Sublime French Toast

Nothing Witty Doing

I've spent the past couple of weeks riding the bus around town reading The Diary of Alice James and trying to think up something witty to write about brioche. Turns out a harder task than I expected, and my mind keeps drawing a blank. Also it's the holidays and my nerves are totally undone by the spirit of the season. The lights and the snow and the well-wishing and the tamales my friend Sol's family made on Christmas eve I enjoy a lot, but the music everywhere brings me near to losing my mind.

I am thinking about a movie, and I'm still thinking about it. A version of "Humoresque," with a half loaf of brioche in the role of violinist Paul Boray (John Garfield). A jar of chopped cherry jam in the role of Helen Wright (Joan Crawford). And a stick of butter as the ever ironic Sid Jeffers (Oscar Levant). I am also thinking about recreating a classic romantic winter scene on Lake Michigan. Caspar David Friedrich's "Wreck of the Hope," with shattered slices of brioche French toast heaving skyward encased in the massing white and blue striated glassy shards of the frozen arctic sea.

Big plans for 2011. In the meantime the loaves are wrapped well in plastic biding their time in my freezer.

Bragging Rights

Cherry Cheese Danish Braid

A few months ago I bought a jar of sour cherries at Trader Joe's. I'd been wondering about them for several years but never saw an actual place for them in my diet, so they never made it from the shelf in the store to my cart to my reusable tote bag to the trunk of my iGo car to my kitchen. I don't know what was different this one evening. Probably I was in the mood to splurge, go wild, have an adventure, make a change, live life more on the edge. Whatever the cause, the cherries made it home with me and they were about as disappointing as I expected. Not bad. Just blah. I spooned some over chocolate ice cream. Blah. I spooned some into a container of Cozy Shack rice pudding. Nice color, but the flavor was still blah. Then the jar parked on the inside of my refrigerator door and we settled into a waiting game. I think the cherries and I had both given up on any possible future together beyond a winter smoothie and the recycling bin, but also we weren't able yet to admit our dashed hopes to each other. So we just lingered on, not expecting much, not minding.

Proofed and Ready for the Oven

I've got plenty of blah in my life. I sometimes feel like I have an advanced degree in blah. Blah blah blah. So much blah I don't know what to do with it all. An embarrassment of riches if I could solve that challenge. And this weekend I did make at least a small step in that direction, with the help of the remains in that jar of cherries. I was in a baking frenzy after my book party. Macaroni and cheese. Pizza tre formaggio. Three loaves of brioche (posting pending). And then this Danish pastry. I hesitated to make the dough, uncertain how I would finish it, until that jar of cherries caught the corner of my eye one evening as I did my final survey of the interior of my refrigerator before putting out the lights and getting into bed. Cherry and cheese Danish pastry braid!

I knew right as I was pulling the braid from the oven that blah in this case was become bully and bold and bragging rights all the way. Among the very best things I've ever baked. Insert string of unsurpassable superlatives here. Add some more. Blah blah blah.

The formula for the pastry is from Baking with Julia. The cheese is four ounces of cream cheese, a quarter cup of sugar, an egg yolk, and some orange zezt. The cherries I drained well, reduced the liquid to a syrup, then added back to the cherries with about a tablespoon of seedless raspberry jam.

Three Slices of Heaven

A Really Sad Story About A Pizza

The weekend before last I hosted a book party. I planned my menu mostly with leftovers in mind. A friend took me to Costco and I bought a big piece of Manchego, a big piece of Stilton, and a big bucket of herb-marinated Bocconcini. The party went off beautifully and the remains of the Manchego and Stilton went into a macaroni and cheese. But I still had a little more of each, and also some of the Bocconcini, so a few nights ago I made a pizza tre formaggio. The result was the most beautiful pizza I've ever made. I was feeling very pleased with myself for having videotaped the event. But when I connected the card from my camera to my computer and looked for the video clips, they were gone. Nowhere. Poof. Niente. Did I hallucinate the chewy lustre of the manchego? The woodsy undertones of the Stilton? The creamy pools of Bocconcini? The crispiness of the crust almost fried in the oil released from the cheeses? I don't believe in trying to recapture lost moments once they are passed, so I guess you'll just have to take my word for it! But last night, under the watchful gaze of Gabriel Porras, I did capture some images of my standard white pizza.

Sables Korova

This weekend, glad for an excuse to stay indoors on a wet Saturday afternoon, I spent several hours playing with iMovie. Earlier in the week I had set the ingredients for Sables Korova spinning in my light box, and now I attempted to send them west on the Pink Line to enjoy the expansive views of the loop. My plans all shattered however because my computer wasn't up to the task. What began as a smooth ride ended up a shuddering, jagged, choppy train wreck. Sunday morning the rain had turned to snow and back at my computer I returned to my movie. Defeated by the limited powers of my processor I reluctantly deleted most of the backdrop. Here's what's left:

Also here's a link to the recipe. http://smittenkitchen.com/2007/01/in-which-world-peace-eludes-me/

If there is a prize for best no egg chocolate cookie recipe of the early 21st century, this one definitely gets my vote.