Pomme à la croque

I like pie. No, scratch that. I ADORE, obsess-over, fantasize-about, wish-I-could-eat-it-all-the-flipping-time, love pie.

And Puddin loves apple pie.

(Image courtesy of mccormick.com)

When "TIFK" rears its ugliest of blackheads, my mom and I often settle down to baking an old-fashioned apple pie. The techniques, the smells, the ingredients...all of it, passed down from her grandmother. We discuss it. We research it. We study it. We whisper sweet nonsense to it.

But after 4 apple pies in a row, and with the apple pie craze still raging, it was time to change. Not too drastically, however. Upset Puddin, and you'll find yourself up to your elbows in melted ice cream and the remnants of fresh whipped cream. Most of which will be on your face, neck, shirt, and armpits.

I never said having an inner fat kid was easy.

Thankfully, there are ways of getting around appeasing my sweet nemesis. In flipping through a cooking magazine at Costco, my genius mom came across the awe-inspiring solution, the very reason for living, the way to appease the gods of the inner fat kid and of the kitchen.

An apple crisp.

Or, in my version, "pomme à la croque".

And, in case you're wondering, I do like to show off my pretentious Frenchiness. Didn't you read my bio?

Anyway, I decided to settle, as usual, on the Joy of Baking's version. You can find the original recipe here:

http://www.joyofbaking.com/AppleCrisp.html

The best thing about this crisp is how the oats and the walnuts give the dessert a great texture. Rather than other crisp recipes, which say to simply pour brown sugar and other nonsense over the apples, leaving you with the feeling that you're about to consume finely granulated sand, this particular recipe gives the crunch worthy of being called a "crisp"-style dessert. No need for fancy kitchen magic here.

Now then, on to the good stuff! She'll be apples! Or...whatever.

Ingredients for the filling:

6-8 Granny Smith apples
Juice from 1/2 a lemon
1 teaspoon lemon zest
3 tablespoons of sugar

Preparing the filling:

Core, peel, and cut the apples. My method: cut the apple in half, from stem to bottom. Now, slice in half along the length of the core. Using Julia Child's method of cutting, slice 1/2-inch thick pieces. You should accumulate a little over 6 cups (I like my apples, and usually shell out 8 cups total).
Immediately toss in the lemon juice. The acidity from the juice will prevent the apples from oxidizing, or browning, keeping them fresher.
Toss, using your hands. Add the lemon zest, tossing again.
Add the sugar and toss.
Set aside.

Now for the crumbly goodness!

Ingredients for the crumbly goodness:

1/2 cup of flour
1/4 cup of sugar
1/4 cup of brown sugar (light or dark)
1/2 teaspoon of ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon of ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon of salt
1/3 cup of oats
1/3 cup of chopped walnuts
6 tablespoons of butter, cut into pieces

Preparing the crumbly goodness:

Set the oven to 375F. Grease a 9-inch deep dish pie pan that looks something like this:

(Image courtesy of foodmayhem.com)

or this:

Now, in a medium to large bowl, add the ingredients. Using your fingers (it actually mixes everything together perfectly), mix the ingredients. You're making the butter get absorbed by the mixture. It will turn dark and tantalizing. And delicious.

Now, in your greased pan or dish, pour in the apples, spreading evenly. Gently pour the crumble mixture over the apples, spreading evenly so that the top is nicely, but not completely, covered. It looks nice if the a few apples are poking out from under their crumb blanket. Almost like they're saying, "Hello! I'm delicious! Om, nom, nom."

Put this wonderful batch in the oven, and bake for 30-40 minutes, until the top looks nice and brown and crispy. The remnant juices from the apples should also be bubbling where it peeks out. This is how you know that it's done.

(Image courtesy of examiner.com)

Let the concoction cool for as long as you like, and serve it with either ice cream or freshly made whipped cream. I make my whipped cream as follows:

Ingredients:

1 carton of heavy whipping cream
1-2 teaspoons of white sugar
1 teaspoon of vanilla

This is the absolute best vanilla to use for whipped cream. The "crushed" part
refers to these tiny, dark remnants of the vanilla bean, adding a strong, smooth
vanilla flavor and a minutely checkered whipped cream. You can buy it at
T.J. Maxx for really cheap.

Pour the heavy whipping cream into your mixing bowl, and begin to beat on high speed. Add the sugar and the vanilla, and continue to beat on high until the peaks begin to form and the cream is to the consistency of your choice. I add less sugar to let the creaminess of the milk and the vanilla stand out a little more, giving your dessert more of a chance to be the centerpiece. The vanilla flavor enhances the sweetness of your dessert and gives it a nice contrast on your palate.

(Image courtesy of cakeflourllc.com/)
No, I still don't have my camera.

In other words, absolutely wonderful. But that's just my opinion. If you want to throw in an entire box of sugar, go ahead. I won't stop you. Your inner fat kid, if you have one, might even encourage it. I just like my dessert's sweetness to speak for itself. Rather, the whipped cream is a sacred accompaniment, like the background violins to a cellist solo.

And there you have it. A simple dessert, a little love, and a raging inner fat kid. The recipe may be simple, but there's actually a little fun to it that makes it worthwhile. That, and you get to assuage the gods of "TIFK". Until the next craving, of course.

Citron beurre cake

From time to time, I am taken by what I've come to call "The Inner Fat Kid" syndrome. My little fat kid dwelling within me is none other than Puddin, my longtime friend and nemesis all rolled into one buttery, bubbly, raging little six-year-old inner child.

Did I happen to mention she weighs 600 pounds?

That being said, it came as no surprise when two days ago at approximately 10pm, in the midst of talking with my mom, I was seized with an inexplicable, uncontrollable, zombie-slobbering need to bake. And soon.

Puddin's demands were high and cryptic:
Cake. Or death. By lack of baked goodness.

Anyone who has or does suffer from "TIFK" syndrome will agree that this is no request. Topple mountains, draw blood if you have to, but get 'er done.
Unfortunately, Puddin didn't leave much instruction beyond the death part. I was stumped. Carrot cake? Chocolate cake?

Pie was out of the question. I had just made (twice) an apple crumble, both of them successes. I was lacking in the cake department lately, and it had been so long that I was at a loss.
Thankfully, Mom suffers from "TIFK", too, and had interpreted a little more out of the message.
"Something lemony," she said simply. "Yellow cake with something lemony."
So, I rolled up my baking sleeves and prepared for the lemony goodness.

Now, this ensuing cake came out of a frenzied daydream, drawing in scattered pieces of easy recipes as I worked in an uproarious contentment. Puddin watched eagerly from the sidelines, hardly saying a word, jiggling her rolls of fat at me like some metaphorical whip. It was an exhausted work of love as I toiled past midnight, keenly aware of how silly it was to begin baking after getting home from work, cooking my own dinner, and preparing the ingredients. But then again, better to face that frenzied exhaustion than Puddin's rage. However, in retrospect, I should've been more conscientious of the daunting aspect that a floured a-bomb had exploded in my mother's kitchen. And word to the wise: never, under any circumstances, let my mother come home to an explosion in the kitchen. Ever.

But the end result was actually good, and as I sat there, Puddin smiling happily, consuming my slice of well-earned deliciousness, poring over World War Z, the clock chiming midnight, I gave my inner fat kid a high-five. The kitchen was even clean at that point.

(Image from http://thekitchensinkrecipes.com/2009/05/15/a-cake-fit-for-brunch/)
...No, I don't own a camera, sadly. Yet.

Here's how to make what I call my Citron beurre cake ("Lemon butter cake"). Begin first with the lemon curd to let it cool in the fridge (you can do it best a day in advance, but I did it all at once and it was fine):

Ingredients for the lemon curd:
3 eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tablespoon lemon zest
6 tablespoons COLD butter

1. Set lower boiler on medium simmer
2. In top broiler, add eggs and whisk vigorously.
3. Add the sugar and whisk until thoroughly combined.
4. Add the lemon juice and lemon zest and whisk until combined (mixing the ingredients at a time with each addition prevents clumping as it cooks)
5. Set over simmering water
6. Whisk vigorously and constantly (I mean it!) for 8-10 mins until mixture is bright yellow, with a consistency of lightly whipped cream; remove from heat
7. Cut cold butter into chunks
8. Add the butter in bits at a time to lemon mix and whisk until melted; continue with the rest.
9. Transfer the curd to a jar or small container, and place in the fridge to cool

Now, on to the yellow cake! I used Betty Crocker's (surprisingly, she's got some good stuff to give) recipe:

Ingredients for the yellow cake:
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 1/2 sticks butter
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
¾ cup milk

To begin:

Preheat the oven to 375F. Grease two 9-inch round baking pans and set aside. In a medium to large bowl, add the flour, baking powder, and salt. Stir until evenly combined with a fork, and set aside.

Cream the butter, and then gradually add the sugar. While many baking recipes say to cream the butter and sugar for 2 minutes, put the mixer on high and let it beat for 12 minutes. This is my mother's genius at work. By creaming the sugar and butter for that long, you get a perfectly creamy concoction that adds a consistency and fluffiness to every cake, preventing them from collapsing in the center.
I love my mom.

Once the butter-sugar mixture has been thoroughly beaten (it should be a light cream color and rather smooth), add the 3 eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Make sure that the bottom is getting mixed; use a spatula to scrape anything clinging to the bottom. Beat in the vanilla.

On to the flour and milk!
Add 1/3 of the flour mixture, and beat until thoroughly combined, scraping down the sides if you need to combat lingering flour bits. Now, add 1/2 of the milk and beat till combined. Add the next 1/3 of the flour mixture and repeat. Add the last 1/2 of the milk and repeat. Add the final 1/3 of the flour, beat till combined, and test for awesomeness.

Spread the mixture as evenly as is humanly possible amongst the two pans, and bake at 375F for 20-25 minutes. You'll know you're on your way to a good cake when the cake is pulling away from the sides of the pans, is a nice golden color, and a toothpick comes out clean.

Set the timer for 10 minutes, and let the little beauties cool. After 10 minutes, flip the cakes over onto wire racks, remove the pans, and let them cool completely.

And back to the "lemony" part of Puddin's demand: lemon frosting

Ingredients for the frosting:
1 1/2 sticks butter, softened
2 1lb boxes (4 cups) powdered sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup lemon juice
1 tablespoon heavy whipping cream

To make:

Cream the butter.
Gradually add 1 of the boxes of powdered sugar (or 2 cups), beating well and thoroughly.
Add the vanilla and beat well.
Add the lemon juice and the whipping cream and beat well.
Add the salt and beat well.
Gradually add the remaining sugar.
Thanks to the acidity of the lemon juice, the frosting may or may not need additional milk added. It should be spreadable and not too thick. Add milk to thin it, add more sugar to thicken.

Is it that easy? Yes. Yes, it is, Puddin.

To assemble the cake:
You can assemble the cake in 1 of two ways:

Way #1:
1. Spread the cooled lemon curd on top of one of the cakes, making sure not to get within an inch of the sides (this will prevent it from oozing out)
2. Place the second piece on top, and frost the cake (if cake moves about, put in toothpicks to hold it steady)
2a. Best way to frost the sides is to place a clump of frosting on the top edge and slowly spread down the sides.

Way #2:
1. If the cake is thick enough, divide with a serrated (and ONLY serrated for slicing) knife.
2. Spread lemon curd on bottom piece, cut side up
3. Place the second piece, cut side up, on top
4. Spread the lemon FROSTING
5. Place the third piece on top, cut side up
6. Spread lemon curd
7. Place final piece on top, cut side up
8. Frost the cake

And that's how you give in to the inner fat kid.

Greetings, and welcome to Chocofasucre!

As is typical of most people these days, I have decided to share my obsession with the rest of the unsuspecting internet surfers of the world. The fact that you are here adds fuel to the fire (or heat to the oven), and your reward will be to witness the sweet combination of all things chocolat (chocolate), farine (flour), and sucre (sugar).

The title, as you may have noticed, is French, indicative both of my pretentious need to express my "Frenchiness" and my association, however loose, with the culture. I spent a year living and studying in Paris, and, as such, became completely obsessed with all things baking and all things food. Imagine the sweet pleasantries of strolling the streets of this old city early in the morning, the cold mist nipping your nose. Like a wraith in the dim light, a subtle scent reaches that nose long before the light under a rickety door comes to your sight.
That smell is dangerous; it will ensnare and seduce you. It is but one beautiful dance occurring behind that closed door, one perfect balance of magic and love that plays out in that wonderful place where the oven is always hot and the apron always covered in flour.

Sugar and butter baking together, mixed with the magic of flour.

Do you smell the rustic, sensual scent of melted chocolate? Perhaps the citrus tinge of lemon mousse? The promised taste of marzipan?

Have you ever let your tongue be burned by a piping hot piece of bread, fresh from the oven, your hands trembling because you simply cannot wait?

Yes, this was my life for one year. Nostalgia is terrible.

Which is why, amongst other things, I began this blog, in the hopes that, in sharing my baking adventures and misadventures with anyone who reads this, I can share a bit of that Parisian magic that I will never forget.

As Julia Child would say, Bon appétit!

And, as the Chairman of Iron Chef America would literally screech, A la cuisine!