I love to bake. For the past five months I have stared at a card that my sister sent me for Valentine's Day to remind me of the benefits of being a good baker. Six words send a powerful message: I am hot & I can bake. Yes, indeed. But good bakers can get into ruts, baking the same old stand-bys, the tried and true they know will delight. And this is the unfortunate state I have been in for way too long.
I'm a sucker for cookbooks, and the more stunning the pictures, the more likely it is to lure me in. Next to my sister's card is a cookbook she sent me for Christmas with recipes from the Miette Bakery in San Francisco. The cover is stunningly beautiful as you will see in a moment. Upon opening this gift, I instantly began imagining the spectacular cakes I would bake. Difficult recipes, unusual ingredients and supplies be damned. I knew that someday I would re-create that beautiful cover picture and write all about it in my blog, wowing my readers with my baking know-how. I am hot & I can bake.
School is out, so what better time to tackle Miette. My special cake pans had been ordered months ago, along with a fancy pastry bag, and so I greeted the perfect timing this week to bake a double chocolate cake with raspberry buttercream frosting. Ingredients at hand, eggs at room temperature, I began and was soon pleased by the batter that was created by my industrial Kitchen Aid mixer. Step 10 called for pouring the batter through a medium-mesh sieve to remove the lumps that existed since every good baker knows that over-mixing cake batter is a baker's worst offense. Problem was that I had no idea what they meant by a medium-mesh sieve. I went through my cupboards and pulled out a strainer that had what I thought might just possibly be medium-sized mesh and attempted pouring a cup of batter through it. My fine baker's intuition, however, was troubled by all the pummeling I was doing to get the batter through the mesh because this seemed equal to mixing it in the bowl for an additional ten minutes, which would surely ruin my soon-to-be-world-famous double chocolate cake. I gave up on step 10 and poured the batter into two 6-inch by 3-inch cake pans. Now the problem here was that when I purchased these special little puppies, I didn't realize that I bought 6-inch by 2-inch pans. "How different could an inch be?" I asked myself. I gave it a go with the pans I had, filling them quite full, and carefully placed them in the oven. Sampling the batter told me these cakes were going to be amazing. I am hot & I can bake.
Now step 10 also told me to bake the cakes for 45 to 50 minutes, just until the tops sprang back when lightly pressed and a tester inserted in the centers came out clean. My previous baking knowledge told me I would need to adjust for my slightly smaller pans, so at 30 minutes I turned the light on to check on my babies. I was hot but suddenly not so sure I could bake. Here's what greeted me in the oven:
Now some bakers might just call it a day at this point, but having tasted the batter, I knew the cake would taste really good even if it didn't quite match the cover photograph. I was also challenged by the buttercream frosting recipe that required the use of 5 more room temperature eggs AND a candy thermometer. Now I have had some major disasters with candy thermometers, but intimidated I was not. Nor was I deterred by the side panel on this recipe that talked about the cries of panic the author hears when teaching bakers how to make buttercream frosting because apparently it's easy to "break" into a distinct mass of water and fat. No worries. I had a picture to match and determination that far outweighed any omens she might try to foretell. All began well as I heated the sugar and water to 248 degrees and then added this mixture to my room temperature egg whites and cream of tartar. As the whisk attachment whirled around the bowl, the frosting became more and more beautiful and looked just like silky smooth marshmallow taffy pulled lovingly between your fingers for hours. The last step required adding 3 cups of unsalted, room temperature butter, one tablespoon at a time, to the meringue mixture, and as I began this step I saw no "break" occurring. My cake might not be perfect, but my frosting would rival the author's. I was still hot & could still bake.
Then it happened. Slowly at first, but signs of "breaking" started to appear as my stunning meringue-like consistency started to dissolve. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, I let out a painful cry as my frosting began melting right in front of my eyes. I was now cold & ready to give up baking forever. But I had this huge bowl of frosting and two cake pans with ingredients I knew would taste really good, and so I forged ahead and assembled my cake. My brand new pastry bag would stay in it's box because this frosting could only be poured. A beauty it was not, but my family all agreed, as we sat down to sample mom's Miette disaster, that the flavor was pretty darn good.
Do not give up on me, however, because this story has a very happy ending. In order to turn the vanilla buttercream frosting into the subtle pink raspberry flavor I desired, I needed to create some raspberry juice by heating some fresh raspberries with a little water and sugar to liquefy the ingredients, which were then strained through a fine-mesh sieve (at this point I was becoming one with my sieve) to create a seedless syrup. I had lots of this leftover, and so when my cake didn't quite work out as planned, I decided to bury my sorrows in a raspberry lemon drop. Many weeks ago, my friend Carol had requested a blog post on her new personal favorite, and I knew the time had come to place this drink at the top of the queue.
If the truth be told, I had been thinking about, and researching, how to concoct a raspberry lemon drop for a while. Many recipes called for raspberry liqueur, but I was seeking to stop the flow of money going into my liquor supply and sought out alternatives. One recipe called for raspberry puree but conveniently left out the recipe for making said puree. Alas, Miette to the rescue. My leftover seedless syrup was just was I was looking for.
Nothing says summer quite like the raspberry. In any form it is, hands down, my favorite fruit, and so it is with delight that I share this wonderful summertime drink. Should you be bold enough to go out and purchase the Miette cookbook and try your hand at baking one of its creations, might I suggest you have the ingredients on hand to make this drink just in case the baking doesn't quite pan out. I am thirsty & I drink. Enjoy!
Raspberry Lemon Drop
When stripped down to its basics, the lemon drop is really a type of martini, but this recipe sweetens it up a bit and takes away a little of the pucker. Tasty indeed.
1 1/2 ounce citrus vodka
3/4 ounce triple sec
2 ounces fresh lemonade
1 ounce raspberry syrup
To make the syrup, combine 2 cups fresh raspberries, 2 tablespoons of water, and 1 tablespoon sugar. Cook in a small pot over medium-low heat, gently stirring the berries to help them break down. In ten minutes or so, the berries will liquefy. Remove from the heat, press through a sieve and let cool.
Chill a martini glass and then coat the rim using a slice of lemon. Invert the glass onto a small plate with sugar to coat.
Fill a mixing glass with ice and add the ingredients. Shake well and strain into a glass. Garnish with a lemon twist. Carol, I hope this recipe is close to what you have tasted. Thanks for the inspiration!
I'm a sucker for cookbooks, and the more stunning the pictures, the more likely it is to lure me in. Next to my sister's card is a cookbook she sent me for Christmas with recipes from the Miette Bakery in San Francisco. The cover is stunningly beautiful as you will see in a moment. Upon opening this gift, I instantly began imagining the spectacular cakes I would bake. Difficult recipes, unusual ingredients and supplies be damned. I knew that someday I would re-create that beautiful cover picture and write all about it in my blog, wowing my readers with my baking know-how. I am hot & I can bake.
School is out, so what better time to tackle Miette. My special cake pans had been ordered months ago, along with a fancy pastry bag, and so I greeted the perfect timing this week to bake a double chocolate cake with raspberry buttercream frosting. Ingredients at hand, eggs at room temperature, I began and was soon pleased by the batter that was created by my industrial Kitchen Aid mixer. Step 10 called for pouring the batter through a medium-mesh sieve to remove the lumps that existed since every good baker knows that over-mixing cake batter is a baker's worst offense. Problem was that I had no idea what they meant by a medium-mesh sieve. I went through my cupboards and pulled out a strainer that had what I thought might just possibly be medium-sized mesh and attempted pouring a cup of batter through it. My fine baker's intuition, however, was troubled by all the pummeling I was doing to get the batter through the mesh because this seemed equal to mixing it in the bowl for an additional ten minutes, which would surely ruin my soon-to-be-world-famous double chocolate cake. I gave up on step 10 and poured the batter into two 6-inch by 3-inch cake pans. Now the problem here was that when I purchased these special little puppies, I didn't realize that I bought 6-inch by 2-inch pans. "How different could an inch be?" I asked myself. I gave it a go with the pans I had, filling them quite full, and carefully placed them in the oven. Sampling the batter told me these cakes were going to be amazing. I am hot & I can bake.
Now step 10 also told me to bake the cakes for 45 to 50 minutes, just until the tops sprang back when lightly pressed and a tester inserted in the centers came out clean. My previous baking knowledge told me I would need to adjust for my slightly smaller pans, so at 30 minutes I turned the light on to check on my babies. I was hot but suddenly not so sure I could bake. Here's what greeted me in the oven:
Then it happened. Slowly at first, but signs of "breaking" started to appear as my stunning meringue-like consistency started to dissolve. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, I let out a painful cry as my frosting began melting right in front of my eyes. I was now cold & ready to give up baking forever. But I had this huge bowl of frosting and two cake pans with ingredients I knew would taste really good, and so I forged ahead and assembled my cake. My brand new pastry bag would stay in it's box because this frosting could only be poured. A beauty it was not, but my family all agreed, as we sat down to sample mom's Miette disaster, that the flavor was pretty darn good.
Do not give up on me, however, because this story has a very happy ending. In order to turn the vanilla buttercream frosting into the subtle pink raspberry flavor I desired, I needed to create some raspberry juice by heating some fresh raspberries with a little water and sugar to liquefy the ingredients, which were then strained through a fine-mesh sieve (at this point I was becoming one with my sieve) to create a seedless syrup. I had lots of this leftover, and so when my cake didn't quite work out as planned, I decided to bury my sorrows in a raspberry lemon drop. Many weeks ago, my friend Carol had requested a blog post on her new personal favorite, and I knew the time had come to place this drink at the top of the queue.
If the truth be told, I had been thinking about, and researching, how to concoct a raspberry lemon drop for a while. Many recipes called for raspberry liqueur, but I was seeking to stop the flow of money going into my liquor supply and sought out alternatives. One recipe called for raspberry puree but conveniently left out the recipe for making said puree. Alas, Miette to the rescue. My leftover seedless syrup was just was I was looking for.
Nothing says summer quite like the raspberry. In any form it is, hands down, my favorite fruit, and so it is with delight that I share this wonderful summertime drink. Should you be bold enough to go out and purchase the Miette cookbook and try your hand at baking one of its creations, might I suggest you have the ingredients on hand to make this drink just in case the baking doesn't quite pan out. I am thirsty & I drink. Enjoy!
Raspberry Lemon Drop
When stripped down to its basics, the lemon drop is really a type of martini, but this recipe sweetens it up a bit and takes away a little of the pucker. Tasty indeed.
3/4 ounce triple sec
2 ounces fresh lemonade
1 ounce raspberry syrup
To make the syrup, combine 2 cups fresh raspberries, 2 tablespoons of water, and 1 tablespoon sugar. Cook in a small pot over medium-low heat, gently stirring the berries to help them break down. In ten minutes or so, the berries will liquefy. Remove from the heat, press through a sieve and let cool.
Chill a martini glass and then coat the rim using a slice of lemon. Invert the glass onto a small plate with sugar to coat.
Fill a mixing glass with ice and add the ingredients. Shake well and strain into a glass. Garnish with a lemon twist. Carol, I hope this recipe is close to what you have tasted. Thanks for the inspiration!
HI Jo:
ReplyDeleteI laughed so hard when I saw the two pictures of the cakes together! That was a challenging recipe. Thank you for giving me the recipe for the raspberry lemondrop. I'm going to try it.
Carol