If i knew you were coming i'd have made you a Coconut Cake!

I recently spent some quality time with my couch, and Ina Garten. I love this woman, and her food, and that's where i got this coconut cake recipe from.



But first i need to talk about my dad's desk for a minute. The day after i moved back my dad was like, "hey i want to move my desk, and turn my office into a bar." And i was like, "done. Brilliant!" And he was like, "ok i'm going to the gazebo to smoke my pipe, knock yourself out."

So jet lagged, and daunted i begin the tedious process of clearing off 15 years of stuff from my dad's crappy staples desk so we can move it across the room. I finish, and realize 1: it's really fucking heavy; and 2: the whole desk is going to fall apart as soon as we move it. I tell him this, and he's like, "we'll just put it back together." Meaning: you'll just put it back together. We go to move it, can't lift the thing, so we enlist my mom. The three of us lift the desk, and, sure enough, it breaks into 8 pieces. This is where the story get's long and super frustrating, so i'll just say 2 days and 8 trips to home depot later (that number is accurate), my dad has his desk again in it's nearly identical spot on the opposite side of the room. So now i'm like, so bar? And this is what he does:

He puts a waterproof table liner on it, and presto! Bar. Duh, totally required the move to the opposite side of the room. At least you'll get some good use out of it, except that was a month ago, and not a drop of alcohol has set foot in the room let alone on the plastic table liner. Perfect.

Now that that's taken care of let's get down to cake...


You know you could probably just follow the recipes from the website. It's super bad for you, but ohh so good. Anyway, it's late, and i'm going to bed. This post blows, sorry.

*After the past few weeks, i basically carry a camera with me at all times when I'm at home, and most are totally not blog related. If you're interested in seeing some random stuff you can follow the new pic of the day link.

The Pretzel Girl

I need to buy a new coat, because my old one ripped. i LOVE this coat, so i thought, i know! I'll look online, i'm sure they're still selling this 7 year old deep wine Calvin Klein car coat i found in the burlington coat factory bargain bin in Sabastabol Ca. Shouldn't be a problem!
I didn't find it if you were curious. Anyway for literally the past 3 years my mom has been on me about coats, because she has a zillion of them, and deemed them all better then mine for no reason other then i own it/picked it out myself. So obviously it's not good enough, as is true of all clothing a set my eyes on (Whoa passionate tangent). This is significant because every time i leave the fucking house she tries to shove another coat in my face, so if you've ever seen me in any coat other then my 7 year old deep wine Calvin Klein car coat i found in the burlington coat factory bargain bin in Sabastabol Ca it's because i lost the fight. Usually it's this gi-gundo floor length grim reaper coat my sister used in Rochester NY. I can't stand this coat so much that i am literally afraid of it, and the reaper. (haha! *nudge) But alas, it's time is through. So if you happen to see a coat and think, 'That's Lauren!' (which, why wouldn't you?) holla at me.

Anyway I was all ready to talk about bottling beer today, but alas, it needs a few more days.


What can i say, it has it's own agenda. I didn't blog making it, because this blog didn't exist yet, and also i accidentally bought a kit for this one, and that's cheap. You're better then that, me. But bottling can be a bitch, and i'm a blog about it. But now, on ward and upward to pretzels.

So i'm making these Alton Brown pretzels, but adding Asiago, which can be added to anything. Also i've been craving them for weeks.

add

• 1 1/2 cups warm (110 to 115 degrees F) water
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 2 teaspoons kosher salt

To a bowl, throw a packet of yeast on top, let sit 5 min.

In a separate bowl mix together

• 22 ounces all-purpose flour, approximately 4 1/2 cups
• 2 ounces unsalted butter, melted

I weighted the flour out on my mom's sweet scale:

And let me tell you something, that is 22oz exactly, and it wasn't even near enough. I know bread do is usually the stickier the better, but not if you can't get it out of the bowl. So thanks Alt.
So mix everything together with the knead hook of your mixer, or your hands. Here i added the cheese (i used about 2 dollars and 43 cents worth):

Grating cheese is one of my least favorite things in the world (along with the slaughtering of innocents and Jewel), but nothing compares to it. You can't food process it as nicely, and don't even attempt that store bought, pre-shred crap. It's just one of those things we all have to put up with sometimes. Put the majority of it in the dough, and save to rest for the top. Let sit in a warm place for an hour.

Check out that duck prosciutto in action, sweet! Preheat oven to 450, set a pot to boil,
and let's roll (8 pieces about equal in size [yeah right] in 24 inch ropes). Which is when my dad started singing, "Here comes the pretzel girl, the pretzel girl, the pretzel girl. Here comes the pretzel girl who lives in her parent's attic!" Sweet song dad, this totally added to the pretzel experience.



Shape those bitches, and boil for 30 seconds individually. Put them on a sheet pan with parchment paper (from Narnia) and oil. Dose them in butter and the remaining cheese, and bake until as golden as the rays of the sun (12-14 min). Here i should warn you that my family refers to pretty much everything i make as, 'rustic,' which sometimes is being gentle on their part. The point is everything tastes good.



And Ta-da! Delish pretzels the bitch Auntie Anne would punch you in the throat for (i may be exaggerating a little).



Anyway my ThinkGeek catalog just came it, so obvs i've got better things to do. Peace!

The fan has been hit.

So this blog was supposed to be about duck breast prosciutto, but another day my friends, instead it's about how life craps on you when you're down.

So our heat's been out for a couple of days, which kind of sucks when it's 12 degrees outside, but you know, we were working through it. The other day it started working in my grandpa's house, and upstairs in ours. Today i went out to buy a new jacket, because mine decided to rip from the pocket down to the bottom seam. I was not successful, but i did get some socks and stuff, so all in all, not a bad haul. I get home and my dad's like, "hey! the pipes are starting to come on, listen to the hot water running!" And we did, and it was lovely. The thing about are house is it makes really creepy noises, especially in the dead of night in my bedroom. It's just water and gas pipes and stuff, but it's soooo spokey. Also the house settles and it sounds like someone is walking slowly up the stairs, and that always kicks in the toilet pipes, so it sounds like urination in progress. Or maybe ghosts have to pee too sometimes, what do i know?

All that aside we were happy to hear the pipes, my dad went to return something to home depot, and i set to work on my duck. I get to the part where i'm supposed to hang in for a week, and the perfect place for that is the basement, where i find this:


The basement totally flooded. So my dad's out, i have no idea how to turn off the water, and the only thing i can think to do while i call him is this:

Note the power outlet? Awesome. Also i grabbed the first towels available, which are my mom's good ones, so that's gonna be super when she gets home, i can't wait! So my dad answers the phone and he's like, "I'm pulling in the driveway, the waters in the next room, turn off the top knob. So i do, and while i'm doing it i notice this:



If you look to the right you'll see a spider, if you look at the black spots all over the yellow stuff you'll see 100 spiders!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHH. Also that's where the handle is, and where i have to put my hand for at least 30 seconds. So i turn that as my dad comes in the room, and the pit beneath it explodes with water, which i didn't get a pic off, but this is the aftermath:

The dry part in the upper corner is the color the floor normally is. So finally that's off, the water doesn't stop, my dad turns off the upstairs water heater, and the furnace, then says, "well i guess we found the bad pipe." I just want to give him a hug, but i'm drenched. Anyway our plumber just got here a sec ago, so hopefully everything works out.

One final slap is that this is where we had the movers put all of my stuff:

Which for the most part is fine. We still have electricity and internet, knock on wood. My parents have been talking to me over the past couple years about selling the house, and i've always been like, "no! that's the house i grew up in!" But now i'm like, "Let's all get the fuck out of here and live like normal people." Which is my new life motto.

So... Yesterday

So yesterday was ridiculous, and it starts with insomnia, I get it sometimes. This last bout was super annoying. I'm not sure how other people react (i don't know, i'm not a doctor), but for me it's like you're exhausted, and you want to sleep, but ants are like crawling under your skin, and it's hard to do anything, but you can't do nothing. So totally awesome. I figured I'd brush my teeth, because that's never a bad idea, and am greeted by a gigantic zit on my chin, hooray. I go down stairs to greet the world, and it's freezing. I'm in this weird state, it's like 6:30, and it doesn't even occur to me that there's a problem. What does occur to me is that my dad is being cheap about the heating bill, which has been known to happen. Instead i crawl back under the sheats of mockery and proceed to spend my bonus check on hobby supplies (Fear not DPL, rent check in route), instead of things i actually need, like socks. What can i say, priorities.
Finally my parents join the ranks of the living, and we realize, oh shit the furnace is out. So Nanc calls for oil delivery, and dad gives me the keys to start his car for our big costco adventure, then proceeds to lock the door behind me. I can't unlock the door to the car, or the house for that matter (the parentals are fuck knows where), when i remember oh yeah, i got pulled over last night because my headlight's out. So without gloves, in 12 degree weather i wrestle the hood of my car open and dig out the cold metal lamp, which looks fine. I mean i know something about lights after throwing 4 years and a few g's into education, and this bulb is looking a-ok. I don't realize this until my dad finally decides to let me into the house, and my fingers are otter pops. My dad, then, fills up a bucket of hot water (which i don't know how i missed because i was under the impression that the hot water was out all day, not true), and dumps it on the door lock which miraculously opens to a world of dead battery. Meanwhile i replace my light, and change the fuse which for some reason i happen to have, and is the ONLY thing that worked out that day. We decide to jump my dad's car, the hood latch is broken, we don't go to costco.
The oil guy arrives, my dad oversees, my mom declares we're going to see The King's Speech, and is two dollars and nintey-eight cents worried enough to buy the tickets online, in advance, for a Saturday mattenee of a late 1930's English drama. two dollars. This is when i start making my French Macaroons, which do not turn out because i went for the cheaper almond flour that's not ground enough, and apparently, can be finer ground by neither coffee grinder nor food processer. It doesn't sieve well to say the least. Fucking sieves.




I've successfully made French Macaroons before, and my biggest disappointment was that we didn't have any food coloring in the house. So i'm all gung-ho about the food coloring, and decide red, definitely red. You can imagine the upset when i rip open my mom's box of food dyes to find that the only color missing is, in fact, red. Then i find this professional looking red food dye, get super excited again, and it's completely dried out. Talk about double upset all the way across my heart.


Now i think blue, you know, to fit my mood, and it doesn't come out dark enough. Now i'm all, "green's never let me down before!" and the batter turns out looking like puke with almond chunks.

That black sheet is a reusable baking sheet, and the worst invention ever created. The only other thing i could find was this wax freezer paper, and was like, "Dad can i use this freezer paper in the oven?" And he's like, "Freezer muffins?" And i snapped and was like, "Just don't talk to me." (Which i'm really sorry about dad. You are the wind beneath my wings, truely.) (Also later i was like, "Mom why don't we have any parchment paper?" And she's like, "What are you talking about?" And proceeds to pull a box the size of a microwave out of Narnia, and it's literally full of parchment paper.) So i end up not using anything, and despite excessive Pam-nation, they hardcore stick to the sheet and end up like this:


Flat, which is not at all what they should be. Also i made a total mess of the kitchen:

*Note not only the giant bag of powdered sugar we happen to have, but the 'Blue Tape Method' my mom uses to bug-free our house.

So now it's movie time, and the furnace is still not working. So my dad's like, 'i have to stay and wait for the guy to call back,' and my mom's like, 'fuck that i bought tickets,' so they hatch a scheme that my mom will run out of the theatre when her phone vibrates, tell the guy what to do, then my 90 year old grandpa (who is not invited to the film) will help him. AKA: the worst idea of all time. Thankfully the guy calls while we're in route, and can access the furnace without the help of Popou, hallelujah. We get to the theatre, i use my mom's card to get the tickets out of the machine, i give her the card and her recite, give the lady the tickets, and my mom gives her the recite, and is denied entry until we come back for her. We're just in time for previews, which we watch for ten minutes, and just when the film is starting my mom declares she's going to get some snacks, which makes no sense, and comes back with chicken fingers. At the movies. Chicken Fingers.

After we get home and find that the guy my parents hired to clean the furnace months ago, actually did no such thing, and we have to clean it before the pipes will work. I am exempt from this because i have to go to work in an hour, and it's a messy business. Here's my mom, off to go kill her some injuns:



I actually feel bad about this, and instead try to make a second batch of macaroons at my mom's suggestion. "Just whip the shit outta those peaks, and maybe they'll hold." I may have add-libed that a bit. I use the coffee grinder approach this time to no avail. I got color crazy again, and attempted both blue (my mood) and green (my fav). They are slightly higher, but not much.

here's a side by side:


Meanwhile my parents were doing this:




What troopers. Here i went to work, made it home without being killed, and got some sleep, hoor-fucking-ray.

This morning i awoke to find my mom in my room digging through my coat pockets at 8am. I say, "'morning mom," which i though what pretty nice considering the clear invasion of private property that was going on. Her response was, "WHERE'S MY DEBIT CARD?!? YOU USED IT TO GET THE MOVIE TICKETS!" and the only thing i could think to say was, "chicken fingers," which apparently she understood, because she said, "Oh," and slowly walked out of the room, leaving my jacket in a pile on the floor next to the contents of my pockets. I promptly went back to sleep, because it was clearly not the right time to be awake.

I got up at noon, and was greeted by 'muffins,' that my dad made out of a cake batter recipe, and were actually icing-free cupcakes. I think he put the leftovers in the freezer with blue tape method (hens-forth BTM). Also there was something up with his eyes, and i swear to god it looked like he was wearing black eyeliner. I wasn't sure what to say, ("Do you have something to tell me?" didn't seem appropriate.) and was like, "are you tired?" and he was like, "not really." Then my mom came home and was like, "Phil you've got furnace grease all around your eyes." She proceeded to take it off with make-up remover, getting cotton stuck in his chin stubble, to which he declares, "I'm the new Burl Ives." Look out land of misfit toys!

He and Nanc went to borrow some space heaters, or 'ceramic heaters,' as she calls them for no apparent reason. They came back a second ago, and i was like, "Where are the heaters?" and mom's like, "Oh, we left them in the car." So at this point i'd say things are pretty much back to normal. We still don't have heat, i still have a huge zit on my face, my dad's car still doesn't work, the heaters are pointed at the pipes in the walls and not at me, and i still don't have any fucking macaroons, but Se-la-vie, life is good. I'm going to go buy some socks.

Hail-y Day Donuts

Today was to be my first day of classes. I woke with the sun; bright eyed, naturally high, hungry for knowledge. I danced around my kitchen as my dad made "Gi-ada's Chicken Bacon Wraps with no Chicken," or what us common placers call Breakfast Burritos. They arrived with salsa (which my dad offered to heat up, gross.) and the fire of hidden passions. Anxiously i ready-ed myself with the proper attire, and set forth towards the first day of the rest of my life. My heart fluttered as i arrived on campus, eager to journey into this new world of learning. I drove down the entry, turned into the first parking lot, and... the fucking campus was closed. I mean really? It's like not even snowing, they close for rain now? Damn.

I know some of you are probs like, what's the problem buddy, free day! Well, no. I have to work later, and this little development got me out of bed unnecessarily early. Also, what can i say, i was excited to learn about The Giving Tree. So my heart gets shat on, and you get donuts.

Also it is hail, not hale, which i had to czech about a zillion times. Shout out to thesaurus.com (which i can never remember how to spell and always have to go to reference.com and link my way over).

I got this dough recipe from Simply Ming who (is sooooo creepy) makes good recipes. It's called Master Doughnut and contains mashed potato, weird. This is the dough, which i didn't take any pictures of while mixing because it's super boring, and my mom's camera ran out of batteries:


I'm going to fill half of them with Cream Filling and half with Blackberry Jam because i have a lot of blackberries. The cream filling is kind of a bitch because you have to mix the warmed liquid into the cold slowly:


Sorry this pic is shit, but Fact: it's hard to focus when you're holding a scalding sauce pan. Then it says to cook on medium for a minute, which is way too long and high. Then, they have the audacity to say, "if mixture is lumpy, pas it through a sieve." Which, first two s's in pass, and second passing it through a sieve does about as much help as not passing it through a sieve. And you don't have to clean the damn sieve which Is a bitch, in case you were wondering. No excuses for this shit pic:


The Blackberry Jam was easy to make. Heat up some fucking blackberries in a saucepan and add sugar. If too runny you can put in some cornstarch, and shut up about it.


After the dough rises roll it out to 1/2 an inch thick, and cut 1" diameter holes. I couldn't find any cookie cutters, and my dad's response was literally "Cookie cutter?" So i had to make do with the pastry bag tip holder.

I re-rolled the remainder, and they ended up looking like Mrs. Pacman, so if you care about looks, you're superficial. Don't re-roll.


The next part went fairly flawlessly, you proof them in the oven with a damp towel over them, they rise, you fry. Here i should admit that i'm notoriously bad at frying things. It almost never works for me, which is not so bad because deep frying is bad for you, but every once in a while i'm like, "I'll make donuts, do dooo dooooooo." and then my parents are like, "what are these black charred things?" So when my dad came home with some "Canoli Oil" (Which was too adorable to correct) he started singing, "Lauren's making donut's, who knows if they'll turn out to be gooooooood." So thanks for the confidence dad, but also thanks for forcing down previous charcoal batchs. (i know i said i wasn't going to use my name, but thanks to my friends and family's comments, that's out the window. Stalker #4 is on you.) Anyway i ended up frying them perfectly.


Well, accept for the pacmans. Anyway, my initial thought was to coat the cream filled ones in powdered sugar (that damn sieve again):

And the blackberry ones in in cinnamon sugar:

But then all hell broke loose, and the blackberry seeds got caught in the pastry tip:


then i changed tips/bags:


and this happened:


So at this point I was like fuck blackberry, and made all the rest cream filled, which came out alright:



Anyway these donuts were good, but save your brain and go to Dunkin'. I could totally go for a stiff drink, but instead i'm going to work.

Not Pancetta.

Today is Martin Luther King Day, and i think the question on everyone's mind is, "Can we talk about bacon?" Umm... yes. Actually, for me, this question is second only to, "How can i avoid my racially charged grandfather on a day requiring epic conversation." I can't.
So recently i home cured some bacon. It's delicious, and if you want to make it you should get this book:

So basically you get a pork belly (skin on):



Coat it in a dry cure rub (Kosher Salt/Sugar/Curing Salt{pink Salt}) Whooa Double parentheses, so intense. If you want it savory (who doesn't) add a ton of slightly crushed black pepper corns, garlic, and bay leaves.



Do almost nothing for a week, wash off all the junk, and walla! You've got bacon. There's, like, more to this, and measurements, and stuff. I mean, i can't give it all away.

"In this country, bacon is by definition smoked after it's cured, but the smoke is really a secondary flavor, like a seasoning... no special equipment is needed to make your own bacon at home." Charcuterie (pg.40)
That last quote is for my sister. For the seventeenth time DPL, not pancetta. Bacon.

Finally you roast it for a while to get the internal temperature up to standard so you don't die.

Here's some bacon porn:







How's that for some savory bacon action?