Archive

sweet thang

Yesterday was dedicated to making sweets. And watching football and drinking beer. But mainly making sweets.

Breakfast was simple yet elegant–crepes with blueberry compote. I handed this dainty breakfast to my six-foot, bearded, mid-western S.S., who gobbled it down in mere seconds. I tried to be a bit more refined about it but failed miserably, and the whole thing was gone in less than two minutes.

I used this recipe for the crepes. The compote was easy to prepare and took no time at all: in a small saucepan over low heat, combine blueberries (I used frozen, but fresh is preferred when in season), sugar, the zest and juice of a lemon, and a small pinch of salt. Cook until the blueberries just begin to break down.

Spoon the warm compote generously over crepes (or waffles or pancakes or, hell, even ice cream).

One of the most comforting foods I’ve ever known is cinnamon toast. Growing up, my dad was the one to make my breakfast. Often it consisted of a Breakfast Hot Pocket, or a Toaster Strudel, but on a good day, my dad would make cinnamon toast. Last week, in an effort to ease my pre-midterm nerves, I whipped up a few slices:

My parents had made me a loaf of homemade white bread, which I toasted and then topped it with a generous smear of butter and a good sprinkling of sugar and pumpkin pie spice (though, as the name suggests, cinnamon is the more traditional route).

My mom years ago told me when she was younger she loved dipping potato chips in ice cream. The combination sounded like something a crazy pregnant woman would crave. But then I thought about the harmonious relationship between a milkshake and French fries, the way they work symbiotically to produce something greater than the sum of its parts.

This weekend I gave in, and regretfully allowed a witness to such gluttony. Next time I’ll do this in secrecy, in nothing but a pair of forgiving grandma panties.

So what I’m saying is, Mom was right. Again.

After a dinner of frozen foods, the microwave continued to reign into dessert.

As is typical in my apartment, there was a minimal selection and I was getting desperate. It didn’t help that I was flipping through one of Lidia Bastianich‘s cookbooks, making the situation all the more humiliating. But there, on page 23 of Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy, was a recipe for baked apples. Now we all know that I was in no shape to make her version; but, with my microwave in gear, I made a simple dessert that was done in no time.

Core an apple, leaving the bottom intact. Fill with brown sugar, pumpkin pie spice (or any combination of warm spices) and a very small pinch of salt. Top with a pat of butter and microwave on medium power until the apple is cooked through (for me, it took about eight minutes).

I recently began formulating a menu for a project at The FCI. Instead of starting from the beginning, I went backwards and made dessert. Everyone, meet Apple-Bacon Pie.

I won’t go on and on about how incredibly the savory bits of bacon melded with the sweet apple filling and the spice of the gingersnap crust, I’ll just direct you to the recipe and encourage you to make it yourself. We can all thank (or curse) Mims Bledsoe of The Pie Shop in Atlanta, Georgia, for her genius.