And then...

…I baked a cake. (More soon.)

"State of Wonder"

After a week filled with driving (Cambridge to North Conway, NH and back; Brookline to Portsmouth, and home) on Friday morning it was a relief to find myself climbing into an airplane instead of a car. Even if it was a tiny plane.

I had a reading scheduled that night in Manchester, Vermont, and so I flew from Boston to Rutland on an 8-seater—gripping my armrest, my seatbelt tightly cinched. As a kid, I never had a problem flying. But as the years have passed, my anxiety has grown. It’s not so bad that I won’t fly. I’m restless and curious and in love with travel. But I can’t seem to banish the few minutes of heart-palpitating fear straddling takeoff. This was no different.

But I had never before been able to see so much of the flight process: how our little plane joined a line of jets waiting to take off, snaking around the runway one after another, pausing before finally blasting off into the air. When we launched into the sky, I could see the pilot pressing buttons, the plane clicking and bouncing, and the buildings of Boston parading below. I watched the land turn from open and farm-filled to tree-lined and hilly. By the time we reached Vermont 40 minutes later, I couldn’t tell if the scraggly white puffs on the horizon were snow-capped mountain peaks or a hazy expanse of clouds.

Manchester is a beautiful little town in southern Vermont. I arrived early and took myself out to lunch. Over the pages of Ann Patchett’s new novel, State of Wonder, I ate a salad filled with heirloom tomatoes, forest mushrooms, and seared salmon. It was hot out, as it was everywhere, and afterward I did some work in the frosty container of my hotel room. With the arrival of Matt, who had begun driving north from Boston as soon as he finished work, we headed out for my reading at the Northshire Bookstore, a huge and hugely wonderful independent bookstore in Manchester Center.

If I’ve learned anything in the last month, it’s that I love readings. I love going to readings. I love reading at readings. It’s been such a joy to meet so many of you interested in the sense of smell, in taste and flavor and cooking. I’ve been impressed by the questions asked and comments made by members of the audience. I knew that writing and publishing a memoir would be personal for me, but I didn’t realize how personal it would be for others. I’m humbled and inspired by the stories I’ve been told.

After the reading, Matt and I drove back to our hotel, and sat on the back porch with a tumbler of whiskey and a glass of white wine, respectively. We began chatting with an interesting couple sitting to our left. This couple was older than us, and before we even began speaking with them, I had been entranced by the way the evening light fell against the woman’s white hair, and the way that the two of them looked so in love. The next thing I knew the drinks had multiplied, it was close to midnight, and the time had come to collapse into bed.

On Saturday Matt and I hit the road. Flying was fun, but driving has allowed us to explore. We meandered along back roads in Vermont, pausing to buy maple syrup and then, later, some cheese. We crossed over to New Hampshire, and slowly wound our way down to Massachusetts—all big trees, gravel roads, and muggy breeze along the way. Matt, a southern boy at heart, says he’s fallen in love with New England through all of the driving we’ve done. I tend to agree.

New Hampshire

Matt and I spent last weekend in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We hiked a lot, and slept even more. Just what I needed.

Tonight I’m returning north to do a reading in Portsmouth. I’ll be at the RiverRun Bookstore. 7pm. See you there? 

 

Coming Up

 

I haven’t been cooking a whole lot. It’s too hot here in Boston. (Right now, sitting at my kitchen table before 7am, I feel like a sweaty piece of salmon, wrapped in parchment, baking en papillote.) When the temperature rises above 90 degrees, my diet revolves around three things: salad, white wine, ice cream. Not the best blogging fodder, but, hey, it works for me.

Other than that? My book came out. It sure isn’t storming the bestseller list, but it’s gotten some wonderful press, and some very kind words, and, damn, I’m proud. (Interested? You can buy it here!)

I want to give you all a little heads up about events coming up in the next couple weeks.

First off: I’ll be at RiverRun Books in Portsmouth, NH, next Wednesday evening (July 20^th) at 7pm.

On Friday, July 22^nd, I’ll be at the Northshire Bookstore in Manchester, VT, at 7pm.

On July 26^th, (Tuesday), I’ll be at the Odyssey Bookshop at 7pm in South Hadley, MA. 

And on that Thursday, July 28^th, I’ll be at a Literary Luncheon at the Where The Sidewalk Ends Bookstore on Cape Cod. (With Jennifer Egan! And Daphne Kalotay!) (Tickets necessary.)

I'd love to see you any/everywhere.

Peas & Carrots

Blueberry Pancakes

The last few weeks of moving, of doing, of the ups and downs and adrenaline that come with public speaking, have been exhausting. Wonderful, but exhausting. And this weekend? I crashed.

I woke up Saturday morning, sat down at my computer, and tried to do some work. But my body ached, my eyelids drooped, and little wisps of anxiety twirled around my ears. A little voice repeating itself: How am I going to get everything done? Ah, that familiar chant. Occasionally it's a comforting one. Sometimes even inspiring. It usually fades away as I dive into my work. But on Saturday, it just wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t think beyond the internal noise. I turned on the radio, hoping to drown it out. I left my computer to go on a run, looking for silence via speed. Nothing helped. So I gave up.

  

Matt and I drove to Brookline, where we ate roast beef sandwiches and salads with aged gouda, peanuts, and crispy shallots at Cutty’s. We went to Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, where we wandered among the new Art of the Americas wing, and then stared at the bulbous, strange glass forms by Chihuly. My favorite moment? Standing on a staircase overlooking the museum restaurant, watching people eat. I didn’t think about deadlines once.
 

And Sunday morning I woke up feeling better. Like I could possibly face the to-do list of the next week. Like I might be able to get everything done. But first I made pancakes. Blueberry ones. And let me tell you: they were good.

Blueberry Pancakes

From Cook’s Illustrated (also known as: my employer)

Light and fluffy, sweet and tangy, these pancakes have the perfect amount of spring. They use milk soured with just a bit of lemon juice, baking soda and powder, melted butter and only one egg. I used fresh blueberries, but frozen would also be fine.

1 tablespoon lemon juice

2 cups milk

2 cups AP flour

2 tablespoons sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 egg

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled

2 teaspoons vegetable oil

1 cup blueberries (fresh or frozen)

Whisk together the lemon juice and milk in a medium sized bowl and set aside to thicken. In another medium bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

Whisk the egg and melted butter into the milk until combined. Make a well in the center of the bowl containing the dry ingredients, and pour the milk mixture within, whisking lightly until just combined. (A few lumps will remain; don’t over mix!)

Heat a nonstick skillet over medium heat for about 5 minutes. Add 1 teaspoon of the oil. Pour ¼ cup of the batter onto 3 spots in the skillet, and sprinkle some blueberries over each pancake. Wait until large bubbles begin to appear on the pancake (about 2 minutes) before you flip them. Cook for 1 ½ - 2 minutes longer, until golden brown. Repeat. (You can keep the finished pancakes warm in a 250-degree oven.) Enjoy.

Lately

Check out Season to Taste in the news! (And come on over to Facebook to stay up to date.) (Thanks, friends.)

Tonight

Hi friends. Just a little reminder: I’ll be at the Harvard Book Store tonight at 7pm to read from and discuss my book, Season to Taste. Hope to see you there!

The First Week

It’s hard to put my mind around all that has happened in the last week. 

I went to New York City.

My book was published.

I spoke with radio hosts, reporters, readers and friends.

There was a party. And then a dinner. (Perhaps) a couple bottles of wine.  

The week was overwhelming. But also fantastic. It was week in which I often had to stop and ask myself: is this real? 

A few moments stood out:

The chocolate cake with cream and cherries at Café Sabarsky, which I shared with Matt on a brief moment of calm.

A long walk through Central Park, taken alone and early, accompanied only by the scent of coffee from a takeout cup in my hands and the sound of Nick Drake humming in my ears.

Leonard Lopate.

The evening I attempted to cook dinner for my brother and his girlfriend, Ashley. Well, attempt is the wrong word. I did successfully pull off dinner: Salmon with a mango-jalapeño salsa, and asparagus, which I roasted with salt, pepper, and parmesan. The problem came later. His apartment, five days out, still smelled like fish. Ah, unventilated NYC apartments. (Sorry, Ben!)

Joan Hamburg.

The Greenlight Bookstore in Brooklyn, which is light and airy with artfully arranged stacks of books. When I read there on Wednesday night, we filled the store with some of my favorite smells: rosemary and chocolate, garlic and cucumber. Laundry detergent, too. (Strange? Perhaps. But, hey, why not?)

And, of course, there was the moment when I stood in the center of a room in the back of a restaurant. The room was filled with family, friends, and colleagues. I had a glass of white wine in my hands. The book-launch party was in full swing. My mother AND my father were there, as well as their significant others. I looked to my right to see my brother, Ben, and my boyfriend, Matt, standing side by side. To my left were some of the scientists and anosmics I wrote about in my book. There were old friends, and new ones. My agent and my publicist. My editor, also named Matt, quieted the room to give a beautiful, moving toast. As he raised his glass—as all of these people who stood by me as I struggled, who watched me as I moved on, raised their glasses, too—I experienced the funniest sensation rising in the back of my throat. I couldn’t tell if it was the beginning of a laugh or a cry. But when it emerged as a smile, I thought my cheeks might burst.

There’s a lot more to write about. I’m going to write about it soon. But right now? I’m back in Cambridge. And I spent Saturday afternoon baking.

My original plan was to leave you with some food rather than further attempts to sort out the messy jumble that is my brain. Because that’s what it all comes down to, right? My love of cooking was the inspiration for my book, the way I got myself through the ups and downs of writing it, one of the many ways I can now celebrate with friends.

But, as often seems to happen, things did not go exactly as planned. 

I baked Joanne Chang's Lemon Bars. I've made these intensely lemony lemon bars a few times now. They aren't quick. Nor especially easy. But I love them. There's nothing more calming, I think, than standing at the stove, stirring a slow-heating pot of lemon curd, watching it move from pale to deep yellow with each swish of my wooden spoon. The moment when it changes from a thin liquid to thick, pillowy curd is magic.

Fresh off the train from NYC, though, I believed that I could complete this recipe without all equipment needed. The last thing I wanted to do was make an emergency run to the market. But I've realized something very important for this recipe, something you shouldn't do without: parchment paper. Because yesterday I baked the shortbread; I made the curd. Together, they came out of the oven a perfect daffodil yellow, jiggly like a very firm Jell-O. But this morning, when I went to slice and serve them, I couldn't get the bars out of the pan. Without the layer of paper underneath, they were completely stuck. Even my sharpest knife would not save more than just a few. I had planned to bring these to a party tonight--looking perfect, of course--and in my frustration, I may or may not have slammed around a few pots and pans.

The carnage was delicious, though. You just need to eat it with a fork from the pan, rather than with your fingers from a cocktail napkin. And I guess it's fitting. The inspiration for my book was food, yes. But it was also failure, and loss, and what it takes to move on. A fork, a pen...whatever. I'm happy to be where I am.

Joanne Chang’s Lemon Bars

From her cookbook, Flour

 

Shortbread

2 sticks butter, unsalted, room temperature

6 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons confectioners sugar

1 egg yolk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup cake flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

Lemon Curd

2 cups lemon juice (about 14 lemons)

1 stick butter, unsalted

¼ cup heavy cream

8 eggs

4 egg yolks

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

First make the shortbread: In a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or use a handheld mixer, or a wooden spoon) cream the butter, sugar, and confectioners sugar until light and fluffy. (This will take about 5 minutes in the standing mixer; 10 in the handheld, or with a spoon.) Beat in the egg yolk and vanilla until combined, another couple minutes. (Make sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula as you go.)

Sift together the flours, baking powder and salt in a separate bowl. Slowly add this to the butter mixture, mixing on low speed until fully combined and evenly mixed. (About 15 seconds.) Wrap the dough in plastic, forming a disk, and then store it in the fridge for at least 30 minutes (and up to 5 days).

Now, make the lemon curd: In a nonreactive saucepan, mix the lemon juice, butter, and heavy cream and place over medium-high heat until just about ready to boil. Meanwhile, in another bowl, whisk the eggs and egg yolks until blended, and then whisk in the sugar. Take the lemon mixture off the heat. Add a tiny bit to the egg bowl, whisking away. Add a tiny bit more. Whisk. Keep doing this, slowly, until all of the lemon mixture is combined with the eggs. Now, pour the entire bowl back into the saucepan and place over medium heat. Cook, stirring constantly with your wooden spoon, until the curd thickens enough to coat the back of the spoon (about 8 minutes). Make sure to regularly scrape the bottom of the pot as you make this so that the eggs don’t scramble.

Remove the lemon curd from the heat. (Chang suggests you strain it through a fine mesh strainer here. I don’t. But I’m sure the curd would be just a bit smoother and more uniform if I did…) Whisk in the salt and vanilla. (You can store this in the fridge for up to 4 days. Just add a few minutes of baking time if you do.)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. I highly suggest you follow Chang's directions to flour the dough disk and two large sheets of parchment paper. Place the dough between the sheets, and roll it out into a  9 x 11 inch rectangle, about 1/4 inch thick. Peel off the top sheet of parchment, and transfer the bottom sheet and the dough into a 9 x 11 inch baking pan. Press the shortbread out with your fingers to fit within. It’s okay if it’s not smooth, but the dough should evenly reach every corner of the pan. Bake for 20 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from the oven and pour the lemon curd on top, spreading evenly across the top.

Bake for 15 – 20 minutes more, until the curd has set and jiggles, as Chang says, like firm Jell-O. Let cool to room temperature on a rack. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours before you cut. And then, of course, enjoy!