Even if it might be salmonella-tainted from undercooked frosting.

Oh, and I’ll even feed it to my family (and family friends, the lucky ducks!)

I guess this post should be entitled “A Tale of Two Cakes,” or maybe, “Bakers with Malfunctioning Mixers Get the Poos Blues.”

To make a long story short, I bought a cheap stand mixer at Walmart. This mixer:

If you are tempted to buy this clearance mixer, do not do so! Otherwise, you, too, will be telling the tale of “_______ and the No Good, Very Bad, Possilby Lethal Whisk Attachment.”

I tested out my new appliance making this weeks “Tuesday’s with Dorie” pick, Devil’s Food White Out Cake, suggested by Stephanie of Confessions of a City Eater.

This is a great recipe, yet my first attempt at this cake was not a success.

First I forgot a key ingredient in the cake-the boiling water, and my cake came out a bit flat. Tasty but flat. (I think that’s probably also how my husband describes me to his co-workers, LOL.)

Then, attaching the whisk to the mixer I added the 242 degree simple syrup to the egg whites and beat it for about five minutes. This is where the mixer earned it’s FAIL status, as the syrup pretty much solidified in the bottom of the bowl, because the whisk wasn’t long enough to reach the bottom inch of the mixing bowl. (Um, yah, and that also solves the mystery of the slow beating egg whites.)

I’m pretty sure the un-mixed-in simple syrup was unable to heat the egg whites to the point of being technically safe to eat. But, somehow this didn’t strike me until AFTER we ate the cake and I had a stomach ache. (And a stomach ache on Valentine’s Day is quite the romance killer!)

I guess the crumbled cake topping covered up the fact that my icing was basically whipped egg whites!

Yesterday I remade the cake remembering the boiling water and it had a wonderful, light crumb and great chocolate flavor. Plus, it was surprisingly easy to cut horizontally and stack without breaking.

And the frosting was a dream, marshmallow-y, amazingly light, white, bright and fluffy. Of course, I did have to beat it with my hand mixer for an incredibly long time, but it was worth it.

Devil’s Food White Out Cake, now “Salmonella Free!”

“Taylor, those aren’t marshmallows, those are white chocolate chips.”

He proceded to eat four more.

The mind is a powerful thing.
Or:
A brain is a terrible thing to taste?

I know it’s something like that.

Recalling the marshmallow/cookie rejection, I decided not to tell my daughter that Shari’s “TWD” pick for this week, Floating Islands, are meringue, as she’s a meringue-hater.

Instead I told her “it’s a dessert with a creamy base, a floating island made of beaten egg whites and sugar, topped with strands of hardened caramel.”

I’m really surprised that she didn’t pick up on that, as one of the questions she got right last year in Scholastic Bowl was “What are the two main ingredients in meringue?” (Egg whites and sugar.)

My daughter might not know:
“What personal pronoun is subjective case, first person singular?” (No clue, I don’t even know what that means!)
or
“What scientist was the first to use the telescope for astronomy?” (Galileo?)

But she knows her ingredients! (Her other SB strength is Harry Potter facts; I’m sure that’ll help her on the ACT.)

Saturday night I made the creme anglaise, bringing milk to a boil in one pan, while whisking egg yolks and sugar in another. I carefully tempered the eggs with the milk, stirring the concoction over medium-low heat until it reached 180 degrees.

Which took TWENTY minutes!

Twenty minutes is a LONG time to continuously stir.

Okay, honestly, my twenty minutes went more like this:

Stir!
Unload top rack of dishwasher.
Stir, stir!
Read over the recipe.
Stir, stir, stir!
Pop some tea in the microwave.
Stir, stir, stir, stir!
Drink some tea. (Burn tongue.)
Stir, stir, stir, stir, stir!
Unload the bottom rack of the dishwaser.
Stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir!
(You know what? “Stir” no longer even looks like a real word!)
Load the top rack of the dishwasher.
Stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir!
Pet the dog. (Wash hands)
Stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir!
Drink some more tea (Darn, now it’s cold!).
Stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir!”
Finally 180 degrees! My creme anglaise was fairly thick but still rather yellow.
It didn’t look quite like the picture in the cookbook.

Hmmm….. “dog-pee-in-the-snow” colored creme anglaise. (Which was not helped by the addition of vanilla.)
What’s a girl to do?

I strained it into a ceramic bowl and refrigerated it overnight.

Sunday night I made the islands, beating room temp egg whites with a pinch of salt and a quarter cup of sugar until it held stiff peaks.

Once the meringue beaten egg whites and sugar were ready, I gently used an ice cream scoop to drop the white blobs into a pan of simmering milk, cooking three or four at a time for about a minute and a half per side.

Weebles wobble but they won’t fall down.
Meringue quivers but it won’t flip over.

I set the islands on waxed paper and then refrigerated them until they were ready to serve.

After positioning a beautiful white island in the center of each pool of snowy dog urine creme anglaise I went about preparing the strands of caramel.

I used a small skillet, rather than a sauce pan, and brought water and sugar to a boil. Luckily caramel should not be stirred (or the sugar might crystallize) because my stirring arm was still pretty tired from the night before. (And that’s why I DID NOT rock at Wii bowling, yessirree.)

Excuses, excuses.

Anyway, the sugar water took a long time to come to a boil and I kinda got distracted. (Yes, I was unloading/reloading the dishwasher AGAIN! (brief aside: Um, whose dish month is it anyway?))

And my caramel, well, let’s just say it had “charred undertones.” It was also pretty darn thick, so I added a touch of heavy cream to thin it.

I used a fork to drizzle the caramel across the top of the islands and distributed one to each member of my family. Even to the lackadaisical dishwasher.

Taylor said “What is this?” And then wouldn’t taste it.

My husband was lying facedown, possibly dead or maybe just listening to the radio. (”You know how I know you’re gay? How? Because you like Coldplay.”)

Reagan and I sat down to eat ours.
Creme Anglaise? YUM YUM YUM YUM.
The Meringue? YUM YUM.
The Caramel? I think I pulled out a filling.

They are quite delicious, no matter what my son with the unsophisticated tastes says. He thought they were “too salty.” But then again, he doesn’t like guacamole or grilled cheese. He’s a weirdo.

Poo on him!
And on my boss who told me recently that she “leaves the salt out of most recipes.”

I love salt.

In fact, a world without salt would be quite tasteless. (Heee heee)

I made the dough on Sunday, sifting the flour, cocoa powder, salt and leavening into one bowl and beating butter til light and fluffy in another. Granulated and brown sugar were added to the butter, followed by vanilla and then the dry ingredients were briefly beaten in and the chopped chocolate was mixed in via wooden spoon.

For the chocolate I used a mixture of Nestle semisweet mini-chips and Scharffen Berger 70% Cacao Bittersweet Chocolate that I finely chopped.

At this point the dough looked like small pebbles so I was a bit worried. Nevertheless, I scooped it out into two piles on seperate pieces of waxed paper, picking up the edges of the paper, sling-like, I used the paper to press the dough into shape, easily forming two cohesive logs.

I sliced the chilled dough into 1/2″ rounds and baked it, a cookie sheet at a time, for 12 minutes. I did end up with a bit of crumbling during slicing, but the dissassembled pieces were easy re-attach, nevertheless, I ate most of them!

Upon removal from the oven, the cookies were sprinkled with salt. I couldn’t find the recommended fleur de sel in my area, so I used large grain sea salt, sprinkling four to five grains on each cookie.

You can see the salt in this picture:

Oh, and make sure you note the terribly “ungreen” foam plate.
Fancy!

Yes, these are salty cookies-in a good way. Very chocolatey with a wonderful sandy texture. I can see why they are named “World Peace Cookies.” Thank you so much Jessica of cookbookhabit for your excellent selection.

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!)

Yesterday was Dr. Martin Luther King Junior Day and, instead of marching in a parade, my dear friend Secret Server came over to our house to bake a cake. A “Berry Surprise Cake” picked by Mary Ann of “Meet Me in the Kitchen.”

(This reminds me of a Dr. MLK, Jr, Day in the past, when I took the kids bowling. The next day my composition teacher had everyone write an in-class essay about how we celebrated the holiday.)

“I have a dream of my two children, one day, being able to knock down pins without using bumper guards.”

Okay, back to baking, we whisked the flour with the baking powder and salt; whisked the warm eggs with sugar and then beat the egg mixture for five minutes. At this point our eggs should have been able to hold a ribbon for about ten seconds.

They (we?) failed.

So we beat them for a couple more minutes, then sifted half the flour mixture over the eggs, folded it in, added the melted butter, folded that in, sifted the remaining flour, folded it in, then added the cake batter to the pan.

We baked our cake in a nine inch springform pan (the recipe specified eight inch, but I was unable to find one) and estimated it would take about twenty-five minutes.

While the cake was baking we made the syrup, bringing sugar and water to a boil; we accidentally added the framboise a bit early, but it tasted fine.

After about twenty minutes I turned on the oven light and was surprised to see that our cake was dimplier than my thighs.

At twenty-five minutes we took it out. The appearance was, well, interesting. It also smelled a bit like vanillla-y scrambled eggs.

We set it aside to cool and made the filling, a delicious cream cheese, sugar, vanilla and whipped cream mixture.

Returning to our cake we decided not to follow the assembly directions due to its sunken mien. Instead we brushed the syrup on the top, followed by a thin layer of filling, sprinkled on blueberries and strawberries, covered the berries with more filling and whipped up the whipping cream and used it to frost the cake.

We decorated the top of the cake with diced strawberries and blueberries and put the cake in the fridge to sit for an hour.

While we waited we played Wii and danced to my new favorite tune, “The Naked Song.”

“We were naked in my bed
one swing, no strings
moving all around the room
chicka chicka boom boom
and then we did it on the floor, against the door
upon the sink where we did it some more
sun was hott but we were both burning red
we were naked in my bed”

Do you think the Bill Martin knows his famous children’s book title is being used in a teenage booty call song?

After embarrassing my daughter mightily with my singing (into a Wii remote, hair-brush style!) and dancing (Pee Wee Herman style), we headed back to the kitchen and made the rasberry coulis.

SS happily cut and plated the cake:

And we called the kids in, eagerly anticipating their comments.

“It’s chewy” was the predominant observation.

Extemporaneously explaining our Sponge Cake FAIL I said “Oh, it’s a sponge cake, it’s supposed to be chewy, you know, like a sponge.”

(I don’t think they believed me!)

SS and I sat down to partake in the cake, finish off the Framboise, and pose for pictures. Reagan, obligingly, took many a photo, due to my constant criticism (of my appearance, not of her photography skills!).

“Ugh, in this one I have rolls.”

My reminder of “good posture” lead to this lovely picture:

For some reason this brings to mind the old chant of “I must, I must, I must increase my bust!”

SS and her family had to head home, but later than evening Reagan and I made another go at Sponge Cake. Ours was slightly less chewy, but still not exactly right; I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. I’m going to spend some time reading other TWD posts and researching “chewy sponge cake” in an effort to pinpoint the problem.

I’m determined to make a tasty sponge cake. In fact:
“I have a dream that one day even my sponge cake, a cake smelling of scrambled eggs, with the scent of vanilla, suffering from a leathery texture, will be transformed into a masterpiece of airiness and wonder.”

Comments posted on the “Tuesdays With Dorie” blog about this recipe lead me to believe that either great minds think alike or I’m not very original! Almost everyone seemed to be making these muffins with chili. I didn’t make chili but kept with the southwestern soup theme and made “Chipotle chicken and tomato soup,” one of my favorite “Cooking Light” recipes.

While the soup was simmering I began the muffins by preheating the oven and spraying my new mini-muffin pan with cooking spray.

I’m sure my mini-muffin pan was thrilled that it’s inaugural use was for a Dorie recipe. (Yes, I do anthropomorphize my kitchen implements.)

So far my TWD recipes have had a theme, luckily not of raw chicken for dinner, but of using the wrong sized pans! Luckily the recipes have not suffered from the substitutions.

I whisked the dry ingredients in a large bowl and mixed the buttermilk, melted butter and egg yolk (YIKES, I just realized I may have actually added the whole egg on accident; I don’t remember seperating the yolk from the white.) I poured the liquid ingredients over the dry and quickly mixed them with a spatula and added in the corn, peppers and cilantro.

Unfortunately I didn’t have fresh cilantro and subbed in a couple of frozen cubes of the green herb.

It turned my batter a slightly sickly yellow green color.

Reagan’s new cookie scoop worked well in dividing the dough into the 24 mini-muffin cups. I popped the muffins into the oven and baked them for 12 minutes, cooled them for 5 minutes and then removed them from the pan.

The green color had dissipated and the muffins were a lovely yellow, tinged with the small bits of red and green pepper pieces.

My soup was good and the muffins were the perfect complement. They had a lovely texture, were moist and flavorful without being too spicy.

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.]