birthday cake

It just seemed appropriate to celebrate my great grandma Vae's birthday by making a recipe that must've been destined to come into my hands -- Vanilla Wafer Cake. While she pulverized the cookies and made them into batter, I apparently used to climb into any cabinet to get into a box of my own and would scream bloody murder if denied. Four generations between us, but clearly we both love those cookies!

Executing this queer little recipe was a near-herculean task and a definite comedy of errors. Vae's instructions are beautiful, certainly, but pretty vague. I'd love to know how many ounces of Nilla Wafers were in that "25-cent box" she refers to, and I'd really love to know how the heck she ground up all those cookies without a food processor. Right now my favorite image involves her pouring them into a sack and pounding them to dust with a hammer on the sidewalk. Still wearing a skirt and heels.

How long did it take her to get the icing (a cooked icing, no less!) to the soft-ball stage?? Because it took me almost an hour. Then I spent another 45 minutes fiddling with a bowl of, let's face it, hot caramel and trying to whip it into something resembling icing. All this after spending a good half hour getting the cake together and fudging this and that to make it less a thick goop and more a pourable batter.

It was an interesting, and highly enjoyable, process, and you'll be glad to know I've simplified things for you quite a bit. Below you'll see the original recipe, because it just looks so darn cool, but scroll down a bit farther to find a fleshed-out recipe that'll guarantee a much less haphazard and prolonged time in the kitchen.

(Oh, and this cake is rich, decadent, and totally sinful. As all cakes should be...)



cake
3/4 cup sugar
1 stick of butter, softened
4 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 box Nilla Wafers
1 cup chopped pecans
1 cup coconut flakes
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder

Cream together the butter and sugar, then add the eggs one at a time. Add the milk. Pulverize the cookies in a food processor till they are finely ground. Add the cookies to the batter, then fold in the pecans, coconut and baking powder. Grease and flour either two round 9-inch pans or a 9x13 pan. Spread the batter in the pans, then bake at 325 for 30 minutes.

icing
2 cups sugar
1 stick of butter
1 can of evaporated milk
1 tsp. salt

Put all ingredients into a small saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low to maintain a rolling simmer. Allow to simmer for 45-50 minutes (haul out a good book), stirring occasionally. Remove from heat, and allow to cool for 30 minutes. If you're making a sheet cake, poke holes into the cake and pour the icing all over the cake. If you make a layer cake, allow the icing to cool completely, then beat at a high speed for 7-8 minutes or until spreadable. Ice the cake, and serve!

penmanship

It's been awhile. I've been away. My fingers have been idle... at least in the literary sense. Sure, I've been cooking. Almost every night, in fact, and now I have an even bigger table to feed. The only problem is, I haven't really felt... inspired. Inspired to try something new, something different, something fresh. To unearth and savor old family recipes that have long been forgotten. And, you know, write about it.

But inspiration attacked me this weekend in the form of a warped, battered navy cookbook from the 1940s -- my great-grandmother Vae's copy of The Household Searchlight Recipe Book.* Modestly sized, virtually free of photography and sepia-toned, the book is a treasure trove of the delicious (cheese soup, butter cake) and the bizarre (Baked Heart, Prune Whip). But the most precious thing it contains is several recipes in Vae's scrolling, perfect cursive.

My Nanny still loves her handwriting so much it makes her a bit misty, and I can't deny the emotional pull of seeing the words she labored over sixty years ago. There are so many delightfully old-fashioned phrases... "sweet milk" to distinguish from buttermilk, "oleo" instead of butter or margarine, "a 25-cent box of Vanilla Wafers" instead of, well, I have NO idea what size that'd be today.

Sure, it's cheesy and dorky and smacks of sentimentality, but I just can't help it. I can't wait to try Vae's toffee bars and sand tarts and her sister Grace's recipe for pecan pie... I can't wait to feel like I'm connecting with a woman I've only ever known through stories, getting to know her in the place where she must have churned away hours by herself, a place where she expressed herself and created beautiful things. When I make her recipes, it's like I get a little slice of time in the kitchen, right next to her. Are these recipes precious to me? Beyond words.

And I can't wait to try every one!

*Where did those wonderfully sturdy cookbook names run off to? Now cookbook titles are all fancy-schmancy... "From Vines to Wines," "Earth to Table," "Harvest for Hope"... huh?

oregon - a visual feast!

Every Saturday, near Portland State University, local farmers and growers spread out the jewels of their labor for all to marvel over and enjoy. And during our recent family trip to Oregon, we cut out a couple hours for time at the farmers' market and were not let down. From picturesque piles of crisp winter vegetables...


... to mounds of sun-hued carrots...


... to the French radishes I've longed to taste for a year, there was a wealth of beautiful, delicious food at our fingertips. We ate the radishes that night during dinner, dipped in dairy-fresh butter and sprinkled with salt, and though my brothers wrinkled their noses at the taste, I was happily satisfied. They were just as mild and sweet as promised by my beloved French cookbook! And accompanied by sheep's milk cheese, crusty baguettes and sauteed asparagus (all gleaned from the market), they were the perfect summer's meal.



To my husband's great delight, we found a singularly calorie-packed lunch at The Grilled Cheese Grill... a hamburger nestled between 2 grilled-cheese sandwiches instead of buns. I have no words for this divine combination. There was a lot of joyous groaning as we ate.



Now, I consider myself a gigantic pastry snob since I had my pick of patisseries in Paris for a year, but the Hazelnut Cream Danish at Pearl Bakery left me claiming, at a rather embarrassing volume, "This is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth!" The perfect amalgamation of textures, from creamy to flaky, is housed in this peerless little pastry... rich hazelnut cream, bedecked by crushed hazelnuts, nestled in layers of buttery croissant. The fact that this danish is now over 1,000 miles away from me brings me infinite sadness.

Our trip was a wonderful chance for family bonding, inside jokes and intimate conversations, but who cares about that when you're constantly stuffing your face with amazing food?! To read my reviews of the restaurants we visited in Oregon, visit my Yelp page.

honey likker

The somnolence of summer has arrived in its full, drenching glory here in Texas. The trees are heavy with leaves, the air has stopped breathing, and the days are long and woozy.

And even though your armpits soak and mosquitoes suck like starving babies, the back porch begs you to sit a spell. The only thing that makes the heat more like a blanket than a slap in the face is a tall glass of some sweet Southern drink, slick with condensation and floating with chunks of ice.

Here are my two favorites:

Sweet Tea Martini

1 part sweet tea vodka
1 part sweet tea
Slice of lemon

Mix in a shaker and pour into a chilled martini glass. Or, in a pinch, pour all ingredients over a glass of ice.


Bourbon & Coke

1 part bourbon (I love Maker's Mark)
2-3 parts Coca-Cola

This is no time for Diet. Get the real stuff. Pour over ice.

potato lust

The following are ten things I would do because of/with gratin dauphinoise, the greatest, creamiest, saltiest, perfectest dish EVER.

1. rub it on my feet in place of lotion. fragrant, buttery lotion.
2. eat it every single day for the rest of my life
3. make it into a candle for my bathroom
4. petition the FDA to sanction it as one of the necessary 5 daily fruits/vegetables
5. bury my face in it. scream because it's hot and i just burned my face. lick my lips. re-dunk my face in it.
6. buy a $40 mandoline just so i can make it more often (this I actually did)
7. find it strangely more attractive than leonardo dicaprio in 'the departed'
8. become sexier than a victoria's secret model to leonardo dicaprio by seducing him with a plate of it
9. imagine that heaven is comprised of diamond roads, wine rivers, and buildings made of potatoes
10. grow morbidly obese with it, like at least 417 pounds

Oh yeah, and here's the recipe.

Gratin Dauphinoise

8-10 red potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
1 stick butter at room temperature
s&p
1 cup heavy cream
1 garlic clove

Cut the garlic in half, and rub the cut sides all over a large casserole dish. Discard the cloves. Peel and slice the potatoes, then rinse them with cold water and pat them dry with paper towels (removes all starch and makes the texture divine).

Arrange a single layer of potato slices in the dish. Heavily salt and pepper them. Dot them with butter. Repeat until all the potatoes are used. Dump the cream over the whole mess. Stick it in the oven for an hour at 325 degrees. Devour.

death to bisquick

With five words, my hopes were dashed. My heart began beating erratically, my palms broke out in a sweat, and I was suddenly, irrevocably gripped with a fear so great, I considered chaining myself to the couch to physically prevent the terror from becoming true. And yet, my courtesy-drippin' Southern blood prohibited me from backing out on an RSVP. All day, the five words hovered like some gut-grinding harbinger of nausea... the five words promised with pride by the hostess of a church dinner I'd agreed to attend:

"Tuna Ring with Cheese Sauce."

What was this fearsome beast? What onerous textures and tastes awaited any who partook of such a revoltingly named creation? A TUNA RING. My stomach, so open and accepting of the vast quantities of food I feed it, closes its mouth in fury. A TUNA RING. It sounds like a dolphin's vomit. A jello-molded fishy circlet. The punchline for an inappropriate joke. For heaven's sake, the primary ingredient is Bisquick.

I suppressed my disgust, put on a dress, and carried my dish of gratin dauphinoise (recipe to come... a decadent success!) to the church dinner so I could count on SOMETHING edible. And an hour later, I was mechanically putting a slice (yes, a slice) of tuna ring on my plate and spooning something that looked an awful lot like paste over it. Ironically, the paste was the most delicious part.

Tuna Ring is a mysterious concoction involving tuna salad stuffed into a circular shape, covered in a tasteless dough, and drenched in gluey cheese sauce (which also has Bisquick in it. My gosh.) It is served warm and sliced like a horrifying fishy Bundt cake. Here's the recipe...

(Psyche.)

trailer treasure

"They make maple bacon donuts."
"I'm sorry... WHAT?!"
"Yeah, it has maple icing and bacon on top."
(Gasping for joy like a three-year-old at FAO Schwarz. Continue stuffing face with olive-and-chevre ravioli.)
"Say that one more time."
(Ok, now friend is looking at me with a slight air of horror. Am I drooling whilst reloading my fork? Too much?)
"Umm, maple and bacon donut."
(Chest now heaving. Voice becomes embarrassingly urgent.)
"We. Must. Go. Get. One. Now."

Half an hour later, ravioli freshly eaten and bill just paid, we pulled into the parking lot of Gourdough's, an unassuming silver trailer in a parking lot in Austin with a menu of donuts so daring it makes you laugh and cry simultaneously. And as the sky dripped and the air froze, we made our selections (mine was easy -- bacon + donut = utopia) and crammed back into the car to crank up the heat and devour our fancypants fried rings.

Allow me to highlight the perfection of the Flying Pig donut (such was my precious dessert named) in greater detail. The donut was thick and yeasty, crisp on the edges and pillowy on the inside. The icing was drizzled atop it in the exact quantity necessary to balance the salty grease of the unglazed donut with the cheek-puckering sweet of maple syrup. The bacon? Sigh. Oh, the bacon! Four curly, chewy-crispy pieces of pig belly cradled atop the pastry with the attention of a sculptor!

Within five bites, I had declared my bacon donut one of the most delicious things I've ever ingested, ranking among my mother's dumplings and my Nanny's cobbler. It is a high honor, and Gourdough's deserves it. If it were not three hours away from my house, I would drive there every day. And weigh 467 pounds.

And if you do not go and get one the next time you're in Austin, I will have no choice but to slap you soundly for your culinary stupidity.

the upscale pancake

My half-French, half-Texan family has an odd and delicious holiday tradition... seven days after tamales on Christmas Eve, my dad whips out a very thin, flat disk of a pan, mixes batter, and makes fresh crêpes. We pour champagne, open a jar of Nutella, sit around the kitchen island, and wait for our New Year's Eve treat -- a piping hot, fresh, oh-so-slim crêpe.

In Paris's always bustling Les Halles, you can scarcely throw a stone without hitting a street vendor offering crêpes (usually by shouting) to passersby, and I could scarcely resist buying one, no matter what time of day or what I'd just eaten. On the streets, Parisians eat them "avec beurre et sucre" (butter and sugar), folded six times, and tucked in a cone of paper, which is typically tossed on the streets in a crumpled mess... Paris is not renowned for its cleanliness. And in a French kitchen, the edges of crêpes are folded inward like a burrito over fillings both savory and sweet -- coulis, berry jam, chicken, vegetables, you name it.

But my favorite crêpes are still my dad's, smeared with the heavenly goodness of Nutella. The edges are crunchy, lacy, and golden, the center slightly eggy and soft. Ah! Perfect for breakfast... or lunch... or dinner... I think crêpes should be a Saturday morning tradition in the Boone household.

Sweet Crêpes

2 large eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
1 tablespoon canola or vegetable oil
1 cup flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla

Put all ingredients in a blender and mix well. Dip a paper towel in more oil and rub it all over a frying pan on medium-high heat (I prefer using a smaller, 8-inch pan). Let the pan get very hot, then pour a little bit of the batter onto the pan, about 2-3 tablespoons. Pick up the pan and swirl the batter around so it covers the bottom of the pan in a very thin layer. Place back onto heat, and flip onto a plate when done. They cook very fast, less than a minute, so the second you see that the liquid batter has turned solid, remove them from the heat!

And before you cook another one, be sure to re-grease the pan. If you like, you can lay wax paper between each crêpe and keep warm in the oven.

If you want to make savory crêpes, nix the sugar and vanilla and add 1/2 teaspoon of salt.