White Fluffy Icing

Musings of a reasonably competent home cook.

Archive for October, 2010

For Halloween: Chili, Two Ways

Oct 28

Posted by Laura in Food of Love | 11 Comments

The real deal.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, I grew up in rural Texas, near the coast.  When I say rural, I mean that it was a 15-minute drive to town, and by “town”, I mean a small bedroom community of 1500 people.  There was literally one blinking stop light there.  Now I think there might be two.

I envied the kids that lived in town, because they had a social life.  They could ride their bikes to each other houses, scratch together a baseball game, or gaggle up and cause generic mayhem.  Not us.  The only kids my brother and I could visit without the benefit of motorized transportation were our three cousins, who lived a quarter of a mile down the road.  We were experts at snaking our way through the barbed wire fence that bordered the pasture between us — we’d trod along amongst the cows, greeting them by name, petting the tame ones and dodging the “mean mamas”.

(Seeing as how only one of those three cousins was a girl, it’s no wonder that Leah and I wound up being the best of friends.  But even if she hadn’t been my one and only option, she’d still be my one and only Leah.  Awwwww.)

Anyway, when you live in the sticks, Halloween just isn’t all that exciting.  Sure, we donned costumes and trick-or-treated, but it’s not the same when a) there are only about five houses within a reasonable radius, and b) you have to be driven between the stops.  The allure was diminished, to say the least — yet another topic upon which those wimpy town kids (like Matt) had the upper hand.

So between the dimished allure and the lack of a major corresponding religious feast, it’s no wonder that I don’t have any long-standing rituals for Halloween.  But I do love traditions, and now that I live in the suburbs and have a kiddo, it’s high time I adopted some.

Enter Ryan and Shana, aka The Neighborly Victims, who graciously invited us to participate in their Halloween tradition.  Growing up, Ryan’s family always had chili for dinner on Halloween, which is perfect: it’s fall-ish, can be made ahead of time, and is easy to serve from the stove during an evening of hither and thither and yon.  For dessert, they always had caramel apples.  How autumnal can you get?!  I was sold.

Shana and I agreed that they’d make the apples and we’d bring the chili.  Which made me immediately realize that I still hadn’t really found a good authentic chili recipe.  For a native Texan home cook, this is practically a crime.

I poked around in my usual cookbooks, finding little.  And then I remembered a cookbook my mother had given me years ago: a rare coffee-table sized book called Texas the Beautiful.  It was released in 1986, no doubt to commemorate the Lone Star State’s sesquicentennial, which, as you may recall, was a big honkin’ deal.  In it, I found a truly authentic chili recipe: no onions, no beans, no tomatoes.

For those of you that have just drawn a weapon, please allow me to explain.  Chili’s technical name is chili con carne, which translates to “chili with meat”.  That’s basically it: chili (in the form of actual chiles, chili powder, or both) and meat.  Along the way, someone added chopped onion as a garnish (complementary flavor, nice color contrast), and someone else had the brilliant idea to serve beans on the side (presumably to give at least the illusion of a rounded meal).  The next thing you know, people started adding a farraginous assortment of other ingredients: tomatoes, corn, cheese, chocolate… the list goes on.

And I’m cool with that.  So much so, in fact, that my favorite chili is actually a vegetarian one.  (Again, I’m going to have to ask you to put the gun away.  Please?)

I’m reminded of a conversation that Matt and I had over the summer.  I’d made lemonade (because I had a bunch of leftover lemons, and that’s what we optimists do), and he was sampling it.  When I asked how he liked it, he said that it was okay, but he really preferred “the normal stuff.”  Which is…?, I asked.  You know, the pink powder in the can, or whatever.

Do I need to tell you that I was aghast?  Okay then: I was aghast.  I don’t necessarily have anything against pink powder in a can, but for the sake of all that is holy and righteous, let’s not call it “the normal stuff”!   Where’s my gun?

Before my blood pressure elevates any further, I’ll get back to chili.  I thought that the “Real Texas Chili” from mom’s cookbook was pretty tasty, but being a flexitarian, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage when evaluating a dish that’s 90% meat.  Thankfully, Andy, a true chili-head, dropped by just in time.   And you know what?  He said it’s the best he’s had in 30 years.  Whoda thunkit?

So whether you get a hankering for chili over Halloween weekend, or you want to celebrate the Rangers’ appearance in the Series with a dish born in the Lone Star State, I’m giving you the bookends on the spectrum of possibilities.  You can thank me later.

Boo! and Go Rangers!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obviously, one of the keys to making good chili is finding a chili powder you like.  There are hundreds of options, and everyone has their preference — so if you haven’t already, flirt with a few before you head to the altar with one.

REAL TEXAS CHILI
(Adapted from Texas The Beautiful Cookbook)

3 pounds chuck or round steak
6 ounces beef suet (!), or hard beef fat (from your butcher)
3-4 cloves garlic, crushed through a press
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
4-6 tablespoons chili powder*
8 tablespoons masa harina (more for additional thickening, if necessary)
6 cups hot water
2 tablespoons vinegar (I used plain white)
2 teaspoons or 2 cubes beef bouillon (I used Knorr cubes)
Dried red chiles, chopped or crushed (optional, use sparingly)**

Remove gristle and most of the fat from the meat, cut into 1/2-inch cubes. Place suet or hard beef fat in a large skillet or heavy saucepan and render it. Discard the suet residue or rendered pieces of fat.

Saute meat in the hot fat until lightly browned. Add garlic, salt, pepper, and chili powder. Mix well and allow seasonings to permeate meat for a few minutes.

Sprinkle in masa harina and mix thoroughly. Add hot water, vinegar, bouillon and chiles. Lower heat, cover, and simmer until the meat is very tender. In fact, some of the meat should virtually dissolve into the chili. If the chili becomes dry while cooking, add a little water from time to time. Correct the seasonings, skim off some or all of the fat from the surface. Serves 6-8 chili-heads!

*I used 4 Tbsp of Central Market’s San Antonio chili powder and 1 Tbsp of McCormick’s chipotle chile powder, to ramp up the smoke factor.

**I used half of a large dried red pasilla, chopped, just to see what would happen.

FALSE ALARM VEGETABLE CHILI
(Found on marthastewart.com years ago.)

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 green bell pepper, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 red bell pepper, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large carrot , chopped medium
1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 pound dried lentils, rinsed
1/3 cup tomato paste
1 (15 oz) can red kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 (15 oz) can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1 (28 oz) can stewed tomatoes
1/3 cup chili powder
4 teaspoons ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon crushed red-pepper flakes
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

In a large soup pot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion, green and red peppers, carrot, jalapeño pepper, and garlic. Cook until the vegetables soften, about 5 minutes. Stir in 7 cups water, lentils, tomato paste, kidney beans, and pinto beans. Stir to blend, adding stewed tomatoes, chili powder, cumin, and crushed red-pepper flakes.

Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover and simmer until lentils are tender, about 45 minutes. If the chili starts to dry out, add hot water as needed. Season with salt and pepper, and serve immediately. Serves 10 open-minded, artery-loving types.

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Lagniappe: Starbucks Petite Vanilla Scones

Oct 25

Posted by Laura in Baking, Lagniappe | 2 Comments

Maybe pumpkin cream cheese muffins aren’t your thing.  Maybe at Starbucks, you’re more of a petite vanilla scone person… and really, no one can blame you.  I’m happy to say that you’re in luck.

Cheerleader Lisa sent me a super sweet note last week, with lots of good things to say about the muffins, along with a link to another blog she reads.  Turns out that Ree over at The Pioneer Woman has re-created those petite vanilla scones, and I have to say, they look amazing.  These are going on my to do list, because while you might conceivably take issue with pumpkin or cream cheese or pepitas, I daresay that no one can possibly take issue with vanilla scones.  This has “crowd pleaser” written all over it.

And speaking of amazing, I’ve developed an inferiority complex just looking at Ree’s blog (not to mention the photos of her on said blog).  I’m just going to decide in my mind that in addition to evidently being a genius with a needle-sharp wit, she has a lot of help.  I don’t care if she’s actually a one-woman show, I’ve added her live-in nanny, large capable writing staff, and photo editor to my own version of reality —  which, by the way, also includes the fact that I’ll one day be a size 4 again, that money grows on trees, and that I have a Pulitzer prize-winning book lodged somewhere in my brain that will one day make its presence known.

I’ll continue to live in La La Land, but don’t join me.  You’re better off making these scones.  Mail me some, won’t you?

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Bon Appétit Challenge: Apple Torte with Breadcrumb-Hazelnut Crust

Oct 24

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Baking, Cover Recipe Results | 5 Comments

It might look okay, but it's not. It's really not.

Swing and a miss!  BA is oh-fer-two on desserts in 2010.  This apple torte was a big ‘ol flop, and the worst part is, it’s probably due to technical reasons. 

When I took a good look at the recipe, two problems presented themselves right away.  First, 8 cups of breadcrumbs were called for in the ingredient list, but only 3 were referenced in the directions, with no explanation for how this “new math” would work.  Oops. 

Second, the apples are cooked for quite a long time before filling the crust, and the whole thing is then baked for an additional hour.  Call me crazy, but that sho’ is a whole lotta cookin’ for delicate apple flesh.  When baking the guh-jillion other apple pies I’ve made in my life, the apples are tossed in sugar and spices and then placed into the crust still raw.  Hmmmmm. 

With that in mind, let us begin. 

Lidia’s Problematic Apple Torte, Take One.  Action! 

(A Sunday afternoon, weeks ago.) 

I purchased all the ingredients, which was a non-event except that I had to go to my slightly-larger-but-still-in-the-suburbs supermarket to get the hazelnuts.  I got home and started the prep, beginning, naturally, with the breadcrumbs.  Having made the aforementioned guh-jillion apple pies before in my life, how hard could this be? 

Well, I de-crusted my grocery store French bread, chunked it up, pulsed it in the processor, and dumped it into my handy 2-quart measuring cup… and only had 4 cups.  Drat.  I’d have to go back to the store.  I stowed the crumbs temporarily in the refrigerator.  Because, you know, I was gonna back run to the store.  Any second.  That day. 

Lidia’s Problematic Apple Torte, Take Two.  Action! 

(The following Sunday afternoon, still weeks ago.)  

After a week of cramming our fridge contents around a giant 2-quart measuring cup, I finally froze them for later use on something else.  As you know, refrigerators are more than just coolers, they’re also de-humidifiers.  So crumbs stashed in the fridge for a week would be pretty darn dry before they ever see the oven, where they would might do something unexpected, like overbrown quickly.  And I wanted to be true to the recipe.  

So I bought two fresh loaves of French bread.  My apples and lemons still looked pretty good. 

And then my back went out.  Bah! 

Lidia’s Problematic Apple Torte, Take Three.  Action! 

(The third Sunday afternoon in a row, still weeks ago.) 

Well, my back was still bothering me a week later, but being the young nimble thirty-something that I am, I just knew a full recovery was right around the corner.  So I asked Matt (who was doing the grocery shopping, due to the back injury) to pick up my torte ingredients, so that I’d be able to hit the ground running.  The apples and lemons had gone south, and the second round of bread was petrified long ago. 

But my back didn’t get better; it got worse.  Pill popping commenced, with the ancillary benefit of helping me cope with my frustrations.  And the third set of petrified bread on the counter.  Grrrrr. 

Lidia’s Problematic Apple Torte, Take Four.  Action! 

(Yesterday.)  

Last week, the back still wasn’t great, but better.  However, I was so busy catching up on work and life that the apple torte had to wait.  Plus, somewhere during the interlude, I made the mistake of checking the online version of the recipe.  Bad move.  Comments were flying about the technical problems with the recipe.  Even Jasmine, a fellow blogger who’s also covering all the BA covers, pans the thing, and she’s normally a pretty sunny optimist.  It’s hard to get pumped over something you know isn’t going to go well, you know? 

Yesterday, I sucked it up and made the thing, muttering something about if I’d only gone back for that second loaf during Take One, this Frankenpie would be behind me.  Matt stopped by the kitchen, during the bread grinding process, to ask what I’m up to.  “Apple Torte, Take Four,” was my reply.  “Noooo,” he said.  “I’ve seen four sets of bread come through this kitchen, and I can tell you with certainty that this process does not yield pie.”  (I reminded him that he’d been properly Mirandized, and anything he said could and would be used against him on the blog.  He sported a half-smile, then left.) 

Luckily, no tragedies befell me before cranking out an actual pie this time.  And the result? 

Well, it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it was pretty bad.  As expected, the filling was overcooked apple mush (albeit overcooked apple mush with a pleasant kick of cider).  And as expected, there was a metric ton of breadcrumbs left unused at the end.  Jasmine said that she tore the bread into chunks, measured 8 cups of chunks, toasted the chunks, ground them, and that gave her 3 cups of crumbs.  If that’s what the recipe intended, then that’s the most poorly written recipe I’ve seen in a long time.  

But I actually think it was a simple typo, and the 3 should have been a 6 or an 8.  The crust was so wet as to be impossible to work with — I had to add shocking amounts of flour just to get it to behave, which is normally a show-killing mistake when working with pie crust.  And the final product was chewy and tasted too much like butter; further evidence that the proportions were off and more crumbs were needed. 

The other beef I have with this recipe is the hazelnut husking, which is a task I reserve for only the most promising of recipes.  Like squeezing cooked greens dry, the final product better be eye-rolling good to make it worth all the effort.  That was obviously not true in this case: in addition to the crust weirdness I’ve already mentioned, the flavor of the hazelnuts was completely lost in the mix.  Not cool. 

I had more of an issue with the crust than the filling; for Matt, it was the other way around.  I think this recipe is the worst of the year so far; Matt still thinks the gingersnap wannabe cheesecake parfait thingys were unforgivable. 

To any would-be testers of this recipe out there: proceed with caution.  Sorry Lidia, sorry Bon Appétit.  If BA responds to the online comments (which they normally do), I’ll be sure to give an update here.* 

On to turkey!  (Gulp.) 


*Actually, the BA web editor had already addressed the breadcrumb issue before I wrote this post, and I missed it because it was on the second page of comments.  She wrote, “When the recipe says “spread breadcrumbs on large rimmed baking sheet”, use all 8 cups of fresh breadcrumbs. After the breadcrumbs bake/dry, they’ll shrink – leaving you with about 3 cups to proceed with. Hope this helps!” 

Of course, that doesn’t really help. In my case, the crumbs shrank to about 6 cups, not 3, and in my view, the crust needed more crumbs.  (Cringe.)

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Bon Appétit Challenge: Turkey Time

Oct 22

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Cover Announcements | 17 Comments

Well, the moment I’ve been waiting all year for has finally arrived.  The Thanksgiving Special issue of Bon Appétit is out, with a giant turkey smack on the cover.  Dun dun DUNNNN!

I’m officially intimidated, for the first time in this project.  Why?  Well, I’ve never made a turkey, for starters.  Let’s face it, turkey somehow became the official star of the Thanksgiving show, and aside from sandwiches, it’s the only time most of us see this particular protein all year.  And since either my mom, Aunt Denise, or my grandma (all amazing cooks) have always played Thanksgiving hostess, the one shot per year of cooking a turkey has never fallen to me. 

Two, in addition to being full of talented cooks (the boys too!), my clan is also a fairly discerning bunch of eaters.  So, in theory, I’m sure Mom would have graciously stepped aside to let me roast a turkey during my formative years, but neither she nor I would have really been interested in taking that kind of gamble.  Plus, our table topic at nearly every gathering consists mostly of raving about each other’s food, so if the turkey centerpiece falls short, what the heck would we talk about?  (I’m thinking now about the turkey in the Griswold Christmas vacation movie… when it breaks open and spews out a cloud of dust… classic.)

Third, frankly, I’m not all that interested.  Nothing against turkey, of course, but meat’s not really my thing to begin with.  And while I’ve made almost every cooking mistake in the book at some point, excepting perhaps burning down my house, tossing out 15 pounds of protein (read: expensive) just seems morally reprehensible.

And lastly, there’s the issue of sex appeal.  Whether strutting around live or served up on a platter, turkey loses every time (profusive apologies to Ben Franklin).  As I told you last year, sides and desserts are where it’s at.  A pumpkin cheesecake from yesteryear comes to mind…

All that being said, if I’m going to bandy this food blogger title about, especially one that includes a tagline about being reasonably competent, I’d better darn well be able to cook a turkey.  In fact, after Mom warned me about this whole turkey business, I decided to press forward with this project precisely because it would force me to bite the bullet.  It’s time to graduate to big-girl panties.

So, bring it on, Salt-Roasted Turkey with Lemon and Oregano.  If all else fails, I’ll have Rosemary Bread Stuffing with Speck, Fennel, and Lemon to back me up if the turkey is terrible.

Of course, I’ll make it well before Thanksgiving… in order to test the recipe in plenty of time for you, dear reader, and also to avoid all that awful pressure.  Call me chicken if you will.  Just don’t call me turkey.

Gobble gobble!

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Starbucks: The Great Harbinger of Baking Season

Oct 19

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 19 Comments

I’m kind of reluctant to admit it, but I’m a regular at Starbucks.

It’s been this way for a while… at least for the nine years that I’ve been working in my office building, because guess what? The nearest twin-tailed mermaid logo is only about a block away. Her siren song lured me there long ago, and try as I might, I can’t stop going.

At some point along the way, Starbucks opened a new location along my route to the office, this time with a drive-through, which had zero appeal until The Boy came along. You see, when I returned from maternity leave, I changed my hours and starting driving in much earlier. Let’s do the math:  sleep deprivation + non-morning person anyway + convenient coffee shop location = caffeine addiction.

At first, I considered just getting to work a success. Ponytail, wrinkled clothes, no makeup, and a high likelihood that The Boy’s DNA was smeared somewhere my person, in one form another. I didn’t care. I’d made the journey.

Interestingly, as my son’s sleeping patterns changed, so did my interest in looking human. But makeup didn’t make the cut… that is, until I discovered the Starbucks drive-through.

It didn’t matter how backed up the drive-through was, because drive-through time = makeup time. It was perfect. I didn’t have to sacrifice any crucial moments of Mike & Mike by going in, AND I no longer had to look like a pale walking corpse at the office. It was a coup for this working mom: a brilliant mix of luxury, innovation and empowerment, with caffeine kicker. Once in a rare while, I’m just so proud of me.

I do occasionally still wander in on foot, especially this time of year. You see, in late September, the Starbucks marketing machine fires up for fall and winter. It’s a process to behold, and I’m a total sucker for it.

It starts gradually… with a menu change. Suddenly, there’s pumpkin scones, pumpkin cream cheese muffins, and pumpkin spice lattes everywhere. Which is weird, because here in Houston, late September is still hot. Like 90 degrees hot. Like is-summer-ever-really-going-to-end hot, so all this autumnal loveliness on the menu feels out of place. The same thing happens in department stores in February, when they replace the coats with bathing suits: there’s excitement that spring is coming, but also a distinct feeling that we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.

The problem is that the pumpkin marketing, while sickeningly transparent, always works. And every year, I buy a pumpkin cream cheese muffin. And every year, it sucks.

I’m not sure how that’s possible, because pumpkin and cream cheese are dang near the top of my list of flavor combinations. And while I am a baker, and now, I suppose, a bona fide food blogger, my standards aren’t really that high… I’m just a junkie looking for a fix. But this is a standard thawed-from-frozen, preservative-laden, factory-aftertaste pastry. They’re not even trying.

So this fall, I did something about it. Something I’ve never ever done before in my whole entire life, and something, quite frankly, I never thought I’d do:

Oven ready.

I developed a recipe. For pumpkin cream cheese muffins.

I looked hither and yon for a recipe, including Google, and found nothing to my taste. But I did find my mother-in-law’s pumpkin bread recipe, which happens to be Matt’s hands-down, tippety top, Favorite Food Of All Time. And I also found my mom’s favorite pumpkin roll recipe, which includes a cream cheese filling. So I combined the two, jacked up the spices, added some pumpkin seeds, and voilà! Pumpkin cream cheese muffins.

I thought they were pretty good, definitely better than Starbucks, but I wanted to be sure. So I bought another muffin on my next drive into the office, and submitted it alongside some of mine to my good friend John, who happens to have quite an elegant palate. Now, before I tell you what he said, you need to know that John and I think the world of each other, and aren’t afraid of saying so… in fact, when I’m feeling a little blue, I go upstairs to see John. He’s the kind of friend that makes you feel like a rock star, no matter what kind of curveballs the world is tossing at you.

Anyway, he sent this note:

Oh! Laura!

Thank you so much for the incredible treat you left with me Monday. I think your pumpkin muffins are truly one of the most wonderful things I have ever tasted!! I can’t imagine how you manage to obtain the earthy depths of pumpkin taste while not losing the delicate heights of subtle sweetness of this incredible gift from the earth. It is such a layering and separation of tastes that it’s just amazing. After YOU pull something out of the oven everything else is never quite the same!

It’s actually very cruel to even allow “the other muffins”in the same room. The tragically sad comparison – after your muffins – of the Starbucks version sadly consists only of the clawing sweetness of corn syrup attempting to disguise the sour gumminess of preservatives in cardboard tasting dough. I suppose if one had never had “The Laura Version” it would be OK if you got it out of a vending machine!

Happy to be your guinea pig ANYTIME!

Starbucks' version on the left, mine on the right.

See what I mean about the rock star thing? Honestly, they weren’t all that… I’m not sure muffins even can be all that, really. But John is very good to me, and I am extremely fond of him, and I’ll accept his effusive praises any day of the week. Wouldn’t you?

When I make these again, I’ll make a few tweaks. I’ll jack up the spices even more, and I’ll try leaving out the water in hopes of a slightly denser muffin. On half of them, I’ll leave the seeds off and flirt with a different muffin topping. In fact, I have a second John whose culinary opinions I also highly respect, and the new muffin topping was his suggestion. Sadly, the details flew out of my head about 2 seconds after he provided them. He’s a WFI reader, the comment shy type, but if we keep our fingers crossed, he’ll just might cave to the pressure and leave his suggestion below…

In the meantime, I’m grateful to Starbucks for getting me all stirred up about fall, and for leaving me unfulfilled enough to try something new.

Happy baking season!

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Readers, beware! As I mentioned, this is my first recipe ever. Feedback from any and all testers would be highly appreciated, especially regarding the bake time and yield.

 

PUMPKIN CREAM CHEESE MUFFINS

Cream Cheese Filling:
16 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 cups powdered sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla

Pumpkin Batter:
3 1/3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
3 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon (I’ll try 3 tsp next time)
2 teaspoons nutmeg (I’ll try 3 tsp next time)
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves (I’ll try a full tsp next time)
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs
2/3 cup water (I’ll omit this next time)
1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin pack

1/2 cup pumpkins seeds (aka pepitas), toasted

Combine filling ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. Refrigerate until firm, for at least an hour and up to 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Spray muffin cups with nonstick spray (or line with baking cups). Combine all pumpkin batter ingredients in the large bowl of an electric mixer and beat until light and smooth. Divide batter among muffin cups (I think mine made 4 dozen standard sized muffins), filling only half-full (to leave room for the cream cheese filling).

Drop cream cheese filling into centers of muffin batter by the spoonful (a quenelle or bullet shape is ideal, so that the filling runs through most of the muffin vertically), about a scant tablespoon for each muffin. Sprinkle toasted seeds on top.

Bake at 350°F until a toothpick tests clean, checking after 20 minutes. Makes approximately 4 dozen standard muffins.

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Lagniappe: Confessions of a Wounded Crab

Oct 18

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 5 Comments

With the exception of my brief birthday announcement, I’ve been away for a while, and some of you have been wondering why.

The truth is the I have a bad back. (Insert long pathetic sigh.) Just typing that makes me feel old and rickety. And while the “old” part is somewhat debatable, I can’t deny “rickety” after the two weeks I’ve had.

I spent a lot of that time laying on my living room floor and/or taking enough pills to make Floyd Landis blush. And while that does give one plenty of time to think of blog topics, it does not afford one the correct state of mind in which to express them. Trust me.

Yesterday was my first somewhat normal day, although I was still walking with a bit of a limp. Well, I thought it was a bit of a limp until I ran into my friend Pablo. He kept saying that perhaps my re-entry into society was premature, based on the way I was walking, to which I responded with eyerolls and a bunch of “nah”s and “whatever”s.

And then he decided to show me what my walk looked like.

He turned his right hip out at a 45 degree angle, slumped his shoulders, and leaned to the left. And then he proceeded to hobble forward like a mortally wounded crab. Or a Japanese centenarian. I can’t decide.

In the interest of full disclosure, I, uh, "borrowed" this photo from the NIC website.

At any rate, he looked horrible, and I’ve decided he was exaggerating (a little). But what’s important is that I’m here, back in the saddle, crabwalking my way to a laptop near you. And it feels good.

I have a lot to tell you, and I still have an apple pie to bake (after about four misfires at getting started), but we’ll work through all of that in due time. What you really must know for now is that Bryan Caswell, the Houston-based chef I’ve told you about before, is on television!  The Next Iron Chef, to be exact.

Jessica (that is, The Hook Up) informed me of Chef Caswell’s lineup weeks ago. Weeks ago! It’s nothing sort of shameful that I haven’t mentioned it before, because the show is three episodes in already. But you can catch up and even watch the missed episodes here.

If you do happen to watch (or re-watch) the first episode, take note of Chef Caswell’s intro. The other chefs are rambling about how they have a dog named Bowzer and a fish called Wanda, but Caswell introduces himself by proudly stating that he’s from Houston and wants to win so that he can take it home to the people of his city. Seriously, how cool is this guy?

But as great as it is watching him do so well on the show, I must warn you: if regular reality contest shows are cheesy, then this one is a stanky Roquefort. Aside from Caswell giving Ming Tsai the stink eye, Alton Brown is the only thing that makes this show watchable.  But it’s worth it, I promise.

More soon.  Until then, stay crabby, my friends….

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Lagniappe: Turning One

Oct 17

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 12 Comments

It’s hard to believe, but this week marked the first anniversary of White Fluffy Icing.  My, how the time flies!

I told myself I’d stick with it for at least a year, and here we are, 92 posts and 764 comments later.  It feels good to log this milestone.

I’ve learned a ton, about creating and running a website, about writing, about how much there is to gain by showing my soft underbelly on occasion.  I used to do none of those things.  Heck, when I started, I didn’t even know how to begin.

But the best part of this little experiment has been YOU.  The encouragement and support you’ve given me along the way, at a time when I needed it most, has been immeasurable.  Thank you.

Let’s buckle in for another year, shall we?  Who knows what we’ll learn together.

“I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it.” 

–Pablo Picasso

The Hook Up

Oct 1

Posted by Laura in Food of Love | 12 Comments

A week ago today, I got a very interesting phone call.  A special shipment had arrived from Puerto Rico, and was I interested in sampling the goods?  I asked a few questions, because I’d heard about the reputed effects that this stuff has on the senses.  I was intrigued, and wanted to try it.  Arrangements were made.

On Monday, I got a brief cryptic email at my office.  A while later, I grabbed my bag and hit the door for an “early lunch”.  A short drive later, I pulled up in front of a huge office building.  I parked just outside the front door, where I probably shouldn’t have, left it running, which I probably shouldn’t have, and went inside through the giant plate glass doors. 

A receptionist smiled at me, wordless.  A security guard sat next to her, eyeing me.  I was sure I’d be busted.

Hello, I said, too friendly.  I told her my name and asked whether she had an package for me.

Oh yes, she said, handing me a plain white envelope.

I took it, thanked her, and walked too fast back to my car and drove away.  At the first red light, I opened the envelope.  Inside was a plastic baggie, and inside that was a carefully folded napkin.  I unfolded the napkin, and to my delight, I saw three red berries.  That’s when I saw the note.  It read, EAT ME.  I cracked up.

Later that night, after The Boy was asleep, I asked Matt if he wanted to try it out with me.  Heck no, came the answer. I called my trusty neighbor, Shana, and sure enough, she was game.

From my kitchen, I grabbed a lemon, a bottle of red wine vinegar, and a bottle of Tabasco.  On my way out through the garage, I grabbed a can of Guinness.  When Shana answered the door, I held up my miscellany and said, “Let’s party!”  Once inside, her husband Ryan agreed to try the berries, too.

We ate the berries, and felt a slight tingling sensation, the kind you get from a cold Dr. Pepper.  They weren’t that tasty, actually, but then again, we weren’t eating them for their taste.

These came with a note that read, EAT ME.

Right after, we cut up the lemon and ate it.  It tasted like lemon candy… there was nothing sour about it.  We ate it like you’d eat the most perfectly sweet orange.

Then we swigged the Guinness.  It tasted nothing like stout and every bit like chocolate milk.  Crazy!

Next, we drank sips of vinegar.  I’m not sure what it tasted like… fruit juice, I suppose.

And finally, the Tabasco, which had been stripped of it’s heat and tasted like plain old tomato juice.  It was such a strange experience for our brains to be telling us one thing and our taste buds to be saying another… frankly, as Ryan pointed out, we wouldn’t have been surprised if a pink elephant had walked in the room.

What exactly had we eaten, and what exactly had it done to our taste buds???

We were “flavor tripping”, as it’s called, on miracle fruit.  Basically, a protein in the berries tricks the flavor receptors in your mouth into thinking that acids are sugars.  Wild, huh?  Read more about it here, and then throw a tasting party and invite me.

By the way, you might want to ask… who was my source?  It was Jessica, my friend who’s in chef school.  Behind the scenes, Jess has given me tons of ideas, suggestions, and opportunities… most of which I haven’t even gotten around to yet, although it’s spectacular stuff.  Like insights about salt, and children’s nutrition, and goings-on in the food community.  Why we haven’t been friends for longer than we have is something I can only blame on Andy.  (I think he might have been fearful of what would happen if we joined forces… like, perhaps, serving a miracle berry compote at Thanksgiving.)

Because Jessica has been such an incredible source, she shall henceforth be known as The Hook Up, joining a sordid cast of WFI characters that includes The Sounding Board (Leah), The Cheerleader (Lisa), The Reality Check (Meredith), The Consultant (Andy), The Neighborly Victims (Ryan and Shana), and The Willing Husband (no explanation needed… I hope).  There are a host of others, but you get the idea.

Keep it comin’ Jess… I love it all!

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