While we were grocery shopping last weekend, I saw that Whole Foods had red bananas at a pretty decent price, so I decided to pick up a few to continue my rum sauce experiments. I know that they take well to heat (until very recently, I actually thought they had to be cooked in order to avoid a stomach ache), and I have a fondness for unusual fruit. They’ve been sitting on the counter tempting me for the last few days, so I finally decided to try again tonight with the caramel sauce.

My rum sauces usually start out with three things: sugar, butter, rum. Tonight, I added whiskey and orange juice to the mix. Heat a large frying pan over medium-high heat and add:

2 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tbsp Sucanat (dried sugarcane juice)
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup orange juice
1/4 cup golden rum
1/4 cup sour mash whiskey
pinch of salt

Warm this until it is all dissolved and fairly homogeneous, and add four red bananas, sliced lengthwise (I find it easiest to do this with the skins still on).  Place the bananas with the cut side down, and cook them, basting occasionally with the liquid (but not flipping them), until the sugars have slightly caramelized.  This should take 10-15 minutes, and you should see the bubble pattern of the boiling liquid change, especially around the edge of the frying pan. The bananas will be quite soft with a bit of crunch on the bottom, which should have some extra caramelization.

When they’re done, remove them from the heat to cool for a few minutes, and then serve them with a large scoop of ice cream (I’d recommend vanilla or coconut).

I’m one of those people who everyone should be jealous of because I have the good fortune to have in-laws that I really, truly love having in my life. My mother-in-law in particular is an enthusiastic supporter of the blog and sent a request for a blog-worthy contribution for Easter through the contact form on the website. I was very excited about that because it was the first message I got that way! Her request got me thinking about Easter and what I could make. I wanted to do something different, and because I can’t resist a food pun once I’ve thought of it, the Cadbury Creme Brul’egg was born.

I bought both normal and mini Cadbury Creme Eggs at the store on Saturday. I also spotted these chicken-footed egg cups at Whole Foods and picked them up because they were oven safe and went with the eggy theme so well. Each of the egg cups got one mini egg, and I experimented with one large egg in two of the four ounce ramekins and three mini ones in the other two.

The absolute best creme brulee recipe I’ve found comes from Sherry Yard’s The Secrets of Baking, so I pulled out my copy of the book and scaled the recipe down by a third to fit the combined volume of the ramekins and egg cups. Cream, sugar and a vanilla bean rose to a simmer together, and then steeped for 15 minutes. Rather than whisking the cream into the egg yolks by hand at that point, I always pour the hot cream in while running the whip attachment on my Kitchen Aid at a very low speed. Try to avoid whipping any more air into the eggs than necessary, because the air will show up as unattractive bubbles on top of the custard.

Once the cream and egg are mixed together, I strained the mixture into a large measuring cup and poured it carefully up to the rim of each egg cup and ramekin.

You probably will end up with a few bubbles on the surface of the custard, even if you carefully whisk by hand. Any ridges of custard on the surface will brown when you are melting the sugar on top before serving, so the best thing to do is to get your blow torch out early and carefully pop the bubbles with a quick brush of a low flame across the top. Be extremely careful to avoid any places where the chocolate is peeking up above the surface. Chocolate scorches at a very low temperature and can’t handle the heat of the torch.

See how the bubbles disappear nicely?

At this point, I filled the baking dish holding the ramekins with boiling water, about two-thirds of the way up their sides, covered the top tightly with foil to keep the tops from overcooking and put the whole thing in a 300 degree oven for 40 minutes. When they came out, I discovered that it may not have been the best idea to mix the egg cups and the ramekins in the same dish. The egg cups are taller, so they tented the foil above the rims of the ramekins and allowed condensation to form above and then pool on the tops of the larger custards. Luckily, the damage was not too bad, but in the future I’d use two smaller baking dishes.

Once the custards are set–they still wiggle, but they wiggle as one mass–I took the baking dish out of the oven. This is a dangerous moment, with a heavy load of boiling water sloshing about, so I always remind myself of something my chef once told me when I was pulling a full sheet pan of boiling water out of an eye-level oven: water can be mopped up, but skin can’t be unburned. You can always remove the ramekins from the pan while it’s still in the oven (use silicone baking mitts and, once again, be careful) and then move the water when it’s cool. When the ramekins are cool enough to handle, I put them on a baking rack until they get down to room temperature, then stash them away in the fridge to chill for at least two hours before serving.

While I was waiting for the ramekins to do their thing in the fridge, I melted the last bit of yellow sugar from the Battlestar Galactica cupcakes in the microwave and used it to make a couple of cast sugar chicks. This is one of the first sugar tutorials I plan to do, but the basic technique is, well, basic: oil a cookie cutter, set it on top of a Silpat and pour just enough molten sugar in to fill in the shape. I had to slide the cookie cutter around a bit to get sugar into the beaks and tails, but otherwise it was as easy as that. I added a bit of sugar at the bottom of each one to stick down into the creme brulee, and then swirled what was left of the melted sugar around to make some more random decorations.

The key to a good, even caramelized creme brulee top is a good, even layer of sugar. When I’m doing small ones, I like to use this tea strainer to dust my sugar over the top. (For large, multi-person creme brulees, I spread the sugar around with a small offset spatula.) If you’re feeling especially OCD, it also helps to tilt the ramekin around to be sure no custard is peeking through, waiting to get singed. For a neater appearance, wipe the sugar off of the rim with a paper towel before burning the top.

My strategy for brulee-ing my cremes is to keep the flame low and keep it moving. I like to get the whole surface partially melted before I start trying for color. Once I get a little caramel action going, I sprinkle another light layer of sugar over it all and then proceed until everything’s nice and golden.

This first way of finishing the presentation was Chris’ idea. He thought it would be cool to “crack” a Cadbury Creme Egg over the top and brulee the sugary “white” and “yolk”. The filling caramelized pretty nicely, but I found it hard to avoid scorching the chocolate shell. I cut away the blackened bits I could see, but Chris–who wanted to eat the one he’d inspired–still got a burnt piece of chocolate. Maybe if I’d been a little more careful it would have worked.

Here’s another one of the large ones with one of those random sugar decorations I mentioned earlier. I pressed it down into the custard immediately after torching the top and held it in place for a moment while the newly caramelized sugar cooled around it. I was impressed at how well the sugar decorations stayed upright.

Here’s one of the egg cups with a sugar chick and a mini egg. I liked the splash of color that serving one of the candies in its wrapper added.

So, you ask, how did they taste?

Well, they were extraordinarily rich. Creme brulee and creme eggs kinda added up to guilty pleasure overload. I almost always put something in my creme brulee, but I realized that what I usually add are things like berries, which cut the sweetness and the heavy creaminess of the custard. The creme egg, on the other hand, intensified that. But they weren’t bad, either. If you love Cadbury Creme Eggs and have nothing against sugar, this might be just the Easter treat for you. I noticed that the ones with just the one large egg were more successful than the ones with all the little eggs in them.

If I were to make these again, I might try replacing the sugar in the recipe with melting a few creme eggs straight into the cream at the beginning, and then “cracking” one on top when I served it. However, I think I’ll be looking for a different dessert to bring over on Easter. Ooo…what about Peeps Suzette?!

Hmm…maybe I’d better stay away from punny foods for awhile.

Other Sugar Work Posts at Pie of the Tiger:
Sugar Work Lesson 1: Casting Sugar
Sugar Work Equipment
Sugar Work (Pastry School Flashbacks)
Battlestar Galactica Cupcakes with Sugar Decorations

This past Saturday, I was making the birthday cake for a very dear friend of mine’s birthday party. I wanted it to be spectacular, because the birthday girl is pretty darn spectacular herself. I ended up deciding to do cupcakes, and I set out to do two different flavors as soon as I woke up Saturday morning, a chocolate cupcake recipe from The Modern Baker by Nick Malgieri and a white chocolate cake recipe from Pure Chocolate by Fran Bigelow of Fran’s Chocolates. I’d had success with the devil’s food cake recipe in Malgieri’s book twice last fall, and one of my chefs at pastry school used to work for Fran Bigelow and helped with the production of the photos and drawings in the book (if I remember correctly, the hands in the drawings at the beginning of the book are hers), so I trusted both books to have good recipes.

Now, as I said, I’ve had way too many bad baking days before, and I really wanted to get it right this time. Most of my misadventures in the kitchen have been centered around birthday cakes. I actually swore off making them for a long time, thinking that it was my old, malfunctioning oven’s fault that the cakes never turned out right. Also, I knew that the other main cause for substandard baking is my tendency to cut corners and get lazy when I’m cooking in my own kitchen. This was never a problem in school or at the restaurant or the B&B, so now I make very sure now to do things deliberately and professionally when I bake.

I was off to such a good start. Other than some worry over the way the batter for the chocolate cupcakes turned out, I felt very organized and in control of the situation. The white chocolate cake batter turned out to be gorgeous, this billowing silky mass that I’m guessing is what Cloud 9 must be made out of. But the dark chocolate cupcakes…well, I can’t tell you for sure whose fault the disaster was on that one. Was it the recipe? Was it my paranoia of over baking them? Was it the unsweetened chocolate I used, that was maybe a little past its prime? Without making the recipe again, I can’t say for sure.

The batter was weird, very watery, but I assumed that was because the author’s stated intent was to make very moist cupcakes (they were, indeed, very moist, almost fudgy, which I can’t fault at all). It was very hard to get into the cupcake wrappers cleanly, even pouring it from a measuring cup with a pour spout, because it was so thin it just ran down the outside of the cup as soon as I tipped it downward. The chocolate also was an issue, as it didn’t melt but stayed in little tiny flecks. I wanted to blame the recipe on that one, too, because he instructed to melt it by pouring boiling water over it (and thus, in my mind, creating an environment perfect for the chocolate to seize if it didn’t emulsify right away), but then the same thing happened later with a different recipe and the same chocolate. I feel like I underbaked them, but they were in the oven for ten minutes longer than the recipe said, so…I’m still perplexed.

They looked and smelled beautiful in the oven, but fell when they came out, quickly and drastically. I wish I had a picture of those chocolate sinkholes. I was disappointed, mostly in myself because I knew that’s where the blame should probably land, given my past track record. But then the white chocolate cupcakes went in, and they looked and smelled so beautiful that I wasn’t too worried. After all, cupcakes are easy to hide under mounds of frosting.

Back to the white chocolate variety. I had high hopes these would outshine my failure with the dark chocolate ones. I knew that using a cake batter for cupcakes was risky, but I thought the problem would be overbaking them, not underbaking them. So, once again, I pulled them out way too soon. These, unlike the chocolate ones, ended up being beyond repair, because I waited too long to decide to put them back in the oven and never managed to get them to bake all the way through.

Cue mental breakdown. Tears were shed. Oaths to never bake again were uttered. It wasn’t pretty. Bad baking days never are.

Fortunately, Baker Bee rode up on his white horse (i.e. rolled out of bed) brandishing a shiny whisk and saved me, despite my ranting and raving and general foul mood. While I took a soothing shower, he made another batch of cupcakes, this time using a recipe from our trusty copy of Joy of Cooking, which is where I should have gone for my cupcake recipe. Other than the chocolate not melting properly, his were cupcakes–high rising domes of very cake-ish cake.

I was feeling a bit down in the dumps about my lousy cupcakes. The white chocolate ones, despite tasting fabulous, weren’t something I could serve to anyone (except Baker Bee, who thinks they taste like the perfect pound cake of all things). My chocolate ones were visibly inferior to Mr. Bee’s, which is fine in other areas of cooking but I like to think that I got some sort of useful skills out of pastry school that I can contribute to our kitchen.

Time was running out. I turned to the quickest thing to frost them with that would look impressive: torched meringue. It just looks cool, and it’s one of those things like ganache that really isn’t hard to make at all, but if you don’t know how to make it and brown it you wouldn’t know where to start. We had meringue on my wedding cake and everyone loved it. So I started piping it on Baker Bee’s cupcakes. I played around with it a bit, remembering the way that piping meringue on top of meringue produced an interesting visual contrast. It looked fun and festive, but what would I do to make the fallen cupcakes not look like ugly stepsisters beside them?

Then it came to me. Earlier in the week, I’d had this strong urge to make Obama cupcakes–faux Hostess chocolate cupcakes, but with the white squiggle writing “Obama” in cursive. Not an original idea, but I really wanted to do it…and then didn’t. But on Saturday I had 18 cupcakes with gaping holes staring up at me, and a Kitchen Aid bowl full of Swiss meringue, and…well, you do the math. The fun twist I came up with was to fill the hole with meringue and mound some on the top of the cupcake as well, then torch it before dipping the top in the ganache. That made the meringue a lot more stable, and possibly imparted a hint of toasted marshmallow to the flavor (more research is needed to confirm this). Plus, it made the cupcakes look like they had risen and stayed that way, which wasn’t a bad thing at all.

On some of them, I tried to pipe the white squiggle, but the meringue wasn’t behaving properly when piped that thinly (hence the bad handwriting on the cupcakes…normally, I’m pretty good at that–oh boy, there goes the old ego again), so I just left a lot of them dressed in only their glossy ganache. Baker Bee thinks I should figure out how to make them fall again in the future so I could make filled cupcakes again, and although I pointed out that there are techniques for getting the filling inside the cupcake, I think it might not be a bad idea.

At the party, I stacked them tiered-cake style with the help of a few cake stands. All together, they looked great. Not perfect, but that’s coming from the mouth of a self-critical perfectionist. I was happy with them at the end, and they provided a great sugar high for the rousing round of Cranium and custom vampire-themed Mad Libs. (If you look closely, you’ll see that one of the cupcakes was meant to be a vampire.)

The funny thing is that even though both batches were chocolate cupcakes, and I used the same meringue on both of them, with the only difference being the ganache, they were both very, very different cupcakes, both good in their own way. A lot of people seemed to think my fallen ones with the ganache were better, and they certainly were more intense on the chocolate, but the day after I went to have one bite of Baker Bee’s cupcakes with a huge crown of spiky meringue on it and ended up eating the whole thing.

Here’s the Swiss meringue recipe I use out of my notes from pastry school, in case you’re in need of a good one. The beauty of Swiss meringue as opposed to Italian and French is its stretch, gooey, marshmallowy consistency. Technically, Italian meringue is more stable, but Swiss meringue holds up very well on cakes in my experience, and I love the texture of it. The meringue on the gelato coppetta I wrote about in my last post was undoubtedly Swiss, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Swiss Meringue
(printable version)

Egg whites 8 oz (250 g)
Fine granulated sugar 1 lb (500 g)

Procedure

Place the egg whites and sugar in a stainless steel bowl or in the top of a double boiler. Beat with a whisk (more near the end than at first) over hot water until the mixture is hot about 120°F.* Transfer to the bowl of a mixer and whip at high speed until stiff peaks form. Turn down speed to cool.

* I learned to test the temperature this way from my chef at pastry school: dip your finger in, and if you have to pull your finger out immediately because your cuticles feel like they’re on fire, it’s ready. The warmer the egg and sugar mixture gets, the more stable the meringue will be.

These were hugely popular with everyone who received them. How could they not be, looking that adorably festive on a cookie tray? Everyone wanted to know what they were, and thanks to Yard’s engaging storytelling in her second book, I had details to give them on their Italian origins.

They’re very pretty, of course, but they taste much more sophisticated than you might expect. It helped that I used a couple of aging bars of very dark Michel Cluizel (my absolute favorite chocolatier in the world) chocolate in the glaze, but the cake’s sweetness and almond flavor are very light and subtle. It was only when I tasted one that I realized there was no almond flavoring in the recipe, only almond paste and almond flour, and I think from the photo in the book I was expecting something with the concentrated flavor of the extract.

The only other modification I did to the recipe was to add apricot brandy to the simple syrup I soaked the cake layers with. In my opinion, that was an Incredibly Good Call, and I would even add a little more next time. The whole effect of the “cookie” was good, but the almond cake needed something extra to stand up well against the chocolate glaze. That could’ve been the due to the chocolate I used, but I wouldn’t want to use anything less potent in the future.

I’ll definitely make these again–I’ll probably have to, considering how much everyone liked them. Next year, though, I’ll cut them in smaller pieces. Mine were pretty small, but I found these were best one bite at a time, and more than once I noticed people wanting to split one.

At the beginning of Life of Pi, the narrator promises that it is a story to make you believe in God. When I got to the end of the book, for a moment I thought that the book had failed in its purpose. However, after a moment of trying to puzzle out what the author meant, I realized it was one of the most brilliant arguments in favor of believing in God, and one that particularly appealed to the writer in me.

So let me begin this way: These are macaroons to make you believe in coconut.

* * * * *

I hated coconut all my life. I don’t mean I disliked it; I truly thought there wasn’t a single thing worth eating that came from those hard, hairy, brown things. To be honest, I was a picky eater when I was young, but coconut was on its own level. I hated the way it squeaked between my teeth. I recognized it from the first bite of any unfamiliar food. Chewy yet not, sticky but not soft, the appeal was entirely lost on me.

It wasn’t just the texture that bothered me. One of my most vivid memories from my trip to Turkey involves coconut, this time in liqueur form. My mother and I devoted a week of our trip to a blue cruise, bay-hopping around south-western Turkey on board an eight-passenger gulet, a wooden sailboat, though if the sail was ever employed during our trip, it was only once.

Our captain could steer the boat one-handed, the other hand occupied by a can of Efes Pilsner. All of my American no-drinking-and-driving mental programming made this amusing to watch, but not concerning. He obviously had the hang of it, and really there wasn’t much to run into other than small islands. I figured one of us would see the island coming and grab the wheel. He already let us do that whenever we wanted.

He didn’t speak as much English as the other crew members, but he was a likable, relaxed guy all around, friendly and happy. One of the things he seemed most excited about was Wednesday night.

“On Wednesday, we party!” he would repeat to us at odd times, without any explanation.

Considering we were floating on a beautiful blue expanse, rarely sharing a bay for the morning, afternoon or night with more than one other gulet, we thought it was a joke. Who were we going to party with? We were already lounging and tanning (well, not me), swimming, eating and drinking amongst ourselves. I wasn’t sure what would change that short of a hot tub dropping from the sky onto our tiny deck.

Wednesday came, and we piled in a taxi van to cross the peninsula to Marmaris. Surprisingly, we made it there alive and spent the afternoon shopping in the bazaar. I found a bracelet at a silver shop there, one so unique that I’m never able to describe it to anyone in detail, which I would subsequently lose in the back of another taxi when we returned to Istanbul.

We returned to our boat, once again surprised to be alive, but tired from the day’s trip. The captain greeted us and urged us to join him for the party at the discotheque on the shore.

As a group, we looked at the scrubby, dry, isolated coastline.

Still, the invitation to party was repeated, and it was very tempting to see just how a discotheque was managing to hide in the middle of nowhere. It turned out that “discotheque” was a slight overstatement, at least in my mind. A wooden fence around an outdoor bar didn’t quite match the image in my mind. We sat down on cushions around the low table in one corner, chatting with the owner (who seemed to be good buddies with our captain and the captains of the other gulets anchored in the bay) while his sons minded the bar. My mother, who was doing her best to be a bad influence on me during my college years to combat my stick-in-the-mud tendencies, tried to get me to smoke from the hookah. Tried, but didn’t succeed. At one point, I looked through a crack in the fence behind me and saw a gigantic shadow of a scorpion. My gaze zeroed in on the very small scorpion throwing it, but it certainly made me question the wisdom of sitting nearly on the ground there.

The coconut in this story–I hadn’t forgotten!–arrived then, in small, skinny glasses filled with a dubious pink liquid. I tried to refuse, and learned they were on the house. I took a tiny sip, and my nose wrinkled immediately. Coconut. Jolly Rancher and Coconut in burning alcoholic form. I set the glass down and forgot about it…until another came.

Now, I was pretty used to guys flirting with me in Turkey by then, including the one I usually describe as a Turkish Antonio Bandaras but better looking. I hadn’t had any of the bad experiences with it that you hear about from women traveling in foreign countries, just entertaining ones, so I had no problem with it. A glance over at the bar made it pretty obvious why I was getting free drinks. If they’d sent over an endless supply of Diet Coke (I can’t believe I drank that), that might have been different, but coconut? I wasn’t impressed.

But it turned out that they were making up new drinks just for me, and my mother reminded me that it was rude to refuse hospitality like that, as long as it was harmless. So, I drank both drinks. Or, at least I’m pretty sure I got through them all, since I vaguely remember singing for other drunk people in the “discotheque” under the stars.

The moral of the story is that foreign travel may broaden your palate considerably, but some foods just never have a chance. Coconut did not receive the same invitation into my eating life that many of the other foods I encountered did. Over the next few years, though, a few coconutty things slipped into my diet, like fresh coconut cracked open on the beach on my honeymoon in Costa Rica (it was okay) or coconut milk in Thai curries. Nevertheless, I was fairly certain I’d never like anything that proudly proclaimed a coconut-heavy favor.

* * * * *

With that in mind, cue my disappointment with being assigned to make the coconut macaroons at my first cooking job. I was assisting the American-style baker in the restaurant’s bakeshop, and despite the fact that everything I’d tasted of hers then (and now I can say everything since then, too) was the best I’d ever had of those items before, there was no way that I was going to like the macaroons.

Who likes to make food they don’t like at all? Not me. Not unless it makes someone close to me very, very happy, and even then I’ll get grumpy and complain about it. That aside, I was going to be working with coconut every week, smelling it, touching it. I wasn’t pleased.

Still, it was my job, and I did what I had to do while she instructed me how to make the macaroons. I pulsed the coconut in a food processor. I mixed the gooey ingredients in a large bowl. I got my hands all sticky and slimy scooping small mounds of it onto the sheet pan. (My technique had yet to develop then.) They went into the convection oven, and I watched them carefully, turning them so they acquired a golden brown that surprised me, since all the macaroons I’d seen were giant, white balls with shreds of coconut sticking out of them every which way. But they still weren’t going to taste good. No way, no how.

Oh my goodness I was wrong.

The differences I’d noticed before all served glorious purposes. Grinding the shredding coconut did away with the stringiness I hated about it. The small size made for the perfect marriage of warm, squishy insides and golden crunchy/chewy outsides. After one taste, it became a ritual for me to eat one hot macaroon every week as soon as possible to when they came out of the oven. They’re delicious cold, and actually take on a nice chewiness if stored in an airtight container for a few days, but when they’re fresh and warm, they’re heaven.

But it wasn’t just the macaroons that I came to love. Soon there after, the assistant pastry chef gave me a taste of his coconut sorbet as it came out of the mixer, and I’ve adored coconut sorbet ever since–as long as it doesn’t have shreds of coconut in it. I’ve even been known to order drinks with coconut rum in them.

Consider this my public apology to my Turkish bartenders for not liking their drinks.

* * * * *

Since we’re talking about apologies and forgiveness, I’ll confess that I told a bit of a lie at the beginning:

These aren’t the macaroons that made me believe in coconut.

I know, I’m sorry, but the recipe isn’t mine. I can’t bring myself to share the recipe without permission. Something in me doesn’t quite want to share it, either, which is strange because generally I’m all for sharing my recipes and knowledge. But these are special. Magical.

However, I’m not going to tease you and then leave you empty-handed. I’ve been working on a number of variations, tweaked and changed enough that I won’t feel like they’re not mine to share. Raspberry-Pomegranate, which tastes like a jam sandwich cookie, but with the texture of a coconut macaroon. Cocoa Nib-Creme de Cacao, a grown-up chocolate chip cookie. But the most successful so far was a fusion of two of the variations I’ve tried: the macadamia nut center and the lime-rum macaroon.

My second run of these today yielded great results. The zest of two limes seemed like it would be too much, but the lime flavor was perfect–blending enough with the coconut to be subtle, but definitely there. I wanted to post the recipe itself tonight, but I have a few things to work out first. I still want to amp up the rum flavor, and the macaroons are spreading too much, most likely due to the fact that I’m still getting used to my oven, but I need to rule out flaws in the recipe before I post it.

In the meantime, I’ll demo the technique, which you could probably apply to other macaroon recipes out there.

	First, pulse the coconut in a food processor. You may have to do it in more than one batch, depending on the size of your recipe and the size of your food processor. Add the coconut to a large bowl with the flour and the sugar and mix thoroughly.
	Drizzle melted butter over the coconut mixture, then use your hands to work it evenly in, rubbing any clumps with drier parts of the mixture until you don’t see any more clumps. (I apologize for the fact that this photo resembles “yellow snow”. This is definitely okay to eat.)
	Whisk egg whites, cream, corn syrup, rum, and lime zest together.
	Pour the wet mixture in with the dry mixture and stir with a spatula–or better yet a bowl scraper–until combined.
	Form the the macaroons with a small scoop and place them in even rows on a Silpat or parchment paper.
	A note on the macadamia nuts: they should be salt-free and toasted. Two or three minutes in the oven at 350 degrees is plenty. Also, if you toast the macadamias immediately before making the cookies, watch them in the oven carefully, because the nuts will heat the macaroons from the inside and speed up the cooking process.
	To put the macadamia nuts in the center of the macaroons, press one into the cookie while it is still in the scoop, and then fill the empty space behind it with the coconut that gets squeezed out the sides. Make sure the bottom of each macaroon is flat and clean.
	Bake the macaroons at 350 degrees for 18 minutes, turning the pan around after the first ten to color them evenly. They should look golden brown and crispy, but not turn dark brown. Cool on racks, and make sure to eat one while they’re still warm.

I paired the lime macaroons with a grapefruit sorbet I’d randomly decided to make up a mix for last night to use up some aging grapefruits. They worked quite well together even though they weren’t made for each other. The cold and the natural flavor of the grapefruit cut the sweetness in the sorbet, and so it was a counterpoint to the sweeter cookies, rather than competing for the same sort of attention.

Stay tuned…I hope to have this recipe perfected in the near future! They’ll only be Macaroons Based off of Macaroons to Make You Believe in Coconut, but I hope that they’ll taste good all the same.

Early in the month, I had some friends over to make Christmas cookies with me, and I tested out the sugar cookie recipe in Sherry Yard’s The Secrets of Baking. I loved the recipe–I’ve loved every recipe I’ve tried out of her books–other than having to learn the hard way that the dough really does need to be quite frozen through the whole process of cutting out the shapes. They kept their shape beautifully, held together after they cooled, and tasted wonderful, buttery with the perfect sugar cookie texture.

Inspired by my favorite store-bought sugar cookies–made by Little Rae’s Bakery here in Seattle–I mixed up icing made from powdered sugar and lime juice (yum, though I had to make some with lemon juice for Mr. Bee because wives sometimes cave in like that) and pressed them into a bowl of sanding sugar. They captured the crunch of the sugar on Little Rae’s cookies, which is what I love so much about them. The only thing I really needed to change was to make the cookies thicker, so I decided to use that recipe for my cookies later in the month.

When my mom and my sister-in-law came over to bake cookies, I made a triple batch of the cookie dough and rolled it out extra thick, only making about three half sheet pan-sized sheets with all of that dough. It worked just as well thick as it had thin, and I froze all of my trees and reindeer, angels and ornaments to be frosted later on in the season.

Along came the great snow day that went on…and on…and on, until the day had become a week and we still hadn’t left the house. With Baker Bee home, it was both hard to get things done and very easy to while away the hours baking and taking pictures of the results. Still, by the morning of Christmas Eve, I hadn’t frosted the cookies. I had, fortunately, taken them out of the freezer a day or two before, but that’s as far as I’d gotten. I’d had grand visions of whipping up royal icing and piping the heck out of those cookies. You know, proving that I still knew my way around a star tip and so on. But time? Not on my side, at all.

I’d signed up for Food Buzz a couple days before, and there I ran into a tutorial on cookie decorating with glacé icing posted at Our Best Bites. Her cookies looked absolutely beautiful, jewel-like with their colors and sheen, and having the icing actually taste good sounded like a strong point in the favor of glacé over royal, since her recipe was very similar to what I’d done before, only heavier on the dairy than the flavoring, rather than the other way around, and containing corn syrup, which I’d forgotten was a good thing to include.

Still, I felt a little…well, like I was approaching the half-assedness I had set out to avoid in the first place. I was supposed to be spending hours and hours aggravating my poor sore wrist and shoulder with the piping. And the last time I’d tried to decorate cookies with this kind of icing in multiple colors…it hadn’t gone well. I remember thinking that those were some ugly Thanksgiving Day turkeys to be putting out on a restaurant buffet.

But there was the time thing, and the snow-exhaustion/cabin fever to account for, and I mixed my powdered sugar and corn syrup and milk together, adding a splash each of lemon and orange extracts. I ended up adding some real lemon juice later, to give the icing more of the bite I enjoyed in the previous cookies I iced, and next time I think I’d try replacing some of the milk with lemon juice, but the cookies really did taste fantastic.

As for the looks? Well, I was worse than a narcissist in that proverbial mirror factory. I love the way this icing looks–how the colors swirl and meld together, how bright the colors stay, how it just shines. And even a week later the icing still isn’t hard as a rock like royal icing. (I know this from just having consumed the final cookie left of the batch before starting this post. For inspiration, of course.) I think I like them better than the fanciest cookies I’ve ever piped. They’re much more elegant.

My only complaint is that the shine does dull a bit after the first twenty-four hours, and the edges of the colors seemed to blur just a little, tiny bit over the past week. Of course, that just means they have to be made soon before they’re served or given as gifts. And if I make them too early and they start to dull, then I’ll just have to eat them myself and start from scratch.

I made a few mistakes along the way. Mistakes like forgetting the egg in the citrus pate sucree (I put it to the left of the food processor and the rest of my mise en place to the right) and experimenting with a store-bought carton of egg whites for the meringue when I didn’t have time to make a second batch. However, even without that egg, the pate sucree was possibly the best tart crust I’ve ever made, and several people complimented it. It uses both lemon and orange zest, a flavor combination that I used in my wedding cake years ago that really seemed to punch up the flavor.

But there was no blessing in disguise in regards to the meringue, unless I count the reminder that things never go well when I try to cut corners. At least this time it was in the spirit of experimentation and not just out of laziness, as usual. I used the Trader Joe’s 100% egg whites, and I knew that they weren’t going to be ideal when I saw how cloudy they were, but I went ahead and made the meringue. The foam ended up looking, well, very insipid and watery, not the airy dollop of heaven that I wanted to recreate from the magazine. By the time I was done, there was no time left, so the mediocre meringue went on the tart and I did my best to torch it, even though it didn’t want to brown properly.

Despite all of that, I don’t think I’ve ever had a dessert disappear so quickly at a big family event or gotten quite so many compliments and questions. I kept being surprised that people liked it, because I wasn’t entirely pleased with the mouth feel of the cranberry filling, as pretty as it was. It had that gross texture that comes from too much cornstarch, so next time I make this I’ll either decrease the cornstarch or experiment with some of the alternate thickners my husband has been playing with in his attempts at molecular gastronomy, now that we have a kitchen that we can actually cook in again. The xanthan gum marshmallows he made last week were a huge success, so I’m reading up on hydrocolloides now, too.

As I said above, I picked out a number of new holiday recipes to try this year. When I ate meat, Thanksgiving was one of my favorite holidays, and I’ve been trying to recreate that experience in a vegetarian way for eight years now, with varying amounts of success. This year, though, inspired by the new kitchen, I decided to try to find some new flavors to turn into new traditions, rather than continue to try to recreate the omnivore’s version of the holiday. Pretty much all of them (other than a new twist on the savory seitan and mushroom dish I’ve come up with to stand in for turkey) came from Martha Stewart–I rarely turn to her during the rest of the year, but the recipes in the holiday issues of the magazine are always really appealing to me, so much so that I keep them in their own binder on my cookbook shelf.

Cauliflower Gratin with Endive was delicious–cheesy without being greasy at all, and the Israeli couscous scattered in the bottom of the pan absorbed the sauce but held its shape in a texturally interesting way.

Stuffing was always my favorite part of Thanksgiving, so it took a lot strength to turn my back on the plain old crouton, celery and sage type stuff we always had. The Cornbread, Wild Mushroom and Pecan Stuffing I settled on was so good I just wanted to hold it on my tongue and not swallow it, or even chew it.

We used maitake, hedgehog and oyster mushrooms–I’d never cooked with hedgehog mushrooms, and they were extremely tasty!–so it wasn’t inexpensive. Otherwise, I would’ve made another pan straight away and wolfed it down at home. I have plans to try it with less expensive mushrooms soon. The pecans were a revelation. I’ve often put walnuts into savory cooking, but I think this was my first time using pecans that way, and they complemented the mushrooms very well.

It seems like we made another new dish, but I can’t think of what it was, other than the seitan stuff, where the newness of it lay mostly in my husband’s interpretation of how to cook it based on my instructions I yelled from the shower. That and he tried a trick for quickly browning onions by adding baking soda to them that he read about somewhere online. It worked. But it also made the onions completely dissolve…which had the effect of coating the seitan in the onion pulp and frying it onto it. Not what we were going for, but I think I’ll do it again next time we make it.

I looked through a couple cookbooks in search of a tasty-yet-portable cake that seemed special enough for Mr. T’s birthday. Nothing seemed appealing to me that looked stable enough for a five hour car ride and didn’t need ingredients I don’t have on hand. I was paging through The Joy of Cooking when I came across a recipe for Black Bottom Cupcakes. I used to make Black Bottom Cupcakes back when I was a pastry cook. Scratch that–I used to de-pan the cupcakes after the baker I assisted made them. Which meant I’d never made them before. After checking that I did have cream cheese in my fridge and considering the superior portability of cupcakes, I decided that tonight I’d fix that–even though I’ve never thought the name “Black Bottom Cupcakes” sounded particularly appetizing, or consistent with the end product, for that matter. The chocolate part isn’t just in the bottom, and I think anything with cream cheese in it should advertise that fact proudly.

All in all, I think they turned out very nicely, and they’re a fairly simple cupcake to whip up despite the fact that you have to make two batters. I think the baker I used to work with must have swirled the cream cheese part around in the chocolate cake batter, because the boundaries between the two are much more clear than I remember hers being. I like the look of mine better, but swirling would probably improve the texture of the cupcake overall by breaking up the rich center a bit.

Where I went wrong: 1) Despite the fact that I know better (out of sheer fear of ruining a huge batch of cream cheese frosting at work when the job fell to me), I got impatient and beat the cream cheese with the sugar before it had warmed up to room temperature. Not a huge problem because I was baking it, but my worst habit in the kitchen is impatience. 2) I baked them for just a little too long, so the edges are a little crisper than I’d like.

Still, the cupcakes are super moist. I’ll definitely make them again.

The Joy of Cooking scores another point. I always feel so domestic turning to it rather than my fancy-shmancy gourmet photo-filled cookbooks.