Dear Food Diary...

Dear Food Diary,

I am proud to report that today marks Day 7 of Gluten–Free living for Carly and me. Not a speck of wheat has touched our lips: no wayward crust off a trimmed PB&J, no nibble off the edge of a lone McNugget, no cookie, no cupcake, no cream puff…no way.

Why gluten-free? Well, we’re not quite sure. To be honest, it seemed like the trendy thing to do and we both wanted some sort of framework to help thwart our inborn gravitational pull toward anything toasted and slathered with a cube of butter. Perhaps cutting out wheat would be the first step toward some sort of self-discipline come feeding time at the zoo.

Well my dear diary, I am not so pleased to report that our results have been less than glowing. After one week of deli sandwich deprivation, our cheeks are not rosier, our teeth do not shine with the brilliance of a thousand suns, our skinny jeans remain too skinny and if Miss Frizzle and her Magic School Bus took a field trip through our lower intestines, she’d travel a windy path still fraught with just as many road hazards as before.

Were our expectations too high? Perhaps. But you know what I’m guessing? I’m guessing that our lack of promised physical, spiritual and emotional transformation has something to do with the fact that both of us have found every wheat-free way to crush our carbohydrate cravings.

Oatmeal is a proven cholesterol-fighter, is it not? Dark chocolate…how else would we get our anti-oxidants? Frozen yogurt…Doc says we gotta get that calcium.

Of course, we might have overlooked the fact that our oatmeal is generally topped with brown sugar and cream, we buy our dark chocolate in Trader Joe's "pound-plus" bars ,and nonfat, soft-serve, frozen yogurt has become a daily obsession, slathered with scoops of crushed Heath Bar, Gummi worms and hot fudge.

Oh, dear food diary…do you think we may have missed the point?

None-the-less, we've been having a little bit of fun with it anyway…trying to cheat the system by creating tasty concoctions sure to fool even the most discerning of palates. Recipe resources are plentiful: the Internet, cookbooks, the lady next to me in line at the grocery store…all of a sudden, it’s a gluten-free world!

It’s funny. You know when you get a puppy, then, like magic, it seems that everyone you know has a puppy too? I remember, that’s how it was when I was pregnant; never noticed all those full-bellied girls before then low and behold, I join the club and I feel like I’m, living in the land of Oompa-Loompas. This past week it seems that everyone from the mailman to the goalie on Carly’s field hockey team considers wheat to be the devil’s grain.

But, back to our adventures in baking…

A few days ago, I finally got to Good Earth in search of a few wacky ingredients I would need to make a zucchini bread recipe I found on the Internet. Why not? Gotta use up that giant mutant zucchini from our garden. The recipe suggested peeling it in stripes which I thought was cool-looking if nothing else.

Perusing the aisles, somewhere between the seaweed snacks and the soy milk, I found the baking section.  “Let’s see…sorghum flour? Check. Tapioca flour? Check. Xanthan gum…seriously? Sounds like something you would use to remove rust from a marine propeller. By golly there it is! Check.”

Thirty nine dollars and eighty-eight cents later, I had everything I needed to make that loaf of bread. It better be good.

Guess what…it was delicious! I even had some left over supplies so Carly whipped up a dozen vanilla cupcakes for a gluten-free gal pal who turns “Sweet Sixteen” today. She found this recipe on the same site noted below.

I must admit, they were yummy too! We had our doubts as the batter was weirdly gummy but when the timer buzzed, we eagerly pulled those funny-looking little cakes steaming hot out of the oven and waived one around for a few minutes until it was cool enough to slather with homemade butter cream before sending it down our deprived gullets. So what that it was 11 pm at night and we were eating cupcakes…they’re gluten-free!

Here’s the recipe for the zucchini bread if you ever feel the need to hop on the wheat-free love train. Me and Carly? Not sure how long we’ll be along for the ride but at least we’re having a few laughs along the rails and learning some new stuff while we’re at it.

First grate the zucchini, squeeze it with a paper towel until it is as dry as you can get it, then set it aside.

Cream the wet ingredients, mix the dry in a separate bowl, then add them to the wet. Mix into this battter the zucchini and the walnuts (say "yes" to Omega-3s).

Spread into an oiled loaf pan into which you have previously placed a sheet of parchment like this.

And, voila...gluten-free goodness: sweet and moist with a crisp but tender crust!

After all of this baking, maybe next week we’ll go Atkins…bring on the bacon!

Gluten-Free Zucchini Bread

Cream together:

• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1/3 cup coconut oil

Add in:

• 2 egg whites
• ¼ cup coconut milk
• 1 tps lemon juice
• 1 tps lemon zest

Stir together in a separate bowl then add to wet ingredients:

• 1 cup sorghum flour
• ½ cup tapioca flour
• 2 tsps baking powder
• ½ tsp baking soda
• ¾ tsp xanthan gum
• ½ tsp salt
• 1 tsp cinnamon

Stir in to the batter:

• 1 rounded cup fresh grated zucchini (really squish out as much moisture as you can using paper towels then fluff with a fork to measure)
• 1/3 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Bake at 350 degrees for 50-60 minutes or until tester comes out clean.

Adapted from recipe found at http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/

Grandpa "Cheese"

I've been thinking a lot about my grandpa lately...which is a little odd since we really never met.

Maybe it's that we were just in Tahoe and I think of him every time we drive by the old King's Beach bar he built with his own hands in the 30's. That's him chopping down the trees...


And here is the finished product! Over the last 80 years it's lived through many incarnations and today, us young folk know the spot as Caliente.






Maybe it's that my Mom just had a birthday and each year I am reminded that, that day many years ago, he welcomed his third baby girl into this world while, sadly, he watched his wife leave it forever.

Here is my beautiful Grandma Alice with her first two girls, my aunts. When Grandma Alice passed in childbirth, her sister Josephine (we called her Grandma Finy) would leave all she knew back home, come to America and raise Mom as her own (and that, my friends, is another story)...

Maybe it's that I heard on the news that the old building in Alameda that housed their dairy and soda fountain in the 20's and 30's is being restored and, under layers of siding and stucco, they found a faded sign touting their State Fair-award-winning cream.

Maybe it's that everyone in the family called the old Swiss dairyman "Grandpa Cheese" and sometimes the thought of that just makes me smile.

Growing up in my family, you probably wouldn’t have found it odd to have a Grandpa named “Cheese.”

Every morning, his daughter (we called her Mom) served our toast with a slab of butter as thick as a deck of cards. "Special" occasions, from Arbor Day to Hanukkah, were frequent, and always warranted a free pass to top anything with a Matterhorn of whipped cream.

The freezer was always jammed with at least four flavors of ice cream and when we’d unwrap the mystery square of waxed paper in our lunchboxes, we’d often find a hunk of Swiss cheese partially covered by an afterthought of two thin slices of Roman Meal wheat bread posing as a sandwich.


French Brie, Danish Blue, Irish Cheddar, Greek Feta…Mom did not discriminate. A United Nations of cheese products always filled our fridge, hurriedly wrapped in a waif-like sheet of Saran and crammed into one of three dedicated drawers like dairy delegates waiting their turn to represent the motherland.


Why would we not have a Grandpa named “Cheese?” He was a huge part of our lives.  He had everything to do with who we are today. But, the funny thing is, us kids never really knew him. We were just babies when he died...


Grandpa Cheese was born in 1889 in the Kanton of Uri Switzerland. His given name was Ambros Furrer and he thrived as a young man along with his brothers and sisters in his mountain home along with the other real-life mountain-dwelling, cow-herding, lederhosen wearing dairymen. Here is the mountaintop village where he was raised, complete with cow.

Here's the way up...

And here are my cousins who operate the lift...to this day...yikes! That's Mom in the black jacket visiting them a few years back.

This is where they live. Come on...does it get more Swiss?

There he met the beautiful and adventuresome Elisabetha (she came to be known as Alice in the new country). They married in 1922, set out to America on their honeymoon...and never looked back.

Doesn't this photo taken on the deck of their honeymoon cruise ship remind you of a scene from The Titanic? A little spooky, I think, until you peer through the mist and notice the sweet smile on my grandmother's face and the proud posture of her loving groom. 

Two little girls soon made a family of four.Together, they settled in Alameda and opened a creamery on Webster Street. Along with making and delivering milk, cream and cheese, word has it that their soda fountain was the place to meet! Grandma ran the business, Grandpa worked the dairy and my aunts were the coolest cats in town.

Even though my mom was never a part of their lives together, I like to think about those days and imagine that somehow they are a part of ours.


So, by now, you've probably figured out that my thoughts and feelings usually manifest themselves eventually into something edible. I've been wanting to experiment with making cheese for a long time, and given my recent need to get in touch with my milkmaid roots, I thought it would be fun to finally make it happen. I got my hands on the ingredients, dug up a recipe on the Internet, and dove in without a whole lot of forethought. Mom stopped by so I handed her the Flip camera and we documented our journey through curds and whey.





I'm pretty sure that the laughs we had along the way were more delicious than the actual end result but, for our first try, I'd have to say that the cheese wasn't half bad. We're looking forward to our next go at it, with modifications, but know that "Grandpa Cheese" would have been proud to see two generations up to their elbows in the family business.


So, here's my thought for the day...take a minute to think lovingly about the ones who came before us...the ones who came from so far away, some by choice, and some by need, to make a better life for themselves and their families. Dig out Auntie Nora's old Irish soda bread recipe or the closely guarded formula for Uncle Guido's famous Bolognese and fill your home with the tastes and smells that bind families across generations.


Bon Appetit, Buon Appetito and Guten Appetit!

Coconut and Karma

Funny how the universe has a way of working things out. Sometimes it takes twenty years...but when payback is due, one must pay.

You see, it was about twenty years ago that I asked two of my best girlfriends to make my wedding cake.

Seriously?

What was I thinking?

Were these gals professional pastry chefs? No. Were they trained in food service or food preparation in any way? No. Were they particularly crafty or foodie? No. Did they even like to cook? I think you know the answer...

The fact was that one of them (Onnie) had recently taken a cake decorating class with her sister and I made the executive decision that she, bolstered by the moral support of our other friend Susi, would be more than adequately qualified to bake, decorate, assemble, and transport a four-tiered wedding cake for 200. Wouldn't they be honored by my request? Wouldn't they be relieved to have their wedding gift choice made for them? Wouldn't they think it would be "fun?"

Never mind that Onnie's experience went as far as the remedial weekend course at Cake Art. Never mind that, at the time, Susi's idea of fine cooking meant that she actually took the tortilla chips out of the bag before serving them. Oh yes...did I mention that Onnie was about 22 months pregnant? No problem.

So, of course, my dear, dear, friends said yes...and the adventure began.

Needless to say, I dictated the cake recipe (one ladened with rich almond paste, sugar and eggs), the filling (wouldn't lemon curd be a lovely addition?), the frosting (a cream cheese buttercream) and a detailed piping pattern straight out of a book called  "Weddings" by some new upstart named Martha Stewart). Not to worry about keeping the rich, buttery, concoction cool. The wedding was in January after all.

Well...it doesn't take Einstein to do the math.: twelve logs of almond paste, ten pounds of butter, eight pounds of cream cheese, four dozen eggs, a small tree full of lemons, a giant sack of cake flour and a bigger one of sugar...add a pinch of inexperience, a 75 degree January day, and what do you get...the leaning tower of cake.

It gets better.  Charlie's dad was, at the time, the president and long-standing member of the golf club where our reception was held. As my friends walked through the door, gingerly transporting each tier to the cake table, the layers continued to shift like lemon-filled tectonic plates before their eyes and the catering manager watched in horror, shaking her head, as the tower began to buckle.

"Do you realize who's wedding this is?" she said to them as they stacked and centered and shimmed. "The groom is the son of a very important member and we just can't have this!" My friends stood there shaking in their patent leather pumps.

She had no idea that they weren't professionals...that they were my faithful friends, delivering a a labor of love filled more with their blood sweat and tears than sugar, eggs and flour.

The florist (thank goodness, another old friend) came to their aid, scurrying around the layers like a frenzied worker bee, shoving ferns and flowers under every divot until, when you looked at it from just the right angle, it shined like the masterpiece it was. I can still see them intercepting me at the entrance of the club before I could make my way to the cake table. They each took me by the hand, looked me sheepishly in the eyes and said, "at least the cake is moist."

It was beautiful. It was delicious. And, I can't imagine a more perfect cake.

Now the payback.

About a year ago, my friend Cherie announced that she was engaged, a wedding was in the works (yay!), and, by the way, would I make the cake (huh)?

OK. So I do like to cook, I've baked a cake or two in my day, I am a little bit crafty, but my "customers" are generally a bit less discerning and my home spun, boxed Betty Crocker creations usually take the shape of a  pink barbie doll, a fire engine or a space shuttle designed to serve 10-12 sugar-crazed kids who's only concern is if they get the piece with the rose.

Will insisted that his macho fire truck have pink roses like all of Sissy's bday cakes

A wedding cake? A creation that will be showcased and immortalized in photos on one of the most important days of my friend's life?  I broke into a flop sweat. "OK kiddo," I mumble to myself, "you're in the big leagues now."

Well, a couple of months passed, the wedding got postponed due to a move and I figured that I had fooled fate and dodged the cake bullet....until I got the call this May. "We're doing it. The wedding's on, it's in June and, by the way, you will still make the cake...right?"

Thank goodness Cherie scored much lower on the "Bridezilla" scale than me. Her only four requests were that the cake have a coconut flavor, that it not be dry, that the flowers match her bouquet and that I use the hand-crafted, monogram topper she ordered that was to arrive a couple of days before the wedding.

Alrighty then...I can do this. For three weeks, I'd lie in bed at night, visions of coconuts dancing in my head. What recipe would I use? How would I prevent a reenactment of the leaning tower? Should I risk adding a flavored filling? Would the layers slide? Was my fate already sealed?

Why even try?

But try I did
.

In the weeks that followed, my family and neighbors ate more coconut than the combined cast of eight seasons of Survivor. Don't like coconut? Don't care. I forced a bite on anyone that came through my door, seeking any opinion on the perfect combination of flavors and ratio of frosting to cake.

So here is my first attempt. I went for alternating layers of super-tangy lemon curd and cream cheese frosting. The thick curd oozed out the sides as I frosted and the unevenly-baked dome-shaped layers really looked awful when sliced...even if I did try to level everything out with gobs of icing. I tried a new coconut cake recipe too, looking for an alternate to my old standby (a recipe from a local cafe) that Cherie remembered as dry!

Ok...test cake #2.  Let's try a less cloying frosting: a Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream and a more subtle lemon curd. I'm gonna use my old standby recipe too (I don't remember it being dry).  Let's even throw some flowers on from the garden to get in the mood...

OK. We're getting somewhere. The layers were not so humpy, the new lemon curd recipe and a combo of filling and frosting in each level versus alternating proved much more subtle. I was way less heavy-handed on the frosting repair too and, dog-gonnit , I'm using my coconut cake recipe...the bride just got out-voted. We also tried a little toasted coconut in the filling layers but nixed that idea...too chewy.

OK. T-minus two days until the wedding...time to get organized. First, under cover of darkness, we stole our lemons from the neighbors trees.

Next, we made four trips to the store for the ingredients...is it really possible I will be using all of this butter? We even had to buy more!

Now, time to make the lemon curd filling and get it chillin'. Butter, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest and eggs, heated and stirred until you can run your finger across the back of a wooden spoon and it leaves a track.

Time to bake us some cakes...

Here's what happens when a teen-aged girl is your sous-chef...

God forbid, our layers aren't level (or someone find a long blonde hair in their slice)...

So far so good: 2 batches of filling made, twelve layers of cakes baked...time to whip up four batches of Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream (that means four pounds of butter), recipe compliments of our friend Christa, a real live pastry chef!

Carly...let's do this thing. First, a little lemon curd...

...a little buttercream...

...just right.

Can't stop...must keep going.

Oh, did I mention that the cake topper (a shell-encrusted monogram of their last name) arrived...

...and although gorgeous, it was almost as big as the cake. No problem. "Carly...get out the glue gun and the hula shells. We've got us a topper to make."

Do you think Cherie will notice that we made a new one half the size? Gonna have to roll the dice on this one.

Let's start to put this puppy together.

We loaded all three tiers and ourselves into the car and arrived at St. Vincent's kitchen in close to one piece. We crossed our fingers and started to build. Sturdy wooden dowels inserted at each level did their work...

...and the improvised topper glued firmly to the top of a sharpened dowel got skewered through the whole tower...this thing was a brick house. Thank goodness Onnie and Susi took the bullet for me on Cake Construction 101. Had mine not buckled, I'd never known the questions to ask to make sure this sucker stood.

I dare you to knock it over!

Now the best part of all...flowers! Carly was genius. I couldn't have done it without her.

Carly...quick...take a picture with your phone! The wedding is about to start!

To our delight, the catering staff had moved the cake to the reception area while we enjoyed the beautiful ceremony. Phew...better them than us! High fives all around when we saw it safely in place.

I think it's safe to say they liked it!

So, when all was said and done, I'd have to say that as far as karmic payback goes, I got off pretty easy on this one. Convinced that the universe would not let me succeed after my torturous request twenty years ago, it turns out that the beautiful gift my friends made for me back then was one that kept on giving. Not only do I smile from ear to ear every time I come across those old photos but , twenty years later, I was able to learn from their stumbles and pay their gift of love forward.

Cheers to you Cherie and Jason. May you look at these photos twenty years from now and smile like I do about times shared with friends and gifts given with the love only a "sister" can give.

Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream

Whisk in the bowl of a stand mixer and place over a water bath (bain-marie) and heat, whisking constantly (be careful not to scramble the egg whites), until the mixture is warm and sugar is completely melted (you should feel no graininess when you rub it between your fingers):

• 4 egg whites
• 1 cup plus 3 Tablespoons of sugar

Remove from heat and whip at high speed until it's cooled to room temp and is light like marshmallow fluff. With mixer on medium-high speed, add soft butter a few tablespoons at a time, allowing each addition to fully incorporate before adding another:

• 1 pound unsalted butter, softened 

Add and beat well:

• 2 teaspoons good quality vanilla

*Note buttercream will look "broken" part way through the mixing process but will come back together as soon as all of the butter is added. May be refrigerated for 5 days or frozen until needed. Return to room temp and beat with a paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.

(The Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet adapted by Christa and Donna)

Here are the links to the lemon curd and cake recipes...

Lemon Curd: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/lemon-curd-tart-recipe/index.html

Comforts Coconut Cake: http://www.tastebook.com/recipes/1283401-Comforts-Coconut-Cake-with-Cream-Cheese-Coconut-Frosting