Who in their right mind doesn’t love a holiday cookie?

This year, I whipped up a batch of King Arthur’s Classic Linzer Cookies which were quickly devoured. I then had the idea of combining the cookies with one of my favorite summer beverages, the matcha + raspberry drink from Frothy Monkey, because did summer 2020 even exist? Was it before or after the Tiger King era of the pandemic? Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.

I didn’t have raspberry jam but sour cherry jam made a fantastic substitute. Use whatever jam you’d like, but I always recommend going with something tart for that flavor ~*contrast*~.

Anyways, here’s the adapted recipe!

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Matcha Linzer Cookies

A twist on a holiday classic. Use a tart jam like raspberry or cherry for contrast with the matcha's warm earthiness. This is a simple adaptation of the King Arthur Linzer Cookie Recipe.

Servings 15 cookies

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup granulated sugar 99g
• 1 1/2 Tbsp matcha powder
• 12 Tbsp unsalted butter, softened 170g
• 1 large egg yolk
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 1/3 cup all-purpose flour 160g
• 3/4 cup almond flour 72g
• 1/4 tsp salt
• cherry or raspberry jam, for filling
• confectioners' sugar for dusting

Instructions

• Whisk the sugar and matcha powder until combined. Beat the butter, sugar, and zest (or cinnamon) until light and fluffy, scraping the bowl as needed, about 3 minutes. Add the yolk and vanilla and beat until combined.
• Meanwhile, whisk together the flour, almond flour, and salt. Add the flour mixture to the egg mixture and mix until just combined. Don't over-beat.
• Divide the dough in half, and pat each half into a disc. Wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate until firm, about 1 hour.
•  Remove the dough from the refrigerator, and let it soften for 5 to 10 minutes, until it feels soft enough to roll. It should still feel cold, but shouldn't feel rock-hard. On a floured surface, roll one disc of dough out about 1/8"-thick. Using a 2 1/2" round cookie cutter, cut out cookies. Transfer rounds to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Gather the scrap dough, roll, and repeat. If at any time during this process the dough becomes sticky and hard to work with, simply refrigerate it for about 20 minutes, until firm.
• Place the cut cookies (you should have 15 cookies) in the freezer for 10 minutes and preheat the oven to 350°F.
• While the first half of cookies is chilling, cut 15 rounds from the remaining dough. Once you've transferred these cookies to a baking sheet, use your smallest cookie cutter or the end of a round piping tip to make a peekaboo cutout in the center of each. Place cookies in the freezer for 10 minutes to chill.
• Bake all of the cookies for 12. Let them cool for 5 minutes on the pan, then transfer to a rack to cool completely.
•  Place the cookies with the holes in them on a cookie sheet and sift confectioners' sugar over the top. Turn the remaining cookies flat side up and spoon 1 teaspoon of jam into the center, spreading it slightly. Top with the sugar-dusted cookies.

An allegory made of gingerbread for 2020

Don’t let 2020 win. Devote whatever any energy you have left in you to making a gingerbread house. That is the only way to save this year. Or so the angels tell me.

December knocked on the door, and as one does, I swaddled myself in everything within my immediate grasp that even closely resembled Christmas cheer. I bought a tree. I bought a wreath. I hung garland for holiday cards. I bought a second wreath which fell thrice from the kitchen window. I listened to playlists like Christmas Cocktail Jazz and New York Christmas until Alexa shot silence back at me in stubborn demur. I placed candles on the dining room table (Fire! Wow! De fête!) and noticed something missing by its side. Ah, yes, a gingerbread house.

I harked back to an image I saw by Constellation Inspiration (cue the angels singing) of a delicately constructed gingerbread greenhouse. The “stained glass” made of gelatin sheets! The symmetrical windows and cuts! The filigree! The festivité!

I knew I had to make it. I quickly Amazon’d (it must be a verb at this point, yeah?) some gelatin sheets, of which I even shelled out the $3.99 for expedited² shipping. I spent that Sunday making a template so precise the windows were spaced .37” apart! I cut and baked the gingerbread (which recipe definitely needs a good tweak (read my review as cupofpoodles)). I let it cool and prepared the icing. I placed the pieces together gingerly (ha!) and piped until my hands crumpled from cramps. I tweezered hand-crafted (but not by mine!) papier-mâché poinsettias over every window like a mad woman with tunnel vision. It was perfect.

10 hours had elapsed. 10 HOURS. But it was done. Finito. Terminado. I threw away the leftover icing. I wiped the countertops. I vacuumed the table littered with decorative debris. I said aloud, “I should wait until tomorrow to lift it up,” and walked away.

But then there’s this: an unwavering disposition of impatience. Maybe some suppressed leanings towards masochism sprinkled in. Myopia in wanting this glass studded gingerbread house next to the candles (still de fête) now!

I walked back to the table. I lifted it up.

Hands seized. Sidings slid. Hands jerked. Sidings split. A screech. Nearby, a car alarm to ordain the occasion and morass of sugar, spice, and lost time. I fell to my knees, a forced genuflection to 2020 and the havoc it had just heaved onto my dining room table.

Sardine cans make great support structures. Travesty, but look at the swirl in the NW quadrant! How picturesque!

Okay, dramatic, I get it.

But 10 hours! 10 HOURS! Pictured above is my feeble attempt of sticking the mess back together with no additional icing. “Tough luck, kid,” I imagine Herald and his angels singing (where did he get all these angels!?). I threw it in the trash where it, and the rest of the year, belonged.

Fast forward to Monday. I’m retelling this now faraway fable of failure in frosting at work. This gingerbread house was supposed to be!  If it did, I would have built a gingerbread house replica of Locust, the newly opened restaurant (if you have any iota of love for yourself you will order the dumplings and shrimp toast and anything and everything they sell. These are the prerequisites for self-love, as so the angels tell me). Through their encouragement, my mind started turning, yearning for a successful holiday confection. I ordered more gelatin sheets. This time, I would take it slow (no more expedited² shipping for this gal).

I won’t get into the nitty gritty, itty bitty details of the process. As you can see, it turned out! And turned out it did (who came up with this phrase? Out where!?). It sits peacefully and unmoving at Locust (sorry, candles!) where you can see it when you order your dumplings because you, yes you, are worthy of self-love.

But here are a few tips that I learned the second time around (fool me once, shame on the gingerbread house, fool me twice, shame on me and my dreams and my life etcetera, etcetera, etcetera).

1. Make a template! Cut it out! Use it to trace your lines! Don’t let yourself think for a second that you can eyeball .37”. You can’t.
2. Roll your gingerbread in-between two pieces of parchment paper. It will be a mess otherwise. And bake it on that parchment! The first time around I baked it on a silpat and I think this contributed a lot to the fractures in the dough. Something about transfer of heat and science and all that jazz. Don’t @ me.
3. Don’t be afraid of overbaking your gingerbread house. The more dry, the better (think dry to almost crumbling, it is 2020 after all).
4. Make any necessary re-cuts and re-shaping fixes when the dough is hot out of the oven. Then let it cool! Don’t pick it up!
5. If using gelatin sheets, attach them to the back of the windows before decorating. And on that note…
6. Decorate before you assemble!
7. Make a base. Maybe this should be 1.a.
8. If this is all overwhelming, do it in steps. For the Locust construction, I made the template one day. The next day, I baked the gingerbread pieces. The next day, I decorated and assembled.
9. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS CHRISTMAS, DON’T PICK IT UP. LET IT SETTLE OVERNIGHT. GO GET SOME DUMPLINGS WHILE YOU WAIT FOR IT TO DRY.
10. Have fun

Southern summer in a cake

I received a lot of love on this cake on Instagram, so I decided to put it up on the blog, so dadadada! Here it is!

This cake was inspired by all the flavor profiles I love to combine with peaches, and of course, classic southern flavors like bourbon to umph it up.

Marveling at Marbling

This was my first time really decorating a cake. I bought a spinning cake stand and cardboard cake rounds to make sure I had all the right tools to really practice properly, and it was worth it. I can’t believe I ever tried decorating a cake without a spinning stand; it seems impossible now! The real stunner of the cake is for sure, no question, duh, the marbling buttercream effect. Mijji Song of Mijji Cakes has an incredibly easy to follow tutorial on her Instagram (praises to her for sharing it with the rest of the world!). For this color scheme, I kept the majority of the bourbon buttercream white (about 1/2 of what I used to frost it), then mixed in about 1/3 light orange bourbon buttercream and the rest a dusty pink color of bourbon buttercream. But have fun with it and use whatever colors you like! I think I could have definitely shaved off some more of the outer layer to dramatize the marbling effect, but alas, at least I know for next time!

I haven’t posted a recipe in awhile, and I’m pretty rusty when it comes to blogging. So let me know if you have any questions by commenting below!

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Almond Cake with Roasted Peaches, Cardamom Crumb, and Bourbon Buttercream

This recipe combines all my favorite flavors to eat with peaches and is a southern cake at heart. The almond cake recipe is from Zoë François, who based it on Flo Braker’s Crystal Almond Pound Cake from The Simple Art of Perfect Baking. I followed mijjiCake's marble buttercream tutorial on Instagram. It definitely requires some patience, but it turns out beautifully!

Servings 1 Two Tier, 6" Cake

Ingredients

for the cake

• 3/4 cup sifted cake flour*
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/8 tsp salt
• 7 oz almond paste
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 orange zested
• 5 eggs, room temperature

for the roasted peaches

• 5 ripe peaches, sliced
• 2 tbsp granulated sugar
• 1/2 lemon, juiced

for the cardamom crumb

• 1/3 cup light brown sugar
• 2 tsp ground cardamom
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 5 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
• 2/3 cup all-purpose flour

for the bourbon buttercream

• 2 cups unsalted butter, room temperature*
• 1 lb. powdered sugar
• 3 tbsp bourbon

Instructions

for the cake

• Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter TWO 6" cake tins. Place parchment round at the bottom of the cake tin and butter.
• Whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt. 
• Beat the almond paste with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer until broken into tiny pieces. Add sugar and beat on medium low speed until it becomes sandy. Add butter, a tablespoon at a time, until you’ve added half. Scrape the bowl frequently. Let the almond, sugar and butter beat on medium-low speed until it becomes a uniform mixture, then add the remaining butter and beat on medium speed until light and fluffy for about 3 minutes. 
• Add the vanilla and zest.
• Add the eggs, one at a time, scraping the bowl between each and allowing the eggs to incorporate before adding the next. 
• Fold in half the flour, then repeat with remaining flour, just until combined. 
• Fill the cake tins with batter, smooth the top and bake for about 30-35 minutes or until a tester comes out clean. 

for the roasted peaches

• Preheat the oven to 350°F. Toss the sliced peaches, sugar, and lemon juice in an oven safe dish and baked for approximately 2 hours until the peaches are deep orange and resemble the consistency of a jammy cobbler filling.
• Once cooled, mixed the peaches, breaking up the slices to smaller chunks.
• Store roasted peaches in the refrigerator for up to 7 days.

for the cardamom crumb

• Preheat the oven to 350°F.
• Toss the brown sugar, cardamom, and salt in a small bowl. Pour in the melted butter and stir until commbined. Add flour and stir until everything is combined.
• Pinch together the topping to form big and small "crumbs." Pour onto ungresaed oven safe dish and bake for 10-15 minutes until golden brown, tossing halfway through.
• Cool in pan and store in an airtight container for up to 2 weeks.

for the bourbon buttercream

• In a standing mixer with the whisk attachment, whipped the butter for 5 minutes until it's light and fluffy. Turn off the mixer
• While the mixer is off, add all the powdered sugar at once and whisk on the lowest setting. Whisk until the sugar is incorporated (you don't want a dust cloud of powdered sugar in your face!).
• Add the bourbon to the buttercream then whip on high for 2-3 minutes until everything is incorporated and your desired consistency is reached.
• Once whipped, fold the buttercream with a spatula to get rid of any big air bubbles.

to assmeble the cake

• I assembled the cake by placing one layer of almond cake down on a cake stand. I then piped buttercream around the edge to keep the roasted peach filling in. I then placed the roasted peach filling in the center and topped it with the cardamom crumb. See Recipe Notes below for some tips on decorating a cake!https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnLXSFdNBPDozhsyJfgyIkg

Notes

* If you don't have access to cake flour, you can always use all-purpose flour and replace 1 tbsp of the flour with cornstarch.

* The butter must be at room temperature for it to whip properly! Don't skip this step!

Zoë François has a wonderful YouTube channel where she shows how to decorate various cakes! I would definitely check it out here. Comment below if you have any other questions, and don't forget to have fun!

Sofia watched her father cradle a withered olive between his forefinger and thumb. The light from the Huelva sun reflected off the land and fell through the kitchen window, sprawling itself onto their kitchen table like an inverse shadow in the dark room. His elbows were propped up, and he stared hard into the dry, leathery skin of the Picual olive.

“Mañana, habrá lluvia.”

He said it as if he were a judge sentencing August for its crimes against the land. But Sofia knew that the rain would not come. The heat was strong, resolute. And there was no wind to carry in clouds from the coast or down from the north where the summer had begun to ease. In the south, the drought in May had caused the olives to flower early. Through June and July they had not grown green. The olives bloomed only to the size of Sofia’s pinky nail and then, as though overnight, had shriveled. The heat of summer had snatched the moisture out of them and let it steam up, an immolation to the sun.

Through the months they had stared at the sky entreatingly. As weeks passed, Sofia watched the enervation in the land reflect on her father’s face – his wrinkles, now, were deep and marked ridges on the bark of olive trees. Sitting across from him, she could see that they were even more pronounced than they had been yesterday; the lines in his forehead furrowed and creased as he moved his lips silently. He was talking to himself, she thought. Or praying.

“Haré la cena esta noche,” Sofia said, hoping to snap her father out of his daze. She saw his lips stop and purse. But all he did was shift his seat to the left and hold the olive in the dust-swirl charged stream of light spilling in through the window.

~

Noonday teetered on top of the mountains. Dipping her hands into a bowl of water and garbanzo beans, Sofia imagined her mother’s hands on top of hers, guiding her fingers in peeling the skin from its bean. Her mother had taught her the importance of removing the translucent shell gently, as to leave the garbanzo whole. Sofia rolled them between her thumb and forefinger and watched as they fell to the bottom of the bowl. She sank her forearms into the water and held them in her hands; the permed shells skimmed the surface and collected around her skin.

Hija, con cuidado.

She let them go and lifted her hands out of the water, the garbanzo husks clinging to her arms.

April had taken away her mother and the rain. August had brought heat and waiting to carry away her mother’s absence, but it filled – Sofia could feel its weight in her hands and in her father’s steps on the sunbaked soil; Her mother’s death had taken away the olives and left only their shells, hanging.

Through the window, Sofia watched her own father’s hands; they grazed the branches of the trees, his fingertips pressing into the grooves of the bark. He carried bucket and bucket of water from the well to the tree.

“Bebe,” She heard him say, “Tienes que beber, amor.”

Sofia walked outside, her feet stirring up dirt and dust whenever she stepped. She followed her father to an olive tree and called after him.

“Papa,” Sofia said, “Cena estará lista en una hora.”

He turned around at her and sighed.

“Bien, hija.” He set the bucket down by the base of the tree, wiped the dust from his hands, and sat down with his legs crossed. “Ven aquí.”

Sofia knelt down by her father; a root pressed up against the front of her ankle.

“Un hombre vino ayer. Quiere comprar la casa y el olivar.” Her father coughed and looked down at the ground. Sofia listened to his breathing; it was steady, calm.

“Qué le dijiste?” Sofia felt the heat caught in her throat. It grew then shrank then grew again. She swallowed it down into her stomach. Her father looked up at the sky and tilted his head, his face a question; his eyebrows lifted and eyes sloped downwards. He is praying again, Sofia thought.

“No, hija. Yo no sé.”

~

In a pot, the garbanzos weltered in the water with two potatoes, a bay leaf, and salt.

A veces, no habrá agua, pero siempre habrá sal.

Her aunts, uncles, and cousins had always told Sofia she looked like her mother; their skin was milk and honey, eyelashes thick and dark, arching over their eyes like a curtsy. At seventeen, standing at the stove, she was her mother. But she had her father’s will – steady, patient, persistent. Sofia saw it when they both sat at her mother’s bedside through the night, when they folded her things and placed them in a chest beneath the bed, when they went to visit the grave every Sunday after mass. She felt it in the way her father carefully carried water to each tree, and in the way she brought the water in the pot to a boil, slowly. It had to matter, Sofia thought. Siempre habrá sal.

~

The sun moored itself beneath the hills. Sofia and her father ate in the silence of space.

After carrying their empty bowls to the sink, Sofia kissed her father on his cheek. “Mañana, habrá lluvia,” she said. She pressed her face against his and felt the heat of the day suffuse into her skin. There were no olives to collect, no bottles to prepare for their pressing. There was just the brittle earth and the sun and the heat and Sofia felt it through her father’s face. This is what it looks like, Sofia thought. The weariness of worry and waiting; the two of them sitting in a gloaming kitchen, sallow faces pressed hard against each other. Her father blanketed his exhaustion with a smile.

“Sí, hija. Sueña de lluvia.”

In her bed Sofia could hear her father’s sighs blowing out the candles. She closed her eyes and imagined olives, green and plump and sweet. She could taste their brine of water and salt and feel herself sucking them to the pit. She could hear the raindrops like drums beating on the earth. And she saw her mother, her father, and herself dancing beneath an olive tree’s waxed leaves to the pulse of rain.

Sofia opened her eyes, but all she could see was a ubiquitous night.

She turned her face to the frame of her window and watched midnight teeter on top of the mountains, a cloud pulling itself across the sky.

I bought dozens of ears of corn from the farmer’s market and carried them home on my back. I ate raisin fennel sourdough. I walked braless in Baltimore heat and stood in the shower for hours, the skylight casting a rainbow through the water. I sat in a sun-smoked attic barefoot with instruments and listened. I rode the bus downtown and up. I rode the bus to New York and back. I ate leftover ribeye from diners’ plates and passed around bottles of half-drunk, Spanish wine. I met a boy when I shouldn’t have. I met a boy at my doorstep, sleepy-eyed and all Tennessee smile. I snuck down South and fell in love with a boy strong with screams. I cried to a friend at Otto’s, a fork in hand to carve a path. I bought second peaches by the bushel. I ate them cold, bruised, and sweet.

Baltimore in the summertime carries with it a kindred kind of heavy heat. Cursed by and cradled in, the city heaves itself down its own streets through June, July, and August. It holds no exceptions for anyone. Soupy and sweltering, everyone is in it together.

The summer of 2014, I had started a job at Fleet Street Kitchen, a white tablecloth restaurant slipped into the Inner Harbor’s row of chains — Fogo de Chao, Hard Rock Café, obligatory Cheesecake Factory. It felt like a beacon of culinary; we sourced our ingredients from our farm twenty miles north. We poured cold water and held the ice. We served foie gras with maple banyul. It was thoughtful and thorough and something sort of sublime.

During the day I would arrive early, helping prep for that evening’s service — smoking duck breasts for charcuterie, clipping micro greens for garde manger. At night, I was support staff — hosting, bussing, assembling amuse-bouche and cutting bread for service until midnight. I worked for free in the mornings and for tips at night, just determined to be immersed in it all; happy to just be a part of it.

At 21 I was very much aware that this time next year, I would be out in the thrust of the real world. I wanted to spend this last summer teaching myself that I really didn’t need much, that saving mattered, and that as long as I was fully engrossed in food I would be happy. And I was.

My summer became a weird, food-fueled accretion, the center of which was my time at Fleet Street and orbiting around it was everything I could taste, make, consume.

I allowed myself $10 in groceries every week and to spend it only at the farmer’s market down the street from my college row house. Every week was the same — I would spend $3 on a dozen ears of corn, $1 on a pound of kale, $2 on seconds from the fruit farmer (most of the time peaches, but strawberries if I was lucky), and $4 on something new I had never tried before. I bought garlic scapes and made pesto, gooseberries which I ate by the handful and later made into jam, Cherokee Purple tomatoes so sweet I bit into them like apples. I would eat my farmer’s market finds for breakfast, devouring bowls of raw corn sprinkled with old bay. I’d lay on my blacktop roof to burn, biting into a peach in one hand, soft and sweet and cold. I would then go to work and subsist on family meal, taking its leftovers to eat on the bus ride home. The chefs would let me carry the remaining loaves of bread home and freeze them, hand them out to other students braving Baltimore’s sweltering summer.

Something in me began to shift – the way I lived, the way I talked, the way I thought and felt about food. That summer I fell in love with everything — with the corn I ate every day, with Baltimore’s weird, with riding the bus at one in the morning in my uniform, my lap stacked with loaves and loaves of bread.

That July I also met my fiancé, Tyler, at a post-hardcore show in a tiny Korean club hugged in that same heavy, heavy heat. It was only fitting that it was there and then that I dove, head and heart first, into love in that same heavy, heavy way I had with everything else around me.

I can never thank this city enough for the roots it planted within me, to the city that laid out so clearly for me these things I cherish so much. So this is my love letter to Baltimore – to its heat and its heart, pumping unhurried but hard beneath its movements and spaces that make it, truly, The Greatest City in America.  I love you, and when I return and walk your streets, I’m sure of it that I’ll cry.

Below is a recipe that embodies a lot of who I was that summer. I hope that you enjoy it as much as I did making it. I made a sauce for it that of course I didn’t write down, but it had shallots and white wine, shrimp stock and old bay, crab fat and cream.

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Corn Agnolotti

Little purses of sweet corn and creamy ricotta, agnolotti is perfect in a cream sauce or just tossed with some brown butter. 

Servings 6

Ingredients

for the ricotta

• 1 gallon whole milk, not ultra-pasteurized
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 80 ml (4 Tbsp + 4 tsp) distilled white vinegar

for the dough

• 560 grams (4 cups) all-purpose flour
• 4 whole large eggs
• 8 yolks from 8 large eggs
• 2 tsp kosher salt

for the corn filling

• 4 ears of corn, kernels removed
• 4 Tbsp butter
• 2 medium shallots, diced
• 1 clove garlic, diced
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• 2 1/2 cup fresh ricotta (see above)

Instructions

for the ricotta

• Fill a pot with the milk. Stir in salt, if using. Heat over medium heat until milk registers 185°F (85°C) on an instant-read thermometer. Add vinegar or lemon juice and stir briefly to incorporate. Curds should begin forming almost immediately; stop stirring as soon as they've formed throughout the pot. Without stirring, continue to hold curdled-milk mixture at 185°F for 20 minutes. It's okay if the temperature fluctuates down to 175°F (79°C) or up to 190°F (88°C), but try to keep it in that zone for the full 20 minutes.
• Line a fine-mesh strainer with paper towels or cheesecloth. Using a slotted spoon, transfer curds to strainer and let stand until excess liquid has drained away (*see recipe notes). Exactly how long to let it drain depends on whether you want a moister final product or a drier one. Do not try to pour all the milky liquid through the strainer, as this will clog it and prevent the liquid from flowing through.
• Drained ricotta can be refrigerated, covered, for up to 2 days, though it is best when freshly made.

for the corn filling

• Heat a pan on medium heat. Add butter. Once butter is melted and hot, add the shallots and cook in translucent. Add the garlic and corn kernels and cook for 5 minutes, stirring. Add the white wine and cook until mostly evaporated. Set sautéd corn aside to cool.
• In a food processor, puree the mixture until smooth.
• Fold in the ricotta and chill until ready to use.

for the pasta dough (*see recipe notes)

• On a large, clean work surface, pour flour in a mound. Make a well in the center about 4 inches wide. Pour whole eggs, egg yolks, and salt into well and, using a fork, beat thoroughly. When combined, gradually incorporate flour into the eggs until a wet, sticky dough has formed. Using a bench knife, scrape excess dough from fork and fingers. Begin to fold additional flour into the dough with the bench knife, turning the dough roughly 45 degrees each time, until dough feels firm and dry, and can form a craggy-looking ball, 2 to 5 minutes.
• Press the heel of your hand into the ball of dough, pushing forward and down. Rotate the ball 45 degrees and repeat. Continue until dough develops a smooth, elastic texture similar to a firm ball of Play-Doh. If dough feels too wet, add flour in 1 teaspoon increments. If dough feels too dry, add water slowly using a spray bottle. Wrap ball of dough tightly in plastic wrap and rest on countertop for 30 minutes.
• Meanwhile, place a sheet of parchment paper on a tray or cutting board and dust lightly with flour. Unwrap rested dough and cut into quarters. Set one quarter on work surface and re-wrap remaining dough. With a rolling pin, flatten the quarter of dough into an oblong shape about 1/2 inch thick. Set pasta maker to widest setting and pass dough 3 times through the machine at this setting. Place dough on a lightly floured work surface. Fold both ends in so that they meet at the center of the dough, and then fold the dough in half where the end points meet, trying not to incorporate too much air into the folds. Using rolling pin, flatten dough to 1/2-inch thick. Pass through the rollers 3 additional times. 
• Narrow the setting by 1 notch and repeat. Repeat once more (the dough should now have passed through the third widest setting). Continue passing the dough through the rollers, reducing the thickness by 1 setting each time until you reach the thinnest setting. It should now be very delicate and elastic to the touch, and slightly translucent. Place rolled dough onto a work surface or baking sheet lightly dusted with flour or lined with parchment paper; sprinkle with flour.

assembling agnolotti

• Fill a piping bag with a 1/2" tip with the corn filling.
• Cut your pasta dough into 3" wide strips.
• Lay out one strip and pipe filling 1/3 up from the bottom. Fold over the dough and press down, making sure to press tightly against the filling. Pinch the agnolotti (*see recipe notes). Using a ravioli cutter, roll the entire length of the pasta strip where the fold meets. Using the same ravioli cutter, cut the agnolotti where you pinched them off.
• Place cut agnolotti on a tray lined with parchment paper. Dust with flour and either place in your refrigerator (if eating with the next two days), or freeze!

Notes

• I like to keep the ricotta whey and use it to add another layer of depth to stocks, soups, and sauces.
• The pasta dough recipe is a double batch of the fresh pasta recipe from Serious Eats.
• This Youtube video is great to watch if this is your first time making agnolotti. 

Mabuhay!

Welcome to the first Filipino recipe of curating time! And how lucky — it’s two recipes in one!

I think my family must have made hundreds of Siopao growing up. We’d make them from scratch for our school international fairs, spending the Saturday before cooking Adobo or Asadao, then that Sunday making the buns, steaming them by the dozen. We’d hand Siopao out to students during the fair that Monday, one of my favorite parts of high school. Different families would come together, cooking dishes from their respective cultures, and sharing them with the rest of the school. I think it’s something every school should do to foster curiosity and community, but anyway…

I filled this Siopao with Chicken Adobo, the unofficial official dish of the Philippines. The dough is so simple and perfect that it’s hard to mess up! I used the bao dough recipe from The Wok of Life, a great Asian cooking blog that gets it right. 

I understand that recipes from other cultures can seem intimidating, so please, ask me any and all questions!

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Siopao

I used the dough recipe from Woks of Life, a great Asian cooking blog run by an entire family! 

Servings 10 siopao buns

Ingredients

for the dough

• 1 tsp active dry yeast
• 3/4 cup warm water
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 cup cornstarch
• 5 Tbsp granulated sugar
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 2 1/2 tsp baking powder

for the filling

• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• 3 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs
• 1 cup distilled white vinegar
• 1/2 cup soy sauce
• 1/2 cup water
• 8 cloves garlic, minced
• 4 bay leaves
• 1 Tbsp crushed black pepper

Instructions

• In the bowl of an electric mixer with a dough hook attachment (you can also knead by hand in a mixing bowl), dissolve the yeast in the warm water. Sift together the flour and cornstarch, and add it to the yeast mixture along with the sugar and oil. Turn on the mixer to the lowest setting and let it go until a smooth dough ball is formed (approximately 2 minutes). Cover with a warm, damp cloth and let it rest for 2 hours. 
• While the dough is resting, make the Adobo.

  Heat the olive oil in a dutch oven or similar pot over medium high heat. Add the chicken and brown in batches, removing the chicken once browned. Turn heat down to medium and sautée the garlic until golden brown. Add the chicken and its juices and the rest of the ingredients. Bring to a boil then simmer over medium-low heat for 1 1/2 hours.
• After your dough has rested for 2 hours, add the baking powder to the dough and turn the mixer on to the lowest setting. Gently knead the dough until it becomes smooth again (approximately 1 minute). Cover with a damp cloth and let it rest for another 15 minutes. In the meantime, cut parchment paper into ten 4x4 inch squares. Prepare your steamer by bringing the water to a boil.
• Roll the dough into a long tube and divide it into 10 equal pieces. You can also weigh the dough and divide it equally that way.Press each piece of dough into a disc about 5½ inches in diameter (it should be thicker in the center and thinner around the edges). Add some filling and pleat the buns until they're closed on top.

  Place each bun on a parchment paper square, and steam for 15 minutes over high heat. I steamed the buns in several batches.

When I Used To Be A Cook

We’d listen to NPR on an old, dough’d up bluetooth speaker. The morass of dish water would turn cold as we laughed, of what, I can’t recall.I lost weight from standing, cooking, for hours, and eating only farm eggs. I procured parallel scars running up my arms from when sheets singed skin, a semaphore or such for carelessness, caprice.There are moments I remember from my time working in the kitchen of a coffee shop, and there are moments that I don’t. But there are two things that have forged forward, subsumed into my now every day.

There is Taylor, a woman and friend whose soul I imagine could swell and save just about anyone. And there are biscuits.

We’d bake trays and trays of them — the hours in a lifetime spent deep in flour and cold, cold, butter; salt and buttermilk, sour and thick. Lined up in the oven, they’d stretch up and out each morning with a croon. We must have baked thousands.

One day my hands will be petal-textured and roiled. I will look at them with wonder at all they have done. I will remember waking before the sun and baking biscuits with Taylor in our own trove of flour and steel, forted by bags of beans rising to roast.

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Ham & Cheddar Biscuits

Servings 18 biscuits

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs. (5 1/3 cups) all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 Tbsp baking powder
• 1 Tbsp kosher salt
• 10 oz. (2 1/2 sticks) very cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2" cubes
• 2 cups cold buttermilk
• 1/2 cup sharp cheddar, shredded
• 1/4 cup ham, cut into 1/2" cubes
• 1/4 cup scallions, chopped thinly

Instructions

• In a food processor, pulse together your flour, baking powder, and salt. Add your butter and pulse 3-4 times. You'll want your butter to be the size of peas and just incorporated into the flour. Pour the mixture in a large mixing bowl. Make a well in the center, and pour the buttermilk in, folding it into the flour with a rubber spatula. 
• Once the biscuit batter just begins to form into one mass, flip it onto a heavily floured work surface. Begin to fold it until it comes together. With a rolling pin, rolls it into a 2" thick rectangle. Spread half the cheddar, ham, and scallions on top. Fold the dough in half, and then roll it out to another 2" rectangle. Spread the remaining cheddar, ham, and scallions. Fold the dough in half, and then roll it out to another 2" rectangle. Using a biscuit cutter (see note), cut your biscuits and lay them on a baking sheet lined with a silpat baking mat or parchment paper. Put the tray of biscuits into the freezer and freeze for 30 minutes.
• Preheat the oven to 425°F. Take the biscuits out of the freezer and place them directly into the oven. Bake for 30 minutes, or until they just begin to turn golden on top. 

Notes

• I don't have a biscuit cutter, so I just use the opening of a sturdy glass. Be careful if you do this! I've broken a glass or two pressing too hard.

Keeping it short and simple

Some things are better kept simple, like buffalo wings, and better yet, this post!

This recipe is as easy as it gets. The addition of miso is subtle but no doubt takes it to the next level. If you need me, I’ll be here adding miso to everything.

Team Empty Plate Club 4eva.

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Miso Buffalo Wings

A simple addition of red miso bumps these buffalo wings from "YES" to "YAS" (Is that too corny? Oh well!). 

Servings 3 people

Ingredients

• 3 lbs. chicken wings
• 2 Tbsp. red miso paste
• 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
• 3/4 cup Frank's hot wing sauce
• celery, for serving
• ranch or bleu cheese dressing, for esrving

Instructions

for the wings

• Preheat an oven to 450°F. Bring a pot of water to a boil. Parboil the chicken wings for 7 minutes (see note) then pat the wings with paper towel until they're bone (ha) dry. Sprinkle the parboiled wings with salt and pepper. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Bake the wings for 20 minutes, turn over, then bake for another 20 minutes until crispy and brown.

for the sauce

• In a sauce pan, melt the butter over medium heat. Whisk in the red miso paste until fully incorporated. Add the Frank's sauce and whisk until combined. Remove from heat and set aside and toss with wings. 

Notes

• Parboiling the wings helps rid the wings of some of its extra fat. If you've ever baked wings before, you'll notice that sometimes the wings will sit in a pool of their own fat, making it hard for them to crisp up. Parboiling gets rid of that without cooking the chicken through so you can still season it! If you decide to fry the wings, don't do this!

Nooks and Crannies

An English muffin split in half. Butter melting, settling into the refuge of warm, toasted crevices. There’s a trickle of Tennessee honey, a few slivers of salt. 

It’s a simple but spirited breakfast like this that has always served me best. It’s what the first thing you taste every day should deliver. There’s a life blood to it, and it elevates.

This recipe is from the cookbook Baking with Steel. Andris Lagsdin has revolutionized the pizza/bread/overall cooking game with Baking Steel, and if you haven’t already, definitely check him out!

This recipe is very simple and straightforward, and one of the easier bread recipes I’ve come across. Bread can be daunting, but I’ve learned as long as you’re patient with it (it’s alive and it takes time, so always treat it with care), you’ll be fine!

Zoë François, one of my favorite recipe developers, has a great step-by-step walk-through of these English Muffins in her Instagram stories. Definitely refer to it if you want a safety net!

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English Muffin

This recipe is from the book Baking with Steel.

Servings 1 dozen muffins

Ingredients

• 550 grams (4 cups) all-purpose flour
• 20 grams (4 tsps) kosher salt
• 20 grams (4 tsps) granulated sugar
• 1 gram (1/4 tsp) active dry yeast
• 20 grams (3/4 oz.) unsalted butter, melted
• 350 grams (1 1/2 cup) warm water (105° F)
• 1/2 cup semolina flour
• clarified butter (see note)

Instructions

• In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, sugar, and yeast.
• On a separate bowl, combine the melted butter and warm water. Slowly pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients, and mix with a wooden spoon to combine.
• Lightly flour a work surface, turn the dough out onto it, and knead by hand for 4 minutes (see note), until it forms a smooth dough. Cover with saran wrap and let rest for 15 minutes.
• Lightly coat a baking sheet with semolina flour.
• Divide the dough into 12 equal portions (~82 grams each).
• Palm a portion of dough in your hand, and and rotate it in a circular motion while pressing down on the dough, creating a ball with no seams. Place it on the sheet tray with semolina. Repeat with the remaining portions of dough. 
• Cover the tray with plastic wrap and let the dough proof for at least 2-3 hours. The dough balls will double in size. Do not rush this step!
• Position a baking steel griddle or cast iron pan on the stovetop. Preheat on medium heat until droplets of water sizzle when dripped onto the surface. 
• Pour some of the clarified butter over the surface of your griddle/pan and be generous! The butter should begin to lightly bubble as soon as you apply it to the surface. 
• Place the dough balls on the griddle/pan, a few at a time, and cook for 4 minutes. Once golden on the bottom, flip, adding more clarified butter as needed to allow the dough to swim slightly in butter. After you flip, gently press down on the dough with your spatula to flatten into the signature English muffin shape.
• Once the second side is golden, remove and transfer to a wire rack to cool. Do not cut the muffins until they cool, or else they'll be gummy! 

Notes

• I used regular butter instead of clarified butter (which worked just fine!). Clarified butter is butter that has had its milk solids and water removed, giving it a higher smoke point. You can make it at home or buy it at most grocery stores.
• Don't over knead the dough! Heavy kneading will develop too much gluten, and you won't get those signature open structure everyone loves.

When life hands you 8 bananas

I’ve been hoarding overripe bananas in my freezer for months. So in an attempt to start the new year a little bit cleaner, I decided to finally put them to use.

This is my go-to banana bread recipe. It works perfectly for this cake, but it’s completely adaptable as a loaf with whatever you want to add to it (nuts, crushed pineapple, etc.).

Sweet + Sweet + Salty

After trying to recreate Dominique Ansel’s Banoffee recipe (a future post I’m sure!), I discovered that bananas and dulce de leche is one of my faaaavorite flavor combinations. But it definitely lends itself to the sweeter side. The salt in the buttercream definitely balances the whole cake, and if you have it on hand, a few flakes of fleur de sel would taste fantastic sprinkled on top.

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Banana Cake with Salted Dulce de Leche Buttercream

Servings 1 8"x8" cake

Ingredients

for the cake

• 4 ripe bananas
• 1/3 cup unsalted butter, melted
• 3/4 cup light brown sugar
• 1 large egg, beaten
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 tsp almond extract
• 2 Tbsp bourbon
• 1 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
• 1/8 tsp ground cloves
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

for the buttercream

• 1 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk
• 1 cup unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
• 1 cup confectioner's sugar
• 1/2 tsp kosher salt

Instructions

for the cake

• Preheat the oven to 350°F. Smash the ripe bananas in a large mixing bowl. Mix in the melted butter until combined. Mix in the sugar, egg, vanilla, almond extract, and bourbon, then the spices. Sprinkle the baking soda and salt over the mixture and mix in. Add the flour and mix to combine.
• Butter a 8"x8" pan. Lay overhanging parchment paper in the pan (this will help you to remove the cake later). Pour the batter into the pan and bake for 45 minutes. After baking, cool in pan.

for the buttercream

• Place the sweetened condensed milk can on its side in a large pot. Fill the pot with room-temperature water, making sure the water level is at least 2 inches above the can. Set pot over high heat and allow to come to a simmer. Reduce heat and simmer for 1 1/2 hours. Using a pair of tongs, remove the can from the water and set on a wire rack to cool to room temperature (DO NOT OPEN the can while it's hot). 
• Using an electric mixture with a wire whisk attachment, whip the softened butter on medium speed. Slowly add the confectioner's sugar and salt. Add the entire can of cooled dulce de leche. 

assembly

• frost the cooled cake heavily, and top with walnuts!

Notes

• When making the dulce de leche, I always cook at least two cans. Unopened cans of dulce de leche can be stored at room temperature for up to 3 months. Dulce de leche can be tranferred to an airtight container and refrigerated for up to 3 weeks.
• The banana cake can be baked as a banana bread! Just use a loaf pan and bake for 50 minutes.
• You can add any type of nut to the banana cake batter as well!