Pumpkin Bread Pudding

November 22nd, 2010  |  17 Comments

No doubt everyone’s running around trying to stockpile their house with food for the holidays. It’s like a Thanksgiving apocalypse. My local market was packed with bodies, and I had to fight off the crowds to get at the brown sugar, possibly the most valuable commodity this time of year.

One thing I am thankful for this holiday season is how fast this dessert was to do. It was meant for an office potluck the following Monday, and I had no time to spare on a laundry- and football-filled Sunday night. Surely you can relate. I already had some brioche on hand from the last time, and it became my starting point. All I needed was a quick stir, pour and bake and done. We’ve got ourselves a dish. And it’s a sturdy thing to transport, to boot.

Bread puddings are, in essence, custards with some bread tossed in, so it does them well to be gently baked in a water bath. The whole thing melds together into a smooth, partly delicate, partly hardy bite. Very soul-satisfying and very November. Feel free to use some store-bought brioche if you can’t find time to make your own. It does a great job absorbing the liquid and it’s softness really complements the texture.

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Classic brioche and mixing it up, so to speak

November 15th, 2010  |  30 Comments

Lately, I’ve been in a bit of a rut. The daily routine has been getting to me. Everyday, the same old thing: get up early, take a sleepy shower, pick out something to wear, shove some hurried breakfast in, ride the commuter train, sit at the office, work on stuff that doesn’t interest me much, get told what to do, push the computer mouse around, get on the train back, try and fit in some exercise, make dinner, clean up and then it’s nearly bed time. Get up the next day and do it again.

Drudgery. Shouldn’t life be more exciting? Shouldn’t it be worth getting up for? I never imagined that I’d be dreading the every day.

helping fill up the balloon with hot air

Sitting on the train, my mind starts wandering to visions of escape. Sometimes I’m in a secluded lodge with a crackling fireplace and big picture windows overlooking vast mountainscapes, where every breath smells of pine trees and feels like freedom. I imagine myself sunk in a plush arm chair, leisurely clacking away on a laptop, while sipping some hot spiced cider. Another fantasy has me at a beach house, reclined on a spacious deck, with a plateful of french toast and plump juicy strawberries in my lap. Nowhere to go and not a care in the world. All I can hear is the hum of the sea.

And we’re off!

After one particularly rough day, something occurred to me. Why couldn’t I live it, instead of just dream it? What I needed was to shake things up. I had to take control and create fun experiences for myself.

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Almond financiers with rosemary scented pears

November 5th, 2010  |  29 Comments

On my very first day, at my very first job, I thought I was going to get fired.

Up until that point, I’d never stepped foot in a restaurant kitchen, and as I knocked on the metal service-entry door, anticipating my first day, I was feeling like I was about to audition for a role opposite Brad Pitt — both excited and petrified. Just a few days earlier, I talked my way into coming in to “stage”, a Frenchie term that basically means “to try out”, and I could tell on the phone the chef was doubtful. He must have imagined me as an oblivious, clueless 9-5 professional, who thought she was going to waltz in and make cute little cake roses all day, sporting a “Kiss the Cook” apron, while listening to hits on the radio.

He thought wrong, my friends, he thought wrong, because I had done my homework, and I knew what to do to impress. I read two top-notch books about what it’s like to work in the biz, cracked my knuckles, and showed up raring to go.

The Making of a Pastry Chef: Recipes and Inspiration from America’s Best Pastry Chefs

The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America

When I was told to coat the pate-de-fruit cubes in sugar, I coated those suckers like I had a gun to my head. When I was asked to pop the chocolate bon bons into white fluted cups, I popped as though I’d been programmed to, all while keeping my head down, and refraining from chit chat.

It was working. I could sense the chef’s approval. A few hours later, he waved me over into the office, and announced that if I was interested, I could come in and apprentice. My instinct was to jump up and down and holler like a 5 year old, but I resisted. I was in! Have you ever gotten news that made you so elated, so lost in bliss, that you couldn’t concentrate on anything else?

Yeah.

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How to become a Professional Pastry Chef

October 28th, 2010  |  28 Comments

My inbox is overflowing like a molten lava cake. Turns out, some of you want to be pastry chefs and are looking for advice on the how to go about it. Well, thanks for thinking of me, I’m happy to help. I’ll tell you what I wish someone told me when I first started because at the time, I had no idea how I was going to do it, and the thought of it left me bewildered. It was like trying to swim across the ocean.

First, we have to squelch The Fear. I remember how intimidated I was. It all seemed so out of my reach, like the industry was made up of untouchable gods, able to work miracles that us mere mortals only imagined. Please.

Once I saw the motley crew that was really behind the scenes, I wondered what scared me so much in the first place. There they were, night after night, leaning against the “pass” (the area where you pass finished plates to the waiter), looking half dazed and gearing up for another night of drinking after a long shift. You had your career changers, illegal immigrants, drop outs, misfits, those with no English, bookish scholarly types and those who never touched a pastry bag in their lives (including me.) Some people were in the kitchen because they really didn’t know what else to do with themselves, and fell into the job accidentaly. Fer cryin’ out loud, if you can fall into a job accidentally, it can’t be that hard to do it on purpose.

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Hot, Hot Chocolate

October 19th, 2010  |  23 Comments

I had these marshmallows lying around and the thought of eating them plain just didn’t appeal. I decided to copy the ways of the City Bakery, a top notch lunch and dessert place. They make the sexiest hot chocolate I have ever met, way beyond the ho-hum. If I step through their doors, it’s a sure bet I’m having some. Just watching them serve it is a carnal pleasure in itself. The mix is so thick and creamy, you can see the weight of it flow out of the ladle. If a hot chocolate can be considered “slow food,” this is it. Just as my drooling reflexes kick in, the server drops in the fattest marshmallow cube in the metropolitan area.The edges begin to barely meld into the steamy liquid. I dip my spoon in. It comes out coated and marbled with swirls of dark and white. Oh, my word, it’s good. With this much body, it’s not so much a drink, as a full fledged dessert. A real craving extinguisher.

To get that level of decadence, I guessed the secret had to be in the high fat content, probably from whole milk, or maybe even, gasp!, heavy cream — and full-on chocolate, not just cocoa powder. The mixture should be a close cousin to ganache, heavy on the chocolate, low on the liquids. Since a few sips are so satisfying, a tiny serving is more than enough. If you can’t wrap your head around all these calories, I understand. I suppose you can scale back to replacing the cream with milk, or using lower fat milk all together, but then, you’re on your own with this decision, and I take no responsibility for your enjoyment of the result, or life in general.

My favorite thing about this is that it takes all of five minutes, so I can indulge any time. With anticipation of my upcoming cravings, I made enough for a few cups, poured the leftovers in a jar, and refrigerated it. Not surprisingly, it solidifies somewhat when chilled, proof of it’s generous chocolate ratio. Reheat gently over low heat to bring it back. It keeps for as long as any milk product, 5 days, give or take.

I don’t know if this is gilding the lily, but I added a little chile powder for a twist. It adds an intriguing layer of smoky heat. Purely optional. There’s a world of potential additions — powders, like cinnamon or espresso, extracts, like mint or orange, or if you’ve had a rough day, good old fashioned booze.

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