Before I begin, I just wanted to ask (both of) you for some feedback on my new-ish layout. I, personally, think it's pretty and relaxing and makes me want to take a vacation to Hawai'i, but I'm not the one who has to stare at it for minutes at a time. So, thoughts? Is the background too busy? The font too Times-New-Roman-y, perhaps? Or maybe just too small? Let me know, and I will gladly make changes.
Now, back to business. It's November! And you guys know what that means: my favorite food-based holiday is right around the corner! Ahhhhh Turkey Day, the crown jewel of holidays for gluttons everywhere. Okay, just gluttons in America, I suppose. Anyway, this time of year always makes me think about how much I love food. Seriously, guys, I love it a whole lot. I wanted to be a pastry chef for the vast majority of my childhood, and I would drop everything and go to culinary school in a second if I could actually afford it. But, sadly, I can't. So, I've been looking into the next best thing: working in a bakery/cafe/patisserie/chocolaterie. Surprisingly, there are a lot of them around here. A lot. (Sidenote: why haven't I ever been to any of these places? How could I have missed all the dessert-alicious wonder??)
So here's my dilemma: as a UC Berkeley graduate, can I bring myself to work a job where the only requirements are being able to stand for eight hours and lift ten to fifty pounds. Did I really go to college for four (and a half) years, and pay tens of thousands of dollars into the system, only to return to the types of jobs I was working back in high school?
Maybe I sound ridiculously haughty and pretentious, but I feel like the minute I hit "submit" on that online application, I'll be flushing the last five years of my life down the drain. No one will care that I majored in political economy if I'm working the counter at Starbucks. No one will care that I studied abroad in Germany if I'm restocking the display case at the local cafe. And that's the scariest part: no one will care. The glorious Berkeley degree for which I worked so hard, the thing I was told was a fail-safe even in the toughest of economic times, won't matter. In fact, not only will it not matter, it will be considered a hindrance; on my so-called "retail resume," my "education" section has now fallen all the way to the bottom.
I know that I'm not the only one facing this dilemma, and I know that my first job won't be the be-all and end-all of my career, but still...I don't want to go down that road. Not yet. Not after all this time. Have I really exhausted all of my other options?
And then an awesome (and, at times, super necessary) part of my brain breaks in with a little optimism. It says to Debbie Downer over here that it loves food, particularly dessert-type food, and it likes people, particularly dessert-type people. Would working in a chocolate shop really be that bad? Wouldn't walking into your office and smelling cupcakes wafting through the back of the house be kind of awesome? And Debbie Downer stops...and thinks...and says, "You know what? It would be."
Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
When You're a Stranger
I love trivia. I mean, I love it a whole lot. I could regale you for hours with little tidbits of information I've picked up in the twenty-two years I have been on this planet. It's one of the reasons I'm so good at all things historical; I just remember things: names, dates, places, sequences of events. I have no idea why my brain works the way it does, but I love it. (This savant-like tendency applies to song lyrics as well, but that is slightly less handy and a lot more annoying for everyone around me.)
Still, even though I watch Jeopardy religiously and worship Alex Trebek like he is the modern-day equivalent of the golden calf, I recently had to come to terms with the fact that not everyone has the same kind of respect for useless knowledge that I do.
Case in point: pub quiz. My passion for the trivial has made me a stalwart devotee of Quiz Night at the local bar. Every Tuesday, rain or shine, win or lose, I am revved up and ready to go, but my teammates have become slightly jaded. It's understandable, naturally; I mean, I think the best we've ever done is second-to-last place (unless you count winning for "Best Team Name," which is sort of an honor but doesn't really make anyone feel less dumb). Long story short, after weeks and weeks and weeks of losing horrendously, and in the spirit of communal sacrifice (on my part, at least), it was decided that pub quiz would be forsaken in favor of something a little more appealing to the rest of the group.
With that, I was on the hunt for a bar that would satisfy all our needs (cheap beer being top among them, I'm not gonna lie). I found a few that looked promising, the reviews made the rounds via email, and last night we hit up a place called The Oasis. Sounds relaxing, right? Um...wrong. It was loud and kind of dingy with a not-so-prime strip mall location and a loyal group of middle-aged regulars in various states of inebriation -- basically everything a dive bar should be. The barkeep swore like a sailor, we were constantly harassed by one particularly stubborn drunk (he was hitting on one of us...we just never figured which one), and there may or may not have been a fight in the kitchen during our brief stay. Still, despite all this, it was one hell of a night; I mopped the floor with the opposition at pool (sorry, guys) and learned a whole lot more about some of my friends over a pitcher at the local watering hole (which, in my opinion, is really the best way to get to know someone); honestly, what could be better? Let's just hope next week can measure up.
In other news, there's still no word on the interview front. People keep telling me that they're jealous that I have this very specific idea of what I want to do with my life, but outside of working for this particular organization, I'm really pretty clueless. I mean, where do you start looking for a job when your goal is to change an entire political system? Should I try to worm my way into the bottom rung of the political food chain or should I head straight to the source? Should I accept any old job just to make some money or should I hold out for something I'll actually enjoy? There are just so many questions. Anyway, I'm giving them until Friday, and then it's open season on the job front. I'm being a bit pessimistic at the moment because being pleasantly surprised is a lot better than being bitterly disappointed in the end, so I'm just trying to keep my options open.
What else? I'm still rock climbing, and I've managed to keep myself relatively healthy somehow. (For someone as injury-prone as me, that's saying a lot.) I'm also in the throes of summer and am trying to soak up as much sun as humanly possible with camping and BBQs and trips to the park. It's working out pretty well too. Oh, and I made cupcakes! Peanut butter cup cupcakes, to be precise. If there is a more perfect combination than peanut butter and chocolate, I certainly haven't found it.
Happy July, everyone!
Still, even though I watch Jeopardy religiously and worship Alex Trebek like he is the modern-day equivalent of the golden calf, I recently had to come to terms with the fact that not everyone has the same kind of respect for useless knowledge that I do.
Case in point: pub quiz. My passion for the trivial has made me a stalwart devotee of Quiz Night at the local bar. Every Tuesday, rain or shine, win or lose, I am revved up and ready to go, but my teammates have become slightly jaded. It's understandable, naturally; I mean, I think the best we've ever done is second-to-last place (unless you count winning for "Best Team Name," which is sort of an honor but doesn't really make anyone feel less dumb). Long story short, after weeks and weeks and weeks of losing horrendously, and in the spirit of communal sacrifice (on my part, at least), it was decided that pub quiz would be forsaken in favor of something a little more appealing to the rest of the group.
With that, I was on the hunt for a bar that would satisfy all our needs (cheap beer being top among them, I'm not gonna lie). I found a few that looked promising, the reviews made the rounds via email, and last night we hit up a place called The Oasis. Sounds relaxing, right? Um...wrong. It was loud and kind of dingy with a not-so-prime strip mall location and a loyal group of middle-aged regulars in various states of inebriation -- basically everything a dive bar should be. The barkeep swore like a sailor, we were constantly harassed by one particularly stubborn drunk (he was hitting on one of us...we just never figured which one), and there may or may not have been a fight in the kitchen during our brief stay. Still, despite all this, it was one hell of a night; I mopped the floor with the opposition at pool (sorry, guys) and learned a whole lot more about some of my friends over a pitcher at the local watering hole (which, in my opinion, is really the best way to get to know someone); honestly, what could be better? Let's just hope next week can measure up.
In other news, there's still no word on the interview front. People keep telling me that they're jealous that I have this very specific idea of what I want to do with my life, but outside of working for this particular organization, I'm really pretty clueless. I mean, where do you start looking for a job when your goal is to change an entire political system? Should I try to worm my way into the bottom rung of the political food chain or should I head straight to the source? Should I accept any old job just to make some money or should I hold out for something I'll actually enjoy? There are just so many questions. Anyway, I'm giving them until Friday, and then it's open season on the job front. I'm being a bit pessimistic at the moment because being pleasantly surprised is a lot better than being bitterly disappointed in the end, so I'm just trying to keep my options open.
What else? I'm still rock climbing, and I've managed to keep myself relatively healthy somehow. (For someone as injury-prone as me, that's saying a lot.) I'm also in the throes of summer and am trying to soak up as much sun as humanly possible with camping and BBQs and trips to the park. It's working out pretty well too. Oh, and I made cupcakes! Peanut butter cup cupcakes, to be precise. If there is a more perfect combination than peanut butter and chocolate, I certainly haven't found it.
Happy July, everyone!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Little Woman
It's amazing how comforting baking can be. I think it's the fact that, no matter what, you will always get a concrete result, which is something that can be said for very little else in life. I always feel accomplished after a date with the stand mixer, and in these uncertain times, I definitely appreciate the little victories.
On the menu today: apple turnovers. I've been attempting to recreate some of the foods I loved in Germany, and near the top of my to-do list was a little pastry called an "apfeltasche" (literally: apple pocket). Every time I walked into the Innenstadt in Göttingen, I would pass this little bakery that had the most amazing goodies: raspberry-and-creme-fraische-filled scones, cheesy bread, marinated chicken pockets...I'm drooling just thinking about them. If I had a choice, though, I would always grab myself an apfeltasche. There was something about the combination of the flaky croissant-like crust and the warm, gooey, cinnamon-apple-y innards that could brighten up even the gloomiest of gloomy days.
I decided that today was the perfect opportunity to try out the recipe I found in my new cookbook, How to Cook Everything. It has recipes, as you would expect, for practically anything you could possibly imagine. I've already tried out a few and it hasn't failed me yet. I figured today would be the perfect day to try out another -- all of my friends were working, it was pouring rain, and my car was on the fritz. Little did I know, apple turnovers weren't going to be the easy-peasy dessert I had thought them to be.
Step one: Core, peel, and grate four tart apples. -- Simple, right? Coring was the first problem. There is actually an implement in my kitchen, purchased long ago, called an "apple corer." You'd think it would have been specially designed to perfectly core an apple, but it wasn't. It's basically a ladle, but instead of a spoon at the bottom, it has a metal ring (supposedly the size of an apple core, but in reality, much too small). At the bottom of the metal ring, it has tiny teeth to eat through the skin and flesh of the apple. Of course, it managed to cut through the skin and flesh of the baker as well. After I bandaged myself up (clumsy people really shouldn't work in the kitchen, but I can't help myself), it was onto the peeling. You'd think if coring was an issue, peeling would certainly give me a couple more band-aids here and there, but I made it out alive. Lastly, the grating. For those of you who don't know, apples are slippery. Apples are especially slippery without the skin. Add a box grater to that mix and you have a recipe for disaster. I'll just leave it at that and let your imaginations run wild from there.
Step two: Mix in fresh-squeezed lemon juice, lemon zest, cinnamon, sugar, and corn starch. -- This step was easy enough, but naturally some of that fresh-squeezed lemon juice managed to leak into one of my freshly-applied bandages. Nothing stings like lemon juice on an open wound.
Step three: Cut sheets of puff-pastry (homemade in theory, but I took the easy way out and purchased some from the store) into squares, place a spoonful of the apple mixture inside, and seal into triangles. -- Also, not as easy as it sounded. My apples were apparently extra juicy (that's what she said) and the mixture kept spilling out over the sides of the puff pastry. I ultimately had to suck it up, dirty another dish, and strain the bejeezus out of that stuff. Once I had solved the seepage problem (I know, I'm making this super appetizing), I sealed everything up, sprinkled sugar on the top, and scored them so they wouldn't explode in the oven.
Step four: Bake in a 350-degree oven for 40 minutes and eat. -- The baking part was a piece of cake, but of course I had to fail in one more way before my baking journey was done. Apparently I was a bit too eager and managed t
o burn myself on, what I can only assume was, 350-degree apple goo. It was worth it though. The apple turnovers were mouth-watering, and although I didn't manage to perfectly replicate my beloved apfeltasche, I still managed to find a base recipe with which I can experiment. I'm sure my friends and family will be more than willing to taste-test all my attempts.
On the menu today: apple turnovers. I've been attempting to recreate some of the foods I loved in Germany, and near the top of my to-do list was a little pastry called an "apfeltasche" (literally: apple pocket). Every time I walked into the Innenstadt in Göttingen, I would pass this little bakery that had the most amazing goodies: raspberry-and-creme-fraische-filled scones, cheesy bread, marinated chicken pockets...I'm drooling just thinking about them. If I had a choice, though, I would always grab myself an apfeltasche. There was something about the combination of the flaky croissant-like crust and the warm, gooey, cinnamon-apple-y innards that could brighten up even the gloomiest of gloomy days.
I decided that today was the perfect opportunity to try out the recipe I found in my new cookbook, How to Cook Everything. It has recipes, as you would expect, for practically anything you could possibly imagine. I've already tried out a few and it hasn't failed me yet. I figured today would be the perfect day to try out another -- all of my friends were working, it was pouring rain, and my car was on the fritz. Little did I know, apple turnovers weren't going to be the easy-peasy dessert I had thought them to be.
Step one: Core, peel, and grate four tart apples. -- Simple, right? Coring was the first problem. There is actually an implement in my kitchen, purchased long ago, called an "apple corer." You'd think it would have been specially designed to perfectly core an apple, but it wasn't. It's basically a ladle, but instead of a spoon at the bottom, it has a metal ring (supposedly the size of an apple core, but in reality, much too small). At the bottom of the metal ring, it has tiny teeth to eat through the skin and flesh of the apple. Of course, it managed to cut through the skin and flesh of the baker as well. After I bandaged myself up (clumsy people really shouldn't work in the kitchen, but I can't help myself), it was onto the peeling. You'd think if coring was an issue, peeling would certainly give me a couple more band-aids here and there, but I made it out alive. Lastly, the grating. For those of you who don't know, apples are slippery. Apples are especially slippery without the skin. Add a box grater to that mix and you have a recipe for disaster. I'll just leave it at that and let your imaginations run wild from there.
Step two: Mix in fresh-squeezed lemon juice, lemon zest, cinnamon, sugar, and corn starch. -- This step was easy enough, but naturally some of that fresh-squeezed lemon juice managed to leak into one of my freshly-applied bandages. Nothing stings like lemon juice on an open wound.
Step three: Cut sheets of puff-pastry (homemade in theory, but I took the easy way out and purchased some from the store) into squares, place a spoonful of the apple mixture inside, and seal into triangles. -- Also, not as easy as it sounded. My apples were apparently extra juicy (that's what she said) and the mixture kept spilling out over the sides of the puff pastry. I ultimately had to suck it up, dirty another dish, and strain the bejeezus out of that stuff. Once I had solved the seepage problem (I know, I'm making this super appetizing), I sealed everything up, sprinkled sugar on the top, and scored them so they wouldn't explode in the oven.
Step four: Bake in a 350-degree oven for 40 minutes and eat. -- The baking part was a piece of cake, but of course I had to fail in one more way before my baking journey was done. Apparently I was a bit too eager and managed t
o burn myself on, what I can only assume was, 350-degree apple goo. It was worth it though. The apple turnovers were mouth-watering, and although I didn't manage to perfectly replicate my beloved apfeltasche, I still managed to find a base recipe with which I can experiment. I'm sure my friends and family will be more than willing to taste-test all my attempts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)