Daring Bakers Challenge October 2009

Better late than never!

The 2009 October Daring Bakers' challenge was brought to us by Ami S. She chose macarons from Claudia Fleming’s The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern as the challenge recipe.

French macarons, a dessert I had never before tried, comprised October's Daring Bakers Challenge. I was very excited for this challenge as I had seen the small, colorful macarons on various food blogs. They have a reputation of being very finicky, requiring meringue at just the right firmness, whipping in the almond flour with a spatula but not overwhipping, and baking at the right temperature. In the end (after a couple of tries), they turned out great! I chose to make the basic recipe and fill with buttercream.

Many of the Daring Bakers were having difficulty with the original recipe, so I ended up using this one.

Leonard Husbandry

Man is frequently messing with nature for his own benefit. Left to their own devices, animals will perform tasks to suit themselves under specific conditions. For example, in nature the honeybee will arrange its hexagonal honeycomb into clusters of whatever shape dictated by instinct or maybe even artistry. However, when placed into the modern hive, the honeycomb will be arranged in an orderly fashion onto the provided foundation slats, making it easy for the beekeeper to slip out those slats and take the honey as needed.


Leonardism: Having worked for years as a tool man at Sears to help put himself through school, my Leonard is handy. He doesn't shun from the necessary "man-chores" around the house, and actually seems to enjoy them. With level and drill in hand, he keeps our home in tip-top shape. Leonard prefers to work his magic during his downtime, such as a late Saturday morning after adequate sleeping in or on a lazy day off. Under those conditions, Leonard will happily hum as he busily tends to our home's needs. When a job is finished, we'll both admire his handiwork as I sing his praises and he smiles and puffs out his chest. It's a nice arrangement. Every now and then, however, I feel the need to ask for his handy skills at a not so convenient time.

Documentation is vital to every good experiment

Last week I decided I'd had it with our utility closet. Low on the priority list after we moved in, we'd been using it as a receptacle for anything related to cleaning, with mops, broom, and ironing board leaning against the walls. Disorganized and not living up to its functionality potential, I couldn't stand it anymore. I had bought some organizational accessories awhile back, and decided that I couldn't wait another day before they were hung. It was an evening after work, and I knew this wouldn't sit well with Leonard. My mind raced back to my Undergrad days in Biology. I had the perfect specimen for the job at hand, but the wrong conditions. If I could only manipulate those conditions to become more favorable, perhaps the test subject would perform. It was a good hypothesis. I mentally listed the needed conditions:

Condition 1: baseline overall feeling of contentment
Condition 2: accessibility of needed supplies
Condition 3: sense of importance and need
Condition 4: post-task praising, to ensure future success

Dinner was made. I waited for Leonard's compliment: "Thanks, Honey that was great!" he said smiling. Condition 1 - accomplished. Quickly, before he was able to maneuver to the couch for well-deserved resting, I diverted him to the laundry room, where his tools awaited, organized and ready. Condition 2 - check. I could sense his unwillingness, so I smoothly transitioned to reminding him how grateful I was that he was so handy and our home wouldn't function so well were it not for his skills. Condition 3: condition met, with a smattering of guilt. Leonard sighed, picked up his tools, and went to work. When he was finished we had a perfectly organized utility closet. Hands on hips, I shook my head in wonder saying things like "Wow, that's amazing," "Handy, handy man!" and "look at you go!" Leonard's reluctant exterior faded, and he bashfully smiled. Condition 4 - cemented.

The Completed Closet

Look out, Leonard. Next time I might decide to rearrange the living room furniture at 2 a.m.

Farm Girl, City Girl

The view from my parent's front porch

I grew up out in the country. My family moved from our red brick house on a quiet street to an 80 acre span of hillside 5 miles outside of our small rural town when I was 11 years old. Growing up on a hill surrounded by fields was a wonderful experience. I'd hop off the bus and walk home, then go exploring the countryside with Sherman and Betsy, the world's two best dogs. In the fall if my mom needed an onion for a recipe, it was only a matter of grabbing one from a nearby field. In the summertime I'd awaken to the sound of crop duster planes flying close to our house. On my then-tween little sister's birthday, we sang karaoke late into the night without any worry of neighbors being disturbed. Although the situation turned my mom into a 24 hour taxi service into town, the advantages of the peaceful country life had me convinced that was what I wanted in the future.

Me and my roommate Anica on the balcony of our apartment in Spain, 2001

This conviction was challenged when I spent six months abroad in Spain. Although the city I was living in wasn't a metropolis, it was large and compact. I learned that what the city lacked in space it made up for in accessibility and culture. Within a half of a block of my apartment I had access to a bread store, coffee shop, candy store, and park. I spent hours walking the streets of the city, stopping occasionally to sit with the old men at the train station or to drink a glass of peach juice at a cafe while people-watching. Every open space was shared, and I never felt more social.

When Leonard and I became serious, we'd talk a lot about our future. What would life be like after school? Who would be in charge of the dishes? What would work be like? But most of our conversations settled around the question, Where would we live? I tried to convince Leonard to live in a city, at least for a few years. I even tried talking him into applying to P.A. schools in New York City but it just wasn't his thing. So I painted a picture of life in the country, with chickens and an overabundant garden. He'd be fine with that, just unsure if it would work out right away. "What about the suburbs?" he'd say. "We'd be close to things, but still have a nice yard, and our kids could have friends nearby." I'd suddenly get a case of the 'dry heaving because the thought of that disgusts me' attacks. Leonard would smile, and we'd move on to musing over whether our firstborn would have dimples or facial hair. For me, future home location was either city or country, black or white. I wasn't open to anything in between.

A chilly fall morning in the 'burbs

We now live in the suburbs. In the most suburby of subdivisions in the first and largest suburb of a not so large city. We live on a street where mailbox stands are shared between neighbors, and if the weeds in your lawn get out of control you get a friendly notice in the mail. But we also live 5 minutes from work and just a short trip to the nearest Costco. Walks around the neighborhood result in a minimum of three conversations with people who are also out and about. Neighbors are more than happy to lend their tall ladder or give a cup of sugar when needed. Afternoons are filled with people riding bikes and the sound of kids playing basketball. I still occasionally dream of skyscrapers and chickens, but I've come to learn that maybe I am a Suburb girl after all.

Daring Bakers Challenge September 2009

The September 2009 Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Steph of A Whisk and a Spoon. She chose the French treat, Vols-au-Vent based on the Puff Pastry recipe by Michel Richard from the cookbook Baking With Julia by Dorie Greenspan.

I've been stalking the Daring Bakers for over a year now, and finally got the courage to join. Every month includes a challenge with specific restrictions. The terms of the challenge this month were to create the cup-shaped Vols-au-Vent pastries, but I had full reign over how to fill them.

I chose two different types of fillings: sweet and savory.



My sweet filling consists of a hardened layer of dark chocolate with a central dolop of vanilla mousse. I was inspired by a pastry I enjoyed while living in Spain.

This is my savory pastry - the cup is filled with a layer of thin small potatoes topped with a layer of thinly sliced Spanish Sweet onions and drizzled with a balsamic syrup. I was inspired by the bag of humongous onions I have in my pantry that came straight from my Dad's shed. Thanks Dad!

I knew they were a success when Leonard asked, "Do they have a challenge every week?" I've never made puff pastry before and the whole experience was a lot of fun. The pastry is very versatile and I look forward to being more creative with it in the future.

For more info on Daring Bakers, go here.

Wigging Out

Today my patient told me my hair looks like a wig.

I took note of her bright pink scrunchie and breakfast-encrusted collar and thanked her for the compliment.

Labor Day 2009

This Labor Day Weekend I:

Sutured a scalp laceration
(sorry, picture not available)

Made a birthday cake:

Hung out with family and friends visiting from out of town:

Leonardism:

I Can.

I've decided that canning is going to be a part of my life. I courted it last year with grape juice, applesauce, and apple pie filling. The year apart was tough, and when we finally met up again this summer I realized that I'm not whole without it.

Last week Leonard and I canned peaches. We began at the orchards where we bought 40 lbs of thin-skinned blemish-free peaches from a surprisingly spry old farmer. We chatted as we blanched, peeled, stoned, and heated the fruit. We scrambled while packing the hot fruit into the hot jars. We furrowed our brows and consulted one another as we examined each bottle for air bubbles. Our eyes met with proud smiles when the lids would plink indicating a seal. Once our 20 quarts were processed they stayed on our table for two days, just so I could look at them.

I think one thing I like about canning is that the attention to every step in the process contributes to the overall quality of the product. I also love the thought of preserving delicious summer and fall flavors for later in the year. I'm definitely a beginner, and I've got a lot to learn.
These are the tomatoes we recently canned. We bought them from our 87 year old neighbor. Behind his house is a huge plot with hundreds of squash and tomato plants. He cares for his wife with Alzheimer's and grows delicious tomatoes he sells for 30 cents/lb. His wife can no longer can, so he does it all himself. Two teaspoons of sugar and one teaspoon of salt for every quart is his preferred recipe. He told us he only buys one tomato per year, when he has a BLT craving in the middle of the winter.
Canning takes effort and patience. I talked to my sisters on the phone while peeling these tomatoes. I also listened to music and spent some time thinking about important things. Like how tomato red would make a great accent color in my kitchen.

I've never really thought of how I would be described when I pass from this world, but I'd like "avid canner" to be in there somewhere.

Garden Dreams

Just over one year ago I was in central Oregon on my General Surgery rotation. When I wasn't doing exciting things like suturing skin back together, clamping arteries, controlling the camera during laparoscopy, inspecting newly resected bowel for tumors, inserting catheters, and being agressively quizzed about the indications for endoscopy, I was standing and waiting. Surgeries can last for hours at a time (the longest was seven!), and sitting is considered wimpy.

During these long stretches of time I became a master daydreamer. While maintaining steady pressure while retracting back layers of tissue, I was designing the perfect birthday cake. As I forced my eyes to appear interested and earnest as I observed the surgeon perform the twentieth gallbladder removal I'd seen, I created throw pillows for my home. While holding up the pannus of a morbidly obese woman during a hernia repair, Leonard and I were on a beach enjoying the perfect vacation.

The majority of my daydreaming time, however, was spent in my future garden. It was huge, with rows upon rows of peas, corn, carrots, and other produce that I had raised from single seeds. In the late morning, wearing my fashionable gardening apron that I had designed during an appendectomy, I would weed, fertilize, and tend my garden. While Leonard looked on sipping homemade lemonade whose recipe I had pondered during a colonoscopy, I was harvesting my crops. While repetitively contracting and relaxing my leg muscles to prevent fatigue from prolonged immobility during a long operation, I was cooking my harvest and pouring the product into canning jars outfitted with labels that bore the name "Farmer George Canned Goods," a title I had come up with during a fine needle biopsy. These moments in my imaginary garden were a respite from the intense, sleep deprived life that I had voluntarily signed up for. The garden represented all things that my life was not: slow, calm, relaxed, balanced. Scolding myself for the infliction I had put myself through, I vowed that my gardening dreams would be a reality the following spring.

Here we are now, over one year later. Leonard and I moved into our home too late in the season for a sizeable garden, and had to settle for a few plants in our backyard flower beds. Next year we plan on having raised beds, and my gardening dreams should come true. Still, some part of me feels I have betrayed my one year younger self. That is, until the other day after work, when Leonard and I were in the backyard. We noticed that a small, green tomato had erupted from one of our tomato plants. Excitedly, we inspected this small fruit and made plans for late summer meals. I realized then that my dream of a slower, more relaxed life had come to pass. There is a season for everything, and now is a time of transition. Over the next year I've got to plan and execute my design for raised beds, and of course sew the perfect fashionable gardening apron. I think surgery Megan with her dark under eye circles would approve.