In mid-November, I traveled to Nepal with school. I’d never expected to ever visit the country, but when my school announced it as the annual travel destination for the 11th grade, I signed up immediately.

It’s been more than a month since we’ve come back, but some mornings, I still wake up smelling Nepal.

It’s the kind of heavy scent that buries itself deep inside my memory, but feels so fresh and real that I’m found confusing my imagination for the doubt that it’s still clinging to my hair, like a memory that refuses to be washed out. It’s musky and a little sour. On the first days in Nepal, I mistook it for the redolence of an exotic spice, but now I’m near certain it’s the mingled smell of cow dung, rotting fruit, and sandy dust. It’s rather charming in it’s own way. I even find myself missing it every once in a while, wishing to be transported back to the day of our flight, when the entire trip was still before us.

Under normal circumstances, I would imagine that the week before the trip would have been hectic with excitement. I would have found it hard to concentrate in class. I would have packed a few days in advance. But in reality, the anticipation didn’t start until I had already lugged my duffel bag to school at midnight. I had been overworked and sleep deprived the entire week before, and hadn’t even thought to start packing until I realized in a panic that our flight would be taking off in less than a day.

From Drop Box

A fish stand in Bhaktapur

My math class had done much the same. Amidst overheard yawns of, “Have you started packing?”
“No, because sleep. I needed sleep,” from the seats across from me, I began feeling a little less guilty about paying Nepal so little excitement.

But once there, I realized how much there was to be excited about. I began scribbling down ideas and sentence fragments for the article I was to write in the school newspaper into the notebook I kept stashed between strawberry gum and pens in my backpack.

The entire country thrived with culture. On the first day, we visited Bhaktapur, where we trekked around town to bargain for the best prices. Bhaktapur is a little town in the east corner of the Kathmandu Valley, with winding dirt streets and motorcycles that move alarmingly fast, and with people who were eager to help us find our way around. Kathmandu was similar, and had the same down to earth air that is not common in large cities.

From Drop Box

Bhaktapur

In the coming days, we white water rafted, repelled down waterfalls, and hiked for hours, surrounded by mountain ranges that were a faded matcha green, and whose dustiness lent them a sense of etherealness. It was exhilarating, daring, sometimes a little frightening.
But in interviewing my friends, I realized that most of us will probably remember Nepal for the effect its people and culture had on us. The nature was breathtaking, oftentimes even imposing in its beauty, but the genuine warmth of the Nepalese had a stronger, deeper pull.

What struck me about Nepal is how happy its people seemed to be, and how happy I was in return. The simplicity of life there urged us to reconsider our values.

Back home, I sniffed the pocket notebook I’d taken with me on the trip in hopes of smelling again that scent that’s so hard to describe. But the pages smell like strawberry gum, disappointing and artificial.

These matcha cookies have nothing to do with my trip. In fact, I made them months before. But in editing the photos, I realized how similar their shade of green was to the mountains that had surrounded us for the better part of a week in Nepal.

They’re dainty little cookies, crumbly, and with a coarse crumb. Their sugar enrobing makes them satisfyingly sweet, but without taking away from their delicate green tea flavor.

From Drop Box

3/4 (2.25 oz.) cup confectioner’s sugar
1 1/2 tbsps matcha green tea powder
10 tbsps (5 oz.) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 3/4 cup (8.5 oz.) flour
3 large egg yolks
1 cup granulated sugar (to coat the dough)

Whisk the confectioner’s sugar and matcha powder together. Beat the butter and matcha sugar mixture together in a stand mixer (use paddle attachment) until the butter is smooth and fluffy. Add the flour and stir until just combined. Mix in the egg yolks until they are incorporated and the dough comes together. Gather the dough into a ball and flatten it into a thick disc.

Wrap the dough in plastic and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or until it is firm.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Use a rolling pin to roll the dough out to about 1/2-inch thickness. Use a small cookie cutter (about 2-inches) to cut shapes from the dough. Roll the cut shapes in granulated sugar and place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake the cookies for 12-15 minutes (13 minutes for me) or until they begin to turn golden at the edges. Makes about 5 dozen 1-inch cookies (probably 3 dozen 2-inch cookies). Store in airtight container away from sunlight as the color will fade with exposure to sun.

From Drop Box

I used to hate spicy food as a child.

I couldn’t understand how anyone could enjoy having their palate assaulted, or how they could stand eating as the outlines of their lips become embossed with pinpricks of pain.

I couldn’t tolerate heat, no matter the amount.  It distracted from the flavor of the food, forcing me to focus instead on the burgeoning pain at the back of my throat.

My father, on the contrary, loved the heat. He kept a jar of home ground, bright red and brown flecked chili flakes over the kitchen cabinet, and sprinkled what may as well have been a whole teaspoonful over every meal. He seemed to be immune to the burn.

So unlike him, I could detect minuscule amounts of heat in my food.

I would often spend hours with burning lips and tearing eyes after eating something he promised could not possibly have any detectable traces of chili.

Spice and chili may have felt so unnaturally hot to me because I frequently managed to get some around my eyes and nose, but no matter the reason, I did my best to stay away from it.

As I grew older, I gradually became desensitized to the burn, and eventually, the heat stopped bothering me altogether.

Now I am even able appreciate it.

I wasn’t the least bit reluctant last Thanksgiving when my father suggested I add a pinch of hot chili flakes to the batch of caramel popcorn I was making.

The sweet, crisp kernels of popcorn are just sticky enough to hold together to form clusters that are drizzled over with smooth dark chocolate. And the occasional hot clump lends a sense of surprise that turns into anticipation as soon as the burn dies out.

I made three batches over Thanksgiving break, and now, two days later, none remains. I almost ran into a crisis when it came to photographing it because of the rate at which it was disappearing. It’s the most popular dessert I’ve made yet. 

From Food Photography

I’m honored to be guest posting at Jana’s blog Zuckerbaeckerei again this year!  This post will be up on her blog translated into German in December. 

Caramel Cayenne Popcorn
With minor adaptations from Baked Explorations

1 cup unpopped kernels or 24 cups popped corn
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into chunks
2 cups firmly packed dark brown sugar
½ cup light corn syrup
2 tablespoons unsulfured molasses
½ teaspoon salt
¾ teaspoon baking soda
1½ teaspoons pure vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon chili powder (more or less depending on level of heat of the chili powder)
12 ounces good-quality dark chocolate (60 to 72%), melted

If you are starting with kernels, pop them using any method you prefer and let them cool. Preheat the oven to 250 degrees F. Place the popped popcorn in a large roasting pan. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper.

In a medium saucepan over low heat, start to melt the butter. Add the brown sugar, corn syrup, and molasses, and stir gently with a heatproof spatula. Continue to cook over medium heat, stirring only occasionally, until the mixture starts to boil. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pan and bring the syrup to the soft-ball stage, approximately 240 degrees F. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the salt, the baking soda, and vanilla. Pour the caramel over the popcorn in large streams, then sprinkle with chili powder. Use your spatula to fold the popcorn until it is completely coated with caramel.

Place the roasting pan in the oven and bake for 15 minutes. Use a spatula to lift, flip, and coat the popcorn in the warm caramel, then continue baking for another 20 minutes. Cool the caramel popcorn in the pan for 5 minutes and transfer it to the lined sheet pan. Cool for approximately 15 minutes and drizzle the dark chocolate in crisscross patterns over the top. Let the chocolate set before breaking the popcorn into serving-size pieces. Store in an airtight container for up to 1 week.

This summer, right after school ended, we went off on vacation, and spent the second leg of our trip in New York City.  It was my first time visiting. We only stayed three nights, but by the end of our last day I realized that I’d completely fallen in love with the city.

After the quiet serenity of the small town where we had stayed in Holland, New York was something else entirely.

The lawns in Holland had been neatly trimmed, the sidewalks were a uniform shade of light gray, no trash littered the ground. There was hardly any traffic.  At dusk, dark shadows cast linings on the clouds, all at once transforming the town into a watercolored landscape, and I remembered the watercolor my sister had bought earlier in the day. It captured the city exactly as I remember it now– neat, visually pretty, but lacking a certain vibrant quality.

In New York that vibrancy was on every street –New York wasn’t aiming for perfection, and I welcomed it. I loved the patches of flattened gray gum spotting the sidewalk, the constant noise of nearby construction sites, and how the smells of dirt and grime mingled with those wafting out of bakeries and hanging over fruit stands. It was chaotic at times, but almost pleasantly so.

During those three days, I decided that New York was my favorite place.

From Summer 2012

But a (relatively) short plane flight later, we were in Oregon, all I could think about was how much I’d missed it in the past year. How much prettier it was than in my memories. How much I really loved the Northwest.

I decided then that New York was for visiting, and I know the memories I collected there will surely hold me off until my next visit. Iconic yellow taxi cabs, buildings with character, onion bagels with thick slathers of cream cheese, and the Momofuku desserts, which, sadly, I was not very impressed by.

It may be because I’d made their cereal milk ice cream at home before, and it is tough to trump homemade ice cream. I decided to make my own Momofuku inspired ice cream (in that it’s a rather uncommon ice cream flavor – for the first time, I couldn’t find a single blog post with these sandwiches after scouring the Internet!) and made a recipe for s’mores ice cream sandwiches.

The ice cream between the graham crackers is actual marshmallow ice cream. It is made by dissolving marshmallows in hot custard, and has a texture surprisingly similar to real marshmallows. Chunks of toasted marshmallow give it a deep flavor, and if the sandwiches are dipped into chocolate, they are the equivalent of a frozen s’more.

From Summer 2012

Graham Crackers
From Smitten Kitchen
Makes 10 4 x 4.5-inch graham crackers or 48 2-inch squares

2 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons (375 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour (a swap of 1/2 cup with whole wheat flour or 1 cup whole wheat pastry flour works well here, too)
1 cup (176 grams) dark brown sugar, lightly packed
1 teaspoon (6 grams) baking soda
3/4 teaspoon kosher or coarse sea salt (4 grams)
7 tablespoons (3 1/2 ounces or 100 grams) unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch cubes and frozen
1/3 cup (114 grams) mild-flavored honey, such as clover
5 tablespoons (77 grams) milk, full-fat is best
2 tablespoons (27 grams) pure vanilla extract

Topping (optional)

3 tablespoons (43 grams) granulated sugar
1 teaspoon (5 grams) ground cinnamon

Make the dough

Combine the flour, brown sugar, baking soda, and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade or in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Pulse or mix on low to incorporate. Add the butter and pulse on and off on and off, or mix on low, until the mixture is the consistency of a coarse meal.

[Alternately, if you don't have a food processor or electric mixer, you can cut the ingredients together with a pastry blender. Just make sure they're very well incorporated.]

In a small bowl, whisk together the honey, milk, and vanilla extract. Add to the flour mixture and pulse on and off a few times or mix on low until the dough barely comes together. It will be very soft and sticky. Lay out a large piece of plastic wrap and dust it lightly with flour, then turn the dough out onto it and pat it into a rectangle about 1-inch thick. Wrap it, then chill it until firm, about 2 hours or overnight. Meanwhile, prepare the topping, if using, by combining the sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl and setting aside.

Roll out the crackers 

Divide the dough in half and return one half to the refrigerator. Sift an even layer of flour onto the work surface and roll the dough into a long rectangle about 1/8 inch thick. (Thin cookies are more practical for ice cream sandwiches, but be careful, as they burn easily.) The dough will be sticky, so flour as necessary. Trim the edges of the rectangle to 4 inches wide. Working with the shorter side of the rectangle parallel to the work surface, cut the strip every 4 1/2 inches to make 4 crackers. Or, cut into any shape you want your ice cream sandwiches to be. I cut squares.

Place the crackers on one or two parchment-lined baking sheets and sprinkle with the topping. Chill until firm, about 30 to 45 minutes in the fridge or 15 to 20 minutes in the freezer. Repeat with the second batch of dough. Finally, gather any scraps together into a ball, chill until firm, and re-roll.

Adjust the oven rack to the upper and lower positions and preheat the oven to 350°F.

Decorate the crackers

Mark a vertical line down the middle of each cracker, being careful not to cut through the dough (this is for the traditional cracker shape). Using a toothpick or skewer,  prick the dough to form two dotted rows about 1/2 inch for each side of the dividing line.

Bake for 15 to 25 minutes, until browned and slightly firm to the touch, rotating the sheets halfway through to ensure even baking.

From Summer 2012

Marshmallow Ice Cream
A Bittersweet Baker Original, very loosely adapted from David Lebozitz’s vanilla ice cream

9 oz of marshmallows
1 1/2 cups (250ml) whole milk
A pinch of salt
2/3 cup (150g) sugar
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
1 1/2 cups (500ml) heavy cream
4 large egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Toast the marshmallows under the broiler on parchment paper over a baking sheet or with a torch until golden brown. If toasting under the broiler, make sure to flip the marshmallows to toast both sides. This can get very messy, and works best if you wet your fingers slightly to prevent sticking.

Heat the milk, salt, and sugar in a medium saucepan, just until the liquid begins to steam.

In another bowl, stir the egg yolks together. Gradually pour some hot milk into the yolks, constantly whisking to keep the eggs from scrambling. Once the yolks are warmed, scrape the yolks and milk back into the saucepan and cook over low heat. Stir constantly and scrape the bottom with a spatula until the mixture thickens into a custard that coats the back of the spatula.

Strain the custard into the heavy cream and add the tasted marshmallows immediately. If chunks still remain after the mixture has cooled, you can blend it in a food processor or with a stick blender. I blended it, but added toasted marshmallow chunks as I was layering the ice cream. Add the vanilla extract and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, preferably overnight.

Churn in ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Once it is churned, layer it into a square pan lined with plastic wrap, so that the ice cream will be easy to cut into squares.

From Summer 2012

The underside of the marshmallows, toasted

To Assemble the Sandwiches

Dip one side of each graham cracker into melted chocolate, and allow to cool. Once the chocolate has hardened, cut the ice cream into the same shape as the cookies. Return to freezer as necessary if ice cream begins to melt. Once ready to assemble, allow the ice cream to soften just barely (so that it will stick to the cookies once it freezes again), and sandwich between two cookies.

From 20120828-214524

I took a little break from blogging these past few months, and before I knew it, I wasn’t baking nearly as much as I used to either. What had been a daily occurrence was reduced to a weekly activity, until having decorated cupcakes under the cake dome or ice cream in the freezer was almost unusual.

My lack of blogging saddened me, but no matter how strictly I berated myself or how generously free time came to me once on vacation, I didn’t have it in me to write.

Fortunately, blogging has become too great a part of me to disappear completely. Even though I don’t bake as much, every time I gather ingredients or set cookies out on a plate, I find myself reaching for my camera. My hands automatically style the food, and I look for the softest, most diffuse light in the room without thinking. Blogging is a habit my subconscious won’t let go of, and it’s a habit my conscious knows it shouldn’t abandon.

Months had gone by without new blog posts, but I didn’t feel pressured to write any, because I was under the impression that I had time. I cringed upon realizing that this would be only the third post of the year.

Time passed in much the same fashion while on vacation at my grandparents’ house.

It passed so quickly, in fact, that reality just didn’t feel credible. It gave the illusion that everything had a slightly inauthentic quality to it, as if it didn’t really exist. It was as if I’d entered another dimension, or was walking around in a video game simulator. Everything looked the same, and I could sense perfectly well–my fingertips still felt rigged with their network of nerves and were as sensitive as ever, I could see the lilies in the backyard glowing clearly with the intensity that only overcast days bring, and the strawberries from the farmer’s market were so sweet I savored their taste long after they’d disappeared –but all this I sensed with a certain degree of detachment.

From 20120702-194416

I found myself pressing a little harder than usual into the pillow at night in hopes of breaking through the illusory video game simulator that time had set up in its haste to keep ticking.

It must be evident that I’ve become fascinated by the concept of time. I often feel that it moves of its own accord. It’s like a broken cassette tape whose stop button doesn’t work, whose rewind button fast-forwards instead. It may be uniform as a whole, but the sections that it is made up of seem to flow in a dimension that isn’t linear at all.

Years, months, and seasons are stable – they’re linear and logical, while still marked by passing time. Apples are crispest in the fall, oranges are best in winter, and blackberries are at their plumpest in late August depending on the heat. But the weather rarely changes to suit the new season on exactly the 21^st of each month.  Buds sometimes bloom a little later, and strawberries appear in early summer instead of late spring.

We were lucky to catch the last of the Pacific Northwest strawberry season while at my grandparents’ this year, as we usually miss it by a couple months.

The strawberries were so sweet and laden with juice, that during the two weeks they were at their prime, I fell so in love with them that they replaced blackberries as my favorite fruit.

From Drop Box

I hesitated while preparing to puree the hulled strawberries to make ice cream. It seemed almost a waste to use fruit that was so perfect on its own to make ice cream, but David Lebovitz’s recipes have never once been a disappointment, and this time wasn’t any different.

The recipe is one for unadulterated strawberry ice cream. It needs no embellishment. It tastes best made when strawberry season is at its peak, so that the light freshness of the fruit counters the rich custard into which it is churned. I realize that strawberry season has already come to an end, but you can substitute frozen strawberries for the fresh ones if you’d rather not wait another year.

Strawberry Ice Cream

Adapted from The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz

2 cups heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup granulated sugar
Table salt
4 large egg yolks
1 lb. fresh (or frozen) strawberries, hulled, pureed, strained, and mixed with ¼ cup sugar
¼ of finely chopped strawberries to mix in (optional)

In a medium saucepan, mix 1 cup of the cream with the milk, sugar, and a pinch of salt. Warm the cream mixture over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar dissolves and tiny bubbles begin to form around the edge of the pan, 3 to 4 minutes.

Prepare an ice bath by filling a large bowl with several inches of ice water. Set a smaller metal bowl (one that holds at least 1-1/2 quarts) in the ice water. Pour the remaining cup of cream into the inner bowl. Set a fine strainer on top. Whisk the egg yolks in a medium bowl.

In a steady stream, pour half of the warm cream mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly to prevent the eggs from curdling.

Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom with a heatproof rubber spatula until the custard thickens slightly (it should be thick enough to coat the spatula and hold a line drawn through it with a finger), 4 to 8 minutes. Don’t let the sauce overheat or boil, or it will curdle. Immediately strain the custard into the cold cream in the ice bath.

Cool the custard to below 70°F by stirring it over the ice bath. Stir the strawberry puree into the cooled custard, and mix in the strawberry bits.

Refrigerate the custard until completely chilled, at least 4 hours. Freeze the custard in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

A couple months ago, my mother convinced me to watch Dancer in the Dark. I was hesitant at first – she’d told me it was a sad movie, and I was in no mood to cry. But I acquiesced.

It turns out that Dancer in the Dark is one of the most beautiful movies I’ve ever watched.

Such simple, unadorned editing makes the film remarkably realistic. There’s no background music save for when Selma (the main character) daydreams, no Hollywood style filming or cuts to different angles. It’s as if I’m filming Selma myself, camera set to video mode and presence kept secret. And because of that sense of intimacy, the film is all the more powerful.

Selma’s dream sequences reveal the way she perceives her world and its people –with too much faith and so much more credit than they deserve that she never quite seems connected to the same blunt reality the filming captures. Her earnestness and unfailing honesty instill a sense of resigned desperation, of repressed outrage at how ruthlessly she is wronged.

Simplicity left me stunned. It made my emotions painfully stark, painfully raw. Sometimes, it is most effective.

It’s much the same with words. In some cases, brevity is more striking – it draws people in.

From Food Photography

I discovered blackout poetry a few months back, but was too captivated by reading it to try my own hand at creating it until a couple of weeks ago. My friend had been carrying around on old book that the library had discarded, getting ready to transform it into an art journal by painting and cutting the pages until the book becomes something else entirely.

In a moment of inspiration, I got her permission and decided to create some art of my own.

Finding words to link together proved harder than I expected. The meaning on the page itself restricted my thinking – I kept getting caught up in the ideas already present. I learned soon after that skimming the page for interesting words and finding a separate meaning from there works best.

From Food Photography

Once done, it almost seemed as if the words had surfaced from the page, leaving behind them the shadow of their original meaning.

Blackout poetry is such a simple way of expressing an idea, of finding unrelated meaning in a text by ridding it of everything but the words needed to form an idea.

The raspberry trifle I’ve made twice this week (experimenting with different berries each time) conveys the same sense of simplicity. It tastes of berries and sugar, of cream and oranges. It is the result of my time wanting nothing but the bare minimum.

From Food Photography

Raspberry Trifle
Family recipe

2 egg yolks
2 egg whites
1/3 cup sugar
250 grams mascarpone cheese (can substitute Greek yogurt for a lighter version)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
About 18  Savoiardi lady fingers
1/2 cup orange juice
18 oz fresh or frozen raspberries

Set aside a medium sized serving dish (8×8 works well).
Pour the orange juice into a shallow bowl.

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and the sugar until combined.

In a separate, larger bowl, beat the mascarpone with a spoon until it is smooth and no lumps remain. Fold the egg mixture and the mascarpone together.

In a medium bowl, beat the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Be careful not to overbeat it, as it can become dry and lumpy very quickly.

Gently fold the egg whites into the mascarpone mixture, and set aside.

To assemble the trifle, dip 9 lady fingers into the orange juice, for about one second per side. The cookies should become soft but should not be soggy. Place the cookies side by side in the dish, breaking the cookies (if necessary) to cover the entire base. Sprinkle a couple handfuls of raspberries over the cookies to form the second layer, and then spoon over half of the mascarpone mixture, using a spatula to spread it evenly. Repeat with the remaining cookies, berries, and mascarpone.

Cover with plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for a couple of hours or overnight.

To serve, garnish the top with more raspberries, or sprinkle with grated chocolate.

December evenings were made up of the type of nights that creep in, slowly dousing the world in darkness. No one notices the gradual shift in lighting until suddenly, windows no longer frame the outside world but reflect the life inside instead. White walls become stark and clinical under harsh fluorescent lighting, and edges and angles become more pronounced without natural light to soften their outlines.

New Year’s eve arrived in much the same fashion, catching me unawares. I was sitting by the fire when I decided that the year had fizzled out almost as quickly as the spilled champagne at the dinner table, and was left saddened by the realization that I could do nothing to rein it in.

But today, already living my first day of the new year, I realized that I’ll forever remember 2011. It was a recipe book of tea green frosting sandwiched between pepper biscuits, of giant cookies in celebration of a blogoversary, of yeast-raised doughs, and of ice cream. I’ve documented my year in recipes.

2012, in turn, starts with gingerbread, pumpkin, orange, and the marriage of flavors.

I baked this cake for Thanksgiving, and upon giving away the last piece and discovering what a success it had been, I made another one a few weeks later to photograph and post.

The cake is a combination of actual cake, cheesecake, and cream cheese frosting.
The middle layer of cheesecake is less dense than normal cheesecake, with a consistency more similar to frosting. The cake itself becomes dense after being refrigerated, and tastes predominantly of molasses, though the orange zest lends it a delightfully floral undertone. Paired with orange cream cheese frosting, it was the best cake I had made last year.

From Recently Updated

Pumpkin Cheesecake
From the Joy of Cooking
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/8 teaspoon freshly grated or ground nutmeg
1 pound cream cheese
2 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1 cup pumpkin puree

Have all ingredients at room temperature, and preheat the oven to 350 F. Place a loaf pan or cake pan filled with hot water in the oven to moisten the air. Line a 6-inch pan with parchment paper.
Combine the sugar and spices in a medium bowl. In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese just until smooth, 30 to 60 seconds. Scrape the sides of the bowl and beaters well. Gradually add the sugar mixture and beat until smooth and creamy, 1 to 2 minutes. Beat in the eggs and egg yolks one at a time until well blended, and scraping the sides of the bowl and the beaters after each addition.  Add the pumpkin puree and beat until mixed.
Scrape the batter into the pan and smooth the top. Bake for 30 minutes at 350 F, reduce the oven to 325 F and bake for 10 minutes longer, or until the edges of the cheesecake are puffed but the center still looks moist and jiggles when the pan is tapped.

Gingerbread Cake
From Form V Artisan
Makes one cake (double recipe to make two)

1 ½ cup all-purpose flour
¾ tsp baking soda
¼ tsp salt
1 ½ tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp each ground nutmeg and ground clove
7 tbsp room temperature butter
½ cup packed light brown sugar
1 tsp orange zest
1 large egg
⅓ cup molasses
¾ cups milk

Preheat oven to 350 ° F.  Line a 6-inch round cake pan with parchment paper. Butter and flour. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, salt, and spices.

In a large bowl, beat butter with sugar and orange zest on medium speed until well blended, about 20 seconds. Add egg and molasses and beat until smooth and somewhat fluffy. With mixer on low, add one third of the dry ingredients followed by half of the milk. Add half of the remaining dry ingredients and the rest of the milk. Continue to beat on low speed until just incorporated – do not over mix. Gently fold in the remainder of the dry ingredients.

Pour batter into the prepared pan. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about thirty minutes.

Cream Cheese Frosting

I used this recipe for the cream cheese frosting, and mixed in two tablespoons of orange zest at the end.

From Recently Updated

Assembly

Use a cake leveler or serrated knife to level the tops of the gingerbread cakes. Gently flip the cheesecake onto the cake, and then place the second cake on top.
Use about a third of the cream cheese frosting to cover the whole cake with a crumb coat. Refrigerate the cake for half an hour, or until the crumb coat is no longer soft.
Frost the cake with the remainder of the cream cheese frosting.
Store the cake in the fridge. It can stand at room temperature about half an hour before serving, if necessary.

Late into the summer, Jana from Zuckerbaeckerei emailed me asking if I’d be interested in guest posting for her in preparation for Christmas. I didn’t hesitate in writing back right away to accept.  Because she blogs in German, she explained that she would translate my post for her readers. You can read my post in German on the 19th here!

I knew that I wanted to make a recipe of my own to share (though I haven’t had much practice doing so), and that I wanted the recipe to embody wintertime. I wanted it to emulate the sharp spiciness of gingerbread and the frigidity that blankets the world come December.

Though winter has made its presence clear with its bitter wind nipping color into my cheeks and forcing me into thick sweaters, my insatiable craving for ice cream has remained as strong as it was last summer.  It was with that realization that I found myself trying to replicate the exact taste of gingerbread in hopes of transforming it into ice cream. And my experimentation worked.

The resulting ice cream was complete with the juxtaposing warmth of the spices and the chill of the ice cream. It couldn’t have painted winter onto my palate any better.  Ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and the full-bodied flavor of molasses are the wool blankets I find myself enveloped in every evening. The iciness is the cold world outside. Together, they are winter.

From Adriana Baking

Thank you so much for having me guest post, Jana!

Gingerbread Ice Cream
A Bittersweet Baker original
1 ½ c milk
1 ½ c cream
2/3 c sugar
Pinch of salt
5 egg yolks
1 cinnamon stick
¼ t cloves
1/8 t nutmeg
½ t ginger
½ c molasses

Warm the milk, ½ a cup of cream, the sugar, salt, and spices in a medium saucepan, and heat on low until steaming. Remove from heat and allow to infuse for 1 hour.

Combine the remaining cream and molasses in a large bowl, and set a strainer on top.  Whisk the egg yolks together, and slowly temper them into the hot milk mixture. Continue to cook slowly on medium heat, until the custard thickens ad coats the back of a spoon.

Remove from heat and pour through the strainer into the cream and molasses. Mix to combine, and let cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally, then place in the refrigerator at least one hour.

Once cold, churn in ice cream maker to manufacturer’s directions.

It was the beginning of August when I was contact by the Girl’s Life magazine. There the email lay, nestled on either side by various food blog updates left unread from the weeks I’d spent on vacation. I eyed the email warily – I’d never been contacted by a magazine editor before, and it seemed unlikely that one would do so at a time my blog was relatively inactive. But to my surprise, they were planning on featuring a few teen food bloggers and their signature recipes, and were wondering whether I was interested in being interviewed. I accepted immediately, overjoyed at the prospect of being featured, no matter how minimally, in a magazine.

I spent the next few days tweaking my favorite cookie recipe, experimenting with fall flavors but still dreaming of summer. It was so that I found myself churning ice cream to remedy the evident lack of summer in my cookie recipe. Now, the sandwiches belong to fall, but still embody the zesty clarity of summer. Fiery blazes of heat in the form of crystallized ginger chunks are mellowed out by the cool lick of ice cream, and the pumpkin isn’t masquerading as pumpkin pie spice – it is pure and entirely itself.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t include the entire interview in the magazine, so I’m posting it here, along with the recipe for pumpkin-orange ice cream sandwiches.

From Adriana Baking

1. How would you describe your personal style?
My personal style is fairly original– I’m unaware of trends in fashion and dress simply – I’m most comfortable being myself.

2. How would you describe your food?
I always try to use the freshest produce available. One of my favorite things about baking is that I have control over the use of premade or packaged foods in recipes.

3. How is the food you enjoy making representative of your personal style?
I think it’s original. I don’t follow trends in real life, and rarely do so with my baking. I like to experiment with ingredients and enjoy coming up with unusual flavor pairings, and prefer simple, clean designs when it comes to decoration. I believe that simplicity often breeds beauty.

4. Why did you start a food blog?
I started a food blog to document my journey in the kitchen via recipes and the occasional photograph. I had taken up baking only a few months before, and the absurd number of food blogs I followed pushed me to become a part of the food blogging community.

5. How has your blog changed since you started it?
I started my blog with no intention other than saving the recipes I made. But as I started to bake more and take an interest in photography, I realized that I had stories to share. My photography has since improved and my blog has helped me discover my love for the written word. I’m now comfortable experimenting with new ingredients and adapting recipes. My blog has become a place where I share my photography alongside recipes, and intertwine my stories into each post. It is my kitchen diary. Though it has gone through changes over the months, it has in turn changed me by exposing me to writing and photography.

6. When it comes to food, what is the most important thing?
Though aesthetic appeal and taste are one of the most important aspects of food, I believe bonding over the dinner table to be important as well. Food brings people together and often gives birth to fond memories. It’s enjoyable and aids in forming new connections.

7. What’s your signature dish? What does it say about your personal style? What is its history (inspired by a family recipe, recipe in progress, story behind its creation, etc.)?
I rarely make a recipe more than once. I love trying out new baking techniques and using new ingredients. The only recipe I continuously go back to is my favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe, though I can’t help but continue to adapt the recipe further with each new batch. Over the months I’ve tweaked and adjusted the recipe, making it entirely my own. On a whim a few months ago, I added malt powder to the dough, lending the cookies both extra chew and a deep caramel flavor. Most recently, I’ve substituted the chocolate chips with crystallized ginger chunks. Paired with a pumpkin orange ice cream, these ice cream sandwiches have become perfect for fall.

8. What’s your favorite thing to eat?
I’m partial to sweets. Ice cream is definitely one of my favorite treats. No matter the weather, I’ll almost always choose ice cream over any other option. And when made at home, it is especially appealing.

9. When did you start baking? What’s your first memory of baking/cooking, or being in the kitchen?
It’s hard for me to pinpoint when exactly baking piqued my interest, as I’ve been helping in my mother in the kitchen for as long as I can remember. I was almost always by her side as she cut scones into triangles or whisked eggs, and was there to help scoop cookie dough onto baking sheets. I started baking independently only two years ago, at thirteen, and haven’t looked back since.

10. Who is your favorite chef/celebrity chef? What’s your favorite cookbook?
I love David Lebovitz’s recipes. His ice cream book “The Perfect Scoop” is the most used cookbook on my shelf. In addition to delicious ice cream and sorbet recipes, whole sections of the book are devoted to ice cream “vessels”, sauces, and mix-ins. Its pages are already stained and it smells of sugar, though I’ve had it for only a year.

11. What does baking mean to you?
I always turn to the kitchen after a stressful day. Baking puts me at ease through its familiarity and whets my creativity through the endless possible outcomes of a recipe. I bake to clear my mind.

12. What else do you do, aside from baking?
By keeping a food blog I’ve become exposed to photography and writing. Though I originally perceived both as a necessity to blogging, my interest in them has slowly evolved to the point where I enjoy both just as much as I enjoy baking. Apart from blogging related hobbies, I’ve been playing the clarinet for about five years.

13. Do you want to bake professionally?
No. Baking for the fun of it is much more appealing to me than baking for a living. Though I’d love to spend my days in the kitchen, the stress that comes with professional baking is sure to prevent me from turning to the kitchen for relaxation. By baking professionally, the kitchen would cease to serve as a diversion from stress.

14. How can other girls express their personal style through baking/cooking?
I think the best way to express your personal style is by staying true to yourself. Instead of following baking trends, bake what you want to bake. The outcome will surely be more interesting, and you’ll have more fun being original.

15. Why is it important for tweens and teens to get in the kitchen?
I find that baking is a great confidence booster. Being able to step into the kitchen and produce something that tastes good is rewarding. What’s more, baking has polished not only my culinary skills, but has provided me with ample opportunities to practice math and to learn more about the science behind what goes on in the kitchen. It also comes with the added benefit of being a creative outlet. Whether it be coming up with original recipes or as simple as decorating cupcakes, baking is also a form of art!

Pumpkin Orange Ice Cream
Makes about 1 quart
A Bittersweet Baker original

1 ½ cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup pumpkin puree
5 egg yolks
Zest of half an orange
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2/3 cup sugar
Pinch of salt

Heat the milk, salt, orange zest, and sugar in a medium saucepan until steam is visible. Pour the cream into a large bowl and whisk in the pumpkin puree and ground cinnamon. Set a mesh strainer on top of the bowl.

In another bowl, whisk the egg yolks together. Gradually pour the milk into the eggs yolks, constantly whisking to prevent the eggs from cooking. Once the yolks are warmed, scrape the mixture back into the saucepan and cook, over medium heat, until it has thickened enough to coat the back of the spatula.

Strain the custard into the heavy cream and pumpkin and let cool. Chill the mixture overnight, then churn in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s directions.

Ginger Malt Cookies
Makes about 20 5-inch cookies
A Bittersweet Baker original

Ingredients:

3 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup malt powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup cool (not room temp, not cold) unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cup tightly packed light brown sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs, at room temperature, lightly beaten
2/3 cup crystallized ginger chunks, cut into ¼ inch pieces

Sift together the flour, baking soda, malt powder, and salt into a medium bowl and set aside.

Using a standing mixer fitted with a paddle attachment or a hand mixer, cream the butter and sugars on low speed until it is smooth and lump free, about 3 minutes. Stop the mixer and scrape down the sides of the bowl and the paddle.

Add the vanilla and eggs, beating on low speed after each addition. Do not overbeat. Stop the machine and scrape down the sides of the bowl and the paddle.

Add the flour mixture on low speed. Beat until just incorporated. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the crystallized ginger and mix in with a wooden spoon. Refrigerate dough for at least an hour.

Preheat oven to 350. Adjust racks to lower and upper thirds of the oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Spoon the dough using a cookie scooper 2 inches apart onto the prepared baking sheets.

Bake for 11-13 or until cracks have formed and the edges are golden brown and the center is still soft and almost underdone-looking. Turn the sheets front to back and switch racks halfway through.

Remove the sheet from the oven and carefully slide the parchment directly onto a work surface. When cookies are set, remove them to a cooling rack. Wait at least 5 minutes before serving or 20 minutes before storing in an airtight container for up to 3 days at room temperature.

As my school life resumes, I’ve finally fallen back into routine, and life has picked up its pace once again. Gone are the days when the only recurring structure to my day was waking up and falling asleep. I can’t plan my activities on a whim any longer, nor can I decide to change the course of my day well after it has started. I’m now bound to schedules and after school activities, to homework and long hours spent in the confines of a classroom. But surprisingly, I quite like it.

Around the end of August, I fell into sad resignation at the realization of how quickly the days were passing by. As the first day of school crept closer, each fleeting night became a rerun of the last. Just like every evening before, I found myself snuggling my face into my pillow, breathing away the melancholia and trying to suppress my anxiety at the thought of starting my sophomore year of high school.

I had grown comfortable with my leisurely days, and by no means did I want them to end.  I tried desperately to soak up the last drops of vacation, to capture the summer air and all it carried with it and bottle it up in ludicrous hopes of saving it for later enjoyment, but to no avail.

From Summer

It was only as I was walking back home after the first day of school, fall already making itself apparent, that I realized I’d been wrong for wanting summer to last forever. Though at the time I couldn’t imagine anything better than waking to a room bathed in the golden sunshine of August, I’d completely overlooked the reasons I adore fall.

I’d missed the way the whole earth seems to transform itself right around September 21^st.  Concentrated sunlight becomes slightly more diffuse, and in the morning, light breezes carry the sweet scent of the previous night’s rainfall. Outside, dry leaves crunch quietly underfoot, and fallen flowers form a vibrant yellow carpet beneath the aging sycamore tree. The sun no longer takes its time setting. Instead, it douses the whole world in darkness minutes after it begins its descent.  Fall is a time when the entire world is alive and breathing in its new autumnal décor, giving life to an array of squashes, tiny beaded cranberries, and plum-colored figs.

From Summer

And along with these seasonal changes comes school. School, which I had deemed the bane of my existence just a few months back, is definitely not the prison I’d made it out to be.

On the contrary, high school is just as exciting as it was last year. But this year I’m treading charted waters. So far, my sophomore year is shaping up to be the best one yet. I’m enrolled in clubs I’m passionate about: the Go Green campaign, the afterschool orchestra. I’ve been forced to pick up my momentum once again as my schedule has rapidly become inundated with assignments and tests to study for, but I know to make the most of it, because soon enough, it’ll be summer vacation once again.

From Summer

I made this tart soon after the first week of school. Despite feeling confident about high school, I was still in need of familiar territory.

I’d like to tell you that the slight tartness of the filling was the perfect contrast to the honey-sweetened figs and that the pistachio crust complimented the citrus-scented yogurt in every respect. But I found the flavors to be too different from each other to pair well, the crust too lacking in sweetness.

Despite not being perfect, the tart was so beautiful it didn’t really matter.  Slices were cut and passed around the table as we sat outside, the soft sound of the forks clinking against the plates drifting into the quiet autumn evening.

I’ll definitely be making this tart again soon, while figs are still in season. But the next time around, I’ll substitute the pistachios with almonds and skip the orange zest in the filling entirely as to make the taste of the figs more pronounced.

The original recipe called for mascarpone cheese in the filling, but I substituted it with strained yogurt in favor of a lighter tart.

Fig Tart
adapted from Desserts for Breakfast
makes one 9″ tart, or six 4.5″ tart, or ~32 mini tartlettes

Crust:
240 gr (2 cups) AP flour
65 gr shelled raw pistachios
50 gr (1/4 cup) sugar
7 Tbspn butter, cold
1 egg yolk
3-4 Tbspn water, cold

In a food processor, combine the flour, pistachios, and sugar and process until the pistachios are finely ground.Using the food processor or a pastry cutter, cut the cold butter into the flour mixture until the size of small peas.
Add the egg yolk and gradually add the water just until a dough begins to form when you press it between two fingers. Do not overmix.
Form the pastry into a ball and refrigerate for at least one hour. (or stick it in the freezer for a shorter amount of time.)
Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.
Remove the pastry dough from the fridge and press the dough into the tart pan. Prick the bottom of the dough all over with a fork, cover with parchment paper, and weigh down using dry beans or pie weights. Return to freezer for a few minutes if the dough has softened.
Bake for ~13-15 minutes until the edges just begin to turn golden. Remove the beans and parchment paper and continue to bake for 3-5 minutes more, until the crust has completely turned golden brown. Remove from oven and let cool.

Filling:
450 gr strained yogurt
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 tspn vanilla extract
freshly grated zest of 1 lemon

In a mixer bowl with the whisk attachment, whip the yogurt, brown sugar, and heavy cream on medium high until soft peaks.
Add the vanilla extract and lemon zest and continue to whip just until stiff peaks. Do not overmix.
Spoon the filling into the cooled tart shell, and smooth with a spatula.

Topping:
2 punnets figs
2 Tbspn honey
2 Tbspn raspberry jam (or fig or apricot, or any mixture thereof)

Cut the figs into quarters and arrange on top of the mascarpone tart filling.
Warm the honey and jam together, either over the stove or in the microwave. Brush over the arranged figs.

(filling recipe adapted from Donna Hay.)

From Recently Updated

Time and again, I find myself sifting through memories of last summer, subconsciously comparing it to this past one. I’m reminded of the hours I’d spend in the kitchen, taking advantage of the long summer days to undertake lengthy baking projects. With no school to cut short the hours of the day, baking and decorating a layer cake became one-day processes, and cooking custard for an ice cream base was quickly followed by stirring batter for homemade cones.

As school approaches, I’m suddenly aware of the collection of memories that make up this present summer. While I was caught up in the whirlwind of living my vacation, I’d paid no attention to the zeitgeist that was forming around these passing months. But now, so close to the end of summer vacation, I’m able to look back to June, already seeped in nostalgia, and see my life for what it was at the time.

From Summer

Our vacation started at the end of June, a couple of days after school let out. We were en route to Paris.

We toured the city on foot, walking for hours on end. Though our visit was one of the many times we’d visited Paris, I couldn’t help myself from drinking in every sight the bustling city had to offer.

I’ll forever remember how the endless rows of boutiques snaked around each Parisian block. How we were so captivated with what was right before us that the streets seemed to unravel beneath our feet and the rest of the city was painted to life only when our attention was finally drawn to it.

People in Paris were dressed fashionably, and they walked with purpose fueling their stride. Old and young couples alike sat at the cafes dotting the neighborhood, the conversation flowing from their mouths a cadence of French. A pair of tourists sipped coffee at an outdoor table while watching the passersby with curiosity lighting their eyes.  A lone American seated a table over asked the waiter in broken French where he might find the bathroom.

We walked into pastry shops and chocolatiers, and ate an assortment of tiny macarons with rich ganache and sweet fruit jams ensconced between their shells. There were rainbows of éclairs and square lemon tarts. There was Fauchon with its neon pink decor, temporarily dousing the world in pink before the sliding doors parted to reveal the world outside alive with the remainder of the color palette.

And then we were in Oregon.

From Summer

There’s nothing quite like that sudden change of atmosphere. I still get the same initial shock clicking through photographs of our vacation in Paris, momentarily transported there again, before happening across a photo of Oregon and feeling all at once displaced and unhinged.

I went from walking the streets of Paris, melodious with the French language floating through the air, to being plopped down in the US, with only the international haven of the airport to ease the transition.  But at the same time, I’d forgotten how effortlessly I could familiarize myself again to the slightly nasal twang of American speech cutting through the air.  How when cobblestone streets and linden trees were quickly replaced by white picket fences and rolling hills of evergreens, Paris seemed to become a place from a faraway time almost instantly as we continued our vacation in the US.

There, the weather was considerably cooler, and rain often frequented our parts. But on days when the clouds dissipated under the warmth of the sun and rainbows formed arcs in the sky, we spent them outside.

From Summer

At the Oregon coast, we picnicked in an alcove surrounded by trees while seagulls flew overhead. Water lapped at the rocks lining the trees, and seaweed grew in the shallow waters by the runoff.  Another day, we visited my parents’ college. Ducks swam in a pond at the center of the park, the trees overhead casting green reflections onto the water. Though this summer definitely had a different feel than the last, certain things remained the same. One of which is my infatuation with ice cream.

I’ve been planning on making this ice cream ever since I saw it on a food blog last summer. But it got pushed to the very bottom of my list as the year wore on. I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer. The ice cream’s texture is smooth as a sheet of silk. It’s rich and laced throughout with the sweet taste of burnt sugar.

It was my first time making ice cream cones as well. I was pleasantly surprised. They’re a little sweeter than store bought ones, and even when the ice cream melts and soaks into the cone, they retain their crispness. It’s rather hard to roll piping hot cookies into cone shapes, so I had to dip the ends of my cones in melted chocolate to seal the gaping hole at their bottom. Chocolate and caramel? It’s a classic pairing.

I didn’t have an ice cream cone mold, so I fashioned one out of layers of foil myself. To make your own, cut a couple of six-inch diameter semicircles out of foil, tape them together, and roll them into a cone shape.

From Pictures

Salted Butter Caramel Ice Cream

2 cups (500 ml) whole milk, divided
1½ cups (300 gr) sugar
4 tablespoons (60 gr) salted butter
scant ½ teaspoon sea salt
1 cups (250 ml) heavy cream
5 large egg yolks
¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

To make the ice cream, make an ice bath by filling a large bowl about a third full with ice cubes and adding a cup or so of water so they’re floating. Nest a smaller metal bowl (at least 2 quarts/liters) over the ice, pour 1 cup (250 ml) of the milk into the inner bowl, and rest a mesh strainer on top of it.

Spread 1½ cups (300 gr) sugar in the saucepan in an even layer. Cook over moderate heat, until caramelized, using the same method described in Step #2.

Once caramelized, remove from heat and stir in the butter and salt, until butter is melted, then gradually whisk in the cream, stirring as you go.

The caramel may harden and seize, but return it to the heat and continue to stir over low heat until any hard caramel is melted. Stir in 1 cup (250 ml) of the milk.

Whisk the yolks in a small bowl and gradually pour some of the warm caramel mixture over the yolks, stirring constantly. Scrape the warmed yolks back into the saucepan and cook the custard using a heatproof utensil, stirring constantly (scraping the bottom as you stir) until the mixture thickens. If using an instant-read thermometer, it should read 160-170 F (71-77 C).

Pour the custard through the strainer into the milk set over the ice bath, add the vanilla, then stir frequently until the mixture is cooled down. Refrigerate at least 8 hours or until thoroughly chilled.

Freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Chocolate Cones
Adapted from David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop
Makes eight 6” cones

1/4 cup (60 ml) egg whites (about 2 large egg whites)
7 tablespoons + 1 teaspoon (90 g) sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
2/3 cup (90 g) flour
2 tablespoons (30 g) unsalted butter, melted

Preheat the oven to 350 F.

Combine the egg whites, sugar, and vanilla in a small bowl. Stir in the salt, cocoa powder, and half of the flour. Mix in the melted butter, then stir in the rest of the flour until smooth.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Use a small offset spatula to spread 2 level tablespoons of batter into a circle with a diameter of 6″ (15 cm). Tracing circles onto the underside of the parchment will give you more even cones.

Bake one sheet (two cones) at a time. Start checking after 10 minutes, but depending on your oven, the baking time will be 10-15 minutes. The cookies will be golden brown throughout, with some lighter and darker spots.

Pull the sheet out of the oven and run a thin metal spatula under a circle to loosen the edges. Quickly flip it over and roll it around the cone shaped mold. Press the seam firmly against the counter to close the sides of the cone, and press the bottom together to pinch the point at the bottom. Let the cone cool slightly on the mold until it keeps its shape, then let it cool completely in a tall glass. Roll the other cone (if the cookie has cooled too much to roll, return the sheet to the oven for a minute.)

Continue to bake and roll cones with the remaining batter.

From Pictures