Crispy Potatoes

Is it sad that even though I haven’t set foot in a McDonald’s since I was a teenager, the first thing I thought when I bit into this potato was: Oh my God. I just made McDonald’s fries? But then, on the second potato, I changed my mind: No, better than McDonald’s. Because there was this mellow, round flavor from the olive oil. With my third potato, things got weird. I imagined marching into a McDonald’s and saying: “You call that a potato? (I would motion towards their potatoes at this point, obviously.) No. This is a potato.” Then, I would dig into my pocket and produce one of my potatoes. They would try it, agree with me, then lift me up on their shoulders and parade me through the city!

But before I get carried away, I need to tell you how I arrived at these remarkably crispy potatoes, as I believe I learned a valuable life lesson from them, and if there’s anything one knows about valuable life lessons, it’s that they need to be shared.

It began with a headache—I get migraines. And though I have prescription drugs for them, sometimes I don’t want to take the medicine because it can make me feel like a space cadet / almost as non-functioning as I am with the migraine. So, last week when I got one, I tried to sleep on it. I went to bed early, only to wake up in the middle of the night with the pain much worse than it was when I went to sleep. I took a pill, felt sorry for myself, and then woke up 4 hours later all woozy.

That afternoon, I was feeling better and mentioned the headache to my dear friend, who of course, I’ve mentioned these headaches to in the past, and she told me how she believes there’s a link between blocking fun/pleasure and head pressure and basically prescribed me two hours to myself. To be exact, her actual emailed words were: “Take 2 hours TOTALLY FOR YOURSELF. Do not cook food for Matt. Do not get writing done. Go and play with your inner girl child.” (Right now, Matt’s like: Wait a second. How did I get wrapped up into this?)

I must say that I loved the idea. Who wouldn’t? Two hours to yourself. Of course, I couldn’t start right that moment. I decided I would finish up the writing I was working on and then take my two hours. And not cook dinner for Matt? I liked where her head was at, but let’s get real. I had already bought the ingredients for that night's dinner. Plus, Matt was at work and it wouldn’t be very nice to skip out on him, especially since on days I work and he doesn't, he always cooks a great dinner for me. So, once I worked through my tasks, I finally shut my laptop, looked around the apartment and repeated the words in my head: Take two hours to myself. 

But what to do? My pal had suggested things like going to a park or a café, but those didn’t resonate with me. And everything I came up with seemed either too indulgent (going to the movies alone) or too expensive (going shopping). So, I just stood there, re-asking myself: What should I do? What would be fun? It must have been at least five minutes until I finally decided to grab my screen-printing stuff and screen-print the tote bags I had recently dyed. It sounded fun and was something I needed to do anyway (holiday gifts!). But when I finished cleaning everything up, I went back on the Internet. Or, in other words: a two-hours-to-myself fail.

Fast forward to a few days later: I was dragging my feet on a project, distracted and generally frown-y, when it dawned on me that I should try my hand at taking two hours for myself again, that maybe it would help. Our apartment was freezing and my first thought was to take a hot shower, but then, an angel/devil on my shoulder whispered: No! Take a bath, Dingus! Coincidentally, I had just discovered Pandora (I thought you had to pay for it, so I had never previously checked it out.) and I put it on the Mazzy Star channel. (Just lost my male readers!) But listen: what ensued was one of the nicest least expensive things I have ever done for myself. And when I returned to the world with all of its electronics and websites and earthly demands, I felt so completely ready to dismiss them. In fact, I got in bed and opened a book. In the middle of the afternoon! And I thought to myself, a very specific thought: the only thing missing from this scenario is crispy potatoes.

It’s funny the things we do when our significant other isn’t around. I like to light incense, write letters, eat ice cream from the carton while standing at the kitchen countertop, and watch romantic period movies. Matt likes to order chicken wings, search the Internet for used camera equipment, and watch B-horror movies and/or strange documentaries. Of course we can do these things while the other one is around, but we usually don’t. For one, I don’t like the way those chicken wings look and Matt thinks the incense “smells like burning.”

I mention this because as I lay in bed post-bath, I was reminded of a few things. 1.) Matt had a late meeting after work so I was on my own for dinner that night. 2.) I actually already had potatoes in the house. And 3.) I rarely cook myself a thoughtful, delicious meal when it’s just me showing up for dinner.

I think this should change. Starting with this meal of crispy potatoes and salad. And please don’t think I phoned in the salad. It’s very much inspired—specifically, by a salad I’ve eaten on a few separate occasions at David Lentz’s The Hungry Cat and had been meaning to recreate. So, from memory—as searching for the recipe online would’ve been a buzzkill—I tossed together romaine lettuce, sliced hard-boiled eggs, avocado, and lots of shaved Pecorino, with an olive oil, lemon juice and white wine vinegar dressing. It came together quickly, and while it didn’t taste exactly the same as The Hungry Cat’s, it was pretty close. Next time, I’ll try a softer lettuce. Alas, romaine is what I had in the fridge. The potatoes, on the other hand, came together less quickly. I was making less than half of what the recipe called for, and just peeling all of those tiny potatoes took 30 minutes. And then you have to boil them, wait for them to cool, and scrape each one with a fork before roasting for an hour. (So, please pardon the photos as they were taken in low light.) But if less-than-stellar photography and an hour of prep time in the kitchen leads you to potatoes this delicious and crispy, so be it!

I mean, remember the McDonald’s comparisons above? Each one had a shell layer of crispy potato while the inside remained all soft and fluffy. A must try for potato lovers. (Mom, I’m talking to you!)

So, where’s that valuable life lesson I was talking about earlier? I think it’s this: take time for yourself and then, and this is key, be nice to yourself. Draw yourself a bath, light a candle or two, and take the time to crisp up some potatoes. You won’t regret it... Have you ever heard anyone say, “Man, I shouldn’t have taken that bath,” or, “Wish I hadn’t made those little crispy orbs of potato.”? But then, what do I know? I’m 30 years old and just took my first bath in over four years.

Forked Oven-Roasted Potatoes via Bon Appetit
6 pounds small Yukon Gold potatoes (1 1/2"–2"-diameter), peeled
1 tablespoon kosher salt plus more
1/2 cup olive oil

Preheat oven to 425°. Working in 2 batches, cook potatoes in a large pot of boiling salted water for 3 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer potatoes to a rimmed baking sheet. When cool enough to handle, firmly scrape the tines of a fork up and down potatoes, creating a rough, grooved surface.
Pour oil onto another rimmed baking sheet; bake (to heat oil) for 5 minutes. Add potatoes; turn to coat. Season with 1 tablespoon salt. Roast, turning 3 times during cooking and occasionally basting with oil, until browned and tender, 60–70 minutes.

Going for What Hurts: Roast Chicken with Hot-Sauce Butter

In late May, The New York Times ran an op-ed by Jonathan Franzen titled “Liking Is for Cowards. Go for What Hurts.” I read it for the first time while on vacation a few weeks ago, and have been thinking about it ever since. I wanted to like the piece, but something was holding me back, and I wasn’t sure what. This week, I made roast chicken with hot-butter sauce and was finally able to articulate exactly what was bothering me about it…

Bon Appétit's version:

One of the titles for my friend’s as-yet unwritten memoir is Would It Kill You to Like My Link? I imagine the book cover—the author’s face smiling politely, her chin resting on her open palms—and I laugh, just as might any other warm-blooded, workaday Facebook user who has ever posted a link to the deafening silence of zero likes. But of course, that’s not the only reason I laugh. I laugh because it’s ridiculous, because most of us realize by now that the world doesn’t revolve around the status of our virtual walls, especially considering that more often than not, what we choose to put there—“Steve B. just checked in at Rite Aid.”—is hardly likable.

In Jonathan Franzen’s op-ed, “Liking Is for Cowards. Go for What Hurts,” Franzen cautions us against “the narcissistic tendencies of technology” in favor of good old-fashioned, all-consuming, three-dimensional love, and in so doing, takes particular aim at Facebook, where, he writes, “To friend a person is merely to include the person in our private hall of flattering mirrors.” And where he also believes the verb “to like” has been transformed “from a state of mind to an action that you perform with your computer mouse, from a feeling to an assertion of consumer choice.”

And while part of me very much agrees that technology can act as a spoilsport to many of the things I hold dear—a deeper connection with other humans, patience, thoughtfulness, newspapers, magazines—and wants to knock on Franzen’s door (“Amelia Morris just checked in at Jonathan Franzen’s house”!) and shake his hand for calling us users and abusers out, the other part of me wants to shout, “Easy for you to say, Franzen!”

At the risk of exposing much of what I try to hide from the world, allow me to explain:

Of late, a seemingly harmless request from my employer sent me reeling down a dark path of job searches and career re-imaginings that included but weren’t limited to: massage therapy, how to acquire the necessary credentials to teach high school, and selling coins on the Internet. The request? They needed a photograph of me for their newly revamped website. I didn’t like the sound of it. I’ve basically avoided any kind of a real job with salary and benefits ever since I had one and quit it almost six years ago. And now, this job, which has been very good to me and fits my writerly life so well in so many ways, but which I’ve struggled with convincing myself doesn’t define me as a person, needed a photo of me in the workplace, ideally one that, upon looking at, represented my role in some way, shape or form.

Let’s first imagine Jonathan Franzen’s staff photo. I picture an image of a confident man, at home, sitting at his computer, typing. His computer sits on his desk, which faces a large window that allows light to stream in at all sorts of elegant angles. And if you look to the left of this window you can see, posted on his wall, a few letters and notes from some of his friends: Freedom was even better on the second read. –Salman; and Just send us whatever, whenever. –The New Yorker; and Look how far we’ve come! ;) –O., next to an Oprah Book Club Selection sticker.

As for my staff photo? I can tell you exactly what it looks like: an image of me trying to smile while silently repeating: This job doesn’t define you. This job doesn’t define you, against the backdrop of a wall of beautiful, Belgian linens.

See, it’s easier to tell yourself it’s just a part-time job to support your art when you aren’t having to pose for a photo that will be posted online in all of its bad lighting and fear-behind-the-eyes to indefinitely serve as proof that this is your day-to-day existence.

In the world of Facebook, however, that photo would have never made its way online. That photo is anathema to Facebook, because Facebook is our opportunity to present ourselves exactly as we’d like to be presented.

In his essay, “How to Make a Universe,” John Barth argues against the notion that an artist must fit into the bohemian hobo stereotype. He scoffs at the idea that great art can’t “come from a person who works decent hours for a decent wage and owns an automobile and supports a family.” He quotes a Thomas Mann story:

Do you want me to go about in a ragged velveteen jacket and a red waistcoat? Every artist is as bohemian as the deuce, inside! Let him at least wear proper clothes and behave outwardly like a respectable being.

And in this electronic age in which I’ve chosen to try to be, of all things, a novelist, I beg of you, Mr. Franzen: Don’t post that photo of me in the ragged velveteen jacket. Let me have some fun in this one space that I can control, huh? Let me trick the friends who haven’t seen me since high school and don’t know where I work. Let me amplify my small successes and occasional press. Let them think that the camera only captures me at my thinnest and prettiest. Not everything has to be so accurate, does it? Not everyone needs to know I watch Big Brother and play Can Knock Down late at night. In return, I promise to meditate in the morning and continue purchasing literary fiction at my local bookstore.

And as for the like button, in today’s world where most people’s first response is: No, or Double-Dip Recession, or You Need to Think about Having Kids Before Your Eggs Get Too Old, a little support and kindness goes a long way. It’s nice to post a link on your wall to something that’s moved you, or perhaps to something you’ve written, and the next day, see those little digital thumbs-up with a few of your friends’ names by it. Oh, you think to yourself. He or she likes that? And suddenly, you feel a bit better knowing you have connected with someone, albeit for a moment and on a superficial level, but it’s something, isn’t it? A friend liking another person’s link about the beauty and mystery of cephalopods can hardly be deemed an “assertion of consumer choice.” Can it, Mr. Franzen? I mean, honestly, would it kill you to like that link?

But let’s steer this ship in another direction for a few moments and talk about chicken and hot sauce—which, by the way, falls right in line with going for what hurts as I’m hard pressed to think of a physical action that better encompasses this notion than the halving and seeding of ten habanero chili peppers by hand.

Even wearing gloves, I couldn’t avoid the stinging heat of these tiny but potent peppers. My eyes watered and my throat itched, causing me to walk away from them in a coughing fit on more than one occasion. Once I got them puréed in the blender, I thought I was in the clear, but my gloved-habanero-ey hand must have touched a few things in the kitchen before I rinsed it off because a few minutes later, after I had scraped the mixture into a bowl, covered it with plastic wrap, and set it on the kitchen table to ferment for 12 hours, my index finger started to burn. It wasn’t unbearable by any means—not anything close to the time I seeded two jalapenos sans gloves—but just a subtle, painful message from the ten habaneros that they were not going quietly into the night.

I finished this step at 4pm and wasn’t about to set my alarm for 4am to move it from the counter to the refrigerator, so to be accurate, this mixture fermented for more like 15 hours. And to be even more accurate, our dinner plans changed, and we didn’t move on to the next step for a few more days. In other words, this is a resilient little mixture that you don’t have to rush.

So, when I finally got around to it, I went on to the next step: puréeing this mixture with the vinegar, remaining liqueur and salt. And again, I was reminded of who was in charge. I had the faintest of paper cuts on my finger, but those fermented habaneros managed to find it. And as my finger burned once more, I kept thinking: I can’t believe I’m going to ingest this.

However, after straining the mixture and simmering it and adding the butter, it really began to look and smell like something I wanted to eat, or at least, put on my food. It smelled shockingly spicy, yes, but it also smelled of oranges, vinegar, and butter. And as the chicken roasted away in the oven and the thermometer in our apartment rose to an uncomfortable 88 degrees, I knew there was nothing that was going to be more refreshing than this brightly colored blast of hot sauce, which by now was three days in the making.

And you know what? I was right. This sauce was one of the most flavorful items of food I’ve ever made from scratch. Matt—who is famous for having broken his four-year-long streak of vegetarianism with, of all things, hot wings, and who blames this moment of weakness on the unbeatable combination of Frank’s RedHot, butter, and chicken—concurs.

The sauce was hot, but, as suspected, the vinegar and butter rounded out the heat to perfection. Matt and I had put the sauce in one ramekin between us, but this turned out to be a big mistake as there was a constant, detour-less traffic jam at that poor lonely ramekin. We couldn’t get enough of it, taking the pieces of chicken and dunking them entirely into the Sunny D-colored jus. And what was even better? We have plenty left over for the rest of the week.

So, after all of this, what can we conclude here? For me, it’s this: my friends and I do (and will continue to) go for “what hurts.” We’ll continue to be inspired, to create, to put ourselves out there, to be rejected, and to do it all over again, because stopping isn’t really an option. We’re not paid, so we create what we want. We have fun doing it. And though we may not have a platform like, say, the The New York Times to express ourselves and share our ideas, we have created and found other ways to connect. We have our blogs, we have email, and yes, we have Facebook. The support and exchange of work from like-minded friends sustains our creative impulses and also serves as the reward to a job well done, story well told, and meal well cooked. So yeah, we like each others’ links. Perhaps that doesn't mean anything to some people, but for me, it's a move away from cynicism and towards embracing the struggle. And I would say there’s nothing cowardly about that.

But what do you think, readers? I’d love to hear from you.

Roast Chicken with Hot-Sauce Butter via Bon Appetit
Recipe by Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Dan Kluger

Ingredients
3 ounces orange Scotch bonnet or habanero chiles (about 10)
1 orange bell pepper, halved, seeded, coarsely chopped
4 1x3" strips orange zest
4 tablespoons St-Germain liqueur, divided (I substituted Grand Marnier.)
2 tablespoons kosher salt, divided, plus more for seasoning
1 garlic clove, smashed
1 cup Champagne vinegar
2 teaspoons cornstarch
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened, divided
1 3-pound chicken, cut into 4 pieces, backbone removed
Freshly ground black pepper

Preparation
Wearing gloves, halve and seed chiles. Purée chiles, pepper, zest, 2 tablespoons liqueur, 1 tablespoon salt, and garlic in a blender. Transfer to a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let ferment at room temperature for 12 hours.

Purée chile mixture in a blender with vinegar, remaining 2 tablespoons liqueur, and remaining 1 tablespoon salt until smooth. Set a fine-mesh strainer over a small saucepan. Strain mixture, pressing on solids. Heat hot sauce over medium heat. Stir cornstarch and 2 teaspoons water in a small bowl until smooth. Whisk cornstarch mixture into hot sauce. Simmer, whisking constantly, until thickened, about 2 minutes. Whisk in 3 tablespoons butter. Season to taste with salt. Keep warm.

Preheat oven to 450°. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Heat remaining 1 tablespoon butter in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Cook chicken, skin side down, until golden, about 5 minutes. Turn chicken and cook 6 minutes. Remove breasts from pan and transfer to a plate. Place skillet in oven and roast legs for 12 minutes. Return breasts to skillet; roast legs until legs and breasts are cooked through, about 10 minutes longer. Serve with hot-sauce butter.

Take Two: Devil's Food Layer Cake with Peppermint Frosting

Matt is Jewish and as recently as last year asked, "Christmas is always the third Thursday of December, right?" With questions like these, I feel a special obligation to share my Christmas traditions with him while at the same time, with our jobs keeping us from traveling home for the holidays, a certain freedom to drop the ones I never liked in the first place—like everyone disbanding into separate rooms moments after the presents were opened and the (perhaps somewhat related) complete absence of champagne or mulled cider or holiday cocktails of any kind.

And so, with some traditions stricken from the record, I realized that we had space to create some new ones of our very own. For example, last year, with my brother visiting from North Carolina, we thought it might be fun for each person to contribute one dish to Christmas dinner. And so, Christmas dinner became a small, three-dish potluck, or as Matt referred to it, "a weird hodge podge of foods." Needless to say, it didn't stick. So, this year, we decided to go back to something we tried out two years ago and have been thinking about ever since.

Bon Appetit's version:

our 2008 version:

our 2010 version:

Truth is, I've been thinking about remaking a lot of the early appetempts. Some of them are just plain jenky—Orange Polenta Cake, Mushroom Turnover, just to name a few. I'd like to think that for those early posts, the blog and I were still finding our voice and aesthetic. But there was one attempt that cast a large shadow over the others. It was the very first one, the first fail, the impossible cake that birthed Bon Appetempt. If I was going to move forward, I knew I'd have to deal with the past, and that meant retrying my hand at the Devil's Food Layer Cake with Peppermint Frosting.

Though the above slice looks a little anemic and isn't standing upright as we hoped (Wasn't gonna happen.), the cake as a whole survived. Even after we sliced it. (See below.)

Over the past two years, I had really built up the challenge that was this mega-cake. But on Christmas Eve, as I finally rolled up my sleeves and began the two-day process, I kept thinking of the advice Anne Lamott's father gave to her brother in her book, Bird by Bird. The title comes from an anecdote Lamott tells about her ten-year-old brother who had had three months to put together a massive book report on birds, but had only just begun working on it the day before it was due. He was frantic and stressed. And her dad's advice? "Just take it bird by bird."

After all, I was reminded, I had bird-by-birded this thing two years ago when I knew nothing about making cakes. And two years later, the behemoth came together quite nicely—the only real failing arriving when trying to plate the perfect slice for the photo. (It should be noted that the cake is enormous. It weighs about 15 lbs and is roughly the size of a microwave oven.)

Time will tell, but I have a feeling this tradition will stick. It's a major crowd-pleaser and putting it together is the sort of undertaking one looks forward to exactly once a year.

p.s. My Christmas iPad from Matt came in handy.

Happy Holidays! See you in the new year!

Recipe via Bon Appetit:

ingredients:

cake
2 2/3 cups all purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 cups sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
3 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 1/4 cups unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted
2 cups ice water

Dark chocolate ganache

1 1/3 cups heavy whipping cream
2 tablespoons light corn syrup
14 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped

white chocolate cream
12 ounces high-quality white chocolate (such as Lindt or Perugina), finely chopped
3 cups chilled heavy whipping cream, divided
1 1/2 teaspoons pure peppermint extract

peppermint frosting
2 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup water
3 large egg whites
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
1/2 teaspoon pure peppermint extract
Bittersweet chocolate curls

Preparation

Cake

Position rack in center of oven; preheat to 350°F. Butter two 9-inch-diameter cake pans with 2-inch-high sides. Dust pans with flour; tap out excess. Whisk first 4 ingredients in medium bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat sugar and butter in large bowl until well blended. Beat in eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in yolk. Add cocoa and beat until well blended. Add flour mixture in 3 additions alternately with ice water in 2 additions, beginning and ending with flour mixture and beating until just blended and smooth after each addition. Divide batter between prepared pans; smooth tops.

Bake cakes until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 40 minutes. Cool cakes in pans on racks 15 minutes. Invert cakes onto racks and cool completely. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Wrap in foil; store at room temperature.

Dark chocolate ganache
Bring cream and corn syrup to simmer in medium saucepan. Remove from heat; add chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth. Transfer to small bowl. Chill until firm enough to spread, about 1 hour. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Before using, let stand at room temperature until soft enough to spread, about 30 minutes.

White chocolate cream
Place white chocolate in large heatproof bowl. Bring 1 cup cream to simmer in saucepan. Pour hot cream over white chocolate. Let stand 1 minute; whisk until smooth. Whisk in extract. Cover; chill until mixture thickens and is cold, at least 4 hours. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Chill.

Add 2 cups chilled cream to white chocolate cream and beat until smooth and peaks form. DO AHEAD Can be made 3 hours ahead. Cover and chill. Rewhisk to thicken, if necessary, before using.

Using long serrated knife, cut each cake horizontally in half. Place 1 cake layer on platter, cut side up. Spread 1/3 of dark chocolate ganache over cake. Spoon 2 cups white chocolate cream in dollops over cake; spread evenly to edges. Top with second cake layer, cut side down; spread 1/3 of ganache over, then 2 cups white chocolate cream. Repeat with third cake layer, cut side up, remaining ganache, and remaining cream. Cover with fourth cake layer, cut side down. Chill while preparing frosting.

Peppermint frosting
Combine sugar, 1/2 cup water, egg whites, and corn syrup in large bowl of heavy-duty stand mixer. Whisk by hand to blend well. Set bowl with mixture over saucepan of gently simmering water; whisk constantly with hand whisk until mixture resembles marshmallow creme and ribbons form when whisk is lifted, 8 to 9 minutes. Whisk in peppermint extract. Remove bowl from over water and attach bowl to heavy-duty stand mixer fitted with whisk attachment. Beat on high speed until mixture is barely warm to touch and very thick, 7 to 8 minutes.

Using offset spatula and working quickly, spread frosting over top and sides of cake. Sprinkle chocolate curls over top and sides. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover with cake dome; chill.

Giving Thanks: Golden Brown Butter and Pecan Praline Tart

It's the season of giving thanks, and truth be told, I'm feeling quite grateful for many things, one of which is you, my fair Bon Appetempt reader! All morning, I'd been searching for a funny, non-cheesy way to tell you this, but was coming up blank. It was a seriously gorgeous November day in Los Angeles—crisp-aired, chilly but sunny—and so I decided to take a break and go for a walk around my neighborhood, hoping this might help inspire. And about fifteen minutes in, I came across this strange contraption:
Do you see what's happening here? It's a tree being very much supported by a metallic, yellow arm a.k.a. the West Hollywood Street Maintenance. It's like a crutch for the tree. Plus, they literally moved the sidewalk to go around the OUTSIDE of the tree, and then gave it a nice yellow crutch just because.

Enter West Hollywood Street Maintenance metaphor:

No, I didn't knock down the one orange and white striped stand thing just to make fun of my lovely mother for not reading the blog. It was way down (much like my parents' readership) when I happened upon it.

OK, now. Moving on to Thanksgiving!

If ever there was an exact opposite of Marilyn's liver-y stuffing, it was this pecan tart. Instead of laborious egg peeling, vegetable chopping and liver boiling, there was a press-in crust, pecans, and some butter-browning. Instead of the appetite-crushing wet dog smell, the apartment filled with the warmth of toasted pecans and melted butter. And no tart pan? No problem. I used the springform one I acquired for the Ina Garten cheesecake attempt. Also, I couldn't find the golden syrup the recipe called for, but substituted (the ever present) corn syrup without issue.

Bon Appetit's version:

Jeanne Kelley / Recipe creator's version

our version:

By the way, many thanks to Jeanne Kelley, who I ran into the day after I'd made Marilyn's stuffing and who must have seen the disappointment in my face when I described the dish to her because as I went on to explain I was looking for a good pecan pie recipe, she mentioned this one. She could tell I needed an unfussy success, something that would inevitably deliver. And well, just look at that tart.

While making the pie, I also recommend fixing yourself a virgin (or otherwise) Bloody Mary with the brine left over from McClure's Spicy Pickles—pictured above on the left. That's the brown butter on the right. (Don't drink that.)

Thanksgiving dinner was very special. We spent it with some of our very talented and culinary-minded friends whose guest attempt is soon to come(!).

Food, friends, (football?), fizzy wine, and a fire equaled one of my favorite Thanksgivings to date. So many thank yous to everyone!

Recipe via Bon Appetit
Ingredients
crust
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups unbleached all purpose flour
1/4 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

filling
1 large egg
1/2 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1/2 cup golden syrup (such as Lyle's Golden Syrup)
1/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans, toasted

special equipment

9-inch tart pan with removable bottom (Bon Appetempt note: Don't sweat it if you don't have one. The removable bottom and tart-shape are are mainly for the presentation factor.)

The Technique: Press-In Crust
A press-in crust eliminates the (sometimes tricky) steps of rolling out the dough and transferring it to the tart pan. Instead of rolling, just combine the crust ingredients and press the sandy, crumbly mixture onto the tart pan. Start in the middle and work outward, or—if you're concerned about running out of crust as you go up the sides—start with the edges and work inward. That way, you'll have plenty of dough to form edges of uniform thickness for a pretty presentation.

Ingredient info
Look for golden syrup at some supermarkets and at specialty foods stores.

Preparation
crust
Cook 3/4 cup butter in heavy small saucepan over medium heat until butter turns golden brown (nut-colored), watching carefully to prevent burning, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat. Pour melted brown butter into 1-cup glass measuring cup. Let melted butter stand until barely warm, 15 to 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, position rack in center of oven and preheat to 375°F. Butter bottom and sides of 9-inch-diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Whisk flour, brown sugar, and salt in medium bowl to blend. Add 1/2 cup of barely warm melted brown butter and stir with fork until moist dough forms (mixture will resemble wet sand). Transfer dough to prepared tart pan. Using fingertips, press dough firmly and evenly onto bottom and up sides of pan (dough will look glossy). Let crust rest 5 to 10 minutes at room temperature. Bake crust until set and just golden brown, 15 to 18 minutes.

Filling
Meanwhile, whisk egg and brown sugar in medium bowl until well blended. Whisk in golden syrup, whipping cream, and salt. Stir in remaining melted brown butter, leaving most of darkened solids behind in bottom of measuring cup. Stir in pecans. Pour filling into warm crust, distributing pecans evenly.

Bake tart until filling is browned and slightly puffed and set at edges (center will still move slightly when pan is gently shaken), 25 to 27 minutes. Cool tart completely in pan on rack (center of filling will set as tart cools). DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover loosely and store at room temperature.

Crack Pie

Remember when we made Momofuku's shrimp and grits? The our version photo is still Matt's screensaver. So you can imagine our excitement when this month's Bon Appetit arrived in our mailbox with a feature story on Momofuku's pastry chef, Christina Tosi. The Chocolate Malt Cake looked insane, but Matt was pushing hard to make the Crack Pie, so hard in fact, that he offered to make it. So this one is brought to us by Matthew.

Bon Appetit's version:

photo in magazine by Christopher Griffith

our version:

I must say that I really loved the food styling by Bon Appetit on this one. They've made the pie look kind of mangled and roughed up, as if the pie were saying: Hi. I'm CRACK PIE. I'm not the prettiest dessert you're ever going to make. But you know what? I'm good. Real good. AND I've got fork marks all up in me.

The good news is that making crack pie is fairly simple. The bad news is that it requires about 24 hours to make. So no fix can be immediately satisfied when cooking up some crack [pie].

Step one: Make a giant oatmeal cookie.

Step two: After cookie has baked and cooled, destroy it. While doing this, Matt turned to me and said: "I've destroyed something beautiful." Luckily, the crumbled remains of the giant, oatmeal cookie are repurposed into something equally beautiful—amazing pie crust.

Step three: Make the filling.

I actually think a key component to enjoying this is having someone else to make it for you. Let's just say the mere sight of how much sugar and butter goes into crack pie is enough to to start ruining the enjoyment of eating it later.

The pie comes out of the oven golden brown and bubbling. It smells amazing. The only problem is, once again, you cannot eat it right away. The final step has you cooling the pie overnight. (Why are you denying us hot/room-temp crack pie, Christina Tosi??)

The following afternoon:

Crack pie is good. Very good. Borderline amazing, and according to Matt, it's his new "favorite dessert of all time." It tastes a lot like pecan pie minus the pecans with a little of the St. Louis Gooey Butter Cake mixed in. The only problem with this dessert is the self loathing that comes with eating as much of it as we did over a three day period. My recommendation is to make this when entertaining, or even better, when you're going to a friend's for dinner so that you can leave the pie there with them. Kind of like what you do with crack cocaine. JUST kidding. Don't do drugs, people. Make pie.

p.s. Thanks, MATT!

RECIPE via Bon Appetit

Oat Cookie Crust
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
9 tablespoons (1 stick plus 1 tablespoon) unsalted butter, room temperature, divided
5 1/2 tablespoons (packed) golden brown sugar, divided
2 tablespoons sugar
1 large egg
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons old-fashioned oats
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon baking powder
1/8 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon (generous) salt

Filling
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1 tablespoon nonfat dry milk powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted, cooled slightly
6 1/2 tablespoons heavy whipping cream
4 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Powdered sugar (for dusting)

Preparation

Oat Cookie Crust
Preheat oven to 350°F. Line 13x9x2-inch metal baking pan with parchment paper; coat with nonstick spray. Combine 6 tablespoons butter, 4 tablespoons brown sugar, and 2 tablespoons sugar in medium bowl. Using electric mixer, beat mixture until light and fluffy, occasionally scraping down sides of bowl, about 2 minutes. Add egg; beat until pale and fluffy. Add oats, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt and beat until well blended, about 1 minute. Turn oat mixture out onto prepared baking pan; press out evenly to edges of pan. Bake until light golden on top, 17 to 18 minutes. Transfer baking pan to rack and cool cookie completely.

Using hands, crumble oat cookie into large bowl; add 3 tablespoons butter and 1 1/2 tablespoons brown sugar. Rub in with fingertips until mixture is moist enough to stick together. Transfer cookie crust mixture to 9-inch-diameter glass pie dish. Using fingers, press mixture evenly onto bottom and up sides of pie dish. Place pie dish with crust on rimmed baking sheet.

Filling
Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 350°F. Whisk both sugars, milk powder, and salt in medium bowl to blend. Add melted butter and whisk until blended. Add cream, then egg yolks and vanilla and whisk until well blended. Pour filling into crust. Bake pie 30 minutes (filling may begin to bubble). Reduce oven temperature to 325°F. Continue to bake pie until filling is brown in spots and set around edges but center still moves slightly when pie dish is gently shaken, about 20 minutes longer. Cool pie 2 hours in pie dish on rack. Chill uncovered overnight. DO AHEAD Can be made 2 days ahead. Cover; keep chilled.

Sift powdered sugar lightly over top of pie. Cut pie into wedges and serve cold.

Going Korean Part 2: Korean Rice Bowl / The Bibimbap

Lately I've found myself taking on way too many things. This usually leads to feelings of regret, specifically because I'm not doing any of them as well as I could if I'd only been more singularly focused. Because of this, and a few other reasons, namely Matt's and my two-year anniversary, we are skipping town, going off the grid, and heading to Desert Hot Springs. We cannot wait. No TV, no emails, and no phone. Just desert, hot springs, books, food and one movie we are probably the last people in the world not to have seen yet and are undoubtedly committing multiple cinema crimes given that we'll have to watch it on a laptop.

Bon Appetit's version:

photograph by Jose Picayo

our version:

Do you know how many of these Vivenne/ingredient photos Matt takes that don't make the blog? So many. I don't know why Mugi Miso made the cut except for the fact that Matt and I've been asking each other all week where I / he put the Mugi Miso as we need it stat. (It's never not in the refrigerator.)

Do you guys remember the Mugi Miso? Well, the recipe didn't call for it. What it did call for was Korean hot pepper paste (kochujang). I couldn't find this at the grocery store, but according to the recipe, this paste is just a mixture of miso and hot chilies. I knew we had Sambal Oelek, which is essentially just straight chilies. SO, I thought if I mixed the two, I'd basically get Korean hot pepper paste. (On the left below is the Mugi Miso and on the right is the Sambal Oelek.)

I think it worked. Not having recently tried the real thing, it's pretty hard to say, but our makeshift mixture tasted umami-ish with heat.

Luckily with food, when you take on too many things, it's still usually edible. So yes, I slightly overcooked the steak and the kimchee was excruciatingly hot. However, the egg was perfectly runny and the asparagus nice and al dente, and all in all, I loved this meal. Even more so, I loved the eggs and rice I made the following day with the leftover rice and sesame salt.

As for Matt and me and the desert? We leave tomorrow morning. Now let's see if I can finish some of the things I've started--like maybe all of these half-read books I loved the beginning of so much?

For bibimbap recipe, click HERE.