Wednesday, September 28, 2011

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Cupcakes

It all started with some janky looking bananas.


That picture might not be the most enticing start to a blog post, but I implore you, stay with me.

I'm not sure where I stand on ghosts or gods, but I have something beyond myself to thank for the bizarre alchemy that took place in my kitchen last night. When I brought that rotten fruit home, the foul smell alone had me ready to ditch 'em. No sweet bread is worth that odor, especially not boring banana.

But then. Suddenly my mind was possessed with the idea of making a not-so-boring banana bread. What goes with banana? This is where I believe the spirit world stepped in—and not just any spirit, but one dressed in a gold lamé suit, or perhaps blue suede shoes. Because what could pair better with bananas than peanut butter? You could think this is where the good idea ends, but you'd be wrong.


Enter Duncan Hines—maybe they should get some of the credit for this, too. Their snack size box of brownie mix is $1 at CVS right now, so naturally I keep one in my cupboards. What possessed me to involve that homely box in my adventures with the King, I can't say. But thank-someone it did.

I whipped up the brownie mix strictly adhering to the box directions, and made half of my beloved Martha's banana cupcake recipe in a separate bowl. Yet again, an urge the origins of which I still can't identify had me plopping three big spoonfuls of plain whole milk yogurt into each bowl. No turning back now.

Serendipitously, the two batters required the same oven temp and the same cook time. I put the brownie batter down first, figuring the fudgier texture would provide a base for the more viscous banana layer.

With nothing left but to bake 'em, pray to Elvis, and cross my fingers, I set about inventing a frosting to match this doozy. It couldn't just be any buttercream, though—to temper the sweetness of the cakes, it needed to provide some kind of tang, something zingy to cut the cloying peanut butter. So into the bowl went:

1/2 cup smooth peanut butter (don't get fancy folks, the cheap stuff is best when it comes to frosting)
1/4 tsp vanilla
1/2 lb. of plain cream cheese at room temperature
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup of milk

Beat like hell until all the little bumps & curdles disappear and the word "lustrous" enters your mind, then set it aside. Do NOT refrigerate, or you'll have one heck of a time spreading it on the cakes.

Once the cakes started to brown a little on top, I pulled them immediately. Dry cake is one of my biggest fears, and I wasn't about to come this far to settle for anything less than decadent.



And decadent they were, once I passed the painful hour of waiting for them to cool (this is a crucial step—if the cakes aren't cool, the frosting will melt, refuse to set, and mainly create a giant mess of your counter). And because the King himself was clearly with me in this endeavor, of course I had to put Nutter Butters on top of them. And chocolate sauce.


My home audience and I had a little debate on the merits of whole Nutter Butter versus crumbled cookie. As an avid peruser of food blogs and fancy bakeries, I knew that the inedible garnish might produce a more dramatic & impressive final product (sorry, guys—I do manipulate you some, but it's mostly for good). The boys baking with me, however, made a persuasive point that you would want crumbles in every bite.


Personally I think those both look like something I'd set my computer down to go eat. But the boys were right about the textures—from top to bottom, this thing was a symphony of complementary consistencies. The fudgey brownie wasn't too crumbly or too chewy; the banana layer was so far from dry, it was almost creamy; the cool, tangy cream cheese kept the whole enterprise from being too rich; and of course, the Nutter Butters gave an absolutely indispensable crunch.


I'm a sucker for the cross-section. You can almost see the moisture! Beware, though—the moisture can turn on you in the fridge overnight, where it sort of robbed the cookies of their crunch. But Elvis can't be held responsible for anything that happened overnight in the fridge. Ghosts are unpredictable, and I'm not so self-involved to think the guy was haunting me. He was just stopping by, as I assume he does in many kitchens from time to time. He was merely providing inspiration, infusing my kitchen with a little rock 'n' roll.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Linni Eats the Upper West Side


Here's the thing. I know a lot about bagels.

If you're new to the blog, that's all you need to know. If you're a returning customer, expecting feasts crafted from a farmer's market bounty or certain verbose vegan rants, let me clue you in.

In January of 2010, I rode an enormous whim——roughly 747-sized——across the country to a place that eats just a touch different than southern California: Boston.

Now, New Englanders aren't still donning Pilgrim attire. They don't scarf turkeys with natives or gulp down clam chowder on the daily. That said, there's only one vegan pizza joint in the greater Boston area. For a girl fresh off the plane from L.A., that was about as staggering as if I'd been greeted at Logan Airport by John Adams himself.

I'm sounding pretty pretentious right now, huh? Well, the two years I've spent here have beaten a lot of that out of me. After becoming a work horse at a bagel shop and slinging artisan cheese at the Harvard Farmer's Market, veganism has become nothing more than a hobby I occasionally pick up for nostalgia's sake.

My pretentious urges now get funneled into cheese competitiveness and bagel snobbery. Shortly after developing these neuroses, the latter brought me to Absolute Bagels on Manhattan's Upper West Side. I'm not the biggest fan of the Big Apple, and I was sick of hearing customers from New York wear their bagel superiority on their sleeve (as they are wont to do with most things). I had to evaluate this hype machine myself. And according to Yelpers and local publications, Absolute was the place to beat.


They had all the staples, but I forced myself to ignore the sultry, dark pumpernickels in favor of a classic everything, with scallion cream cheese and tomato slices. And a last-minute salt bagel with plain. Both untoasted.


Do you see that tomato slice? I can't think of any reason for New York City to have better produce than Boston, geographically, but I suppose I can begrudgingly admit for a moment that their food standards a little higher. And...I guess that could mean better tomatoes. Whatever.

These bagels were coming out of the oven before my eyes, which boosted my confidence in ordering them sans toast (I've been told this is the only way, by many an ornery Manhattanite). Their cream cheese selection boasted impressive selections like olive, bacon, & strawberry (although I feel like New Yorkers at my shop in Boston forego these frills to insist on old standards like chive). Their tofu spreads, also surprisingly varied in flavors, were so thick, they put Boston's runny nonsense to shame.


I mean, look at that. If I was still adhering to strict vegan protocol, I might not have eaten that, just out of distrust.

So there you have it. Our Boston bagels are great——big, crusty on the outside when toasted and pillowy soft on the inside. The NY variety didn't have that crust, didn't exactly have a hole in the middle, and was certainly smaller, but was a dream to gnaw on, just sliced raw. I preferred the latter, but they both have great things going for them. Which is more than I can say for the cities they hail from.

Linni Eats Boston

Well, this is awkward.

It's been nearly two years since I made that pizza in my last post, and my stomach and I have come a long way since we last shared our adventures with you beautiful people.

You'll have to forgive my obvious attempt at flattery there, but there just isn't a graceful way to side-step a two year gap like that. I guess you'll have to forgive a few things, but I hope you can because I live in Boston now and we have so much to talk about.

...this is starting to sound a lot like a conversation I have with the pages of my journal once every few months.

I'm going to keep my new posts clean and separate from this clumsy (and hopefully endearing?) greeting. But I'm here again, so check back often! And just, ya know——don't call it a comeback.