Pudding Pie

“I want to hear more music about pie!” 

~Stewie Griffen 

I didn't know it was possible to create sweetened fried "mayonnaise" until last night. I was attempting to make meringue which I had never made before, but had seen and consumed plenty of times; for example, last February at my great Aunt's birthday party when she was presented with a gigantic Baked Alaska, still covered in an impressively large blue flame. Fortunately the table cloths and onlookers all survived without injury and the dessert was sumptuous. 

So there I was, mixing five eggs whites in a double boiler over our stove while a gooey pudding chilled in the refrigerator, relying on faith and fortune to guide me. Inspired by James Mcnair's "Banana Custard" and because we had most of the ingredients already, I had decided to try my hand at a cream pie for one of our weekly dinner parties. Though I have to admit my mother is the queen of crust, I was content to venture out of my comfort zone. The original recipe called for vanilla wafers, but I had never been particularly fond of the crunchy cookie, so I stuck to my graham cracker guns, added some melted bittersweet baking chocolate, and went from there. 

The custard part was a bit tricky at first. I had worked at a summer camp as a prep chef in 2010, and made the mistake of scorching a vat of homemade chocolate pudding one afternoon. Needless to say I was apprehensive about making the same mistake again, but decided it was better to waste a few eggs than an opportunity.  

"Yay! It looks legit!" I exclaimed proudly to my stepfather. The custard was creamy yellow and swirled under my wooden spoon, burbling and congealing to its heart's content. 

Because the crust had bits of chocolate, it made sense for the filling to be chocolate flavored as well. While the phlegm colored custard cooled, I opened a packet of chocolate mousse powder that I had brought back from my excursion in Milan. Into the bowl it went, creating a jiggling, bowel content brown, substance. 

The last step was the meringue- or the fried mayonnaise as I mentioned at the beginning. The recipe I was using hadn't mentioned that once you froth the egg whites you're supposed to take them off the heat. Needless to say, I worked away with a hand mixer, creating a gritty paste which I attempted to spread over my pie. My stepfather tasted it, and agreed that it was rather nasty. 

"Try again." He recommended. 

"But that's a waste of eggs." I argued.

"Not if you pay attention and do it right the second time." He said, leaving the fate of the pie in my hands. 

In the end, a nice creamy yet not too sweet pie with a spongy golden top sat on the dining room table. Spoons clinked, plates were served, and the food disappeared. The Meringue Mayonnaise disaster was behind me. 

Let The Cake Speak

"The opposite of War isn't peace- it's creation!"

~ RENT 

Before I left college for the spring 2011 semester, I was involved in an original performance piece called "Let The Body Speak". It was a work of art that I helped to begin, but sadly was unable to be there 'til the end. LTBS was the brain child of my lovely friend Sarah, and made its debut at a liberal arts college in Massachusetts sometime this February. Though I'm not sure what the final piece looked like, the idea was to create a performance created by young women that celebrated the body. There were to be skits and monologues, movement and song, color and creation to be collaborated and dreamed up by the performers. The "cast" consisted of a small group of young women all with ranging personalities, but all having the unsatisfiable hunger for chocolate.

One dreary afternoon,  as the smog rose over campus, I decided it was high time to make a mess. One of my best friends and I decided to bake a cake for our fellow cast mates. Armed with a small kitchen, a box of cheap cake mix, and some food coloring, we set out to create what I have come to call "shrek cakes and glop."  

I'd like to point out that I don't like cake mixes because there isn't enough to do, and when you divvy up the work between two people.... the process is as time consuming as tying your shoes. One person opens the bag and pours the powder into a bowl, the second cracks in the eggs, someone pours in the oil...you get the picture. My mom says that the original cake mixes made back in the 50's or 60's were like Bisquick- you just added some water. Well the housewives began to complain that it didn't feel like real cooking (ironically) so the companies decided to make mixes where a few extra ingredients were needed. I for one, would much rather melt chocolate and butter in a double boiler than rely on a cloud of questionable content, but forward I must go. 

We quickly got to work covering the counters in sticky brown mush, then discovered we only had one cake pan and a six cup muffin tin. We decided to make the cake the "main attraction" with some cakelets on the side so there was enough to satisfy the thespian sweet tooth. Earlier that day we'd gone to the grocery store across the field from our campus, and picked up some decorations. Organic chocolate covered gummy bears and chocolate "rocks" called out to us, and we obliged. 

While it turned from batter to baked good, it was obvious our cake would need some color. After all, a lump of brown stuff covered in more brown frosting would only appeal to the nose and lips...not so much the eyes. Into a bowl went powdered sugar, water, vanilla extract, and drops of green and blue food coloring. The result was a fragrant slime that could only have come out of say, a witch's nose or the intestines of a cow on a bad day. Still, we would not show up to practice without dessert!

While the cake cooled we dabbed the aqua marine "glaze" on our faces and arms making ourselves look like victims from the newest "alien vs predator" movie. As we applied frosting, goo, and candy to the cupcakes and square loaf, we had an idea. Why not let the cake speak? And so using our imagination and chocolate pebbles we converted our swamp like fiasco into a performance of its own, which was enjoyed immensely by creators and cast members alike. 

 

A New Fad.

"I've gotten into this new thing." My grandmother announces at the breakfast table. "It's this bread called-"

"No knead?" I interrupt her, pouring syrup onto a stack of eggo waffles. 

"Yes! It's so fabulous! My book club goes on and on about it...." 

The Ipod touch of the home cuisine universe, no knead bread made its debut with the help of a man named Jim Lahey. It has snuck its way onto table tops, cutting boards, and the eager mouths of the american masses. Because it is so easy to make, the only difficulties are a)waiting for it to rise and bake, and b) getting a share before your family dives in, armed with butter knifes and seemingly starving bellies. My grandmother and I have discussed at length what type of pan you should bake it in (my preference is a lidded, heavy cast iron pot) should you grease the pan, how soft should the middle be compared to the crunch of the crust, etc. I was introduced to the heavenly concoction in my parent's kitchen in Maine. When my stepfather brought it out of the oven, its crust crackling like a frozen pond thawing quickly into spring... I inhaled deeply and knew that my days of baking had just been revolutionized. 

I have somewhat mastered the basics- take the five ingredients, combine 'em, let sit over night, rise an hour, bake an hour...devour. But I've experimented too. For example, I've learned the power of soaking raisins over night in orange juice before tossing them in cinnamon and adding them to the dough, with a little maple syrup and vanilla to boot. I've also been inspired by the Italian way of baking focaccia by generously lathering the top of the crust with olive oil and kosher salt during the last minutes of baking. I received my own cast iron pot and No Knead inspired cookbook for Christmas. 

"It's a self serving gift" My stepfather admitted. 

This bread is so much more than the slices you buy for your child's PB and J's or the stuff you let get stale to turn into crumbs for meatballs. It is spongy, and flavorful and really, it's almost god like. I have this fantasy of baking salty, oily loaves of No Knead and selling it to my surrounding community be it at home, college, or traveling abroad. I would give the profits and perhaps a handful of tasty samples to the not so fortunate people in those communities. If only there was a way to make bread fall gracefully out of the sky in Japan! I suppose King Arthur Flour is to blame for this breadly disease for one reason or another, but I will be perfectly happy if a cure is never found. 

For The Original No Knead Recipe, 

Please Visit http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/08/dining/081mrex.html