truth or cake

It might seem odd for someone who’s trying to improve the quality of her food choices to dwell on past indulgences. But I have found that one of the very best ways to curb cravings, and revel in successes is to identify and celebrate those truly extraordinary foods that stand, unrivaled, in my sordid dietary past.

Nothing turns me off of that dry, flavorless piece of birthday cake I’m offered like the thought of my first taste of Sweet Streets’ Choc’late Lovin’ Spoon Cake. And I find it much easier to conserve calories throughout the day when the prize that awaits me is the well-preserved perfectly-creamy second half of Lambert’s individual coconut creme pie.

Allowing myself to eat whatever I want proves a fruitful strategy when I often ask the question, “…but is it the best I could have?”

So here I will capture some of those bests, and I encourage you to add your personal favorites, too!

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Cake: Choc’late Lovin’ Spoon Cake, Sweet Streets Desserts, based in Reading PA

“Cake” is such a broad term, really.  In this application, I’m convinced it’s a cleverly-devised misnomer that gives the diner permission to eat a giant wedge of ganachey goodness.  And yes, a spoon really is the proper utensil.

Pastry: Cherry Cheese Danish, Pearl Bakery, Portland OR

Let me start by saying that I really don’t generally like pastry in any form.  It’s always too dry or too flaky.  But this danish is moist and doughy inside, while still crunchy and sugary outside.  The filling is a mix of tangy, local cherries and an unexpectedly crumbly, rich farmer’s cheese.  Despite my plans to experience the variety of foods Portland had to offer while on my visit, I found myself tethered like a yo-yo back to Pearl Street every morning to experience its perfection just one more time.

Cheesecake: Original Cheesecake, Carnegie Deli, New York NY

You know how a young brie has that oozy layer in the center?  If you throw caution to the wind and leave this cheesecake out of the fridge just a bit before eating, its middle also oozes in the most delightful way.  So you have a giant, singular, oozy cream cheese bomb on top of a firm, immensely buttery crust—enough said.

Fruity Item: Apple Crumble, Tea and Sympathy, New York NY

This dessert is as much about the ambiance of the place as the dish itself.  Tea and Sympathy is a tiny teahouse on Greenwich Ave. that usually sports a long line of patrons waiting for a spot at one of its limited, cozy tables.  Loose leaf tea (they have countless varieties) is served in individual pots with all the traditional trimmings.

Save room for dessert, or skip the rest altogether.  The crumble itself is bright and clean, with a lovely crust to fruit ratio, but the real gem is the custard.  Rich and warm, it pools into wells of vanilla bliss amidst the crisp crumb boulders.

Pancakes: Lemon Ricotta Pancakes, The Bongo Room, Chicago IL

While technically a breakfast food, these particular pancakes defy classification.  Flecked with lemon zest and ricotta bits, they most clearly illustrate the cakey origins of the flat discs we usually drown in syrup.  They are savory, rich and satisfying, and accompanied by crushed gingersnaps and smooth brown sugar butter.

Chocolate: Barcelona Bar, Vosges Chocolates, based in Chicago IL

I am a sucker for chocolate in all forms, so picking a favorite was a great challenge.  Lately, Vosges has opened my eyes to a world of new flavor combinations, the most successful of which is the Barcelona bar.  The pairing of deep milk chocolate with crunchy almonds and sea salt may seem pedestrian to those who have long touted the virtues of salted confections, but it totally rocked my budding foodie palate.

Cupcakes: Black and Tan, Sugar Mama’s, Austin TX

While most seem to value light and super-sugary cake, I prefer quite the opposite.  This is the black hole of cupcakes.  Tart gobs of thick, Irish Creme and cream cheese icing crown a rich, dense cake laced with deep cocoa and malty Guinness stout.

Pie: Coconut Cream Pie, Lambert’s Barbecue, Austin TX

I first tried this pie by complete chance.  My family and I had just finished a meal of perfectly-barked brisket, sweet corn muffins and lemony, wilted spinach at Austin’s then new upmarket barbecue sensation.  When we—quite completely sated—refused dessert, the server offered us his complementary dessert of the evening.  ”You must try this pie,” he said.

And now, I pass that advice on.  You simply must try this pie.

The ice-cold, lightly-sweetened filling is worlds away from the gelatinous goop one usually finds in this type of pie.  And the crust—oh the crust!  The texture resembles a cannoli shell, complete with a thin layer of impossibly dark chocolate protecting it from ever suffering a moment’s softening.

Ice Cream: Pumpkin with gingersnaps crushed in, Amy’s Ice Cream, Austin TX

Some mark fall by the changing leaves, but for me, Autumn is truly heralded by the appearance of the pumpkin flavor on Amy’s menu.  As with all of their freshly-churned wonders, the best aspect of this ice cream is the texture.  The pumpkin reaches a special viscosity only achieved with this magical proportion of pure, indulgent milk fat and dense, spicy pumpkin.  It’s almost chewy—in a totally great way.  Crush in some gingersnaps and it’s all the best parts of pumpkin pie.

There are countless milestones in my culinary life.  From my very first memory (“forcing” my father to give me his grown-up cup of lime sherbet punch because I was too big for the sippy-cup, and then feeling guilty about it—that’s telling, eh?), to the palatially-transformative brunch dish I experienced just five days ago.

I imagine many of them will wind up chronicled here over time.

On my mind today are two key moments that brought me here, compelled to share my ideas and experiences with the digital masses.

I cheated and used a frozen crust for this particular incarnation---sacrilege, I know.

My First Original Recipe

I use the word “original” here with trepidation.  I have no delusions of having invented apple pie, or even this particular style of pie.  As in any art, there is always a certain amount of reference in recipe-writing.  Sometimes what results is only a slightly altered rendition, sometimes you get something entirely new and unfamiliar.

What sets this pie apart for me is that this was the first recipe I set out to write.  I had cooked, and had modified recipes my entire life, but had never intended to generate a product that could then be replicated by not only myself through memory, but by other people.  It took steps that are all too familiar now: research, testing, adjusting, testing, adjusting some more, publishing to a small, trusted circle, adjusting yet again, and finally, painfully, deciding that it was “ready.”

This process took me three years.

I certainly don’t use a cookie-cutter process when I write recipes now, but the haphazard way this pie came together still brings me nearly to tears with laughter.  It was an exercise in inefficiency, overspending, and the infinite patience of my family and friends.  I still have nightmares about burnt crumb topping, and get a slightly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when first biting into an apple—I think I tasted over 30 varieties raw and cooked in the search for the “perfect blend.”  It was dizzying, draining and maddening, but above all, completely addictive.

Smoked gouda and barley-filled crepe with baby veg, tomato confit and crisped leeks.

Unlimited Possibility

On vacation in Alberta this summer, I had the privilege of eating at Bison.  I have had many a lovely meal, but none that has opened so many corridors of thought, or has so inspired me to do something about my love of food.

Sitting on the patio as a brisk wind blew in an approaching rainstorm, we were presented with a basket of bread—not atypical of any restaurant experience.  The server informed us it was a special recipe, made just for the restaurant, that had been baked that morning at the Wild Flour Bakery, which—she pointed—was just across the courtyard.

Brilliant!  Local ingredients and vendors, culinary tourism, the significance of sharing a meal…

Watermelon radish.

When my entree arrived, I was speechless.  This is not a problem I often face.  The picture I snapped does not even begin to convey the delicate, intricate presentation of each tiny vegetable and drop of tomato-y oil.  The components of the dish were fairly unusual to me as well.  There were cooked radishes on my plate—cooked watermelon radishes—and they were as delicious as beautiful.

…unique ingredients, atypical uses, plating as art, photography, experiencing food with all five senses…

Upon arriving home for the evening, I immediately went online and entered my best guesses to calculate nutritional information for the meal.  Do not think for a moment that I am on, or would ever advocate, a “diet.”  I’ve just been on a get-healthy kick and find that keeping track of calories in/calories out makes a world of difference in controlling my results.  It was not as bad as I had expected!  Plus, I plan to splurge when going out to a new restaurant, so I had limited my calories earlier in the day.  I also chatted briefly with a friend about my experience.  To my surprise, she was thoroughly interested in what I was saying, excitement over inter-connectivity and all.  Could it be possible?  Did I have a point of view some people might actually care to hear?

…nutrition, indulgence, communication, the Internet.

All of these italics swam in my head.  Others joined in.  It took me a few months to make the leap to this forum, and it will take many more to discover my true purpose and voice.

It is so exciting, and daunting, to realize how many aspects of food there are to experience and discuss.  At present, my idea lists are growing far faster than I can realize them.  So let me know what you think, what you like, what you’d like less of, etc., and hopefully this can become something more than just the ramblings of yet another food blogger.

And if not, at least I’ll have a lot of fun trying!

Wrapping up a chat with a friend, I heard the words that should have generated feelings of warmth and gratitude: “my pleasure.”  Instead, I was irked; irked, and craving a certain brand of over-brined chicken.

What struck me initially was with the way these words evoked such a distasteful reaction once vocalized in my head.  We accept the power of other sensory experiences to trigger memory. The smell of chlorine may take you back to teen summers of lifeguarding.  A favorite old song can bring up a swell of emotion from times long forgotten.  Do those of us with a particular attachment to words link these to memory in a similar, basal way?

But before I let my fascination with the human limbic system take us on a hopeless tangent, let me propose the question that the service professional in me couldn’t help but ask—why on earth would you mandate that every staff member repeat the same exact pleasantry the same exact way every time they interact with a customer?  Surely I’m not the only one who finds this painfully annoying.

Perhaps this sort of scripted speech would make more sense in contexts where interactions are limited.  (I don’t particularly care if my doctor uses the same spiel before every tonsillectomy—it’s a one-time affair.)  But success in the food industry is most certainly dependent on repeat business.

I understand that this isn’t just a random ploy one man thought up to annoy me.  On the surface, it makes sense.  Be nice and your customers will be happy with their visit.  And yet, in this girl’s case, it fails.  I enjoy the product at this particular establishment, and as far as I can tell, the people themselves are innocuous.  But I avoid eating there until my mild hankering explodes into an unrelenting ache for the fried goodness therein.

I would so much rather have a genuine interaction with the person before me.  And perhaps that’s the problem.  Faith in one’s employees to deliver a positive experience without scripting is not something much management possesses.  It takes rigorous hiring practices, patience, coaching and follow-up.  In short, a dedication that not all are willing to give.

So the burden falls on you, repeaters of “Welcome to X-establishment,” and I plead with you, do us consumers, and perfectly harmless phrases, a favor, and can the canned phrases.  Please and thank you.