This weeks “Tuesdays with Dorie” recipe is a “Fresh Ginger and Chocolate Gingerbread” cake, selected by Heather of Sherry Trifle.

I made this cake on Saturday night.
Because my life is exciting like that.

Other TWD bakers said this cake tastes better the day after baking and I wanted to take it to my book club the next night. Nothing like foisting cake upon a group of women, many of whom are watching their weight! Oh, and I brought a previous TWD concoction, the pear tart, with me, too. Boy, my family was sad to see that pear tart head out the door.

In an effort to make this cake more appealing to my family of rascally chocolate/pear tart lovers I added a tablespoon of sifted cocoa powder to the flour mixture and used semi-sweet mini-chocolate chips for the stirred-in, unmelted chocolate. The mini-chocolate chips tend to disburse evenly, melting and pretty much absorbing into the batter. Additionally, instead of mincing the fresh ginger I used my rasp grater and grated a piece about an inch long.

I fear I may suffer from ADD because whenever I reach a point in a recipe that requires a break, for example, in this recipe, while the melted chocolate cooled, I start another recipe. That’s how I ended up also making the components for the pear tart. Later, while the cake was baking I also made Leche Quemada (burnt milk candy.)

Now, I’ve never actually tasted Leche Quemada, which posed a bit of a problem. My recipe gave me time frames, no color guidelines to watch for, no temps to reach like most candy recipes. Thus, every step of the way I wasn’t sure if it was progressing as expected.

I was a little nervous to bring it into work Monday, as both my co-workers are familiar with the candy. But they said it was perfect, even with the foodie touch of sprinkling the top with a little sea salt to give the taste a boost.

See, I told you I have attention deficit issues! My post has
(d?)evolved from TWD to my everyday cooking adventures.

I baked the cake for exactly 40 minutes, allowed it to cool and made the frosting.

Frosting or Icing? Here in IL, at least in my family, we say frosting.

For the “fricing” I cut up three ounces of Sharffen Berger 70% cacao bittersweet chocolate and melted it over simmering water, added a dash of coffee, whisked in the butter, stirred in the powdered sugar and allowed it to set for ten minutes before icing the cake.

I am AWFUL at decorating cakes. I just can’t make things look pretty. (Accept for my daughter, of course, she’s awfully pretty!)

In fact, if I ever own a bakery it will be called “The Fugly Bakery.”
Any investors out there?

The motto will be “Ugly, but delicious!”

Anyway, the “iceting” spread amazingly well and tasted really rich and chocolate-y.

I also made the ginger infused whipped cream that’s mentioned next to the cake recipe. I brought heavy cream almost to a boil, added eight slivers of ginger and allowed it to steep overnight in the fridge. The next morning I strained out the ginger and whipped the cream, adding confectioner’s sugar to taste and a teeny-tiny pinch of ground cinnamon.

Secret Server REALLY liked the whipped cream. I did, too, and felt it was the perfect accompaniment to the cake.

If you like gingerbread, you’ll really like this cake, it’s incredibly flavorful. Thanks, Heather, for picking such an interesting and delicious TWD recipe! (Oh, and if you want the Leche Quemada recipe, leave me a comment and I’ll post it or email it to you!)

Reagan: “What?”

Me: “They have places for each finger and then a flap that pulls over and they look like mittens. So they are ‘Gluffins,’ I guess…”

Reagan: “What? What are they?”

Me: “Gluffins! You know, Gloves and Muffins!”

Reagan: “Muffins?”

Me: “Oh, yah….”

Reagan: “They are GLITTENS! Are you high?”

Me: “No, I’m not high! What do you know about being high anyway?”

Reagan: “Gluffins! Gluffins! I think you are high!”

Me: (laughing hysterically, yet denying illicit drug use)

Me: (still laughing) “I hope ‘Jaylor’ and ‘Take’ enjoy the ‘chries’ and ‘fricken’ we are having for dinner.”

Reagan: “You are so weird!”

My dear friend SS and I signed up for “Tuesday’s with Dorie,” (TWD) a bi-weekly food blogger challange in which you make an assigned Dorie Greenspan recipe from the book “Baking: From My Home to Yours.”

I’d never actually made a tart (other than of the “Pop” variety) so I was especially excited about this recipe. I view TWD much like I view my book club, a chance to try something new, that I might not normally pick myself. In baking I have a tendency to choose recipes that are chocolate and portable (cookies). For book club I apparently pick out books with a recurring theme: “multigenerational family curses.”

Okay, back to the tart. I faced a few obstacles in making this recipe. First, the recipe requires a food processor; I own a very nice one, (Thanks, Mom!) but I dropped the work bowl at just the right (wrong) angle and broke the handle. This was more than an inconvenience, as the handle must latch for the processor to run. I called Kitchen Aid, and the new one is on the way (and cost $50!)

Too late for my tart, though!

My second obstacle was the lack of a tart pan. The recipe specifies a 9″ one. I do own a 9″ springform pan but I was afraid the tart would not brown as well due to the higher sides. Thus, my epic search for a tart pan began. (Again, not enough time to order one online!)

SS and I met “in town” on New Year’s Day evening to search for the appropriate pan. Despite living in a metropolitan area of over a 350,000 people, we have no kitchen supply store. Thus we decided to search TJ Maxx, Marshall’s, Target, Walmart and Bed, Bath and Beyond.

Guess what? A holiday, after six p.m. is not the best time to go shopping. We traversed the town but only Target and Walmart were still open. And NO tart pans at either place.

Saturday, after spin torture class, we went to BB and B, dragging along my teenage son and our non-cooking friend L. (They were really amused by our cries of “OMG, look at these cute cookie cutters!” and our lustful looks at baking implements.)

Victory!

Sort of.

They had an 11″ tart pan. They had a set of six 4″ tart pans.

I opted for the smaller tart pans, figuring I could use them for other desserts and quiches for my family.

Plus they are super cute.

I had most of the supplies in hand for the recipe but had to make a quick stop at the grocery store for blanched almonds. Next time I’ll make my own as SS sent me a link with directions.

Feeling energetic I decided to make the tart that night. Unfortunately, I decided to work on the tart at the same time I made a dinner of roasted chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes and sauteed garlicy broccoli.

Unfortunately for my dinner, not the tarts.

Luckily no one ended up with salmonella.

I made the poached pears first; I happened to have three perfectly ripe pears on hand. I combined the pears with water, sugar and lemon juice and simmered them gently for fifteen minutes.

While the pears cooled, I made the tart dough. I whirred the flour and sugar in my blender, dumped it in a bowl, and used my metal potato masher to mix in the cold butter; then I kneaded the dough very briefly on a silpat mat, pressed the dough into the tiny tart pans and popped them in the freezer. (And I mashed the potatoes and put the broccoli in the microwave.)

My blender (Motto “Now for more than just smoothies!”) was useful in grinding the almonds for the almond cream. I pulsed them until finely ground and then mixed them with butter, corn starch, vanilla, sugar and egg yolk. I refrigerated the almond cream while I cut the pears into slices. (And cut up garlic for the broccoli and took the chicken out of the oven. Too early.)

Have I mentioned that I’m uncoordinated? And that I have a hard time following directions?

My pear slices, well, they were “special.” (But delicious!)

Now I had all the components ready but had to decide on baking times. The pastry dough had to be partially baked and cooled before assembly. I feared the time in the directions, for a 9″ tart pan, would result in overcooked crusts. I halved the blind baking time and that seemed just about right. (And made gravy.)

Setting the tart crusts to cool on a wire cookie rack, I ate dinner with my family.

And (barely) lived to tell the tale.

After dinner I put the almond cream on the cooled pastry crusts, topped them with mutilated pear slices and put them in the oven to bake. Again, I worried about the baking time, but decided to set my timer for 30 minutes and to check them at that point.

I joined my daughter in watching “Little Miss Sunshine.”

I love that movie!

About 25 minutes later Reagan said “It smells like your tarts are done.”
She was right and “bravo!” to Reagan for trusting her instincts.
(Seriously, that is a lesson it took me many years to learn and she already gets it at fourteen! Plus she knows how to temper egg yolks. My daughter is a wondrous creature.)

The tarts cooled until after little Olive “kicked ass” and they were fragrant and lovely and tasted wonderful.

Even my normally chocolate-dessert loving son and husband really liked the tart.
[Much, much more than the (literally!) bloody chicken.]

The kona kampachi was caught in Hawaii on Sunday, shipped on Monday and arrived on Wednesday. Thus we had super fresh fish last night.

But first we had to get a bit of butchering out of the way!

Meet Mr. Fish:
(Creative, no? I also have a Jack Russell Terrier named “Jack” and a child named “It.” )

Admittedly, when I opened the package I thought “Shit.” The fish was lovely and fresh, but skin? Gills? Eyeballs? Guts? A little overwhelming!

Reagan and Chris arrived home as I was ogling Mr. Fish (he was ogling me, too!) and Reagan said “Oh, cool, I’ll go look up directions and we can fillet it.”

What? My thirteen year old girl child WANTS to help clean and fillet the fish?

She printed off the directions and we gathered in our tiny kitchen. I started on dinner, migas, while they worked on the fish:

They cut off the head:

And, while I cut up bell pepper, onion, jalapeno, corn tortillas and cilantro for dinner, Reagan pulled out the guts and then started following the line of the bones with her knife, to seperate the fish into two large fillets:

(My child will never pose or smile for pictures, unless, apparently, you give her a knife!)

The fish being filleted:

Taylor, tasting a piece of raw fish:

We all tasted it raw and it was delicious. If I had good knife skills I would have made some sushi.

Chris and Reagan did a great job filleting the fish; we ended up with two really large fillets that I carefully wrapped up to cook the next (last) night.

I decided to lightly season it, hoping to not overwhelm the delicate flavor of the fish. One fillet I sprinkled with a bit of dill, garlic and lemon zest, the other with paprika, a tiny bit of cayenne, and cumin. I heated a small amout of olive oil in a large nonstick pan until it was hot and cooked the fillets seperately for about 3 minutes per side. I wanted the fish to be slightly under-done, as kona kampachi is sushi grade and tastes really great raw. (I HATE overcooked fish!). We had Ms. Fish (eggs were discovered during the filleting!) with broccoli (sauteed with garlic, olive oil, and red pepper flakes) and breadsticks.

Our dinner:

Again, I thank Kona Blue and Food Blogga for giving us the opportunity to try this delicious fish. It was wonderful (the fish, and seeing my daughter tackle something I found daunting with such aplomb!)

One last picture,
Cute Pie Reagan:

“No,” she assured us, “just Asheley’s.”

Total B.S.

She and Ash met up with two boys that are in their grade and they walked around town. Ash is dating one of the boys; Reagan is not.

I found out when Ash’s mom called to have me send her home.

Yes, the heart-stopping call in which you realize your child is not only not where she is supposed to be, but also, you have no clue where the child might be. Or what she might be doing.

47 minutes of non-stop worry.

The admissions came slowly, first “we went on a walk,” then “we went on a walk with A. and N.,” then, “Yes, we went in A.’s house, but his mom was home.”

Feeling suspicious and distrustful, I checked her myspace page. Her status for the day said “Going to A.’s.” Obviously the deception was planned in advance.

She was extremely upset about my checking her myspace account, which made me MORE suspicious and MORE distrustful.

Curious, I started with her inbox, nothing interesting, then decided to go to her “sent mail,” normal stuff, a little bad language, a crush on a boy.. nothing major.

Then Reagan came back in the room and said “I need to talk to you privately.”

Oh, shit. What does she want to confess before I read it?

We sat, she cried and said that she has been really stressed out. That she is “ALWAYS in trouble!” That her brother “NEVER gets in trouble!” and that she has too much homework.

And that the night before she had considered killing herself.

(BTW, this was the same day she attended a suicide prevention program at school.)

I calmed her down, talked to her about being stressed out, suggested dropping a couple of activities, then ran her a warm bath.

Once she was in the tub, I went back to the computer. Her myspace page was still up. Her friend Ash was online.

All of her “sent mail” had been deleted and her inbox was rapidly disappearing.

Yes, my daughter used the threat of suicide as a ruse to distract me so her friend could erase the messages.

Of course I am relieved that my daughter isn’t actually suicidal. However….

How exactly does one punish such a deed? It’s, it’s, it’s…
unconscionable.

Currently she is grounded for a month. But it doesn’t seem like enough. I’m not sure if I’m overreacting… her initial wrong-doing was pretty common for her age. But her co-opting a tragic occurrence (suicide) to manipulate me, well, it’s horrifying.

I feel like I need to do something more, something bigger, to somehow make her realize how wrong, how horrendous her deceit was, but I just can’t figure out what.

Any suggestions?

Speaking of chorus, last night Reagan told me, “I’m a soprano but want to be an alto and Maggie is an alto and wants to be a soprano, so we went up to the teacher and asked if we could ’switch.’”

Uh, yah, and while you were talking to her, did you also tell her how you’ve always wanted blue eyes, so maybe you could also trade eyeballs?

Additionally, Reagan is running for treasurer of student council.

Her motto?

“#1 Reason to vote for me? I’m the only one running!”

As for Taylor, he’s less busy, because he decided to quit football. My husband was really disappointed, but is coping. Taylor seems less stressed. He likes to have a lot of free time and, with the advent of the school year and lots of homework as a freshman, he was feeling pretty overwhelmed.

Earlier this week I asked him who he was going to ask to homecoming and he responded “First I am going to ask Alivia.”

I guess he has a back-up plan! (I think her name is Paige.)

Unfortunately, when he asked girl #1, she already had a date.

He is going to ask the girl #2 today. (And, possibly, girls #3, #4, #5…. next week)

Yesterday I took the day off work to have lunch with a friend and to run errands; in addition to buying the kids some school clothes and grocery shopping, I had to go to the health department to get copies of my kids’ birth certificates. Yes, I am the kind of mother that loses temporarily misplaces her childrens’ important documents.

Anyway, I approached the receptionist at the health department and she said,
“birth certificates?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Following her directions I walked by the WIC and STD clinics. Which made me wonder, how did she know I was there for proof I gave birth to lovely babies years ago? No children with me, so not likely WIC, but, what, I don’t look STD-”worthy?”

(I guess taking a vacation day to run errands instead of doing something fun kind of answers that question!)

V. said “I had a Toaster Strudel this morning.”

I responded, “Oh, yes, I remember when those first came out, when I was a child.”

Reagan’s smart-ass response: “Back when there were dinosaurs?”

Yes, back when there were dinosaurs AND children that were seen but not heard!

But I’m trying to develop a nervous habit! My thought is it will burn off some extra calories. I told her that maybe I just burnt off a crumb of the peanut butter blondie I ate earlier. Her response, poking me, “so it doesn’t go right there on your thigh?”

Yep, exactly!

To which she replied, poking my thigh again, “I know you can’t help it, mom.”

Uh, yah, right, cheerleading is a sport. A sport where you cheer for others playing a different, better sport.

And:

Cheerleaders? A bunch of uck-stay up-ay iches-bay.

And:

God, their skirts are way too short, inappropriate for thirteen-year-olds.

I’ll be saying:

Oh, cheerleading is very athletic. As the cheerleaders say: “In football a whole team tries to catch one ball. In cheerleading two girls try to catch a person!”

And:

Cheerleaders aren’t mean. My daughter is friends with some MUCH less popular girls. (The cheerleader version of “I have a black friend.”)

And:

The skirts aren’t too short. They cover more than what most people wear to go swimming! (Yes, because cheerleading takes place on a beach?)

Obviously I have my concerns about cheerleading but am attempting to be supportive. They just have so many dumbass picky rules, such as: “You must be wearing white no-show socks; any other type or color of sock will cause you to be pulled from cheering at the game or event.”

WTF? Is cheerleading like the miliatary? Is my daugther going to be torn down, only to be built back up, part of a pyramid of pubescent peppiness?

And the drama, oh, the drama has already started. One girl called all the 8th graders to let them know who made the team. Well, “all” meant everyone OTHER than my daughter. Nice.

Plus there’s the inevitable sour grapes of some of those that didn’t make it.

Nevertheless, you can guess where I will be spending my fall… cheering for my cheerleading daughter.

Chris started a new job (Yay!) with long hours (Boo!).

Taylor started high school today. (Yay! Sob!)

Reagan has her first “boyfriend.” (Okay, they talk on the phone and don’t actually do anything together, but still, it’s a first for her.)

Lots of new stuff going on. But still… I’m beginning to worry…

Maybe they’re just dicks?

Every one of them is driving me CRAZY. Okay, I take that back, Chris is too busy to drive me crazy, (*but “I taste like white chocolate!”); however, the kids, the kids have driven me up one wall and down the other.

Yesterday Taylor said “I hate Reagan. When I’m an adult I’m never going to see her.”

Wow, talk about heart-breaking.

And, again, Reagan didn’t do her chores. I’m frankly really sick of this-almost to the point of wanting to give up. We spend more time arguing about cleaning her room or loading the dishwasher than it would take to just do the work.

I’m frazzled. I’m like the mom in the grocery store with a toddler that keeps trying to stand in the cart seat over and over again. You see the kid trying to stand, see the mom’s gritted teeth, the lips barely moving to say “Sit. Down. Now.”

Thinking “Why is she so upset? What’s the big deal?” Not realizing that the battle has been going on since the produce section.

The constant repetition of the same misbehavior, saying the same thing, first light-heartedly, “Don’t forget to clean your room today.” Then sterner, “Why isn’t your room clean?” Followed by “Clean. Room. NOW! ” With a final, “Holy Shit! How many times do I have to say ‘clean your damn room?’”

It’s wearing me down. We’ve tried punishments; we’ve tried rewards. Nothing seems to work. I’m beginning to ponder some sort of room cleaning boot camp experience. They’ll smuggle her out in the night… take her to a cabin, force her to hang up laundry and to make her bed. Hell on Earth.

Back to reality, last night we had a serious family discussion about chores and our expectations.

“You MUST do your chores before you use the computer, the phone, play video games or watch T.V. Do you understand?”

Taylor: “Yes.”

Reagan: “Yes, I understand, but that doesn’t mean that I agree.”

That one always has to have the last word…

*Shout out to my fellow “Weeds” watching peeps!