Rosemary Citrus Cake with Mascarpone-Honey Frosting

September 24, 2013


"I want to say something so embarrassing about September that even the leaves start blushing and turning red."

~ Jarod Kintz
Autumn has arrived and I've officially reached mid 30-hood. I'm slowing coming to terms with the fact that it's time to let go of the bond I had have with summer (and my twenties). Today, for instance, I'm wearing a nubby oatmeal-coloured, oversized sweater and a pair of grey woolen socks - thick socks; socks that will never slip comfortably into my favourite ballet flats. I'm starting to lengthen my nightly showers, too - trying to postpone that frigid moment when the water turns off and the warmth of the towel is still a few agonizing seconds away. 

I'm moodier during the autumnal months, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. There's a certain, almost raw, clarity of thought that comes from sadness. Writing, if I can escape my inhibitions, is much easier when I'm pensive. And baking becomes a form of creative (edible) expression - at least until I'm brave enough to share my poetry, or finally take up that long pipe dream, acting. Maybe next spring...

Fig Galette

September 18, 2013

Fig Galette | une gamine dans la cuisine


Every now and then I'll wander through the day as though I'm a complete stranger in my own story. Reality feels distant, like hazy winter sunlight. Two hours will pass in what feels like a matter of minutes, bright colours appear muted, and yawns come a little too frequently. I'm not sure why these surreal days occur - too much caffeine the previous evening, strange weather, a shift in the cosmos? Wherever they come from, whatever the cause, they're perfect for reading. Nothing is more appealing to my inner, head-in-the-clouds, introvert like getting lost in a book (preferably when the weather is misty, and grey, and there's a batch of homemade tomato soup and an errant loaf of ridiculously crusty bread on hand).

"Foggy" days, however, are not ideal for making layer cakes, or attempting crossword puzzles with a pen. Last week, after a long day spent reading and several unsuccessful cat naps, I tried to make a birthday cake - it was a disaster. The oven bed still bears a few scars from overstuffed cake pans (I absolutely hate cleaning my oven!). Even on good days my relationship with layer cakes is a shaky one. So until I feel like slipping on the proverbial oven mitts again, I'll stick with what I know. Pies, tarts, and galattes...oh, how I love thee!

Brown Sugar Toffee Cookies

September 12, 2013

brown sugar + toffee cookies | une gamine dans la cuisine


"If one day it happens
you find yourself with someone you love
in a café at one end
of the Point Mirabeau, at the zinc bar
where wine stands in upward opening glasses,
and if you commit then, as we did, the error
of thinking
one day all this will only be memory,
learn to reach deeper
into the sorrows
to come-to touch
the almost imaginary bones
under the face, to hear under the laughter
the wind crying across the stones. Kiss
the mouth
which tells you, here,
here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple
bones.
The still undanced cadence of vanishing."

~ Galway Kinnell, section 5 of "Little Sleep's Head Sprouting in the Moonlight," from Selected Poems

Blueberry Orange Scones

September 5, 2013

Blueberry Orange Scones | une gamine dans la cuisine


Nighttime dreams are fragile. If we allow our minds to revisit them too often, or cling too tightly to their ambiance - they eventually disintegrate like ancient papyrus. Sometimes, if we're lucky, a few are potent enough to leave a soft aura that follows us around all day - a warm, cosy memory that we can run to when reality becomes messy and the afternoon feels uneven.

I had the best dream last night. I hope its nourishing milky images will last throughout the evening. I won't go into intricate detail - as with most dreams it was deeply personal and it would not make sense to anyone outside my silly head. It involved the one who got away. The blue eyes from that day, a little over 10 years ago now, were present. He and I were so happy. Silently happy in a noisy room full of strangers, and so at ease in our silence, as though we had known each other in several lifetimes. And for once...for once I was not afraid of happiness. I didn't feel that anxious bird flying around my rib cage, and the cadet-grey sadness, the one that's almost always in my peripheral vision, was nonexistent. If only reality, with its sharp edges and garish light, could retain such a soft cadence. For a moment, which seemed like a dazzling mere three minutes, the universe itself was purring.

This morning I cocooned myself inside the smoky remnants of my dream and savoured as much hazy bliss as possible. My early companions, aside from Niles (the portly cat), were a strong cup of creamy coffee and a tender scone. With an early chill in the air, I spent the better half of the morning reliving something I'd never actually live through with someone I'd never officially met (yet?). It was lovely.

Dark Chocolate Chunk & Darjeeling Tea Cookies

September 1, 2013

dark chocolate chunk + Darjeeling tea cookies | une gamine dans la cuisine

"september is a month like any other and unlike any other. it seems in september everything awaited will arrive: in the calm air, in a particular scent, in the stillness of the quay. when september comes, i know i'm going to lose myself."

~ Reina Maria Rodriguez, from memory of water

For me personally, September is mercurial. It's my birthday month, it was my dad's birthday month (today would have been his birthday, actually) and it's also the month he died 18 years ago. I was 17, and reckless and carefree...& hopelessly naive. What makes this year surreal is the fact that it's taking me past the halfway point...my dad has been gone longer than the amount of time I knew him. That's a surreal concept - a prickly pill that the throat refuses to swallow. Later this month I'll traverse, hesitantly, into the murky mid-30's. *eep!* Where does the time go?

When I'm over-thinking, second guessing or making an all out fuss over the quality of my food photos (too exposed? too 'green?'), I think of my dad. More than likely he would say, in his low gravelly voice; "Ne t'inquiète pas, mon petit chou." Then he'd grumble something else in French and ask if I was finally finished taking photos already!  ; )
 

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