WTF Baking

I have many WTF moments in the kitchen. This holiday season, however, I have had more than usual…to say the least.

It all started with the mock Dominique Ansel Chocolate chip cookie shot glass recipe…

Pfffft, yea fucking right. I pressed the unchilled dough (yep, supposed to be chilled) into the muffin pan (they suggested a popover pan, whatever!) and prayed over the oven. Apparently, God was too busy to take care of my baking problems that day and that shit turned into chocolate chip muffins real fast. My family’s initial reaction went as expected: “WTF are those?”

Oh, yeah. After the first batch of muffin cookies, I switched to a mini bundt pan. This only added to the what the fuck-ness…errrr welp. Ya win some, ya lose some.

you’ll be happy to know (or maybe not) that I did not let this bump in the road get me down! Yesterday, I bravely took on another mucho creative cookie recipe (fuck you, Pinterest) and then…this… happened:

In all fairness, it sort of looks like the picture:

I’m sure many of you are assuming that I stopped here, because obviously I peaked. Nope. Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

Today, I forged forward with a thumbprint cookie recipe written to yield 60 cookies. That is 6-0. Unsurprisingly,  my execution of this recipe, using all of the exact same measurements, made 18 lumpy, jelly filled lumps. This is 42 Lumpy lumps less than the original recipe. I s’ ppose this is the Godly miracle I was waiting for, because they kind of suck.

Okay, time to clean up. Whomp-whomp.

There’s a Mexican Sausage in my Arepa

What’s better than large Mexican sausage?

Nothing! Nothing is better than Mexican sausage. Chorizo makes the world go round. Chorizo is everything. Obviously the only way to make this fine piece of mystery meat better is to add more fat. Huevos Rancheros? I think so. 

The first step in making this pile of fat is cutting up the sausage. There’s something super cathartic about tearing through a phallic piece of intestine. I highly recommend blasting angry Alanis Morisette music in the background while doing this.

Isn’t it Ironic. don’t you think?    

 

Mexican sausage really gets my pan wet. Seriously though, it gets my pan all wet. Do NOT add any extra oil. Yea, I’m talking to you fatty. PUT THE OIL DOWN. I promise that the fat in the chorizo is more than enough to keep those thunder thighs.

Break out the beans! With a slotted spoon, put the chorizo on a plate and keep the grease in the pan. As a side note, I usually keep the scariest knife I can find in eyesight throughout the whole cooking process. It establishes my authority in the kitchen.  

Pour the beans and liquid into the same pan used to cook the chorizo. Add one packet of Sazon and some dried coriander to taste. Bring to a boil and let simmer. Don’t over cook! There should be enough liquid left over to smother the arepa\corn tortilla. 

  

How do you like your eggs in the morning? Fried, bitch! Fry an egg for each plate.  

Arepa! Arepa! Arepa dough is made by adding boiled water and butter to a bowl of masa harina. Once the masa harina absorbs the liquid it turns into a malleable dough. AGH! What am I saying?! It was such a waste of time. Just buy a fucking package of corn tortillas and call it a day. 

 Layer everything on the plate in this order- Corn tortilla- saucy beans- cooked chorizo- slice of queso fresco (It’s a cheese!)- fried egg. Serve with a little avocado and a fake Spanish accent.   

 

 

 

  

 

Grampa’s Bakery and Restaurant: Dania Beach

If you enjoy not gaining weight then I suggest you stay far, far away from Grampa’s Bakery and Restaurant. A Paleo dieter may actually burst into flames if they dare step foot in this place. Actually, on second thought, it wouldn’t be such bad thing if a paleo preacher burst into flames. We get it already! You eat like a caveman! You spend hours preparing meals! No one gives a shit, Encino Man…WOW. That felt good.

Clearly, I have no interest in dieting. I eat my complimentary Grampa pastries with no guilt whatsoever and I have been eating them long before Guy Fieri showed up there in his douchey car.

That’s right, I said complimentary pastries. They are served with all breakfast and lunch orders. It’s like a bread basket on crack. Honestly,  I would come here just for the free pastries, but that’s frowned upon.

As we were eating here on Monday my friend made a great point about the food. She said,  “It’s so good because it’s simple”. And she’s right. Everything is home cooked in the most simple way and it is this simplicity that makes the food so delicious and comforting.

Example A: Grampa’s French Toast. Whoever says that everything is bigger in Texas has never been to Florida and eaten Grampa’s french toast. Our omelets paled in comparison to my husband’s gigantic slices of deliciousness. This dish is made the way we expect french toast to be made. The familiarity of the flavors makes the meal even more enjoyable than it already is.

The restaurant itself could definitely use an update but an update would just be sad. The outdated decor is part of the charm of Grampa’s Bakery and Restaurant. It’s the type of place that you can always count on to look the same. I am confident that 20 years from now Grampa’s Bakery and Restaurant will still look the same and taste the same. This makes aging a little easier for me.

Belieb in These Cookies

Drag racing? Really Biebs? That is sooo last year.

Yes, I agree with the majority. Justin Bieber is, in fact, an asshole with a vagina the size of Texas. However, I belieb that this life size tampon was once a child who enjoyed chocolate chip cookies like everyone else. You can belieb what you want,  but this is what I belieb.

In honor of the Bieb’s lost childhood and new Orange jumpsuit I made chocolate chip cookies from a recipe I got off a Reynolds wrap advertisement. If it’s good enough for Reynold then it’s good enough for Bieber.

I omitted the nuts from this recipe because lezbehonest the Bieb ain’t got no nuts. In hindsight, I should of added raisins to reflect his dried up career but I didn’t have any. Plus I fucking hate raisins.

In closing, I am going to leave you with some Justin Bieber words of wisdom.

“I ain’t got no fucking weapons…”

And $100,000 later, here I am

It’s safe to say that art school was a big fucking waste of money. With that being said, I sometimes utilize the $100,000 education in the creation of mediocre DIY projects, such as turkey cupcakes, ornaments and this baby name painting:

This painting was “commissioned” by my aunt. By commissioned I mean she came to me with her thick Brooklyn accent and said, “Dan, my friend’s havin’ a baby. I need you to make a thing for the wall. Just make it nice.” So I cleared my schedule and took on the project like a champ…Okay, stop looking at me like that. You’re right. I had nothing else to do.  My schedule was completely open (womp, womp).

Good news! I actually remembered to take photos while I was working, so I can give you the play by play.

Step 1: tape out horizontal stripes on the canvas.

Use painters tape and make even rows one tape length apart. I tore two little pieces of tape and used them to keep the space between the stripes even.

Step 2: apply glaze color.

What’s a glaze? A glaze is a translucent medium that is meant to be used in layers. Mix acrylic paint color with matte medium. The more color you add,  the more opaque it will become. For this project the glaze should be transparent but rich in color.

Step 3: let dry and peel off tape.

Step 4: tape vertical stripes.

The vertical taping should be two tapes wide. Paint with the same glaze used in step 2.

Step 5: let dry and peel tape.

Step 6: mix new glaze color in separate cup.

Step 7: use tape to add one more set of vertical stripes and paint with glaze made in step 6.

Step 8: let dry and peel tape.

Step 9: mix white glaze and paint over the entire piece to lighten the plaid pattern.

Step 10: print out the name you are using to scale. This can be done on any computer program but is more easily done on Photoshop, Illustrator, or Indesign.

Step 11: use pencil to color in the letters on the back of the print out.

Step 12: flip the print out and center it on the canvas. Tape it into place and go over the outline of the letters with pencil. This will transfer the letters onto the canvas.

Step 13: paint in the letters with acrylic (not glaze).

And Wallah! A name painting in 13 steps. Fucking magic.

Tierras Colombianas: Astoria

Tierras Colombianas was a childhood staple of mine. My father would take my sister and I here for father-daughter dates and special occasions. For approximately 15 years I have been ordering the same item off the menu, #14-the seasoned, grilled chicken breast with beans, rice and sweet plantains. Now, I’m not saying you have to order this but… Yeah, okay. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Order this and order this now.

On Friday I celebrated my 28th birthday at Tierras Colombianas and It should be no surprise that I ordered #14, the perfect birthday meal. The #14 chicken breast is pounded thin and this thickness allows the seasoning to permeate all the way through. Once you eat chicken like this you won’t want it any other way. Inspired by this dish, I tried to tenderize and flatten my own chicken with a hammer. In case you’re wondering,  it doesn’t work. Tenderizers are worth the investment. Hammers are messy.

The Latin flavors of the chicken are further enhanced by the side dishes. The perfectly salted rice and beans are accompanied by your choice of sweet plantains or tostones. I used to order tostones but my first taste of sweet plantains was a game changer. The sweet plantains are soft and moist, where as the tostones are dry and salty.  It is a difficult decision for the indecisive because they are both delicious in different ways. For those of you who suffer from indecisiveness, just get both. You can always start your diet tomorrow. YOLO!

Tierras Colombianas is located at 33rd and Broadway. Go check it out!

Birthday, bah humbug

Friday is my 28th birthday.
Over the years, I have developed an ambivalent relationship with birthdays. It’s not easy getting old. Actually, it sucks. Every year brings a new symptom of aging that would make my younger self cringe. This year’s kick in the ass was the debut of my senior citizen hair. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, nappy white and gray hairs popped up all over my head. “What the fuck!?” I would scream at the stranger in the mirror. How did this happen? I’m so young! OH, the inhumanity!

Cue scream:
http://youtu.be/hGE7jzGV5m8

After my nervous breakdown, I took to the plucking route. You know, the thing that everyone tells you not to do. Yeah, I did that. I plucked and plucked until my scalp was sore.  Then the fuckers grew back and they sprouted straight up towards the sky. It was real attractive. I gave up. I had to dye it. There was no other choice.

Good bye, natural black hair!

Hello, John Frieda’s “natural black” hair!

Now I’m 28. What will it be this year?! skin tags? wrinkles? extra body hair? The suspense is killing me.

#MOMAgram

Last Saturday I took a trip to the Museum of Modern Art with my good friend from college. It was the last day for the Magritte exhibit so the place was bursting at the seams with smelly artists and hipsters. It reminded me of the sweaty dance parties we used to throw in college, minus the dancing, alcohol, and fun.
I’m not really the “art viewing” type of person but the MOMA has many famous pieces in their permanent collection that I appreciate, including, but not limited to, “A Starry Night” by Van Goh, “Christina’s World” by Andrew Wyeth, and “The Persistance of Memory” by Salvador Dali.

I’ve come to realize that the attraction of the MOMA is not the art, but the glorious selfie opportunities that the art provides. A “selfie” is a photo that one takes of one’s self. It wasn’t just one person taking selfies it was EVERY SINGLE PERSON in that museum. Even the dopes that carry around their IPads were joining in the fun. Honestly, IPad person, you look like an asshole. I saw one moron grab a sculpture for a “funny” selfie. A security guard almost tasered her. Anything for “the shot”.

Did I Participate in selfie Saturday at the MOMA? Of fucking course. It was too good to pass up. In fact, I went above and beyond the traditional selfie by asking others to take the picture for me. It was epic.

A Starry Night? who cares! Salvador Dali? Who’s that? Is my hair good? Okay, take the picture. :Smile: :Shoot: :Filter: :Hashtag: :Post:- Trip to MOMA complete.

Then, just as we were about to leave, we spotted someone wearing the same exact outfit as me. At that moment I made two decisions: 1) To never shop at Target on black Friday again 2) To follow the chick around until I got a shot worthy of social media posting.







Now that you’ve finished reading this post, do yourself a favor and search #MOMA on Instagram. It will make you laugh. I promise.

Juice Head

I’m a self proclaimed juice head. Not the Jersey Shore type of juice head, but the actual juicing type of juice head. While I thoroughly enjoy the sport of juicing, it can be a real pain in the buns. Clean, peel, cut, core, juice, drink, clean- Way too much work for one friggin glass of juice. In the real world (not my world) where people have jobs (not me),  juicing is much too time consuming to do regularly. 

At one point in my short lived juicing career, I was juicing once a week. Then I started storing my juicer, AKA the Situation, in a not-so-convenient location. It was all down hill from there. Today, I took the Sitch out of hiding and blew the dust off his parts. He looked so happy to see me, and I could not wait to light his ass up like a Saturday night at the Shore!

I choose my flavors by scanning the fridge and determining what fruit or veggie is closest to rotting. It’s a pretty quick selection process. If you look funky and smell funky then you’re gettin’ thrown in the Situation. The rotting treasures of choice are always the shining stars of my juices. Today, I happened to have expiring strawberries and oranges. Lucky for me, they are a nice flavor combination.

One lesson I learned during today’s juicing session is that it may be more economical to blend strawberries into a smoothie with other soft foods, like bananas, because the Situation extracts lots of good pulp. Of course,  this pulp, like all pulp, could be used in a number of different recipes or it could just be eaten right out of the pulp catcher thingy, but why go through the hassle of scraping out pulp when it can just be blended into a delicious smoothie.

One pint of strawberries and two naval oranges make about 16 oz of juice. It’s amazing how much fruit it takes to make one friggin glass! This is something to keep in mind when you first start to juice. Here’s a basic list of approximate fruit to juice ratios:
2 naval oranges= 8 oz juice
2 grapefruit= 8 oz juice
3 medium carrots + 1 Apple= 8 oz juice
3 Golden Delicious Apples= 8 oz juice
1/3 pineapple= 8 oz juice

If you don’t have your own Situation and you are looking for one that won’t break the bank then check out the Jack LaLanne Power Juicer. We bought this for my mother in law and she loves it. Go ahead and treat yourself to a sitch! You deserve it!

Everything Is Coming Up Meaty

If you haven’t noticed,  I have been making an unusual amount of meaty meals lately.

Crackpot Robs

Meat Pie

McCarthy Meatballs

I do love meat, but this trend has more to do with my new obsession with K&T Quality Meats. This butcher is located on Ditmars Blvd in Astoria, NY -dangerously close to my house- and it is feeding my meat addiction one purchase at a time.

If you already like meat then the skilled butchers at K&T will make you love meat. The other day I purchased 3 lbs of spare ribs,  3 lbs of lean chuck meat, and 1 lb of chicken breasts for 25 dollars! What a steal! When i saw the final price I wanted to buy more but my husband gave me that “don’t you dare buy another piece of meat” look. He’s such a drag sometimes!

The butcher who helped with this purchase asked me what I was planning to make and then skillfully cubed the chuck meat, sliced the ribs and split the chicken breasts. He customized the meat to accomodate my planned meals. I was doing the happy dance all the way home.

This experience was much different than purchasing the “whatchya see is watchya get” meat from the supermarket. It was different in a good way but I can understand why some may find it intimidating. It’s not easy to make decisions when the hanging lambs and skinned rabbits are judging your every move with their glazed eyes. Also, you have to actually speak to a human being. I understand. I hate talking to humans. It’s much easier to just sift through the shrink wrapped meat section until you find what you need, sort-of. They never have what you actually fucking need. Frankly, it’s annoying. This lack of customization and selection of supermarket meats will cause you to spend more time in the kitchen and less time enjoying the fruits of your labor. And all of us deserve quality time with our fruits. I, for one, love my fruits. They’re delicious. So, do yourself a favor and shop at K&T or your own neighborhood butcher. You. Won’t. Regret. It.