Prison Break

The good news is that I will probably be out of hospital on Saturday - which will be followed by an outpatient program here for six weeks or so. I am getting more and more mobile, and needing less and less pain relief medication - so that's something. Unfortunately, I seem to have loads of reasons to be miserable as well. I am frustrated that my progress is not quicker, I'm sick of being in a hospital, my control-freak self is hating not organising my home life, and in general I am feeling very low and depressed about it all. I have found myself in tears far more often than I care to admit. At the same time I look at the other patients here - many of whom need help to get out of bed, have had fairly major accidents, or are in here for several weeks/months- and I think I should quit my whining and thank my lucky stars that my pain and issues are minor in comparison. I almost feel guilty for feeling sorry for myself, especially when I know that feeling sorry for oneself is an entirely useless and pointless exercise.

When I think about summoning the energy required to start on the weight-loss road again, I cry. When I think about the pain I might endure if I DON'T summon that energy, I cry harder. The physiotherapist I saw today gave me a hard time - she said my frustration at being here was obvious. Ummm...yes, I'm frustrated - but I don't think the solution to that is to bury those feelings, is it? One of the facets of the program is visits with a psychologist - which I have yet to see, as I approach Day 4 of being here. Funny thing is that is the one person who I probably need to see the most! My frustration with my lack of progress is due, in part, to the seemingly endless amount of time it took to get transferred here, then the weekend waiting for therapy to begin, and then another day waiting where the staff finally admitted that they had forgotten about me. I've had one day of services (today) and then tomorrow is a public holiday. So of 7 days, I will have had access to 3 days of therapy. Who wouldn't be frustrated by that?! Being the scary overachiever girl, I need things to happen, and I need them to happen PRONTO. So I have short term frustration about my progress here, and long term frustration (fear?) about what the future holds for me.

Apparently the doctor also feels I need to wait a futher 3 weeks before returning to work. By the time three weeks are up, I'll be looking for the nearest loony bin to check myself into. While I don't want to rush things, I cannot seriously consider another 3 weeks of convelescence. My plan for now is to return to school next week (since that is short hours, low stress, and a lot of "down time") and then try one shift + school the following week, and then build up from there. Plus in amongst that have the day program here plus start with a physio/pilates program to build some core strength. At the moment it just feels like I am at the bottom of a very high mountain. The brightest spot in my days here has been when the kids come to visit and they make enough noise on the wards to wake the (almost) dead. What can I say, I guess I just don't make a very good hospital patient - something I would have thought was an asset but according to my physiotherapist, clearly is not.

This is a bit of a rambling, depressing post - completely out of character for me as a person and for this blog as a whole. I hope you'll forgive this minor break in the usual proceedings - I just don't feel like faking it.

This Blogger Temporarily Under Construction

Hello All:

This blog post comes to you from the hospital, where I've been since last Friday. I am recovering from a prolapsed disk which is pressing on my sciatic nerve. The good news is that it hurts a lot less now, and I will soon be moved to a rehabilitation hospital for some intense physical therapy. The bad news is that I am sad, depressed, annoyed and frustrated about it all. In a word, it sucks. Blogging is hard to do from a lying down position, so it might be another week or so before I caan return to reguarly scheduled programming. In the meantime, rest assured I have been taking digital pics of the food I've been eating here - so expect some amusing hospital food blog posts soon.

Positive, "no pain for emzee" thoughts welcome - looks like there is a long road to recovery ahead for me.

- Em.

The Epicurean Parent

A recent (post-preggo hormone induced but nontheless thought-provoking) email from The Baker's Wife asks, "Can one be a parent and a foodie?" Her question actually goes one further than that - asking if one can live in the (outer) suburbs and be satisfied as a foodie. For the purposes of this post, I'm sticking with the first part of the dilemma. For me the answer as to whether a parent can be a foodie or not is simple: No, if you consider a foodie to be one who (often) indulges in good food and wine. (Unless you have loads of disposable income.) Yes, if you consider being a foodie one who appreciates fine food and wine, with no requirement that they indulge in it.

For me the definition of a foodie is both of those - one who appreciates good food and wine (and usually, cooking with one and drinking about the other) and one who has the means to indulge in both, fairly often. However The Epicurean Parent (damn, that would have made a good blog title) is often one or the other. The Epicurean DINK or SINK (double/single income, no kids) is definetly both of those. Put simply, being a foodie requires a decent amount of money and reliable, easy transport (a point also made by The Baker's Wife). Once you become a parent, your disposable income decreases dramatically, as does your ability to get to that little shop which sells the most divine cakes, or the little fromagerie with the gorgeous farmhouse blue vein. On the financial front, it's not just the ability to buy the gorgeous bits and pieces - it's the minimum $10 an hour for the babysitter, who can't stay past the third course of the degustation menu anyway. Of course you could load the kid into the car for the trip to the Turkish hole-in-the-wall bakery selling heavenly bourek... but then add another half hour at least to the journey.

I am a big believer in taking children to restaurants - and I don't just mean the sort with a $5 kids special which includes the minuscule scoop of shitty vanilla at the end. I think they should learn to enjoy the finer things in life, to develop broad palettes, to experience all edible life has to offer beyond things fried. At the same time, I don't think children belong in all restaurants, and frankly there are some where I definetly do not want them crossing the threshold. So the dilemma of being a foodie, and a parent, is a difficult one.

As The Baker's Wife said (email quoted without her permission - sorry babe):

"When I am surrounded by other committed suburbanites, like our families and old school friends, there is no problem, because they have forgotten what they're missing. Day old bread and crusty pre-sliced prosciutto are de rigeur. But my regular friends are different. And this ex-London/Paris/Albert Park/City chick has come to rely on the availability and accessibility of beautiful produce. I want jamon at $120p/kg on a ten minute tram ride from me, even if I can't afford it. I want figs and almonds and baclava cheap and I want someone with a gruff foreign accent to sell it to me."

As you can see, a foodie soul definetly beats within TBW's chest, doesn't it? So how do we solve the problem of the Epicurean parent? The one who wants the farmhouse cheese, the aged smallgoods, the vine-ripened tomatoes and the Victoria Street pho - the one for whom the $5 kids special is starting to look a little, well, like a greasy pizza and crappy vanilla ice cream. Honestly, the solution for me has been to grab a bit of foodie love whenever I can. So I drag the kids to the outdoor food events - and find things I think/hope they will enjoy. I plan (expensive, so totally worth it) occasional dinners out with other foodie friends, leaving DH behind. I plan date nights with DH at similar establishments, so he gets a bit of foodie love too. I indulge in the odd bit of expensive cheese or fabulous dips. The kids come along to foodie markets (Melbourne is fortunate to have many) and eat the beautiful seasonal fruit while I eat the smoked salmon (although, come to think of it, they eat that too. Epicurean children are an expensive habit.) I learn how to replicate some of these delicacies in my own kitchen. Most of all, though, I never really stop learning about food - reading articles in the paper, reading foodie blogs, asking my fellow co-workers, bosses or teachers - and so on. Being a foodie is not all about eating out - it's a hobby, a habit, and an addiction. So I manage to be an Epicurean Parent - but on a smaller scale than I did before kids. Why? Because I know that the minute these kids hit 18, I'm headed for Nobu. In London.

The Triplet Card

So in part it's my over-achiever self, in part it's just my independent streak, and in part it's probably stupidity - but in the past nearly-six years, I've almost never played The Triplet Card. The Triplet Card is the one you play when you need something and the excuse you're going to use is your triplets. No different to The Kid Card, except that it carries a heck of a lot more weight (yeah, like 30 kilos in pregnancy weight). Saying "I've got 3 sick kids" is way, way, wwwaaayyyy more impressive than saying "my kid has a cold." However, even when it's been perfectly valid for me to play The Triplet Card, I haven't. I choose not to use them as my fall guys - even though I could, and lots of people think I should. A lot of this, I've come to realise, is my attitude to help. Specifically in asking for help.

When the kids were born, the maternal and child health nurse organised a church group (!) to provide me with some volunteer hours. So little old ladies would come over every once in a while to, ostensibly, help me with caring for the kids. It took exactly one visit for me to call the church and say, "Um, take ya' old ladies back!" I'm not afraid to ask for help if I need it (playing the ol' card), but I need the help to be on *my* terms. I just can't have people doing stuff for me which I think I can do, or which I want to do, or which I've planned to do. Spontaneous help is just not something I can cope with.

In the first case I like knowing I can do it all on my own - there is a certain amount of pride in that - the old independent streak asserting itself. Secondly, because I am one of those people who prefers not to ask for help (or not to need it in the first place), I want the request (when it happens) to be worth it. Know what I mean? When I eventually ask for help, my friends/family know it's because I truly, truly need it. If I asked for help all the time, then I'm just using their goodwill, and I don't want to do that. The whole boy cried wolf thing - if you always ask, when do people know when it's important? Theoretically I could get away with playing that card ALL THE TIME, and my fabulous friends and family would come to my aid - because they all are truly fabulous, giving people.

Funnily enough people often try to play The Triplet Card for me. As in, "Let me do that, dear - you've got enough happening already." Um, yeah - fuck off. *I* decide when I have enough happening already, not *you*. Don't get me wrong - I love that people are kind enough to ask me in the first place. I really am touched by how much people love and care about us, and my feelings would probably be hurt if people didn't ask me in the first place. It's just that I don't want them to be hurt or insulted when I say a polite "No thanks." I really don't want them upset when they then insist several times over, and I finally lose it and say, "WHAT BLOODY PART OF NO FUCKING THANK YOU ARE YOU NOT GETTING?" Now a normal person might just say, what the heck, take all the help you can get. Why not? They're offering, after all. Thing is, I am incapable of that. My control freak self needs to be the one who decides when and where I need the help. Silly? Maybe. Cutting off my nose, blah blah? Maybe. But it's the way I like it. The best way to help us - or help me - is to wait until I need you. Then, when you get the call, you know it's because I really, really need you.

Out of curiosity, are any of the other triplet parents I read who are like this? The Amazing Trips? The Grubbs? Parents in general?

This post was actually prompted by my reading about The Dunn Triplets - six year old girls who are deaf and blind. This family so much deserves to play The Triplet Card ... it just strengthens my resolve not to ask for help unless I truly need it. Heaven help these little girls.

Oh Crumbs!

For me, Passover is the most torturous of all the Jewish holidays. My carb-addicted self is left with a holiday which is bereft of all decent things bread-like, and awash with a whole lot of things which both taste and look like dust on a plate. Passover baking, in particular, is a fraught activity since you can't use baking soda or baking powder, or any other 'leavener' which might help a cake get beyond 1 cm off the plate. As a result you're stuck with a whole host of crappy cakes and cookies and the 'if I close my eyes I can pretend it's edible' baked goods. I'm here to tell you that Passover pastries (and - *shudder* - Passover "bagels") are downright disgusting. Mr. Manishevitz, your coconut macaroons are horrible, grainy, too sweet, sticky balls of, well, macaroon hell. Even the chocolate ones. Please, please, stop inflicting that culinary sin on the people of the world. (Especially Australians who pay twice as much to import the damn things.) If life as we know it was eradicated, the next sentient beings to inhabit the joint would probably still find an orange and green can of Mr Manishevitz's macaroons. God help them, too.

How does one cope with a holiday like this? It's some sort of special torture, to be a pastry chef and yet not able to eat or make any decent pastries in this 8 day period. We won't talk about the bread. (I might weep...or at the least start pounding on the door of my nearest bakery screaming, "It's not FAIR! It's just not FAIR!") I deal with it by making things which I would eat all year round - regardless of this *snort* "holiday." At my Passover table this year we had flourless brownies (to die for, seriously), a 'Passover Pavlova', meringue mushrooms, the anti-coconut almond macaroons...and a recent addition of a cake found in this weeks' Epicure - sand cake. Nothing which looks, tastes, or feels like a Passover pastry - just things which taste fab-u-lous, ALL year round. Revolt, people, revolt! We are the chosen ones - so let us choose not to support the coconut you-kn0w-whats in a can, the angel food cakes, the endless array of 'nut torte' and anything at all made with mazta dipped in crappy kosher wine. (Matza dipped in chocolate is allowed, but only if it's good chocolate and not scary chocolate.) Life, as I always say, is too short to eat crappy (Passover) cake.

I leave you with my favourite toppings for matza. Matza is Jewish people's Chinese food - you gorge on it like you've never seen food before, feel like you're going to explode, and ten minutes later, you're wandering around the kitchen looking for something to eat.

Matza Toppings as preferred by emzee:

1. Cream cheese and then a layer of red-fruit jam
2. Chocolate spread (a la Nutella)
3. Matza pizza (red sauce of some description, cheese of your choice, under the griller)
4. Marinated persian (soft) feta
5. Avocado, smashed with tons of sea salt and cracked pepper
6. A decent smoosh of chevre (goat cheese) and some sort of veg (tomato, cucumber...)
7. Plain ol' butter, but salted butter
8. Mayonaise and kosher salami
9. Egg salad, still warm (hard boil a few eggs, smash warm eggs with mayo and loads of salt and pepper)
10. ???? Ideas welcome.

For the foodies among us, Cooking with Amy has a whole week of Passover themed blog posts. Enjoy.

Bubble Fun

Since it's been a while since I've posted a picture of the trio, I thought I would share these two recent ones. In the first they are doing their religious bearded rabbi imitations. In the second they are showing one of the benefits of triplethood - getting clean by cooperation!

You have to be in it to win it

...and I was (in it, that is.) Yes, you're looking at the Bronze Medal I won! Now imagine how I would have done were I not under the influence of several over-the-counter medications, 2 kilometers of tape stuck to my back and butt, and a whole lot of emotional madness! I'm feeling very proud today!

For what it's worth, I went with taste over degree of difficulty and here's what I cooked:

• Fragrant braised apricot chicken
• Moroccan Couscous: an orange infused mix of almonds, sultanas and cinnamon
• Green beans dressed with lemon zest, Persian feta and fresh mint
• Carrot ribbons cooked with fresh ginger and cardamom

I even had some of the judges approach me afterwards and say how great my dish tasted. For the record, I was one point away from a silver medal. At the end of the day, I don't really care about the medal that much - I care that I came, I cooked, I stayed upright.

In the 11th Hour

7 days since I noticed a niggling backache...
90 minutes before I have 23 people wanting to eat a multi-course Passover feast....
21 hours before I'm supposed to be winning a cooking competition....
several hours since I've downed some anti-inflammatories....
less hours since I've sucked down some super pain killers...

And my back is still totally fucked.

As of yesterday morning, all the following are so painful to do they bring tears to my eyes:

- standing
- sitting
-lying down
- trying to roll over in bed
- walking
-bearing weight on my legs
-breathing in
-depressing either the accelerator or brake in my car
- typing this

What makes this day different from all other days? This is totally the WORST possible day on which my body can be completely incapacitated.

It looks like I'll have to forgo my effort at culinary mastery. One cannot effectively season something and cry at the same time - you can't see how much salt you're throwing in.

I'm so upset - and rather than drown my sorrows in decent bread, I have to drown it in freakin' MATZAH, which will then give me a stomach ache. For 8 days.

That's me in the spotlight, losing my religion

Next week - Tuesday at 1pm, on the first day of Passover to be precise - I am taking part in my first ever culinary competition. I originally entered the competition because I thought it would be fun. Hell, I even thought I might win, having seen the way some of my fellow students cook. The competition is a fairly serious one - it's the "Regional Final" for the Victorian Tafe "Chef of the Year" award. If you win or come in second place, you get to do it all over again in the State finals, held in September. Mind you, I don't think there are semi-finals or anything, so who knows why they call it a final in the first place. Any-hoo - I'm in.

I'm terrified.

Seriously.

Originally I just thought it would be fun, but now I know that my scary overachiever girl self will beat herself up for a loooonnnnngggg time if I don't at least place. So it's not really fun per se, now it's just sheer terror and torture and god knows what. I find myself doubting my abilities, doubting my sanity (what posessed me to enter this?!) and doubting, well, just everything. My ego is so bound up in this...on some level it's like if I don't do well in this, I somehow SUCK as a chef. Stupid, illogical, pointless, self-depracating ... yes, all of those plus more big vocabulary words. The thing is, the actual requirements are pretty easy.

Two servings of:
- chicken, with a sauce or jus
- a green vegetable
- a second, non-green vegetable
- a farinaceous (starch based) dish
...and you have to portion a whole raw chicken, cost out the menu to below a specified dollar value, and a bunch of other small things, plus all of this is timed. You get marked on four main areas:

25% methods, technique, level of dificulty
25% workflow, workplace organisation, finishing time
25% working in a clean, safe manner, personal hygiene (what a crock this is)
25% clean, contemporary presentation and taste

Originally I thought I'd cook what I know - namely Eastern European/Meditteranean influenced food. You know, the stuff I would have grown up with if my Mom bothered to cook traditional Israeli/Polish foods. So I had a bit of a menu planned - I was riding high on the wave of culinary clever-ness. Until - I discovered that there are at LEAST two Israeli students participating in the event, and they are planning on cooking classic Mediterranean.

Fuck.

Then I spoke to one of the coordinators, who said that level of difficulty and cutting techniques are going to be the main factors for that first 25%.

Double fuck.

So my really yummy and fab-o menu - which would be fairly simple to execute but divine to eat - has now gotten the ki-bosh on several levels. I am left feeling like I need to make a multi-coloured, multi-layered stuffed chicken breast, home-make some pasta on the day from some hay and a quail egg, and twirl around 17 times in a clockwise direction while serving it all 6.2 inches from the epicenter of the plate. With a swirl of foam, of course.

Triple fuck.

Dh says I should go for a triumph of taste rather than worry about being overly fussy. I say if I'm not at least somewhat fussy, I'll lose, primarily for lack of difficulty and skill. Ideally I need something in the middle, right? Easy enough for me to prepare in the time, difficult enough to have a bit of WOW factor, and it has to taste like the sun shines out of my chicken's ass. Plus it can't cost too much.

Between now and next Tuesday afternoon, I am working 3 shifts, having 25+ people over for Passover seder (and somehow DH and I just keep inviting people), go to the dentist, take my son out for a "DS and Mummy" Day, write the actual menu and workplan, test out all the recipes, decorate a massive Thomas the Tank Engine cake, get my son to a speech therapy appointment, drop off a cheque for the kids holiday camp....

I. Am. Totally. Fucked.

Help?! Ideas for sexy chicken dishes welcome. Hell, ANY ideas welcome at this point. COME ON, people. If you've NEVER commented on this blog before, NOW would be a REALLY, really, REALLY good time. I need you! (And if you can't cook for shit, at least leave a "go emzee go" post. Seriously, I'm feeling really stressed out about this stupid-slash-important comp.)

One wonders WHY I get myself into these fine messes.

The Straw

A few weeks ago I blogged about a depressing situation at my culinary school. As it happens I not only wrote about it here, but I posted it on another forum I frequent, and spoke about it to several people in real life. Without fail, everyone who I spoke to or who commented said the same thing - that I had no hope of changing school policy, but that I should say something to the teacher about the thefts I witnessed.

I didn't take that advice. Not because I didn't want to - in fact I agreed with everyone who said I should report the thefts. In fact I actually felt (and do still feel) a moral obligation to say something, to be the whistle-blower, to stand up for what I believe is not acceptable. However I didn't feel as though I could say anything after the fact. I should have said something that very evening(s) - when I saw the event occur. Saying something a few days or a week later, while still valid and important, would somehow seem a bit...diluted. I kept my mouth shut (difficult for me) - even though it still bothered me.

Tonight we had a function on, so we were cooking in a different kitchen. A few minutes before we were due to go home, one of the students (a local student, for what it's worth), bragged to me that she and another (international) student had each stolen an entire bottle of rum. You can imagine the look on my face, can't you? When I asked the international student what the @#%^ she was thinking, she replied that she hadn't stolen anything, that she was merely asked if she would carry it out of the kitchen, and she had agreed. I have no idea if she was lying or not.

Needless to say, I encouraged the international girl to return the bottle she had, and tried to nicely tell her she had no need to be dragged into anyone else's mud. I then approached the teacher (privately, with nobody else there) and told him what I had heard and seen - mentioning the other things I had seen but also explaining why I had not said anything until now. You can imagine the look on HIS face. Not happy.

There is, for me, a certain HONOUR in being a chef. I chose this profession, and in so choosing have dedicated myself to it. People don't become chefs for the money, let me tell you. There are only a select few (the Jamies, Gordons, and Julias of the world) who make a stack of cash. The rest of us, we do it for the love. Truly. It sickens me to think that this girl - whatever her motivations - somehow thinks it's okay to drag the rest of us down with her. Last week she was thrown out of class for, among other things, saying she didn't give a shit what the food tasted like since she didn't have to eat it. Week after week I spend my time cooking alongside people who just don't want to be there - and act like it. This week, enough was enough. If my biggest crime thus far is actually giving a shit about my career and my reputation, so be it. I'm willing to pay the price of being branded a 'bitch' and a 'dobber' and whatever else that girl (and others) are likely to throw at me. At the end of the day I know that I did the right thing, and I am upholding the honour of my profession.

I'll keep you posted.

Good Mom, Bad Mom

In a lot of the crime fiction novels I read, the people questioning the suspects will often employ the "good cop, bad cop" technique. Basically two people 'gang up' on the third, with one acting nice and the other acting not-so -nice. I think the basic point of it is that human nature causes us to shy away from the bad cop, and spill our guts out to the good cop. Both people are getting at the same goal of getting you to confess to the crime - but they way they approach it is different. It's all about perspective, you know?

I was trying to think about a blog topic today which wasn't a complaint about the Food & Wine Fest events I went to (don't get me started), or my job ending soon (don't get me started), or DH traveling in one of my busiest weeks ever (don't get me started). The topic I came up with was sort of in the same vein as a meme - "5 Good Mommy Things" I've done today. Then when I thought about it, I realised that everything I've done today, parenting-wise, was more deserving of a Bad Mommy award. Hmmm. Small problem there - can't really praise oneself when one is totally devoid of praise-worthy activities. So in the spirit of playing my OWN bad cop, good cop, here are five Good Mom/Bad Mom things I've done recently:

1. Good Mom: My kids ate a low calorie, low GI dinner. Bad Mom: I had such a long day, and such a niggling back ache, that I introduced them to the joy of Nutella on white bread as a dinner menu item. It WAS low GI white bread though. Chef, shmef. Sometimes even we can't be fucked (to cook anything). For what it's worth my own dinner was along the same lines.

2. Good Mom: In the morning my kids will enjoy a high-protein breakfast which will probably involve eggs, toast, yogurt and oatmeal. Bad Mom: I forgot to buy milk, so in the morning they will be annoyed that they won't get to have cereal, or milk to drink. Know what I say to that? Tough shit.

3. Good Mom: It's bath night! They all had a bath which involved water and soap. Bad Mom: I filled up the bath, dumped a bunch of bubble bath into it, swirled the water around, chucked the kids in, said, "Don't forget to wash 'yer bits" and walked away (yes, I could still hear and see them from where I was. What do you think I am?). Cleanliness is overrated anyway.

4. Good Mom: I made sure my kids got a good, full night's sleep. Bad Mom: I told them it was "very, very late" because it was so dark outside, and I hustled them off to bed quick-smart as a result. The reality of it is, at the time it was a full hour before they normally go to bed. Silly me! I "forgot" to mention that Daylight Savings ended on the weekend! Ha! (Damn kids were very ratty today - a result of waking at the crack of dawn the last two days.) So I sent them off to bed early. So sue me. I would like to point out, though, that 30 seconds after I turned the lights off, all three of them were sleeping like the proverbial logs.

5. Good Mom: I limit my kids television watching time, to ensure they don't become couch potatoes. Bad Mom: In response to my limiting their TV time, they complained. Loudly. So I told them that too much TV will make their eyes turn square....and they believe me! I also told them that the only way to cure square eyes was to go to the doctor, and you might end up needing an injection. I have no intention of telling them the truth anytime soon. Maybe when they turn 18.

So there you have it. In the past day alone I've lied to my children, fed them junk food disguised as decent food, purposely fooled their body clocks, failed to wash them properly, and denied them the joys of breakfast cereal. I've not exactly been a paragon of good parenting.

Good Mom: Keeping it real, parenting-wise.

Bad Mom: No such thing as long as you love them and look after them.
___________________________________________________________________
Note: It should be obvious from this post that DH is out of town. As we all know by now, the minute the man hops in the cab to go to the airport I turn into Slacker Mom. Course if he even TRIED this, I'd kill him. Doncha love double standards?!

Baking for Dummies

A recent order for an un-iced cake from a client who says she is the world's most crap baker has me thinking about people who say that they cannot bake. Now I am willing to believe that some of the skill in baking is just innate - just like some people are naturally better athletes, and some are better artists - I really think there is some gene or something for successful bakers. However, I also am of the firm belief that one can learn to be a competent baker. Not everyone chooses to, but I think everyone is at least capable of baking a decent loaf of bread and a decent chocolate cake. Given that this is a skill which seems to be shrouded in mystery and confusion, I'm offering the following tips to becoming a better baker:

1. The first time you make a recipe, READ IT ALL THE WAY TO THE END. All the way. Nothing worse than finding out, 6 hours later, that you need yet another spoonful of this and half cup of that. Or realising you've allowed 2 hours to make it and it needs overnight rising time. Reading the recipe all the way through lets you know what you're in for time and ingredient wise, and also helps you know what to expect, skills-wise, further down the line.
   
2. Once you've read it, gather all the ingredients and check that you actually have these things in the right quantities, PLUS some. Especially true for bread products, you will always need more flour than the recipe requires. I am including equipment here, too - if it says you need a piping bag, don't start the recipe until you've got one.
3. Remember that baking is a science. Literally. It's just not like normal cooking where a pinch of this and a pinch of that will get you through. Cake, cookie and bread recipes are actually formulas. It's very hard (especially for a beginning baker) to just add and remove stuff without significantly changing the final result. There are molecular reactions happening with that sugar - which is why swapping all the sugar for Splenda will never, ever work. Swapping wholemeal flour for white flour will also not work unless you adjust the formula, as wholemeal flour requires more liquid to be added.
   
4. Know your ingredients. Yes, there is a difference between baking soda and baking powder. Just because they have the word 'baking' in them does not mean you can interchange them. Couveture and cooking chocolate are not the same. Yeast has an expiry date for a reason. All purpose flour and self raising flour are not the same.
   
5. If you are icing a cake, the easiest way to make it look more professional is to cut the top off so it's level (eat that dome part or make cake balls out of it). Then flip it over and ice the flat bottom. Remember: housewives decorate the tops of cakes, and pastry chefs the bottom. Seriously. Your cake will instantly look better. (No insult meant to housewives, many of whom are fantastic bakers.)
   
6. If you take cookies out of the oven when they are dark brown, that counts (and tastes) as burned. Take them out when golden, not brown.
   
7. Know your oven and never trust the cooking time in a recipe. All ovens are different. Even if someone calibrated them all on the same day at the same time, they would have variations. Some have hot spots. Some just seem 'hotter' than others, and some cook slower. So if a recipe calls for 60 minutes baking time, set your timer for 45 and then check. Don't assume 60 minutes means 60 minutes for all ovens. For yours it might only be 45, for mine it might be 70+ minutes.
8. Own decent baking equipment. At bare minimum I think a home baker should own: a plastic spatula or scraper, a roll of silicon paper, a good quality pastry brush, a small selection of good quality baking tins (2-3 round of different sizes, loaf shape, muffin), a decent whisk, a set of measuring cups or a measuring jug, a digital scale which measures to the smallest weight possible and if you can afford it, a good mixer like a Kenwood or Kitchen Aid.
   
9. Ask friends and relatives for no-fail recipes. Don't start our trying to make multi-layered gateaux. You'll make one, it'll take forever, it will turn you off baking. Grab a hold of the scone recipe your Nana has made for ages, or your Mom's choc chip cookies, and bake them. You know what the outcome should be, you know the recipe's formula works, and you are halfway there. You can also call the author and ask for advice if need be.
   
10. Remember that those of us who do it for a living bugger it up, too. (Check out my babka post if you don't believe me.) You can hide a myriad of cosmetic baking sins with some artfully placed icing, some fresh fruit, or a nice bow. You can't, however, hide cajun-blackened butter cake, so don't try. Accept that some things just didn't work and try again.
11. You are in control of the process, especially when it comes to an oven. If you find your cake is burning on the top, but liquidy at the bottom, DO something about it. Don't just keep everything going and hope it will somehow fix itself. Take the cake out and lower the oven shelf it's on. Put a piece of foil over the top to prevent more burning - whatever, just don't stand there.
12. Practice, practice, practice. Substitutions are possible in baking, but what can be substituted can only be learned after you've been doing this for a while. Practicing also helps you to know your oven better, get more familiar with your equipment, and feel more comfortable with the whole process in the first place.
    
13. Measure everything - remember? It's a science, these are formulas, and if you bugger it up you'll get a lab full of purple smoke rather than a dense, fudge-y brownie. Too much flour in a cookie will keep it from spreading. Too little and it will spread to far. See what I mean? Measure. It's time consuming, but it's worth it.
14. Clean up as you go. If you've got some 'hands free' time in a recipe, use it to wash and put away what you're done with, or put away ingredients you no longer need. One of the worst parts about baking is being faced with a filthy kitchen when you're done. Do it as you go and then when the cake is ready, you have more time to enjoy it and less time spent in front of the sink.
    
15. Keep a well-stocked pantry, so that not every baking experience must start with a trip to the supermarket. Flour, unsalted butter, baking soda, sugar, vanilla...you'll come up with your own list of 'always haves' but make sure you stick to it. Mine always includes my favourite flavours - like cinnamon.
    

That's it - baking, for many people, is a scary prospect - but a skill well worth having. However, if you're happy staying in the dark on this one - keep it that way. Not all of us can channel Betty Crocker. Even those who do channel her actually BUY cakes and things from stores - basically, we know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. If you do choose to buy pastries and baked goods, then at least PLEASE buy them from somewhere decent ...and decent does not always mean expensive! Shop around for good quality, well presented products - if you're going to blow the diet, make it worth it.

One final piece of advice: Life is way to short to eat crappy cake.

RAS Recipe of the Week - Cinnabuns

Sadly, job woes for a different friend meant that I needed to come up with something totally gorgeous and mood-enhancing for a Sunday afternoon tea. Any excuse for a RAS is a good enough one for me, although at the moment I find myself wishing I was committing RAS for more positive reasons! I wish I could credit this recipe but I can't remember where I got it - it was the result of random click-throughs from foodie blog to foodie blog! In any case, here's the picture to keep you reading this post:
....yes. That IS a picture of sticky, sweet, luscious, warm, pull-apart and lick off your fingers, yeast-risen cinnamon buns. You KNOW you want to make them ... stare at them any longer and they will virtually CALL to you, in their cinnamon-laden sing-song voices....

Cinnabuns
(Yield: 12-18)
Note: Method changed slightly, as per usual emzee lazy chef behaviour

Rolls:
1 packet (1/4 oz) active dry yeast
1 cup warm water (105-110F)
1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup butter, melted
1 tsp salt
2 eggs
4 cups plain flour

Filling:
1 cup packed brown sugar
3 TB cinnamon
1/3 cup butter, softened

Icing: The original recipe has a very cake-like, thick cream cheese icing. Seemed like overkill to me (even with my disproportionately sweet taste buds). I just used a simple glaze of confectioners sugar mixed with scant amount of milk to get it runny. Presto - shine and sugar all in one.

Method:
Dissolve the yeast in the warm water and set aside. Mix together the sugar, butter, salt and eggs. Add flour and then the yeast mixture and mix until it comes together (I did this with the dough hook in my Kitchen Aid). Knead via mixer or by hand for about 4-5 minutes. Place dough in a greased bowl, cover and allow to rise for an hour or until doubled in size. Make the filling my mixing the cinnamon and sugar and setting aside.

Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface. Roll to a rectangle shape, about 21" long and 16" wide, and about 1/4" thick. Spread the softened butter evenly all over the rectangle (I used my fingers to squoosh it about) , then evenly spread the cinnamon/sugar mixture over it, all the way to the edges. Use your rolling pin to gently press the mixture onto the dough.

Carefully roll the dough down from the top to the bottom edge. Move the log around so that the seam is at the bottom. Using a sharp serrated knife, cut the dough into even slices, about 1 3/4" thick. Pick up each roll and take the 'unraveling' end. Pull it gently and stretch it so it's tucked under the roll, then place the roll on a greased baking pan. This is to keep the roll from unraveling.
Cover the trays and place in a warm place to rise gently until doubled in size. At this point you could put these in the fridge - they will slowly rise and then you can bake them in the morning. In my case I left them out for several hours in a not-so-warm place and they were fine.
Bake at 400F (200C) for about 10 minutes or until lightly browned on top - watch them as they can burn quickly due to the high sugar content. While warm, drizzle with copious amounts of glaze and enjoy with a tall glass of milk. If you have some left over, they are great for breakfast - just zap for about 15-20 seconds in the microwave and away you go. You can also freeze these (uniced). Enjoy!


Editor's Note - if you read these recipes and actually make them, PLEASE either leave a comment or email me to let me know how it went. I'd also love to know how the recipient of your RAS enjoyed it (even if that recipient was yourself, nothing wrong with a bit of self-love.) Any pictures of the final product, I'd be happy to post here, or link to from your own site.

A long overdue RAS

It has been far, far too long since I have either committed or posted about a RAS (Random Act of Sweetness). As I am now back in the cooking and baking swing of things, I decided it was time for a (non-babka) chocolate cake to give to a friend. I actually baked this cake in anticipation of a friend's DH landing a new job. Sadly, that didn't happen - but the love and affection behind this one was there anyway! I spied this easy-peasy recipe in a magazine some months ago - and forgot about it until they recently reprinted it as a 'best of' recipe. It's so easy and yummy that non-bakers could easily manage it on their own (if they don't lick all the batter first.) So without further ado, the RAS of a Melt-and-Mix Chocolate Chunk Mud Cake (recipe to follow):

Step One: Melt all the scrummy stuff till it goes gooshy gooshy

Step Two: Chuck in some more chocolate chocolate-ness

Step Three: Take a photo of your preferred vanilla to share with your blog readers. This giant one litre bottle was a gift from my parents - it comes from Mexico and is FAB-U-LOUS. Sometimes I open the bottle just to sniff it. I'm weird like that.

Step Four: Fold through some flour. Note the action shot, can you see the drippy chocolate from my spatula on the right side? This cake was already looking good.


Step Five: Pour in half the batter, sprinkle over some chocolate boulders, and pour over some more batter.


Step Six: Chuck some more chocolate boulders on top. Resist the urge to pull off a boulder, which would then be dripping with sweet, glorious, fudgy cake batter and pop it into your mouth, then swoon dangerously as you head to the oven. Fail spectacularly. Resistance is futile. Lick your fingers.

Now at this point I baked the cake, cooled the cake, and put it aside for the good news I thought I'd get the next day. I figured I'd quickly pipe a "yay you" plaque, and invite them over for after-dinner celebratory cake. Sadly, the job was not to be had and I had a spare chocolate cake on hand. In retrospect I should have delivered it to them anyway, but as I had a crowd coming to dinner I decided to serve it as dessert. I made a mental note to take a final photo of it, with a wedge cut out, artfully food designed to make an amazing, mouth watering final blog photo.

I failed to hit 'save' on my mental note. If this photo is anything to go by, I'd say this cake is worth making for a friend, as an RAS:


...and no, we didn't throw out that last nugget sitting there. It's just that THAT was when I remembered to take the damn artful last photo.

Melt and Mix Chocolate Chunk Mud Cake
(originally from Super Food Ideas Magazine, April 2007)
300g dark chocolate
200g butter, chopped
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup caster sugar
3 eggs
3/4 cup self raising flour

Note: I have altered the method on this cake, to make it easier and quicker - if you want the original version, email me (emzeegee [at] hotmail [dot] com)

Preheat oven to 160C. Grease a 6cm deep, 20cm based round or square tin. Garb your packet of chocolate and take a rolling pin or meat tenderiser to it. Yes, while it's in the packet. Hammer the shit outta it and try not to rip the packet. In a medium sized saucepan, melt 200g of your pulverised chocolate, butter and water until melted and smooth. Remove from the heat. Add the cocoa and stir until it dissolves. Stir in the vanilla, sugar and eggs. Mix very well (pierce the egg yolks if they just run around and around). Chuck in the flour and fold in gently. Pour half the batter into the prepared pan. Sprinkle with gay abandon half of whatever chocolate you haven't eaten yet. Pour in the rest of the batter and then sprinkle the rest of the chocolate. Bake for about 55-60 minutes or until a skewer has moist crumbs clinging to it. Allow to cool in tin.

...you can serve this with cream, ice cream, or slathered in ganache. We had it au natural and it rocked as is.