. REAL) juxtaposed with the sweet caramel and tender marshmallow, had me howling in a corner of Brooklyn Fair. You will want to order scores of these treats, I promise you.
And when I’m not craving comforting mac and cheese or s’mores over a cackling fire, I’m thinking about this Inside Out S’Mores cake, this outrageous Cranberry + Pecan Agave Galette (out of control!), this Fettuccine with Sage and Asiago Pesto, and this Chopped Salad with Quinoa, Sweet Potatoes and Apples.
*Image credit above: Dreamy Whites.
love.life.eat of the week
Posted on December 2, 2012
love.: Believe me when I say that all credit cards are on lockdown for I’m officially on a buy-iatus. However, that won’t stop me from swooning over the affordable refined cashmere knits, sumptuous scarves and second-skin tees from Everlane. Last year I purchased one of Melissa’s delovely knit cowls, and it’s currently a mainstay in my winter repertoire. So while I’m baking up a storm, I’m keeping warm.
life.: Imagine if you can see the consequences of your decision played out in front of your eyes? A moment’s impulse spiraling events that’s at turns devastating and irrevocable? What if your choice opened doors that were never meant to be open? Such are the questions put to the fore in The Hidden Face, a provocative Spanish thriller that tests the limits of love. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the notion of perspective or point-of-view, how one story has an infinite number of meanings based on the person who’s telling it. Our perception of events, our memory, is at best fractured, because all the players involved piece back the events in random order. And this urge to detangle perspective has me back to my bookshelf (the place to which I return to seek answers) and I’ve been thumbing through Updike, Marquez, A.M. Homes, Nabokov and Alice Munro to explore the depths of multivariant storytelling.
eat.: It’s cold, which means I want to devour everything. This week I’ve fawning over John & Kira’s homemade pistachio and toffee bark and assorted confections, coveting the Sussman Brother’s This is a Cookbook, wanting to devour Homemade Milk Chocolate Cashew Butter, Butternut Squash and Kale Quinoa Stuffing, Pumpkin Spice German Pancakes, Oatmeal Raisin Rolls, Fleur de Sel Caramels, Pear & Almond Chocolate Cake, and the list can GO ON. Also, I feasted on this lovely Coconut Quinoa and Spinach Salad and swooned.
black bottom cookie bars
Posted on November 28, 2012
I’m a firm believer that your body will always tell you what it doesn’t want or need, and after sixteen hours of writhing in sheer pain I think my body is sending a very clear message: I DON’T WANT DAIRY.
As you can imagine I’m pretty upset with this sudden turn of events. Over the summer I experimented with eliminating dairy in my diet in an effort to add some diversity into my diet, and I felt less sluggish, lighter and more awake than I had in years. After I returned from France I started eating copious amounts of dairy and over the past few weeks I started to develop pain and discomfort after large servings of cheese. Granted, I’ve yet to see my doctor, but after experiencing sharp shooting stomach pains like none I’ve ever experienced, I think I’m going to lay off the stuff for a while.
So imagine my deep sorrow that I present a delicious, BUTTERY recipe while I’m eating dry rye toast. With the exception of Earth Balance, have you guys had luck with vegan alternatives in baking?
INGREDIENTS: Adapted from Milk & Honey
225g (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for greasing.
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup caster sugar
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 1/4 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 350F/180C. Lightly butter a 8inch/20cm square baking pan. Line with baking paper, leaving some to overhang on two sides. Lightly butter the paper.
With an electric mixer with the whisk attached, whisk together butter and both sugars. Whisk in eggs and vanilla. Turn the speed down to low and gradually add flour and salt, mixing just until combine.
Divide batter in half, and transfer one half to a separate bowl. Stir in cocoa powder and chocolate chips until combined.
Place chocolate batter in baking pan. Spread evenly and smooth top. Spread plain batter on top of chocolate batter. Smooth top.
Bake 25-30 minutes, or until top is golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool completely in pan on wire rack before cutting.
the game-changer + initiator of sweet tears: chocolate babka (krantz) cake
Posted on November 10, 2012
You slip out of your own skin, like molting, shedding your own history and your own future, leaving behind everything you ever were or wanted to believed in. Forty-three years old, and the war occurred half a lifetime ago, and yet the remembering makes it now. And sometimes remembering will lead to a story, which makes it forever. That’s what stories are for. Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can’t remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story. ― Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried
You wonder if it’s possible to rewind all the clocks, revise in reverse. Rewind the tape and like that. Because lately you realize that’s what you’ve been doing — practicing nostalgia, talking about the past as if it were a record on the gramophone, a projector churning out old movies. Convinced that no one sees the world the way you do save for those who have lived through it. You talk about slipping quarters into payphones, photostats and fingers stained purple from the ink, negatives and film, cameras flannels and Doc Martens, Nirvana, Under the Bridge, rollnecks, Daria, Alf, Jeremy, dollar drafts, that other recession, that other George, televisions where you had to get up to change the channel, and a time when no one used a computer. Everyone passed notes. Everyone practiced diction: pedantic, punctilious, pugnacious. Everyone read real books. This was before the dawn of mediocrity, the era of we celebrate just your best, a time when anyone with a computer could call themselves a writer. The pill, it’s bitter to the tongue. Hard to swallow.
You tell stories because all time has a way of erasing things, and you’re left with a photocopy of the original, and there’s a moment when you wonder if it’s possible to get any of it back. Because there was something real and beautiful and honest about the years. Or maybe it’s you romanticizing on a time that doesn’t invite romance, thank you very much. So you focus on shedding the years like dead skin. You burn all the photographs and cut the negatives because you’re starting to realize that there is no compass for what lies ahead. There is only you with a little light, tumbling forward into the dark, to a new time, a new life, on the other side.
The first time I made chocolate babka cake was three years ago and I nearly sliced off a finger and set fire to my kitchen. Funny how time sorts things. Because what is lovely, beautiful, honest and true about the here and now is age, experience. And while I may not be the fanciest baker on the block, I feel humbled to know that I can make a damn good loaf of bread. This is one of the surprises that I hadn’t anticipated. Who knew that a teenaged girl who mixed in hardboiled eggs into brownie batter could make something like this. You can’t understand how proud I am of this babka and the years it took me to get to a place where I could say that.
Perhaps we need to forget the tape. Veer off the road.
INGREDIENTS: Adapted from Jerusalem: A Cookbook
For the Dough
4¼ cups (530g) all purpose flour, plus extra for dusting
½ cup (100g) superfine sugar
2 tsp (1 package) fast-rising active dry yeast
grated zest of small lemon
3 extra-large free-range eggs
½ cup (120ml) water
¼ tsp salt
⅔ cup (150g) unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into very small cubes
sunflower oil, for greasing
For the Chocolate Filling
½ (50g) confectioner’s sugar
⅓ (30g) best quality cocoa powder
4½ oz (130g) good quality dark chocolate, melted
½ cup (120g) unsalted butter, melted
1 cup (100g) pecans, chopped
2 tbsp superfine sugar
Baker’s Notes: Superfine sugar is the equivalent of caster sugar (not quite icing not quite granulated, but somewhere in between). If you don’t have access to caster, I would put your granulated sugar in a food processor and grind to fine. Also, I loathe nuts of any variety in breads so I went without the pecans. Finally, I used large eggs instead of extra-large, as I rarely ever use extra-large in baking.
DIRECTIONS
DAY ONE: For the dough, place the flour, sugar, yeast and lemon zest in a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook and mix on low speed for 1 minute. Add the eggs and water and mix on low speed for a few seconds, then increase the speed to medium and mix for another 3 minutes, until the dough comes together. Add the salt and then start adding the butter, a few cubes at a time, mixing until it is incorporated into the dough. Continue mixing for about 10 minutes on medium speed, until the dough is completely smooth, elastic and shiny. During the mixing, you’ll need to scrape down the sides of the bowl a few times and throw a small amount of flour onto the sides so that the dough leaves them. You probably think that a dough this sticky will never get elastic? DON’T UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF YEAST, MY FRIENDS.
Place the dough in a large bowl brushed with sunflower oil (you can also use cooking spray, as I did), cover with plastic wrap, and leave in the fridge for at least a day, preferably overnight. This is your first rise and the dough will double in volume.
DAY TWO: You’ve survived the first rise! A brief confession on my part — I actually had the dough in a chilled counter, by accident, and it came out delicious so don’t freak out if this happens. But I digress. Grease two 2¼-lb/1kg loaf pans (9x4inches) with oil or cooking spray and line the bottom of each pan with parchment paper. Divide the dough in half and keep one-half covered in the fridge.
Make the filling by mixing together all of the ingredients listed to achieve a spreadable paste. Roll out the dough in a lightly floured surface into a rectangle measuring (15×11 inches). Trim the sides to make them even, then position the dough so that a long side is closest to you. Don’t freak out if this isn’t exact. DO YOU SEE ME WITH A RULER IN THE KITCHEN? NO WAY, NO DAY, KIDS. Use an offset spatula (or a butter knife works just fine) to spread half the chocolate mixture over the rectangle, leaving nearly an inch of a border around. If you’re using the pecans, sprinkle half on top of the chocolate, and then sprinkle 1 tbsp of superfine sugar.
Brush a bit of water along the long end farthest away from you. Use both hands to roll up the rectangle like a roulade, starting from the long side that is closest t you and ending at the other long end. Press to seal the dampened end onto the roulade and then use both hands to even out the roll into a perfect thick cigar. Rest the cigar on its seam.
Trim about three-quarters of an inch off both ends of the roulade with a serrated knife. Now use the knife to gently cut the roll into half lengthwise, starting at the top and finishing at the seam. Basically you’re dividing the log into two halves with the filling visible. With the cut sides facing up, gently press together one end of each half, and then lift the right half over the left half. Repeat this process, but this time lift the left over the right, to create a simple, two-pronged plait. Gently squeeze together the other ends so that you are left with the two halves, intertwined, showing the filling on top. Carefully lift the cake into a loaf pan. Cover the pan with a wet towel and leave to rise in a warm place for an hour to an hour + a half. The cake will rise 10-20%. Repeat the process with the second cake.
Pre-heat the oven to 375F and bake your cakes for about 25-30 minutes, until a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. Rest the cake in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes and then feel free to remove.
AND THEN PROCEED WITH THE TEARS.
