peyton and byrne: the greatest new thing to grace my doorstep

Straight from the UK, not even off the presses in America until this spring, with the price even printed and pounds and EVERYTHING came this to my doorstep earliest thist afternoonst: 

The most GLORIOUS, BRILLIANT and BEAUTIFUL compilation of British baking I've yet to lay eyes on. I was honestly caressing it's cover and wiping fingerprints off it's lovely, delicately embossed white doily with a damp towelette.

You know you're serious about a cookbook when you bring out the towelettes. Towelettes are for freaks with greasy fingers and even greasier hair who hang out in sports bars who have not been clothes shopping since the 70's, (those sick pedophiles) not petite bakers with a penchant for make-believing her cat speaks with a Russian accent. (Diary by Walter soon to follow--stay tuned.)

Do you know what the British call their cupcakes? Do you? DO YOU?
FAIRY CAKES! Fairy cakes!!! 


The euphoria is alarming.

There is an entire section entitled A Cup of Tea and a Bun. Could anything be so near and dear to my butter-loving heart than that phrase?

These photos are mere snapshots and do not do the photography in this cookbook justice by any means of the word; my iPhone even takes better pictures than my actual camera. I mean, come on, there is a close-up of a broken egg shell in a plain-old brown egg carton that nearly brought me to tears.

It's sitting on my lap with me and Walter is jealous.

You're judging. So stop. 

what posses me: teatime

Teatime. My favorite time. Without question or exception. 

An occasion, any occasion, to meet with and enjoy company in the cruelest of winter weather (of which we have not seen much here in Salt Lake). An occasion to sit with your thoughts of the budding new year and a good book near the faux-fireplace, listening to eccentric old ladies a'chattering.

Left and top right teatime at the Beehive tearoom. 

Hazelnut tea with orange-cranberry scones.

Bottom left teatime at Mazza. 

Cardamom tea with orange-blossom simple syrup. 

An after-holiday luncheon. To myself. Again.

pre-finals week. note: photos do not contain stress.

Winter sunrises,

 holiday centerpiece at the UMFA, 

cozy flannel sheets in Scandinavian prints,

Mrs. Backer's Christmastime treats, 

scones for breakfast at the Tulie Bakery, 

crafting scrappy homemade wreaths, 

Wagamamas cookbook! Courtesy of dearest Rikki.

for karen

Some people consistently rely on others to uplift and strengthen them and overall, make them laugh. While I view this as needy and obsessive, I am happy to oblige for my favorite (mostly only) sister Karen Jo (insulting nickname). Also Jo, I don't think you're needy and I love that you love my blog and request new posts.

So, today, being a usual day in my life, e.g., one in whilst I insulted everyone riding my bus within the margins of my brain, berated myself (in my brain) for berating them (in my brain) for being mindless incompetent zombies on their best days, acted like a know-it-all in my phonetics class, dozed through my art history class, (and when not dozing, drawing pictures of food) and fuming over the state of my kitchen. Also, being a typical day in my life, I was craving something hot and salty and slightly chicken-y, e.g., soup.

If you have known me for longer than 21 years (my whole life) you will remember how I practically survived on nothing less than tomatoes, (doused in salt) olives, (oh-so-very salty) and unidentifiable objects swimming in chicken broth, (the salty kind) until the age of 15, when I discovered coffee (not salty). This is not to say that I was a picky eater, because I was most certainly not. I ate a baby octopus once when I was 12. Never mind that I chewed its baby octopussy legs through [salty] tears because my mother made me clean my bowl filled with her Mystery Ocean Fishes Stew. Shut up, okay? I ate the damn thing. #notapickyeater

After suffering through 21-years of soup cravings, including sweltering summers spent sweating over a bowl of Campbell's Tomato soup, (check out that alliteration, y'all!) today was no different--I Simply Had To Make Soup. I performed my favorite, tried-and-true act of soup making: I threw shit in a pot. I took the homeless carrots and celeries and tomatoes and potatoes that were lining up on the corners of my fridge begging for spare change, or even a soup pot to fill with their goodness, and I threw that Shit in my Pot.

Oh my gosh, it sounds like an SNL skit! Shit In A Pot!

(Singing) She threw her shit in a pot!


Not literally of course. And I really shouldn't call my soup that because it makes it sound, well, shitty, and it really was very delicious.

It consisted of veggies on the verge of going bad, potatoes pan-fried with smoked paprika, whole wheat noodles, chicken stock, and a whole lot of love salt. I whipped that sh*t up in 30 minutes flat with plenty of time to destroy the kitchen in my wake.

Okay, so it might look a little yucky, but only because I ate half the pot before I remembered to take a pretty picture; also, you weren't here to taste it. 

Your loss. 

PS--Isn't my pot beautiful? 

a baking revelation

Let it be known that I, future food writer, bakery owner, and professor extraordinaire, have created the first ever recipe that I can call My Own. It all started with a botched clafoutis recipe and a bag of a fresh cherries.

But first, let me tell you something about Imitation Cherry Flavoring, e.g., that it is amazing. A true wonder of the modern baking world. And while this, My Recipe, calls for fresh cherries--a little cherry flavoring won't hurt. Nay, twill even make these cookies more delectable. Nay, even irresistible to your neighbors who will attempt to devour them straight of the oven ne'er paying attention to the pools of hot chocolate lava scalding their fingers and tongue.

I have been baking up a storm as of late. You don't know this, because no one knows this. No one except my roommates and neighbors who have been wiling (?) test subjects for the madness that has been my time in the kitchen. They say they are grateful for my suppling them with an ever increasing mountain of baked goods, one even going so far as to write up Another Testament Concerning The Divinity of Susannah's Baked Goods, (I asked for it to be framed for my birthday) but I have seen the girth of their waist bands, as I have seen my own, and I am concerned for them. Not concerned enough to stop baking, however. That is why you have the option to add an ingredient mildly healthful (I'm thinking rolled oats?) to these sinful treats. I will be doing no such thing. I'm just throwing the option out there.

But to what would I possibly add oatmeal? You ask. Certainly not stodgy oatmeal chocolate chip cookies? Certainly not! I say.

What do the heavenly combination of farmer's market cherries and dark chocolate create?

You would be correct in guessing Cherry Chocolate Chunk Cookies. Yes. Thank you, thank you. I don't have the free time to sign autographs at Barnes and Noble on Saturday, although they certainly did beg. And offer me a cookbook deal.

I used a sugar cookie base for these that worked out perfectly. Just dry enough to allow the moist cherries and the chopped chocolate to incorporate into the dough without creating a runny mess.

Pre-baked and perfect. The hold their shape while baking which makes me love them even more. 

Here's where I leave you hanging and deny you the recipe.

Just kidding.

For the sugar cookie base: 

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp. vanilla

For the cherry/chocolate addition: 

1 tsp. almond extract
3 tsp. imitation cherry flavoring
1 cup fresh cherries, pitted and chopped
8 oz. dark chocolate, chopped (I like Ghirardelli's 60%)


Mix together flour and salt. Cream sugar and softened butter in separate bowl. Add the egg and vanilla. To the butter mixture add imitation cherry flavoring and almond extract.

Mix wet and dry ingredients together. Dough with be slightly dry but easy to work with. Add chopped cherries and mix well. Add dark chocolate and combine until just incorporated. Dough may not seem completely mixed, that is okay.

Line a baking sheet or two with parchment paper. Spoon small amounts of dough and form into cookie-shaped patties. Bake for 20 minutes in a 350 degree oven.

Voila.

Books reviews thus far in 2011

One of my goals this year was to read two books a month. While I fell short during January (another thing I can blame Istanbul for) I have caught up and am devouring the downtown and Avenues libraries top to bottom. This year is yielding a strong culinary theme in my book preferences.

Check it out:

JANUARY:

A fun thing to read over tea during the darkest part of the afternoon right before dinnertime. Full of vintage advice our mother's and grandmother's adhered to. While some could be adopted for our modern lifestyles, others are downright silly; such as the diagram picturing specifically how a sick person's tray should be arranged so as not to "sicken them further with the stress of a an unorganized tray."

FEBRUARY:

The most fantastic armchair cookbook ever composed. Written by the marvelously talented Sophie Dahl, (granddaughter of Roald Dahl though she humbly shies from these bragging rights anywhere in the book, I for one didn't have any idea until after I'd Wikipediaed her.) her first cookbook is divided into sections equaling the four seasons and is peppered with delightfully written prose about her forays into the foodie world, starting with her family's love for team-cooked meals. I loved this book so much I bought in right away on Amazon new. Not used. That's how good it is.

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In Julie Powell's second book, she documents her life after the success of her amateur blog/turned book/turned hit movie about cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook, (if ya'll didn't know by now) her failing marriage, (with one-too-many over-shares on her rather odd affair) and her blind forays into the butchering industry as an apprentice. While still enjoyable and worth reading, the not necessarily-a-sequel to Julie&Julia is not for the weak of stomach or particularly sensitive vegetarian types. I found myself wanting to cover my eyes at some of the more gruesome moments, but powered on.

MARCH:

A delicious book, plain and simple. Elizabeth Bard truly lives the life we girls all fantasize about: a new life in Paris, book deals, French husbands, French food, Frenchfrenchfrench, Francefrancefrance! She invites us to peak into what is really is to live in the capital of France and into her made-up-as-we-go recipe collection. The recipes are mouthwatering and none-too-challenging for this fledging baker and chef. The first day upon cracking open the spine, I found I simply must make Poulet Basquaise (chicken and sweet pepper stew) that evening. And I did. And it was delicious. And made enough to last a week. I have since started a recipe book devoted to copying many of the recipes in this book.

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After spring fever hit, subsequently so did a sudden fever to move to Oregon, buy up some land, vegetable seeds, sheep and chickens and ducks, (for aesthetic purposes only, of course) and proceed to begin my life as a new, hip, young organic farmer. After reading Kurt's honest (yet nonetheless appealing and heartwarming) and insightful account of what it's really like to drop everything and begin working towards a life that stems from the ground up, (I'll give you a hint--it's not all sunny days and rosy lambs and fat, red tomatoes) I think I shall obtain some capital in the form of non-debt and student loans, and probably find a farmering partner while I'm at it. I'll stick with my window sill herb gardens for now and get my earthy-fix from the Farmer's Market. *Opening the morning of June 11th at Pioneer Park!*

UP NEXT FOR APRIL:

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