Delayed Gratification

Delayed gratification has never been a strength, especially when food is involved.  When I would visit friends’ houses as a kid I remember being genuinely shocked to find that there were unopened bags of cookies or chips in the pantry.  We were always lucky if the bag made it out of the car unscathed. 

I come by the character flaw honestly, though.  One year the Easter bunny left me a fabulous chocolate Easter bunny in my basket.  It wasn’t one of the cheap hollow rabbits.  This guy was solid.  Much to my mother’s dismay I decided to eat all of my other candy before touching my prized Easter bunny.  Finally, around day three I came into the dining room to find Easter basket torn to pieces and mother slowly peeling back the aluminum foil bunny skin.  I cried out, “Mommy! Mommy!  Don’t eat my chocolate Easter bunny.”  But it was too late.  In one quick move she bit off the head.  She always swore it was only an ear.  But I was there.  It was the entire head.

I understood the way my mother felt last night.  As part of my experiment with the cakes in a jar I placed one simple chocolate cake aside.  My goal was to wait an entire week before eating it.  In theory, because the cakes are “canned” they will stay fresh and moist for up to 6 months.  I knew that six months was ambitious, so I settled for 1 week.  Unfortunately, after a particularly exhausting day I snapped.  I unscrewed the top and smiled as I heard the vacuum seal “pop”.  In dipped the spoon, and out came a mouthful of moist, chocolaty goodness.

Perhaps, the next experiment should be to bake a batch, opening one a week until we reach “maximum shelf life”.  I don’t know if they will last any longer than the one I sacrificed last night.  That’s the great thing about the cake in a jar.  They are great to have on hand for weak moments like mine. 

All In The Timing...

Timing really is everything.  And when I started my first cake in a jar, my timing was off.  I underestimated the amount of time I had to prepare the cakes.  I underestimated the time it would take for them to cook.  As a result, the first bath ended up in the garbage.  It really pains me to know that perfectly good chocolate has gone to waste.

However, I rallied.  With the short person strapped into the high chair, I was able to bake a second batch.  Using a basic chocolate cake base, I experimented with a marshmallow S’mores cake, as well as a chocolate hazelnut Nutella cake.

For the first year of the short person’s life I managed to keep her completely sugar free.  I dutifully made all of her baby food, making sure that each meal covered the entire food pyramid. When she turned a year she had the requisite chocolate cupcake, at which point all bets were off.  I’m hoping that I can teach her better eating habits than I had growing up, but that’s going to mean taking a long hard look at my own eating habits.  I won’t lie.  When she started to get fussy I did toss a couple of marshmallows onto her tray to pacify her.  She played with them, but decided instead that the Toys R Us Christmas catalog that I had given her to look through/tear apart was much more appetizing.  She either has a vitamin deficiency or she’s hoping for a spot on My Strange Addiction, because the child loves to eat paper.  The sad thing is that I didn’t care, since it was keeping her occupied.  Parenting at its best.

The end result were several jars of beautifully baked cakes.  I was almost giddy when I heard each lid "pop", insuring that they were properly sealed.  The Nutella satisfied my need for icing and the marshmallows were gooey-goodness.  I still need to experiment with cake recipes and how to keep them from falling as they cool.  But I have to say that despite the fact that I didn’t get the laundry folded or the pile of mail on the dining room table sorted, I did go to bed last night with a great feeling of accomplishment...Elyzabeth

The finished product.

The section of the Toys R Us catalog that I feel fairly certain was eaten by the Short Person.

The first...

I'm not sure how I learned to bake. I am one of five kids and my mother's idea of

gourmet cooking is chicken breasts covered in Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup.  
Wait! No! Her favorite dish is spaghetti with cottage cheese and in fact, two of 
my sisters still eat it in their own homes. Unlike my wonderful mother who 
curses at the can opener, I feel a sense of calmness when I bake. Yes, Elyzabeth 
is right, I do tend to get a little "Top Chef-y" but that's just because I'm 
classic type A personality and that is my idea of calm.

I've known Elyzabeth since I was a 21 year old front desk girl at the Peninsula 
spa in NYC. The most glamorous and expensive spa and I showed up everyday in 
crinkled khakis.  That tells you a lot about me.  In that crazy city Elyzabeth 
and I  somehow found one another; me with my short dyed red hair and Elyzabeth 
with her cascading long real red hair. Together in NY we "babysat" in Jersey for 
the Sopranos,  we laughed about the blind-date she had with Chewbacca, and vowed 
to stay friends when I left New York.  We did.  Years later I stood next to her 
as the maid of honor at her wedding. I am reminiscing about NYC because it was 
in my tiny Manhattan apartment (where my arm span was as wide as my kitchen) 
that I baked my very first banana bread.

Last night was also a night of firsts.  I made my first cake in a jar for our 
first dinner party in the first home my husband and I have bought.

Vanilla bean cake with cinnamon apple streusel swirl.

Every last bite was scraped out.

...Marisa 

 

 

Before going in the oven.

Overflowing with goodness.

Why We Bake

In a strange way, reinventing yourself requires you to revisit who you once were.  Yesterday, I spent the day in New Orleans.  It was a business trip that was filled with fun, adventure and a couple of hours of free time to enjoy walking around the French Quarter in solitude.  New Orleans holds a special place in my heart.  Everywhere I go there is a special memory: Jackson Square where my mom would let me tap dance as a kid; the wooden toy store my dad and I loved to visit; the sidewalk where my husband proposed.

It’s where, before marriage and diapers, I could spend hours completely content to be alone.  There isn’t much time to be alone these days.  But yesterday was a reminder that I still know how.

Baking is also a reminder of my old self.  When I was in grad school with deadlines looming, I often baked.  It was advice given to me by a writer-friend who explained that baking allowed you to enjoy the completion of a creative process.  And it’s true.  However, baking is about more than just completing a process.  It allows us to both literally and figuratively feed ourselves and others.  The next day I would pack up my goodies and deliver them to my classmates, who were always a grateful audience. 

Marisa and I both love to cook.  Marisa’s menus are of the Top Chef variety, while I tend to lean more toward simple home cooking. So today Marisa and I are going to bake our first cakes in a jar.  We are in two different kitchens, in two different states.  When they are finished we will pack up our cakes (that’s the joy of “canning” a cake) and mail them to one another.  After all, food is meant to be shared.

** Come back tomorrow to see how they turned out.

Curvy Girl's Guide to Reinvention

Marisa and I have been friends since we were both living in rent-stabilized walk-ups in New York City.  Since then we have watched one another build careers, get married, have kids, gain weight and lose weight. Now we are both in our 30’s, with houses and car seats, standing at the proverbial crossroads. 

In times of crisis we have both been known to treat a pint of ice cream as a single serving container.  Who hasn’t?  (No really, who hasn’t?)  But this time, we’ve decided that instead of eating our way to a solution, we are going to bake.  To be more specific, we are going to bake cakes in a jar.  Why?  Because they are fun, they have a shelf life of 6 months (so you can always have one on hand in case you’re feeling rejected/hormonal/celebratory/hungry), and they beg to be eaten with a spoon right from the jar.

Once upon a time, back when we had answering services instead of cell phones, Marisa left me a message saying that she had an opportunity for us to make $100 cash on the 4^th of July.  I just needed to meet her on the corner of Broadway and 87^th Street where a white van would pick us up and drive us to New Jersey.  Where in New Jersey, she wasn’t sure.  I agreed even though it went against everything I was taught about getting into cars (or plain white vans) with strangers.  But we were using the buddy system.  What could go wrong?

The story has a happy ending.  We got paid.  And fed. And delivered back to Broadway and 87^th Street without compromising our virtue.

That’s what this adventure feels like right now. The big white van is waiting.  I’m not sure where it’s going to take us, but I bet there will be a good story to tell when it’s all said and done. 

So hop on board.  Follow us as we navigate marital changes, geographic changes, and career changes, all while trying to reinvent ourselves…one cake at a time.