Fresh Strawberry Cake

I have been keeping a secret from you for the last couple years. Partially out of embarrassment and partially out of the belief that I could quickly remedy the situation, I swept it under the cupboards and kept my lips sealed. The truth is that I do not know how to cook. While I know enough to fill the refrigerator and keep my stomach full, the knowledge and techniques involved in cooking often escape me. Take away my spatula and mixing bowl and things quickly slide downhill.

The ability to cook and the ability to bake are often entwined, but to me they have been two very separate activities. They feel different. Baking comes naturally to me; I understand how to turn butter and flour into something beautiful with little effort. Cooking, on the other hand, has always been a challenge. I fumble around fresh cuts of meat and vegetables, uncertain of myself.

My method of cooking is to throw a few vegetables together with egg noodles, top it with a fried egg, and call it dinner. While I do not mind these bland, makeshift meals, they certainly are not worthy enough to serve to anyone else (in fact, my boyfriend often turns his nose up at the strange combinations that find their way onto my plate). I am miserable when it comes to seasoning food, relying heavily on salt and pepper to rescue my dishes. Other spices seem to be beyond my culinary grasp.

My biggest pitfall, however, comes with cooking protein. Every time I place a chicken breast in a hot pan or grill, I radically misjudge the cooking time. I have to cut apart the chicken to check for a pink center (which there invariably is) as all of the juice runs out. I am excellent at preparing dry chicken. Moreover, I was recently informed that I incorrectly fry hamburger, rendering it to a nearly inedible rubber consistency (to my further discredit, I had assumed this was how it was supposed to be).

I did not realize how far I had fallen until I tuned in to the last season of MasterChef. Gordon Ramsey cursed out a contestant for frying an egg incorrectly. Since the contestant's browned, rejected eggs looked just as my own (beloved) eggs, it was another indication of how little skill I possess in front of a hot stove.

When I try to reproduce a recipe, I am fairly successful. To my own credit, I am quite good at following directions. It is when I am left to my own devices that my culinary skills seem to escape me. Recently I have been phasing processed food out of my diet which makes dinner time feel more difficult. While I do pop open the occasional can of soup or spaghetti sauce, the majority of my meals come together on the cutting board. I would love to learn how to cook, to understand vegetables and proteins as well as butter and sugar. To wield a knife and fry a fish fillet to perfection. Perhaps I just need to set aside some time to teach myself, to take away the intimidation and replace it with confidence.

Until I can cook a dinner from scratch that would make my mother proud, I think I will stick to what I know and love—baking. I like to believe this Fresh Strawberry Cake can effortlessly hide any shortcomings I may have in front of the stove.

Fresh Strawberry Cake has a bright, natural flavor and rustic appearance. Fresh strawberries are quartered and pressed into the top of the batter, which gives the option to choose how many or few berries you would like. Whole wheat flour lends the cake a subtle nutty flavor that makes the bites without the berries positively delightful. This may be a simple cake, both in ingredients and appearance, but the flavor is quite remarkable and worth experiencing.

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Strawberry Charlotte

During the last week, I have been spending most of my time in the kitchen, mixing ingredients by hand and giving my oven a workout. Halfway through my two weeks off from work and school, it is a welcome break to spend time away from the everyday grind, a chance to relax and get my thoughts back in order. Though I like to imagine that I will be productive with my newly found time, the last week has proven otherwise, as reality TV shows and sleeping in have sucked away more time than I would like to admit.

Maybe it is okay to let myself be lazy every once in awhile.

With more time in the kitchen, I have been playing around with elaborate, multi-step desserts, including cakes. While I love a good layered cake, I could not decide on a flavor, arguing back and forth with myself between fruit and chocolate based cakes and fillings. While fruit is lovely, it had been so long since I cut my fork through a thick chocolate cake that the thought grew tempting.

Nevertheless, after a walk outdoors with the weather still settling into early spring, a chocolate cake suddenly seemed too heavy for this delicate time of year. With buds just forming on the bare tree limbs, a sweet, light fruit cake seemed to fit the bill. After a walk through the local market, with pounds of red, ruby strawberries on sale, the deal was sealed.

Charlotte cakes originated in France in the early nineteenth century. They traditionally involve fruit purees, sponge cake, and custards or whipped cream frosting. This particular Strawberry Charlotte is not quite as the original cake, but the spirit is just the same. Instead of layers of sponge cake, I used my favorite light vanilla cake recipe and used a strawberry mousse to fill it. Lined with ladyfingers, either homemade or store bought, the cake becomes quite the sight.

While I did not have one on hand, a white or red ribbon tied around the middle would add a gorgeous finishing touch.

This Strawberry Charlotte is a spring cake that is perfect for all of life's celebrations. Layers of light vanilla cake are filled with an airy strawberry mousse and fresh strawberries and topped off with a coating of whipped cream icing. The strawberry mousse is made from pureed strawberries, which gives the cake a bright fruit flavor. The cake is lined with ladyfingers and graced with whole, fresh strawberries making this a simple, but impressive cake to decorate.

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Roasted Strawberry Coconut Ice Cream

Ice cream has many faces. To young children, ice cream is a delight, enchanting both the mind and the mouth. The frozen treat leaves a sticky smudge all over their faces as they attempt to lick the bowl clean. In the heat of a wild summer, ice cream cools down the body during warm afternoons, bringing a smile to anyone who happens to find a towering cone in their hands. Ice cream can also be a comfort food, a friend in moments when the world just isn't in your favor.

During my college years, my friend and I developed a ritual to coping with boy trouble whenever we found ourselves in a wearisome place. The routine always began with a hesitant call on the phone; once the strain of the situation became evident in one of our discordant voices, it was time to take action. The solution for these problems was always the same—ice cream. The grocery store became a fixture in those moments, as we'd wander the frozen food aisle carefully choosing the chilled tonic that would heal our wounds.

In the eve of twilight, we'd walk our heavy souls to a nearby park, with spoons in our back pockets, and dig into the melting cream, eating more than we should have dared. Just as the remaining ice cream would melt into a pool in the bottom of the container, the rush of sorrow and heartbreak and the unfairness of love would come spilling out of one of our hearts. As one bared her soul to the other, the other would open her ears, hoping the simple act of listening would lift just a part of burden the other carried. Some nights we'd find solutions to the problems together, but more often than not the troubles would hang in the air, unsolved and unresolved, as a satisfying answer failed to appear.

When the sugar would gather in our bloodstreams, we'd find ourselves on the park swings, cursing men and love with every pump of our legs. Higher and higher into the air we would fly as the metal chains of the swings began to shake. In those moments, with a belly full of ice cream and a dear friend by our side, the weight of the world would lift an inch off our shoulders for just a moment and we could begin to feel free.

To me, ice cream has always been a healer—a healer of broken hearts, hot summer days, and scraped knees. Ice cream has the uncanny ability to ease the troubles of life and bring lightness to the heaviest of situations. Ice cream, in its own way, is a carrier of happiness. In the chocolate swirls, strawberry chunks, and Neapolitan flavors, there holds a promise of smiles, happy moments, and ice cream smudged faces.

This is why I love ice cream.

Roasted Strawberry Coconut Ice Cream is light and creamy, with bursts of strawberry flavor. Strawberries are sliced, drizzled with balsamic vinegar, and sweetened with a spoonful of sugar before roasting in the oven until the berries are dark and sweet. The ice cream is very simple to assemble (and dairy/egg-free!). The flavors alternate between spoonfuls of smooth coconut and bright strawberries.

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