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.

terrific trifle

One of my favorite episodes of "Friends" is the one when Rachel attempts to make a holiday trifle. She spends all day on it (though her perfect hair and makeup show nary a smudge), and proudly describes each layer to anyone who will listen. There are ladyfingers, and cream, and jam, and of course, "beef sauteed with peas and onions," thus exemplifying the perils of cookbook pages stuck together.

My trifle is woefully lacking in savory ingredients, but it was certainly a labor of love spawned by my husband. He saw about 2 seconds of Paula Deen making a fruit trifle on the Food Network and earnestly, adorably "suggested" I make one for our annual Christmas party.

Of course, I had to go completely overboard and make the pound cake and cream from scratch, so the recipe is definitively my own at this point. I believe Paula used raspberry liqueur for hers, but I couldn't resist use creme de cassis to add a geniunely French twist. Plus I have plenty leftover for Kir Royales!!

Christmas Trifle

1/2 recipe whipping cream pound cake*
Double recipe pastry cream
1 pint blueberries
1 pint raspberries
1 cup creme de cassis

Layer ingredients in the following order: cake, liqueur, fruit, cream. Divide ingredients so you have enough for at least two layers, then add a dollop of cream and a few berries to the top.

*Whipping Cream Pound Cake

2 sticks soft butter
3 cups sugar
6 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
3 cups flour
1 cup whipping cream

Cream butter and sugar, then add eggs one at a time. Add vanilla and flour, mixing well, then slowly drizzle in cream. Bake in a greased, floured Bundt pan at 325 for 1 hour and 15 minutes.