Croissants

Not too long ago, I decided it would be good for me to face my fear of heights by skydiving. I am naturally quite timid when it comes to "extreme" sports, but the opportunity arose, and after much anxious waffling, I opted to participate. One freak accident and 10 stitches later, I found myself hobbling around on crutches. To console myself, I made a list of all the things I'd do when I was well -- learn to surf, go white-water rafting, maybe even attempt a triathlon! Because life is too short to let fear limit one's adventures, right?

Since my recovery, I've managed to keep the unspoken promise to myself not to let my fear keep me from enjoying life ... in athletics, anyway. Baking is another matter. When a close friend and her boyfriend recently moved to the Bay Area, they asked if they could commission me to bake croissants. And despite all those shiny new "carpe diem" resolutions posted in my brain, I immediately laughed off their request. Homemade pastry? Are you kidding? Mind you, I didn't have past croissant trauma -- I was simply too afraid to even try.

The disconnect only hit me weeks later, as I was dressing in the morning. I reached down to pull a sock over the new and impressive 4"-long crescent-shaped scar on my ankle, my skydiving badge of honor. And then I realized that I was more eager to hurl myself out a plane thousands of feet in the air than I was to attempt homemade pastry dough. It is an odd thing to realize that one's fear of failure surpasses one's fear of bodily injury. Odd and rather pathetic. Both humbled and inspired, I decided to sail forward into the Croissant Sea, knowing full well that the potential for failure loomed ahead. But after one false start, I managed to figure it out -- thanks to a fantastically explicit recipe and the support of my loved ones.

This recipe yields rather small but absolutely delicious croissants. They passed both of the two very important tests administered by the original requester and her guy. She grabbed one end of the crescent and tugged, revealing the soft, almost feathery interior, and proceeded to eat the thing a few layers at a time. Her boyfriend immediately took a large bite, yielding the satisfying "light crunch" sound that only comes from eating flaky pastry, and a smile that took up approximately 30% of his face. Plus, it made my house smell like that of the witch in Hansel and Gretel (read: heavenly), and gave me a renewed sense of power and purpose.

So the next time I get the urge to cower at the prospect of a challenge, I know exactly what I'll do. Instead of having to glance at my grisly scar, I'll simply pop one of my (now frozen) croissants into the oven, enjoy it while it's almost too hot to eat because I can't wait for it to cool, brush the crumbs from my face, and proceed boldly into the face of danger. If it works out, great! If not, at least I've got a freezer full of croissants.

--> Get recipe here

Zucchini Pineapple Cupcakes

Most everyone feels the need to have a space of their own, but perhaps no one feels it so acutely as those who have siblings. There's something about having to share and being treated equally by one's parents that tends to bring out the unadulterated desire to have things that are Just For You. At least, that's how it worked for me.

In all fairness to my parents, there weren't too many things I had to share with my sister. Truthfully, being the older child actually afforded me far more opportunities to be the first in, well, pretty much everything. Yet despite all the advantages of my birth order, I nevertheless became wholly consumed with the thought of having my own bedroom.

Did I, in my 7 year-old wisdom, have some master plan for the space I felt I so deserved? I can't recollect any. Though I suspect I would have been perfectly content just to fashion myself a construction paper crown and lord over invisible subjects in my newfound bedroom realm with an iron fist.

No, it was simply a matter of principle. Although I'd had my own room 3 years prior to my sister's arrival, I felt I had been too young to appreciate it. So one afternoon, I picked up my favorite blanket and pillow and wandered around the house, going from room to room attempting to annex each as my very own. Of course, I got kicked out of each room just as quickly, particularly since I chose absurd places like the bathtub or beneath the piano bench as my home base.

Now that I'm grown, I no longer have any need to stage a coup when I want some space of my own. It is a supremely comforting feeling to be able to set out some butter, turn on the oven, and transform my humble kitchen into the kingdom I've always wanted. And as an added bonus, I can free my inner dictator with countless decrees. (Never tap the measuring cup while measuring flour! Always be careful when using extrafine sugar because it clumps easily! No recipes that use pre-made cake mixes!)

Luckily for these Zucchini Pineapple Cupcakes, they followed all the rules of my kingdom and did not have to feel my wrath. They are 100% cake mix-free, and also moist but not oily, fresh but not too vegetable-tinged, and not so sweet that you feel your blood sugar skyrocket upon consumption (but sweet enough to benefit from the slight tangy bite of the piece of pineapple atop each one). The recipe has them as a sheet cake, but I simply used cupcake pans instead and reduced the baking time -- start checking around 20 minutes. So if you're ever feeling overrun, take a moment to kick everyone out and reclaim your rightful place on your kitchen throne. Because it's good to be King.

Red Velvet Cupcakes

In elementary school, my parents were the ultimate bake sale team. Mom's fantastic baking skills coupled with Dad's insistence that when a kid lays down a quarter, he should get a substantial sweet. This meant that he ensured all our treats were oversized. As mom put it, we were hosting our own Monster Cupcake Rally.

It's no surprise, then, that our goodies sold first, putting the smaller or storebought items to shame. This prowess was a great source of pride for me, so I had a bit of swagger each time we packed up the cupcakes to carry them to my classroom. One day we outdid ourselves with gargantuan minicakes covered in a homemade pink frosting. I recall my mom's prophetic voice warning my dad that he was overloading the box I was to carry, saying I would certainly drop them. Dad and I issued a collective scoff and forged on without heeding her words.

You can see where this is going. When my mom and sister pulled up to the school to deliver the rest of the goods, they glimpsed Dad and me, busily picking up cupcakes from the grass, with bits of pink frosting evident in my hair. In my defense, it was a hidden sprinklerhead (that, and my folly) that caused my undoing. And although we managed to salvage most of the cupcakes, my pride remained forever damaged.

For many years, I harbored some resentment toward cupcakes, irrational though it was. No matter how much sugar they contained, the thought of pink frosting in my hair left a bitter taste in my mouth. Until, of course, my mom and sister managed to swoop in (just weeks ago) with a cupcake so tasty, it should be called The Reconciliator -- as opposed to its actual name of Red Velvet. These cupcakes were the first to put my skepticism and post-frosting stress disorder to rest. This recipe yields cakes that are moist but not oily, complex but not flashy, and sport a cocoa-to-cake ratio that's balanced just so that you can detect the chocolate flavor without being overwhelmed by it. Their delicious simplicity was enough to make me think that perhaps cupcakes and I can have a happy future together after all. But no pink frosting just yet. Baby steps!

Red Velvet Cupcakes
Adapted from Paula Deen's recipe here

Ingredients

• 2 1/2 cups cake flour
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons cocoa powder
• 3/4 cup vegetable oil
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup buttermilk, room temperature
• 3 large eggs, room temperature
• 2 tablespoons red food coloring
• 1 teaspoon white distilled vinegar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the Cream Cheese Frosting:

• 1 8-oz package cream cheese, softened
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 4 cups sifted confectioners' sugar
• Chopped pecans and fresh raspberries or strawberries, for garnish

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line 2 (12-cup) muffin pans with cupcake papers.

In a medium mixing bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, and cocoa powder. In a large bowl cream the butter and sugar together with a wooden spoon. In a Pryex liquid measuring cup, gently beat together the oil, and buttermilk, and then add this to the creamed butter/sugar mixture. Then add the eggs one at a time, food coloring, vinegar, and vanilla with a handheld electric mixer for ~2 minutes, until thoroughly mixed. Add the sifted dry ingredients to the wet and mix until smooth and thoroughly combined.

Divide the batter evenly among the cupcake tins about 2/3 filled. Bake in oven for about 20 to 22 minutes, turning the pans once, half way through. Test the cupcakes with a toothpick for doneness. Remove from oven and cool completely before frosting.

For the Cream Cheese Frosting:

In a large mixing bowl, beat the cream cheese, butter and vanilla together until smooth. Add the sugar and on low speed, beat until incorporated. Increase the speed to high and mix until very light and fluffy.

Garnish with chopped pecans and a fresh raspberry or strawberry.

Cook's Note: Frost the cupcakes with a butter knife or pipe it on with a big star tip.

Whole Wheat Beer Bread

When you're growing up, adults like to tell you that the easy way is never the right way. Thinking about it now, I can certainly understand that logic. You want your kids to do their homework and not assume that if they're good, some wealthy childless candy baron will make them the heir to an endless chocolate-based fortune. As lovely a thought as it is, one cannot put all one's hopes on a golden ticket.

But there are many instances in which you realize that shortcuts do boast inherent value. I'm not talking about shortcuts like the unmarked road off the highway that inevitably leads somewhere you don't really want to go. No, I am talking about genuine shortcuts -- the ones that yield the desired result with less time and less effort -- as with derivatives.

The first time students are introduced to derivatives in calculus, they are usually given the lengthy, needlessly complex assignment of doing them by hand. You spend an inordinate amount of time working it out, only to find that the next day, the teacher shows you a trick that gives you the same answer in the fraction of the time it originally required. Are you happy to have learned the trick? Of course. Are you put off that you devoted hours (okay, perhaps only several minutes) of your life to executing something that could have been done much more efficiently? A thousand times, yes!

There are, sadly, very few instances in life in which shortcuts are so tidy. Fortunately for all involved, this recipe for Whole Wheat Beer Bread just happens to be one of them. This loaf will not replace a fancy baguette, nor will it have the complexities of a sourdough boule made from ancient starter. It will, however, provide you with a fresh loaf of homemade bread that is both hearty and tasty, requiring no rising or water of a particular temperature. Slice it thick and toast lightly to best experience the full effect of the bread's density paired with its internal softness. Pull a slice apart with your fingers, take a bite, and feel proud of yourself for not only creating something delicious and amazing (with a fantastically craggy crust), but for sticking it to your high school calculus teacher by going straight to the shortcut.

Fleur de Sel Caramels

I have always been a very impressionable person. Call it weak-mindedness if you must, but it's true; my suggestible nature has a history for nearly getting me into trouble. After watching The Mighty Ducks, I got it into my head that playing hockey was part of my destiny. Luckily, my mom had the sense to derail that ambition early on, as my combined lack of physical coordination and the rigidity of cold, hard ice would not have mixed. I recently watched a wiry woman at the gym use a wall to balance herself in a handstand and execute the first and only upside-down push-ups I have ever witnessed. I toyed with the idea of attempting them myself, but thankfully, my boyfriend ensured me that such a venture was more likely to land me in the hospital than in annals of history as a victorious athlete.

Alas, there are times when even my ever-vigilant friends and family cannot prevent me from plunging headfirst over the Ledge of Bad Decisions. When I was seven years old, there seemed to be a neverending stream of television commercials advertising products that detangle the unruly locks of the everyday woman. They all followed the same formula, showing a frustrated lady with a comb or brush hopelessly entangled in her hair, lamenting the "tangles and knots." This image was of course followed by a depiction of the miracle-working product and the woman easily executing her desired grooming.

Any rational child would be inspired to complain to her mother, begging her to buy said product, in order to deal with her own tangles and knots. But along with my tendency for suggestibility, I have always also harbored intense impatience. So rather than wait for mom to show up, I instead took a pair of blue-handled kid scissors, meandered over to the nearest trash can, and bitterly cut out each of the knots I found in my own hair. The stupidity of said act didn't even occur to me until my parents suspiciously asked me how large clumps of my hair had somehow ended up at the bottom of our plastic (and regrettably translucent) trash bag. Rats. So I ended up with a compulsory trip to the hairdresser and a pixie-ish new cut, which left me looking like a boy. As did my long-suffering younger sister, for the sake of sibling matchery. Poor girl.

These days, my whims have far fewer drastic consequences. In fact, I thank my lingering suggestibility for these Fleur de Sel Caramels -- without it, Ina Garten's delicious treat would never have tempted me for a moment. The caramels are incredibly soft and rich, but the sweetness is well-balanced because of the salt both in and on the candies. Ina makes hers absolutely enormous, but I found that cutting them smaller made me enjoy them much more. Plus, then you have more to give as gifts. Particularly if you owe someone bigtime for causing her to endure an unattractive haircut for a key year of her youth. Whoops.

Fleur de Sel Caramels

Adapted from Ina Garten

Equipment needed:

Deep saucepan (as the caramel will bubble up violently at one point in the process, so high sides are needed to prevent messes and burns)

Small saucepan (for cream/butter/salt mixture)

Candy thermometer (can be found at kitchen supply stores, as well as some grocery stores)

8" x 8" baking pan, lined with parchment paper and lightly oiled with vegetable oil

Shopping notes:

- Fleur de sel is a fancy French sea salt, but regular sea salt will work nicely instead of the fleur de sel

- Heavy cream spoils very quickly, so unless you have another recipe on hand to use up the heavy cream (sometimes also billed in the grocery store as whipping cream), I would recommend buying the smallest container the store has to offer. Just make sure that it contains at least 1 cup.

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup light corn syrup

1/2 cup water

1 cup heavy cream

5 TBS butter

1 tsp fleur de sel or sea salt

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Directions:

1. Bring cream, butter, and 1 tsp fleur de sel to a simmer in a small saucepan on one burner of your stove, over medium heat. This took a while for me, so I started it on my smaller burner while the sugar/corn syrup/water mixture came to a boil on the larger burner.

2. While the cream/butter/salt mixture is coming to a simmer, combine the granulated sugar, corn syrup, and 1/2 cup water in the deep saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat.

3. When the sugar/corn syrup/water mixture turns a warm, chestnut brown color (warning, this can happen pretty quickly after remaining colorless while boiling for a few minutes), carefully and slowly add the cream mixture from the other saucepan into the deep saucepan. (WARNING: The contents of the deep saucepan will bubble up violently when the cream mixture is added.) Once the bubbling settles a bit, stir in the vanilla extract with a wooden spoon and cook over medium heat for ~5-10 minutes. While it is cooking, swirl the pan rather than stirring the mixture. Insert the candy thermometer and keep an eye on the temperature. Also remember that the mixture will continue to cook when removed from the burner. Your goal temperature is 248 degrees F. As soon as the thermometer hits 248, carefully pour the hot caramel into the prepared pan and refrigerate until firm.

4. When the caramels are cool, use the parchment paper to pry the sheet from the pan onto a cutting board. Starting at one end, roll the caramel up tightly until you've rolled up 1/3 of the sheet. Cut the sheet across, then roll the second third tightly, cut the sheet across again (severing the rolled part from the flat part), and roll the last third tightly. You will have 3 8" logs. Sprinkle all logs lightly with additional fleur de sel, and cut the logs into pieces of your desired size. Store in the refrigerator or at room temperature. Yields ~40 caramels

Chocolate Zucchini Cake

Growing up, my mom used to read to my sister and me religiously. And although some parents read to their children out of obligation (though sometimes, I’m sure she was tired enough to feel it more of a chore than a pleasure), she never failed to deliver an artful performance. Her rendition of each tale was so lively, so engaging, and so faithful, that our favorite bedtime stories became more like call-and-answer interactive theater than simple recitation. We began to love reading before we could do it ourselves, just because we knew that no matter what, every year, The Whos down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot – but the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, DID NOT. Upon the conclusion of each reading, it was easy to fall asleep knowing that things would always turn out as they should. And really, isn’t that feeling what all moms strive to give their children?

Mom’s consistency in the enthusiasm of her reading was matched only by the consistently high quality of her chocolate cakes. For many, many birthdays, I can think of only ever wanting the chocolate sour cream cake she would bake for holidays, family gatherings, and any other such occasion. Eating a cake so rich, moist, and covered in a dark frosting would make me suspect that I was breaking some rule somewhere, but for my family’s encouraging smiles. Taking a bite of that prized sweet never failed to make me feel that no matter what chaos ensued in the universe (though really, what chaos could there be when I was six), Mom and her cake would always make things right again.

So now that Mother’s Day has passed, I suppose it is easy to lose sight of the maternal influences that were recently and briefly thrown into such sharp flower-ordering, brunch-reservationing relief. Luckily for me, my strongest mom associations have nothing to do with special-occasion flowers or fancy restaurants, but everything to do with the humble, homemade chocolate cake. And it is with this Chocolate Zucchini Cake that I remind myself that someday, when I have kids of my own and that clever old Grinch tries to steal Christmas again, I hope to have half my mom's ability to reassure them that it will all come out right in the end. And if I don't -- at least Grandma can make them a consolation dessert.

Chocolate Zucchini Cake

Adapted from Epicurious

Notes: This cake is dense and rich, and doesn't taste at all like vegetables. It seems the zucchini just serves to make the cake moist, and give it a good texture. It was a bit much with the frosting, but I've included the recipe anyway. It might be best as a snack cake in a single layer in a large rectangular pan rather than a layer cake, with a layer of cream cheese frosting.

Ingredients:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour -- you can use all regular flour if you don't have any whole wheat
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup applesauce
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 cups grated unpeeled zucchini (about 2 1/2 medium) -- make sure to squeeze the water out of this (after measuring) before you add it to the cake
1 6-ounce package (about 1 cup) semisweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup chopped walnuts

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter and flour (with cocoa powder) 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan OR two 8-inch round baking pans for a layer cake.
2. Sift flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt into medium bowl.
3. Beat sugar, applesauce, and oil in large bowl with a wooden spoon until well blended. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla extract.
4. Mix in dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk in 3 additions each. Mix in grated zucchini, mix in chocolate chips and nuts. Pour batter into prepared pan.
5. Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 50 minutes. Cool cake completely in pan.
6. If desired, frost cake.

Chocolate Frosting (just enough to go between 2 round layers and on top, not the sides)

~3.5-4 oz semisweet or bittersweet chocolate

2 TBS butter, softened
1 cup powdered sugar
tiny pinch salt
2 TBS milk
1 tsp vanilla

1. Melt chocolate in microwave (as suits your machine -- I like to start with 20-sec increments and then decrease to 10-15 as it melts further). Take breaks between heating to stir.
2. Once chocolate is melted, add butter to the bowl and mix with a spoon until melted and combined.
3. Add vanilla and mix until combined, then do the same with the milk and the salt.
4. Sift powdered sugar into the chocolate mixture and still until smooth and combined. Let cool a bit before using on cake.

Ugly Sweets Containing Chocolate Chips and Butter

I am convinced that somewhere there exists an alternate universe, parallel to our own, in which all things are aptly described and named. Firefighters drive around in vehicles known as "put OUT the fire" trucks. "Table scraps" are, in fact, little scraps of table. And all homes have retractable tops that roll back to reveal large, soft pillows to cushion the matrimonial downpour at every forecast of a "bridal shower."

But perhaps most importantly, the cookies whose recipe I am highlighting are not called "Chocolate Chunk Cookies" (as so misleadingly labeled by Mark Bittman,) but instead "Malformed Munchies." I mean, look at them. They are misshapen hunks of dough stuck in an oven for 6 minutes. Are they edible? Yes. Tasty? When not burning on the edges because of the ridiculously inconvenient shape into which the recipe instructs you to form them, yes. Cookies? I think that's a bit of a stretch. Try them yourself and see if you get any different results. Though admittedly, I made one small adjustment, which was to use 2/3 c brown sugar and 1/3 c white sugar instead of the recipe's recommended 1 c white sugar. So maybe in that alternate universe, I'm called, "Complains About Recipes When Really, She Can't Follow Directions." The world may never know.

Macaron Madness

I've never been a fan of fancy baking. The thought of attempting anything involving poaching fruits, puff pastry, or yeast makes me break out in hives. For a long time, I justified my avoidance of such projects by deeming myself some sort of populist baker. Only cookies, brownies, and other such sweets of the masses! But of course, some part of me was just afraid.

So when I received an invitation to prepare dessert for a fancy pre-Easter shindig, I was a bit nervous when deciding exactly what to make. The party hosts are, in my mind, culinary hard-hitters; after a meal of gratins, leek salad, puff pastry appetizer tarts, and the most delicious beef tenderloin I would ever eat, chocolate chip cookies just wouldn't do. It was only logical, then, that I venture into the netherworld of fussy, fancy baking.

Luckily, I didn't have to strike forth into the beyond unarmed; I had my love of the Rocky movies to protect me. For some reason, I find strength in deeming each of the major challenges in my life as my new Ivan Drago -- dreaded enemy of the Italian Stallion and free market economies, as depicted in Rocky IV. And so, I embarked upon my own dessert training montage, filled with powdered sugar, ground almonds, and meringues that failed in ways heretofore unknown to mankind. But two weeks, 9 batches of macaron shells, and one test cake later, I found myself face-to-face with my dessert destiny. Here's what I managed to produce:

Plain macaron shells with dulce de leche buttercream
Purple macaron shells with white chocolate vanilla ganache and a bit of raspberry jam
Pink macaron shells with strawberry buttercream
Coffee macaron shells filled with bittersweet espresso ganache
Green pistachio macaron shells filled with vanilla honey buttercream
One lemon curd cake with fresh strawberries
One lemon curd cake with fresh raspberries

Don't begin to be impressed -- each had their own flaws. But I believe this trial by fire did leave me a better person, if not a flawless pastry chef. After all, when I started out, I was petrified of failure. And now that he and I have become better acquainted (much better acquainted), I'm not afraid anymore. So if you've ever been frightened by an equally potentially disastrous situation in the past, make sure to face it head-on -- no matter how counterinuitive it may seem. Because if I can change, you can change. We can all change.

Macarons: My First Attempts

When I find that I have gotten in over my head on a particular adventure, baking or otherwise, I recall the first day when I realized the important difference between theory and practice. Both my grandfathers were gardeners, so growing up, I took special pride in the beautiful roses we had lining our driveway. And as anyone who's grown roses will know, aphids are their number one enemy. As Eric Carle so nicely described in his book, The Grouchy Ladybug, aphids are small green bugs that like to snack on roses and will ravage them, leaving them full of holes. But fear not -- ladybugs come to the rescue! Ladybugs eat aphids, and therefore are friends of the roses and the people who love them. Carle encourages people to appreciate the ladybugs who tend to the flowers, and I always did.

One day, when my family sought to address the too-thriving aphid community that had settled in on our rose bushes, we took a trip to a nursery and bought a container of ladybugs. Live ones. There was a layer of mesh at the top of the container to allow them to breathe, and as my fat little kid hands held onto that cylinder of floral salvation, I could hardly believe that there were really hundreds of hungry creatures inside readying themselves for the greatest feast of their ladybug lives.

When we finally arrived back at the house (the anticipation was killing me!), we stood right by the rose bushes and let out a gasp of awe as we opened the lid. Slowly at first, and then in droves, the ladybugs shook themselves free and streamed out of the container. The only problem was that most of them were so happy to be free, they simply flew away. I had imagined our rose bushes covered in grateful ladybugs eager to demonstrate their allegiance by chowing down on the aphids, but alas! Most of them hung out on the side of the house or decided to visit the neighbors down the street. The difference between theory and practice. But to me, it was still worth it just to see all those ladybugs.

And now that I'm old enough to know better, I still find myself elbow-deep in similarly overwhelming situations from time to time. In this case, French macarons are my can full of ladybugs. In the last few months, I've made a few attempts (at least 5, 2 of them in one night), and none have been 100 % successful. But for now, I'm just trying to keep at it. Because when all is said and done, I just know I will end up with perfect, tasty macarons -- and those, in my opinion, are even better than roses.

Coconut Thins

For reasons I cannot begin to explain, I have always been an early riser. I have several memories from when I was very young of being up at 6 am, before the good cartoons were on and long before my sister (with whom I shared a room) would be active. So I would sit on the floor, reading by the scant rays cast from the nightlight, until the rest of the world came to life. And to think, I was surprised when I found I needed to get glasses!

At the time, I felt there was no reason for me to have such a natural inclination to be awake when everyone else was still pulling the covers over their heads to keep the sunlight out. Perhaps waking early as an adult had its advantages, but as a kid, it seemed mostly to be a curse. That is, until the day I was vindicated by a cold, hard truth of baking: if you want to buy the freshest, most delicious goods, you need to be the first one through the bakery door. You don't have to have ever baked in your life to know the difference between a donut bought and eaten and 8 a.m. versus one attained in the afternoon -- or worse, one bought in the morning and sitting in the open air in the pink bakery box with the lid ajar.

And suddenly, life was clear. Lucky for me, my parents are both fairly early risers (and definite breakfast enthusiasts), and soon a world of donuts, bagels, and other baked morning delights revealed itself to me. I often think that there are few greater joys than being in charge of the tongs as you load piece upon piece of fresh, fragrant pan dulce onto the metal tray being held by an accommodating parent -- or, as you get older, significant other. Or anyone willing to put up with the task.

So perhaps being up with the sun wasn't so bad after all. Nowadays, I take advantage of the time even further, and set out a few sticks of butter to rest and begin to soften as I go about my breakfasting and other chores. By late morning, my ingredients are all ready for me to begin concocting baked goods of my own, and the coconut cookies highlighted below were the product of one such recent venture. They are light and buttery, with the coconut flavor as more of a hint to your tastebuds as opposed to a frank statement. If you're a coconut fan, I would recommend remedying this subtlety by adding 1 tsp of coconut extract, and/or toasting the coconut a bit before using it. All in all though, a delicious product of an "oh-dark-thirty" investment.

But if you yourself are not an early riser, don't despair. Waking up at obscene hours every day, or even every weekend day, may not be worth it for everyone. Just once in a while, when you're really seeking something special to make leaving your bed worth it, design upon your favorite breakfast bakery and set an alarm. Because I don't care what Benjamin Franklin says -- in my book, "Early to bed and early to rise... yields both tasty donuts and bags 'neath your eyes."

Coconut Thins
Adapted from Cook's Illustrated "Cookies" Magazine (called Coconut Sables there, but I didn't think the name quite fit for what the recipe produced)
Yields about 80 2-inch cookies

Ingredients:
2 1/2 oz (2/3 cup) finely ground almonds
2 1/2 oz (1 cup) unsweetened shredded coconut (can be found at Whole Foods and other health stores)
10 oz. (2 1/4 cups) all-purpose flour 10 oz.
(20 TBS) unsalted butter, softened at room temperature
5 oz. (1 1/3 cups) confectioners' sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1/2 tsp table salt
1 large egg, at room temperature

Directions:
1. In a medium bowl, blend the almonds, coconut, and flour; set aside.

2. Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or in a large bowl with a hand mixer), beat the butter on medium speed until soft and creamy. Add the contectioners' sugar and salt; mix on medium-low speed until thoroughly combined, about 5 minutes, scraping down the bowl as needed.

3. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the egg and the vanilla; mix until incorporated.

4. Turn off the mixer and switch to using a wooden spoon to slowly add the flour mixture (in three parts) and mix until the dough just comes together.

5. Portion the dough into three equal pieces. Roll each piece between two sheets of wax paper to about 1/8 inch think. Transfer the dough, still between the parchment, to baking sheets and chill in the freezer for about 30 minutes.

6. Heat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. When the dough is quite firm, peel off the top sheet of wax paper and cut out shapes with a cookie cutter. Lay the cookies 1/2 inch apart on the parchment-lined baking sheet. Reroll the scraps, chilling first if necessary.

7. Bake the cookies, one tray at a time on a rack in the center of the oven, until light and golden around the edges (8-10 minutes), rotating the sheet halfway through. Let stand on the baking sheet until cool enough to handle (about 10 minutes) and then transfer the cookies to a rack to finish cooling.

Chocolate-Dipped Espresso Shortbread

There are many epic mysteries floating around the universe when you're very young. Why do grown-ups think that by spelling out a word, I'm not going to know what it means? Why does everyone hate politicians? But perhaps the most fascinating question of all for little me was this: How can any adult possibly be unhappy, with all the mail they receive?

Every day I would come home and empty the mailbox and place what seemed to be an enormous stack of envelopes on the table, all addressed to my parents, and sigh with envy. How popular they must be! And even when my dad explained that most of it was junk and bills, some part of me didn't believe that any mail could be a source of stress rather than joy.

The foundation of this misconception was, of course, the Valentine's day ritual where each of us were required to assemble small makeshift mailboxes to place on our desks to house all the wonderful Valentines. Sure, you ended up with an assortment of storebought pieces of cardboard with various pop culture emblems on them, but sometimes people wrote personal notes! And even better than knowing that I was nice, good at math, or shared my lunch with people .... was getting those envelopes with a bulge in them for the candy stuffed in!

So for those of you who appreciated the Valentine sweets as much as I did, below are two Valentine cookie recipes. May everyone get much love -- and much mail!

The recipe for the sugar cookies can be found here -- I simply replaced one of the tsp of vanilla with lemon extract and added the zest of one lemon.

Chocolate-Dipped Espresso Shortbread

Adapted from Cook's Illustrated Cookie magazine

Yields about 4 dozen small heart-shaped cookies

For the cookies:
1/2 lb (1 cup) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. table salt
10 oz (2 1/4 cups) all-purpose flour
1 TBS espresso powder
1 tsp vanilla extract

Directions:

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F and place one rack in the middle of the oven.

1. In a large bowl, place the flour and the espresso powder and combine using a wire whisk. Set aside.

2. Using a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment (or in a large bowl with a hand mixer), combine the butter, sugar, and salt on low speed until the butter combines with the sugar but isn't perfectly smooth, 1 to 2 minutes. Add in the vanilla extract and combine briefly.

3. Add the flour and espresso powder mixture to the wet ingredients in 3 parts, stirring until just combined using a wooden spoon -- do not overmix.

4. On a lightly floured surface or a large piece of wax paper, knead the dough once or twice to bring together. Using a lightly floured rolling pin, roll the dough to be about 1/4-inch thick, turning the dough occasionally to ensure it does not stick to the surface.

5. Use a cookie cutter (lightly floured, if necessary) to cut the dough into shapes and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, ~ 2 inches apart or slightly less, depending on the size of your cutouts. Make sure to use only one sized cutter for one baking sheet full of cookies to ensure even baking.

6. Bake the cookies until golden on the bottom and edges and pale to golden on top, 20-30 minutes to an hour (I did my first check at 10, to rotate the pan -- this may vary for you depending on the oven). These cookies are done when the tops look dry and the color has darkened slightly. Follow the same rolling, cutting, and baking procedure for the rest of the dough and place cookies on racks to cool.

7. Once the cookies have cooled, set a sheet of parchment or waxed paper on a work surface. Put the chocolate and shortening in a small heatproof bowl and set the bowl over a pan of simmering water. Melt the chocolate, stirring, until it's smooth.

8. Dip half of each cookie into the chocolate. Set the cookies on the parchment and let the chocolate set up at room temperature, about 2 hours (do not skimp on this time or you will have a Valentine mess!)

Vanilla-Maple Butter Cookies

When great chefs are interviewed, they often recall that as children, they were always helping out in the kitchen. They wanted to learn, experiment, and become familiar with that mysterious act of creating good food from everyday ingredients. It is then telling that when I was a child, I had little to no desire to learn to cook. I was a bit more interested in being a part of the baking process, but even then I'd mostly stir something for two minutes and then get tired of it and revert back to my default "Call me when it's done" self.

Yes, I confess, I have few memories of actively wanting to bake when I was very young. I do, however, distinctly recall every mention of a baked good in the books I read. Those were always my favorite parts of the stories, and twenty-some years later, they're pretty much all I remember. In Frances Hodgson Burnett's "A Little Princess," I got my greatest thrill when the poor protagonist finds some money in the street and uses it to buy fresh, sweet rolls from a bakery nearby, only to give them to a little homeless girl (now that's willpower!). In "Curious George Flies a Kite," I remember absolutely nothing of the kite-flying -- instead, I remember being furious when George decides to go fishing and uses pieces of chocolate cake for bait. What a waste of cake!

Perhaps the most well-known baked-sweet story to people of my age was, of course, "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie." Although I loved the circuitous tale of the very demanding rodent who inexplicably wears very tiny suspenders, some part of me would have been perfectly content if the story were shorter and more realistic. Now, when I say "realistic," I do not mean something like, "If you give a mouse a cookie...... he is going to bring in one thousand of his friends and relations and eat you out of house and home." No, I was never that logical. But from time to time, I'd let my brain wander and imagine how the story would unfold if I had written it my way -- though I could never quite decide how it would end.

So although I was not kitchen-precocious, it seems that my love for baking has always existed, even before I was aware of it. More often than not, when I'm quiet and put on my thinking face, I'm pondering what sort of things I can bake in the few hours I have between coming home from work and going to bed. Or, as in the recipe below, wondering how to transform the memory of a delicious ice cream cone enjoyed in Quebec (vanilla ice cream with swirls of maple in a chocolate-dipped cone with nuts) into a cookie. I ended up deciding to omit the chocolate, for fear that it would dominate the delicate caramelized flavor of the cookie, and I think it was the right choice. The resulting cookie is extraordinarily buttery and, when baked until just golden, delightfully crisp. Perfect for accompanying milk, vanilla ice cream, tea, or just plain.

The young me probably would have scoffed at the idea of eating a maple cookie (unless there was a pancake cookie to accompany it), and would almost certainly have scoffed at the idea of spending time to make one. But that's one of the joys of growing up -- things that were once fuzzy become clear. Because now that I'm older, I have finally figured out how the story would have played out if I had written it. It would've gone something like this:

"If you give a mouse a cookie .... he will live happily ever after."
[The End]

Vanilla-Maple Butter Cookies

Adapted from Alice Medrich's butter cookie recipe in her book, "Cookies and Brownies"

Ingredients:

16 TBS unsalted butter, softened
~ 1 1/8 cup maple sugar (pricey, but worth it -- can be found at Whole Foods Market)
3/4 cup pecans, chopped
the contents of 1 vanilla bean, scraped out with a sharp knife
1/2 tsp. salt
2 cups flour
a bit less than 1/4 cup large maple sugar granules (can also be found at Whole Foods -- not the chunks, just bigger than the fine-ground sugar)

Directions:
1. In a large bowl, beat butter until smooth using wooden spoon.
2. Cream butter, maple sugar (the finely ground one, 1 1/8 cup), salt, and vanilla until smooth and creamy but not fluffy, using a wooden spoon.
3. In a separate medium-sized bowl, sift flour using a wire whisk. Add large maple sugar granules and pecan pieces, and mix further using the whisk.
4. In 3 parts, slowly combine the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients with the wooden spoon, until just incorporated. [This may take a bit of effort.]
5. On a clean surface or a large piece of plastic wrap, knead the dough a couple of times to make sure it's smooth and combined.
6. Divide the dough in half and shape each half into a round log, ~ 2 inches in diameter. Wrap each log separately in plastic wrap. Chill for at least 3 hours, preferably overnight.

-- When you're soon going to be ready to bake --

7. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. If you want a lighter cookie, bake ~12-14 minutes, or until light brown at the edges. If you want a more caramelized cookie, bake a few minutes longer, keeping a watchful eye to make sure they don't burn, until they turn a bit golden and your kitchen smells so mapley that you become convinced you've been magically transformed into a waffle.

Yield: ~ 40 cookies

Orange Hazelnut Biscotti

There are two kinds of picky eaters. The first kind will give most anything a try, but will only enjoy a very small percentage of tastes and textures. Sometimes they can help it, sometimes they can't -- genetics often makes people predisposed to disliking sweeping categories of food, such as with the elusive Supertaster. But whatever the reason, hey, at least they tried.

The second kind of picky eater, however, can definitely help it. People might call them picky, but the truth is, they just won't try anything that doesn't appeal to them. Sometimes it's the visual cues, sometimes it's the smell, and occasionally it's even post-traumatic food disorder when you once tried something that looked good but turned out to be awful (flashback to me being 6 years old and biting into a piece of radish in a salad that I mistook for an apple). The details vary, but the general idea is always the same -- some part of you is afraid. And unless you're prone to food allergies, it's usually without reason.

This is all a preface to the admission that I was, of course, a picky eater -- the second (and in my opinion, worst) kind. I had numerous rules, which were entirely self-created, since my parents and sister were adventurous eaters and the food we enjoyed both inside and outside the house was quite varied. Rule number one: nothing green. I cringe thinking of my faithful execution of this rule, including the way I would avoid the floating chopped scallion in Chinese noodle soup dishes that I realize today gives it extra flavor. Rule number two: nothing with a funny texture. Mushrooms were out of the question, and for years I would only eat the outside of steamed chiasiu bau and never touch the sweet, delicious pork inside. Rule number three: nothing that resembles something I already know I dislike.

It was because of this last fateful rule that poor hazelnuts got a bad rap in my twisted little brain. If you'd asked me what I didn't like about the taste, I couldn't tell you because I'd never try them -- but they closely resembled garbanzo beans in color and shape. So ix-nay on the azelnuts-hay.

Looking back now, I'm happy to say I grew out of all that nonsense. I suspect, however, that if I'd had a taste of these Orange Hazelnut Biscotti, my whole world view would've changed -- I could've skipped through that whole stupid picky phase.

This is the result of clever juxtaposition of several recipes, thanks to my mom. The recipe yields a crunchy, slightly crumbly texture (which I love, but just reduce the amount of hazelnut meal if you don't like it that way) and a delicious citrusy flavor on the nutty-but-not-bitter hazelnut backdrop. My mom drizzles them with melted semi-sweet chocolate, but I actually enjoy them plain.

Orange Hazelnut Biscotti

2 cups whole hazelnuts, roasted and skins rubbed off
½ cup additional whole hazelnuts, roasted and skins rubbed off
2 1/2 cups flour
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
2/3 cups unsalted butter, slightly softened
1 cup granulated sugar
3 eggs
¼ teaspoon vanilla extract
1-1/2 teaspoons orange extract
1 tablespoon grated orange peel

2 squares semi-sweet chocolate for drizzling, if you so choose

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Take 2 TBS of the 1 cup sugar, and combine it with the separated 1/2 cup of hazelnuts in a food processor. Process on the pulse setting until you've got hazelnut meal -- the nuts should be ground very small, but not so small as to be the consistency of dust. Be careful not to overpulse, or you may end up with hazelnut butter.

Combine flour, the newly created hazelnut meal, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In a separate bowl combine butter and sugar (the 1 cup minus 2 TBS). Beat until well blended. Add eggs, orange peel, orange extract and vanilla and beat until light and fluffy.
Gradually beat in half of dry ingredients. Stir in remaining flour mixture. Add nuts.

Divide dough in half. Shape each half into a log about 11 inches long and 2 inches in diameter. (Easier to shape by rolling in wax paper and rolling directly onto baking sheet.)

Place logs on greased baking sheet (or baking sheet lined with parchment paper) as far apart as possible. Flatten slightly.

Bake for 25 to 28 minutes. Let stand until completely cool (about 30 minutes). Cut logs diagonally into half-inch slices using sharp knife.

Lay slices flat on baking sheet and return to oven and toast for 5 to 7 minutes. Turn over slices and bake 4 to 5 minutes on second side, cooking for additional time as needed (you'll need to play this by ear -- just make sure they're not raw in the middle). Cool on wire racks.