Strawberry Rhubarb Lemonade

There comes a day in every baker's life where absolutely nothing will go right. And I mean nothing. Perhaps it is the great Butter and Sugar god's way of telling you that you've had enough good fortune and it is time to share it with someone else. More likely, though, they look down at you from the marshmallow clouds and loathe you for your ability to make sweet treats so much that they curse you with bitter misfortune

This happened to me last Wednesday. It was a day so bad I can scarcely speak of it now, 4 days later. My mother told me this is one of those days I'm going to laugh about someday.

She's wrong.

Last Wednesday also happened to be my first blogiversay. I was supposed to be celebrating my love for pastry and heavy cream, but instead I spent most of it in meltdown mode, in tears over spilled cake. A little ironic, yes, but, as any food blogger would tell you, sometimes that's just how it goes.

I had originally set out to create a very elaborate meringue cake for you to celebrate one year of blogging. I prepped everything the night before and set out to assemble it in the morning. It was gorgeous. Stunning. Delicious. As I was wiping the last bit of stray chocolate from the cake stand to take photographs, it happened. The entire cake stand toppled over. I don't know how. I don't know why. I managed to catch the stand before it hit the table, but it was too late. The meringue collapsed, the layers slid, and 1/3 of the cake was sitting on the table.

A few choice words were said.

I was upset. It was my blogiversary. I needed to share something with you! It wouldn't be a blogiversary without cake!

In my stubborn fit of rage, I got in the car, drove to the nearest kitchen store, and bought myself a new cake stand. I went to the grocery store and bought more ingredients. Then I went back home and I spent the next four hours baking that damn cake. Again.

As I was assembling it, the bottom layer collapsed on one side. I sucked in my breath and tried to fix it up the best I could. It would have to do. After getting everything in place for the second time, I stood back to admire my work.

You won't believe what happened next. I still don't believe what happened next. What happened next isn't even physically possible.

The cake started melting.

It had become the Virgin Mary of cakes; I didn't even need to cry because my cake was crying tears of frustration for me. Sad, clear tears ran themselves down the sides of the cake. They pooled in the bottom of the cake stand, creating a puddle of misery. The layers weeped themselves right off the cake.

To put it simply, I had a meltdown. It wasn't pretty. Over $40 of cake was lying on the table or dripping onto the floor. My kitchen was an absolute disaster. And I still didn't have anything to share with you.

I had another four failed desserts that day. You can call me persistent. You can admire my determination. But, as it so happens, I just don't know when to throw in the towel. If there was any doubt before, you now know that I am undeniably not immune to (multiple) kitchen failures.

Sigh.

So it goes.

In this case, I think it's safe to say that when life give you lemons... make lemonade.

This strawberry rhubarb lemonade, however, is definitely not a kitchen failure. It is so light, intense, and unbelievably fruity. I had to stop myself from drinking the entire two quarts in one sitting. The strawberry notes in this lemonade really stand out. The sweetness of the strawberries is cut by the tartness of the rhubarb, creating this wonderful blend of flavors. This lemonade is such a bright, bold color that you just might find it difficult to look away. This is a drink you don't want to miss.

Click to read more ...

Lemon Thins

I have a confession to make. I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to cookbooks. I don't judge the book by the cover or even the content. I judge them by whether or not they have an extraneous amount of pictures. I need pictures. I eat with my eyes before I eat with my mouth. The best cookbook ever written may hold all the secrets to the baking universe, but if it doesn't have photographs chances are I'd never give it a second glance. If the cookbook doesn't double as a good old fashioned picture book, I'm just not interested.

I told you I was a bit of a snob.

Despite my prejudices, I took it upon myself to make a recipe from a cookbook without a photograph this week. I figured cookies were pretty self-explanatory, especially in terms of what I was aiming for. Easy, right?

Wrong.

The first batch came out of the oven looking exactly like they did going in—not exactly what I was going for. They tasted delicious, but looked terrible. Is this what they were supposed to look like? Without the cookbook's illustration, it very well may have been. I should have never strayed from my picture prejudice.

I changed up the method and the second batch came out looking marginally better. I fixed those mistakes with the third batch and finally achieved the cookie I think the cookbook wanted me to make. Nevertheless, a simple photograph could have prevented my lemon cookie nightmare. To prevent any nightmares for you, here are several photographs to show you the way of this elusive lemon cookie. If only I had these to begin with.

What is your favorite cookbook? Do you also need pictures or are you brave enough to go without?

These lemon thins are light and delicate. The cookies are flavored with both lemon zest and fresh lemon juice, yet the flavors remain subtle and do not overpower. This recipe yields small, yet tender cookies. These lemon thins are the perfect complement to a cup of tea (if adventurous, you could even dunk them).

Click to read more ...

Lemon Chocolate Tart

I put all of my recipes through a test. It's a ridiculous test with even more ridiculous criteria but, consciously or unconsciously, every recipe on this website has been sent through it. This lemon chocolate tart was the first and only to pass this test.

Only one recipe passed? I imagine you must be thinking. What could this test possibly be?

This serious test is to find the recipe, the first recipe, that makes Foreigner's I Want To Know What Love Is play out in my head. When I took my first bite of this tart, I swear this classic melody was playing in my mind. This tart is love. Oh, you know the words.

I'm going to take a little time
A little time to let this sink in
I will covet this sweet tart
Now that heaven has finally found me

In my life, there's been heartburn and shame
I don't know if I can face a failed recipe again
Can't stop swooning now, I've searched so long
To find this perfect bite.

I want to know what love is
I want you to show me
I want to taste what love is
I know you can show me

Well, at least that's how the sultry tones of Lou Gramm sounded in my head.

I've been searching high and low for a tart like this. The flavors meld so wonderfully together you will think it came straight from above. The shell is soft and sweet, with almond tones, and crumbles perfectly in your mouth like a shortbread cookie. Lemon and chocolate may be unusual flavors to pair together, but they are so delicious when you do. I used this homemade meyer lemon curd which, in my biased opinion, made this tart even sweeter.

Try this tart. Do it. Try it so Lou Gramm will sing to you too.

Click to read more ...