This was a lot of fun to make with Layla and Hettie Rose. It was a birthday surprise for a neighbor who has had a most difficult year and we thought we’d bake her something special to cheer her up.

I’m really a pie and pastry maker, cakes are never my go-to dessert but I’m trying, trying, to be a better Mommy and embrace the whole over-the-top American cake thing. Why? Because Layla told me good mommies make cakes and asked why we didn’t make more cakes since “You’re a Chef and all, Mom”.

You know I could have made a thousand excuses to her: “They have too much sugar.” (which they do) “I prefer seasonal fruit desserts” (which I do) “They take a lot of time” (definitely true). But at the heart of it, and the real reason I don’t make a lot of cakes, is because I’m a lazy baker. I like to make things at home that I don’t need a recipe for and that includes all feuilltage pastries, tarts and pies.

So Layla actually is right, I need to step up my cake baking skills and get out of my comfort zone once and awhile. However, you can be sure that if I’m posting a cake recipe it’s going to be relatively quick, delicious and have seasonal fruit in it somewhere.

Rhubarb, raspberry and rose water are a beautiful combination –– absolutely gorgeous. I made a refrigerator jam for the cake by combining 4 large ruby red stalks chopped rhubarb with a few pints of raspberries and a cup of sugar cooked down on the stove top. After cooling my quick jam, I added a few splashes of rose water and then slathered it in between the layers. So good! And remember, don’t eat the leaves – they are poisonous!

This recipe is adapted from Cook’s Illustrated. It caught my eye because the technique is so different from every cake I’ve ever made. It’s almost like a pâte brisée technique, but it worked! I made the recipe twice following their steps the first time and then refining them on the second go because the cake did not rise the way the picture looked or create the quantity they suggested. Still, it’s a very easy and very tasty white cake with my improvements. There is no whipping egg whites into a meringue, no creaming butter and sugar – it’s easy!

The topping is that ever ethereal seven minute frosting which is quick to whip up (as the name suggests) and fun to spread on. I gave the cake a crumb coat, so as not to over do it with this sweet spread. At least there’s a lot of protein in it.

I’m on the fence about wrapping the cake with rhubarb slices. It looks cool and it’s easy to do, but I also like the crumb coat unfinished look. if you like it then find some long rhubarb stalks and make long shavings using a vegetable peeler. You can brush them with hot simple syrup and stick them in the oven to soften a bit. I suggest removing them before slicing. I did not test how long the slices stay put on the cake, but I would add these more as decoration before presenting the cake.

My Mom hated rhubarb. I don’t know why. I think it had to do with growing up during WWII and being forced to eat rhubarb desserts. It’s the only vegetable (yes, rhubarb is a vegetable not a fruit) I can remember that she would actually cringe and turn a slight shade of green just in mentioning its name. I didn’t have rhubarb until I was much, much older because I was scared of it. But now I love it. I found this quote, which I’ll leave you with because clearly other people feel the same. Do you love rhubarb? I’m curious, let me know!

“Human growth is not like rhubarb. It can be nurtured and encouraged but it cannot be forced!” — Andy Hargreaves

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My Stepdad, Joe, would hover around the kitchen while this pie was baking and then pace around the house restless, waiting for it to set. Many a time it was served hot and messy with a scoop of vanilla ice cream over top because he just couldn’t wait.

My husband Ramin, does the same thing. I’m telling you this is a blue ribbon peach pie recipe! And yes, I’ll explain the “blossom” part (the SECRET ingredient) down below…

So what makes it so much better than the rest? A few things…

The peach is important. If your peaches are mealy and bland then your pie will be as well. I know, so obvious, but it needs to be repeated because there is a bit of effort to prepping peaches and it’s not worth the trouble if the main ingredient isn’t ripe, firm, and sweet-tart.

So bite into one before you blanch and peel and make sure it’s delicious! Or taste test at the farmer’s market before buying – that’s my favorite thing to do!

I always use a yellow variety because the white ones have sweetness overload with not enough acidity and tend to be a little softer. I love those white varieties too, especially for eating fresh, but not for pie.

I make this recipe with quick cooking tapioca but you can also just scratch the cream and tapioca part of this and mix the peaches with 3 tablespoons of cornstarch if you’re in a bind. Sometimes quick cooking tapioca is hard to find in the markets. Do not use regular tapioca – it takes waaaay to long to cook for this recipe. I do prefer quick cooking tapioca over cornstarch for this if you have a choice, the tapioca gives a little creaminess (along with the actual cream) which I love with peaches.

What is the blossom part of this? Orange blossom water! The combination of orange blossom and peach is truly magical. I am a purest when it comes to pie, I don’t often do mixed fruits. I never put raisins in my apple pies. I like blueberry as just blueberry and cherry as just cherry. But, there are exceptions and this is one of them. I strongly believe that peach and orange blossom flavors elevate each other to new foodgasm heights!

Layla and I made the first part of this recipe while Hettie Rose was napping. It’s so fun to have time with my big girl in the kitchen – the original wild child! – we don’t often get ‘just us’ time these days and cooking is one of the ways we get to bond. I love having a food project that we can work on together.

Both Layla and Hettie were gifted their own Japanese Misono kid’s knives with their names engraved by our long time family friends. If you are teaching a LIttle One to use a real knife I would highly suggest these. When I cooked for Le Bernardin in NYC I bought all my knives at Korin and they have an extensive and beautiful collection. In my years of teaching kids cooking, I have used many different knives and I think these are the best. They are perfect for small hands, nicely weighted and they have a rounded tip.

This Peach Blossom pie needs no extra help in the tasty department, but if you want to serve it with a scoop of vanilla or buttermilk ice cream overtop, while it’s still warm, I’m pretty sure you won’t regret it.

For my Flakey Pie Crust Recipe Go Here: Pâte Brisée

Yay for Summer!!! Enjoy!!! Don’t cry about it, just dig in and devour!!!

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I grow a myriad of edible of flowers in my garden from nasturtiums and violas to hollyhock and elderberry flower and so many more. My girls love planting flowers and using them in creative ways. We dry rose petals in our dehydrator for party confetti, press flowers to use in crafts and on thank you cards, eat flowers in salads and sweets, and arrange flowers around the house!

To make these pancakes whip up the pancake batter below and pour into a hot greased non-stick pan. Cook mostly through on the first side and place violas and pansies on top. Flip, and cook for a minute on the second side and serve!

I didn’t want to glaze these pancakes with syrup so instead I garnished with a pat of butter, a blizzard of granulated sugar and a squeeze of Meyer lemon overtop. So pretty and so perfect for pansy pancakes…

Back to the pancake recipe… I grew up on Bisquick and I love Bisquick and it’s what I expect when I sit down to a short stack. But I do not like hydrogenated oils and you simply cannot prove to me that Crisco is better than butter and the fat in Bisquick is essentially that – Partially hydrogenated soybean and cottonseed oil. Back in the day Bisquick used partially hydrogenated beef fat and lard in case you were wondering, but those days are long gone.

My pie crusts are just as flaky if not more so with butter and they don’t have a greasy aftertaste, my biscuits are light and fluffy with butter and this pancake recipe, that only uses butter, is simply the best tasting I know of and it has the lightest texture. Lighter in fact, than Bisquick.

Years ago when I started googling homemade Bisquick recipes I was shocked at how many people were simply using Crisco as a base. Why? It’s the same thing!?! Why bother? If you’re interested in the argument about Trans Fats, NPR had a really interesting article called the “Skinny on Trans Fat“. But you know, I’m the girl who will literally smear a stick of butter on toast, so of course I’m going to stand up for it regardless!

So what makes my ‘Buttermilk Better than Bisquick’ recipe so good and how do I do it? I freeze a stick of butter overnight and grate half into my dry ingredients. Then I cut the butter in a little further so my crumb is super tiny. I use Bread Flour instead of All-Purpose, although you can use the later with great results. I mix buttermilk, milk, eggs and vanilla together (the wet ingredients) and stir them into my dry ingredients.

It might look slightly lumpy bumby at first but trust me (please trust me!), it melts instantly and rises so high and it’s so flavorful you really don’t even need butter overtop.

Whether or not you’re growing violas or edible flowers, I hope you’ll save my pancake recipe. you can also use the base for biscuits too but I’ll share that recipe in another post!

Happy Pansy Pancake day!

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I named my blog ‘Pommes d’Amour” twenty years ago after the tantalizing eye popping candy apples I would oogle in the Paris patisserie windows on my way to work. Now here I am, Stateside, a lifetime later, with two little girls and a garden filled with apple trees and I’m actually making the recipe! Full circle finally.

I grow a unique apple called Pink Pearl. No doubt if you’ve followed this blog for any length of time you have seen these pink fleshed beauties in my other recipes. It is my favorite. My Mother-in-Law says that these apples are called “blood apples” in Iran, so I find it quite fitting for Halloween.

This is an easy recipe and a fun one. But as a longtime cooking teacher, I must warn, making the candy part of this is not a job for little kids and I personally asked Layla to sit on the other side of our kitchen island and I did not make this recipe with my ever curious toddler Hettie, because she simply does not understand the word ‘No’ or ‘Danger’. In fact, those two words often have the exact opposite effect.

Layla and I picked the last of our Pink Pearls, trimmed our tree and cleaned some branches, we jammed those branches into the tops of our apples and measured our ingredients. I cooked the sugar concoction (alone) to 310˚F and then dipped the apples in as fast as possible before the sugar could set. Seriously easy!

There are options for the flavor and color. We made two batches: in one I used just red gel paste for eye popping scarlet magpie appeal. In the other batch I added a touch of black for a more wicked look. Aside from the lemon juice if you want a little more kick, you can add red hot candies for a bit of cinnamon heat!

Happy Halloween friends! Hope there’s more treats in your bag than tricks!

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My first job was at Blatz folded Ice Cream in Palo Alto, right off California Avenue by the train station. It was a busy spot! I made waffle cones from scratch, whipped up malts and shakes extraordinaire and created the most insane ice cream balls ever which were expertly flattened, filled and folded with the likes of: chopped peanut butter cups, gummy worms, chocolate chips, quartered peppermint patties — literally any candy or candy bar you can imagine!

Blatz was a teen hangout. A mecca of hair bears, creepers, topsiders and skull boots not to mention neon fishnet gloves, jelly bracelets and parents who, having gone through the 60’s and 70’s, were trying to identify with their edgy teenagers. This was the place to be if you were a kid and if you lived in South Palo Alto, fer sure.

Blatz was a good ten years before Cold Stones – just in case you’re wondering – so yeah, the whole folded ice cream thing? I’m pretty sure we invented it first.

And Blatz was the flagship store in a brand spanking new 1980’s mega condominium complex, a pale pink stuccoed sky rise with dark forest green metal windows and agapantha landscaping everywhere — it was a champagne sherbet future through and through. More on the champagne sherbet in a bit…

My hourly rate was $4.15 an hour. Can you imagine? There was nothing then that you could buy for that amount and nothing now but, the cool thing about waaaaay back when, was ‘The Trade’. Oh yes, we would trade a pint of ice cream with the super cute boys who worked at Round Table pizza down the street (and yeah, my husband also worked for Round Table, but we didn’t know each other then) or we’d trade for a few orders of delicious house-made pot stickers and crispy deep fried spring rolls from Mr. Cho’s teeny tiny Dim Sum take-away shop. Yes, there were a lot of perks to working in an ice cream shop. Trading was not the only upside, more on that in a bit too…

I became very good very quickly at handling multiple customers at the same time while continuously replenishing our chopped candy supplies and making waffle cups and cones. In fact, I became so good that the owners decided to give me, a fourteen year old kid, the key to the store. I solely took over the afternoon shifts (after school of course) and my Mom would pick me up at closing time and after her work. I traded for dinner along the Avenue which was fun.

She wasn’t exactly happy that my new job had replaced my extracurricular activities, but she was proud of me nonetheless and for a single Mom who taught elementary school in the day and went to night school for her Masters, I’m sure it bought her just a little extra time to get ahead.

I was in heaven. Is there a kid that doesn’t love candy, ice cream, milk shakes, floats, malts and more? I mean is there a single kid on this planet that doesn’t like those things??!?!

We had incredible ice cream. Some of my favorite flavors were the thick and tangy Blueberry Cheesecake, the exotic Black Cherry with real chunks of dark red fruit, Butter Brickle (Amy Carter’s fav – and we all grew up wanting to be her and live in the White House) and the rich and eggy French Vanilla with real little vanilla bean seeds (a novelty back then). My least favorite was the disgusting sickly sweet ever popular toothpaste colored Gumball flavor. Has anyone ever had a good chew from a frozen gumball? No. Don’t even try to pretend. Just no.

My Mom had a weakness for anything malted and I would often have a chocolate malt shake ready for her upon pick-up. She was so skinny anyways. And beautiful. My Mom was stunning – she looked like Snow White with her black hair and green eyes and she was the only person I’ve ever known who literally could not keep weight on. Her doctor actually prescribed milkshakes with malt. Yes! Fer real! Unfortunately I had quite the opposite problem as a tween. Nonetheless, she really loved those shakes and I liked making them for her.

Malt addicts are their own peculiar little sub-section. They really are. Anybody that’s worked in an ice cream shop will understand what I’m talking about. Malt lovers don’t necessarily like ice cream, but if you add malt to it their eyes glaze over and they go into a trance while inhaling their treat. If you happen to be out of malt, they skip dessert entirely. So weird.

Soft orange, cool green, lilac purple, cherry pink and snowy white sherbets were the most beautiful frozen delights in the cold case. The kids mostly opted for Rainbow Sherbet, a perfect tie-n-dye swirl of all the fashionable colors of the ’80’s and the adults liked the sparkling pale pink French Champagne sherbet. It was my favorite too. It was so pretty, so ethereal and delicate. No, I did not get drunk off of it, that’s not the funny part of this story, but it did make me feel grown-up. I think I must have eaten quite a bit of it because the owners put a stop to us “tasting” that one.

When I was a little kid in the 70’s, way before my parents got divorced, my Mom used to throw big dinner parties. People would eat and drink and dance in their bell bottoms and silky tops and us little kids would baby bop all around in our velour little outfits. It was fun. Sometimes my Mom would do lavish sit-down coursed meals and in between plates she would pass out tiny little cones topped with miniature scoops of Champagne sherbet or Pineapple sherbet as a palette cleanser. I remember thinking that was just the most swish thing ever. Yes “swish“, that was my Mom’s way of saying “cool“.

The owner at first was reluctant to let me sculpt my cones given the hot waffle press but he quickly just handed the whole responsibility over to me. I wish I could remember our recipe but alas, I have retained my waffle cone muscle memory but not the actual ingredient list. For those considering buying a professional waffle press – don’t – waaaay too expensive, I whipped up hundreds of cones on a single store-bought cheap electric press and they were perfect. I use a Chef’s Choice single press now and I love it.

I enjoyed making waffle cones immensely. I took great pride in my creations. Whether rolling my waffle cookie into a cone or pressing it into a flower shaped bowl, I thought it was sooooo fun! And the smell of waffle batter cooking was heavenly and instantly uplifting – sort of in the way coffee is for me now, waffle batter was for me then.

But all good things must come to end and my time at Blatz sadly ended abruptly as does this story too. I had begun to work the weekends with an older girl. She must have been in college or a High School senior. I can’t really remember now but I do recall that she really liked to party and she really liked to trade with the Round Table boys and she really liked to disappear for half her shift and she also really liked to take whippets in the small broom closet.

I wouldn’t say that I was her manager, but I was entrusted with the slush fund so that I could buy anything we might need on the fly from the grocery store across the way. And there was no adult oversight here — none. I didn’t understand at first why all of our whipped cream bottles just oozed sticky liquid instead of stacking fun swirls on sundaes. One Saturday I probably made 4 trips to the store for more cans of whipped cream.

You know where this is headed don’t you…

So I finally asked her: “What are you doing in the closet with all the whipped cream cans? I can hear you doing something?” She looked at me and laughed, gave me a can, told me to go the closet and put my mouth straight over it and inhale all the air coming out. Of course I did. Of course it was fun. Of course we bought more whipped cream cans. I mean, thank goodness, it wasn’t the cartridge loaded real whippets!

This went on for a few weekends. I didn’t do it during the week – only with her. And I didn’t know how bad it was for the ‘ol brain cells but I did know we shouldn’t be doing it, that much was obvious. You would think one of the owners would have noticed the endless whipped cream receipts and say something, but no.

I finally told my Mom about it after one Saturday shift thinking that she would find it funny. She did not. I got into a lot of trouble.

And that my friends, was the end of my very first job scooping ice cream, making waffle cones and creating the most insane ice cream balls ever which were expertly flattened, filled and folded into pure perfection!

Note to Self: Delete this post before Layla turns fourteen.

Now for the chocolate waffle cone recipe. Full disclosure, this recipe is not mine. This is one of the suggestions that comes with the Chef’s Choice 838 waffle cone express. It’s super easy. And it’s super good! Just measure and mix and pour the batter onto the un-greased press! We paired these cones with our Meyer Lemon ice cream and it was perfect! We also melted some chocolate in the microwave and dipped our cones in it and added sprinkles for fun… no whipped cream…

For the Meyer Lemon Ice Cream: https://www.amyglaze.com/meyer-lemon-ice-cream/

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Hey, these are important things to know!

The answer to all of our questions came back a resounding YES!

This Meyer lemon ice cream is custard based made with 6 egg yolks, so it is creamy and rich tasting but it packs an awesome puckery punch from the Meyer lemons too. My kids love anything sweet n’ sour probably because they are a little sweet n’ sour themselves (oh just kidding, they’re perfect, really) and this recipe balances both extremes.

I have served this ice cream in two different restaurants and it is always a hit. I don’t normally serve it with chocolate waffle cones, but my kids demanded chocolate (recipe coming next) and I thought: “Well, hmmmm, could work, why not?” Meyer Lemons are sweeter than other varieties since they were originally crossed with an orange. I do like orange and chocolate together, so Meyer lemons are not a far stretch.

This ice cream, is also lovely on its own or served with a simple cookie. If you are a lemon lover, especially a Meyer lemon lover like me (yes, I’ve been known to actually eat them off the tree) then this recipe should be in your repertoire.

A side note, the real custard base of this recipe, before the addition of Meyer lemon juice, is also good on its own. It is a true custard with no cornstarch. The lemon zest gives it a gentle lemony flavor and kids really like it. If you have a little one in your tribe who likes custard you can use the first part of the recipe for an easy sweet treat and add whatever flavoring you like.

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Brown butter and pumpkin (or any kind of squash for that matter) is one of those legendary pairings and when you layer the tangy goodness of real cream cheese and cozy sweet spices, you get a totally delicious outcome.

This is also a kid friendly recipe. The cake itself is a two bowl deal. One for wet, the other for dry, the wet gets hand mixed into dry and voilà! Cupcakes! I make my own pumpkin pack (of course) and so should you. It really isn’t time consuming or hard and the flavor is much better than anything you can get out of can. The cake is not overly sweet either – another bonus for caregivers who want to give kids a holiday treat without the inevitable sugar high come down / meltdown.

To make pumpkin pack simply quarter a Sugar Pie or Sweetie Pie pumpkin, scrape out seeds (but don’t worry too much about the stringy pumpkin guts) and roast the pumpkin wedges on a rimmed baking sheet with a 1/4 cup of water for 20 minutes at 425˚F until soft. Allow to cool, remove the skin, then blend into a thick purée in the Vitaprep (try not to add any extra liquid). Pumpkin pack makes great soup, it’s a nice addition to homemade breads and biscuits, elevates pie to something truly special and gives cakes a moist crumb with the healthy benefit of vitamins and minerals.

We had a lot of fun decorating these cupcakes with pumpkin candies and candy corn for funny looking turkeys. Since my kids are so young, this was just the right level of difficulty. Layla enjoyed the process and Hettie enjoyed eating the process!

Stay warm and healthy! I did say these cupcakes have fresh ginger in them, didn’t I? Ginger is loaded with antioxidants that help to prevent stress and might help fight diseases and promote healthy aging – so if you need an excuse to indulge, there ya have it!

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Okay, truth be told, my birthday cake is not fancy, I love a simple poppy seed cake dusted with powdered sugar. But my Mom had her special cake; a Chocolate Devil’s Food Cake with whipped cream frosting. My Step Dad had his favorite: a black walnut yellow cake with milk chocolate frosting. My husband likes a Pennsylvania Dutch vanilla cake with whipped cream frosting and loads of berries and Hettie Rose, my sweet little surprise, has her cake too (for now at least), an angel food cake topped with Meyer lemon curd and beautiful little frais de bois for decoration.

Hettie Rose is truly my angel (hence the angel food cake and not the devil’s food cake!), not just because she is a super happy little baby but because I found out I was pregnant when I least expected another child just before my 45th birthday. She also made her debut a whole month early. However, she has no idea she is a premie and she has crushed all her developmental markers including averaging out in height and weigh. Her personality brings so much sunshine into our lives, hence the sunny Meyer Lemon curd topping. As soon as she wakes up, she is smiling – it’s just nuts! I’m like: who does that? Who wakes up and just instantly smiles? Hettie Rose, I guess, Hettie Rose…

Hettie Rose is constantly curious, always ready to giggle or crack one of her enormous smiles that literally engulf her little face in happiness, she is determined to swipe anything in sight and put it straight into her mouth, she enjoys grabbing her toes and she thinks hats, swings, sunglasses and mirrors (her reflection) are hilarious. She loves to eat/drink: boob, banana, avocado and prunes – she is a little chunky milk monkey with big ol’ baby fat rolls that I absolutely adore! She is my angel, it is a miracle that she is here and she has truly completed this little family. Hettie Rose balances all of our personalities in a way I never could have imagined.

Okay, enough goo-goo gah-gah, so angel food cake, how to make it? Good question. Believe it or not, this is my first one! I know, I know – I totally nailed it! I thought it was easy as far as cakes go, so I’d like to demystify the process below. I have always been afraid to attempt angel food cake because my Mom told me when I was a kid that it was extremely difficult to make (probably because she just didn’t want me to eat it) so I just never thought to bother! See how parents damage their kids?!?!? Kidding, kidding…

For the Meyer lemon curd I used David Lebovitz’s recipe. Meyer lemon curd is easy but time consuming. However, if you make it in a large batch you can keep it in the fridge for a few weeks and spread it on toast in the morning or use with other desserts – or just stick your tongue in the jar and devour while nobody’s watching! Not everyone has the time to make lemon curd and there are great store bought options these days that you can squeeze some Meyer lemon juice into in a pinch.

One thing you can’t mess up in an angel food cake is the egg separation process. A little egg yolk in the egg white mixture is going to ruin the meringue. I was hesitant to let Layla help out because, although her egg cracking game is pretty good, it’s not perfect. And she’s two years old. Which means she has selective hearing. Needless to say, she did a good job and she was careful. We cracked the eggs whole into a dish and then used our fingers to scoop out the yolks, letting the whites sift through our fingertips back into the bowl. This is also the way I do it in a professional kitchen when I’ve got trays and trays of eggs to separate. I do not sit around rocking the yolk back and forth between shells for 100 eggs.

Pro Tips: separate eggs when they are cold. The yolk is less likely to break. Use fresh egg whites from fresh eggs for this recipe so the moisture content is high. Whip meringue when whites have warmed up from the refrigerator to about 65˚F.

When you finish whipping up your meringue, it should look like the picture below: glossy and almost stiff but not dry – pourable not like little dry cloud clumps. The whites should be around 60-65˚F, just under room temperature in order to whip perfectly. And I would highly advise using the proverbial angel food cake pan. The meringue needs to cling and climb and this cake pan works best. A non-stick bundt pan is a no-go. Do not grease the pan either.

The recipe can be divided into 4 quarters according to my old edition of the Joy of Cooking (don’t even bother with the new one when it comes to cake recipes, I use the 1975 JOY which still includes fascinating tips on how to set up a champagne tower and how to cook squirrel and I find the dessert recipes to be less about weight loss and cutting calories and more about technique).

In the first quarter of the recipe, the egg whites are beaten gently until foamy. Then salt and cream of tartar is added midway which helps to stabilize the foam. In the second quarter the granulated sugar is added gradually on high speed until soft glossy peaks form – the granulated sugar helps to guard against over whipping. The third part consists of folding the meringue into the sifted dry ingredients quickly and lightly. with an over-under motion. And the fourth, pouring the mixture into the non-greased tube pan and baking on 350F˚.

I think most bakers today (like Flo Braker) would recommend using both granulated sugar AND powdered sugar unlike my old JOY recipe, so I’ve adjusted that below Granulated sugar should be used to whip into the meringue because using powdered sugar turns it into a gooey icing. And powdered sugar should be used with the dry ingredients – this keeps the structure light all around.

Flo Braker (my baking Goddess) says the golden crust should come off in the pan. Mine did not and I was okay with that. My old JOY recipe didn’t say anything about that either. So, I get a ding there on my first angel food cake but I though the taste and texture was perfect.

The funniest thing about angel food cake is what you do when it’s done baking: you invert the pan onto a bottle. I used a wine bottle and let it hang out for about an hour and a half. This helps to set the cake. It makes it awfully hard to pour the wine though…

All in all, this was not a difficult cake to bake. But it sure was beautiful. And so light and fluffy. Layla sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Hettie Rose and blew out her candles and we all enjoyed a slice except Hettie of course, sigh, she’s just a baby after all, but she seemed content just to be part of her party.

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So, where did I find these beauties? Well, my mother-in-law says I’m a Persian at heart because I have secret knowledge of free-for-all fruit trees in my neighborhood. I guess it’s a Persian thing. But also, sour cherries are a big deal in Iranian cooking and I’ll post some of my Mom’s recipes soon. Her eyes got very large and a little watery, when I showed her my secret sour cherry tree. “You are Persian, I knew it, don’t tell anyone about this tree…” Yeah, and here I am blabbing to the world…. sorry Mom….

This particular cherry tree overhangs a fence on a busy Oakland street and for years on my walks about town, I watched as no one touched it. Not even the birds – who normally descend on cherry trees like locust. For this reason, although I could tell it was some sort of cherry, I thought perhaps it was poisonous. Montmorency cherries are almost neon red in color and small compared to Bing or Ranier. They are sour too, but not so pucker-y that you can’t eat them fresh.

Toddlers are makers by nature and they love to learn how things work. Layla, my little three-year-old, enjoys ‘jobs’ in the kitchen that involve fine motor skills (use of hands) and pitting cherries was fun for her – which is great, because I hate it. Yay! Teach ’em young! She was super psyched to sit down with her bowl of just-picked cherries and figure out how to use the pitter. Little Ones gain a sense of independence and self-reliance when they can master a tool/appliance/tennis-shoe-with-laces/etc and anything involving food – specifically sweet food – is instantly exciting.

This recipe is straight forward: make pastry dough, pit cherries (and check and double check because nothing is worse than cracking a tooth on a pit), mix cherries with some cornstarch and sugar, shape tarts, fill, bake, put a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top and eat! Voilà! C’est facile!

I’ve included in the recipe how to make pie crust by hand without a Cuisinart or pastry cutter because it’s easy and fun for kids! Try it! It honestly doesn’t take me anymore time to make by hand and then I have one thing less to wash!

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It has been eye opening to see what a toddler can do in the kitchen without preconceived notions as to what may or may not be challenging. It has definitely been a wake up call for me as a parent to not pre-judge my child’s intellectual capabilities or interests.

For example, Layla takes pâte brisée and rolls it out and flips it about like a pro and for this pasta recipe, I thought for sure it would be too difficult, but she got right up on her chair and helped make the dough by hand and then guide our finished product out from the pasta roller . And she had no problem helping me stuff our little half moons – or “pockets” as she calls them – pressing gently around the filling to release air bubbles. She punched the pasta out and then dusted it with a little flour to prevent sticking and neatly placed her pockets with no overlap on a plate. Honestly, I don’t know where she channeled this from. I’ve never made homemade pasta for her.

The only caveat to making great ravioli is that you do need a pasta roller of some sort. Thanks to my dear foodie friends Ivan and Nadine, I have a professional KitchenAid with every attachment known to mankind (best house warming gift ever!). I also have an old-school counter mounted hand crank type pasta roller, and this one is not easy to use because it doesn’t stay attached to the counter. My only warning to parents making this recipe with kids is: young children should not be allowed to work an electric pasta roller on their own because their little fingers could potentially get caught and crushed – ‘yes’ on catching the pasta from the bottom and ‘no’ on feeding it into the roller.

This recipe came about because I’m working on how to get orange foods past Layla’s pursed lips. Orange foods (sweet potato, carrots, pumpkin, squash, etc) are disgusting in her mind and they get shoved far across the plate and sometimes just thrown to our pup – who doesn’t like them either.

I am a true believer that it becomes easier to eat things you hate if you spend time cooking and preparing them in the kitchen. For me, my time cooking on the Meat Station at Guy Savoy in Paris helped me to get over my disdain for thymus glands, liver, and brains. I still won’t go out of my way to eat those things, but I’m not as grossed out as I used to be by offal. For Layla, that’s just orange veggies.

In order to face her orange fears, we roasted a whole butternut and then puréed it in the VitaPrep. We made nutty smelling brown butter and added it to our butternut purée base. She did try it. Twice. It didn’t totally pass muster but at least she tried it. We added half of our purée to a cupcake recipe topped with a salted caramel whipped cream frosting and she decided that maybe – just maybe – butternut was okay.

To the other half of the purée we added parmesan and ricotta and she tasted it and her response was: “Layla doesn’t like it” (she refers to herself in the third person still). But then she tried it again and there was no response so I could tell she was thinking about it. I was hopeful that her silence meant: “hmmm, maybe I like this”.

But no, the finished product was a no-go. Even with the seriously yummy maple Parmesan cream. She did eat the pasta around the ravioli. My husband and I wolfed the ravioli down and we ate her portion up too! This is a delicious recipe perfect for the cold weather and if you’re making it for some one special on Valentine’s Day, then they are going to love you forever (unless it’s for a two-year-old named Layla).

What’s the moral of the story you might ask? Well, here’s my Mommy take away: if you want your toddler to just eat something they aren’t sure about, sugar coat it in a cupcake. But if you want your Little One to gain appreciation and understanding of something they dislike, show them up close that their fears are unfounded by introducing them personally to the source – they will eventually come around. Oh, and making ravioli is easy, even a two year old can do it.

The post Brown Butter Butternut Squash Ravioli with Maple Parmesan Cream, Bacon and Radicchio first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

I made this pistachio cardamom pound cake for Christmas brunch and it was delicious. Definitely a sweet treat, but in lieu of making pancakes or French toast à la minute, I wanted something pretty, nicely sugary and also something I could make a day or two beforehand.

At Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, poundcake is one of the first recipes you learn. The chefs always call it le gâteau pour le week-end pique-nique. Or: the cake for the weekend picnic. Why? Because it travels well (and keeps for days) and it can sit in a basket not get spoiled.

This is not a traditional pound cake recipe in the sense that it does use leavening, but I think it’s a great basic recipe to start with and make your own and it doesn’t require separating eggs and whipping up whites (although you can still do that and you will get an even lighter crumb).

The rose glaze is just a pretty touch at the end and the segmented Winter Citrus soaked in an orange blossom simple syrup adds a nice counterpoint.

Go get nutty….

The post Cardamom Pistachio Poundcake with Rose Glaze and Orange Blossom Winter Citrus first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

After 16 years of writing about food, you’d think I could at least get some recipes out before the actual event, but no, I just get too busy! I did do things different this Christmas and I want to share my revelation even though it’s after the fact.

I finally created a feast I could make the day before the event so I could spend more time with family and friends instead of running around like a headless chicken cooking everything à la minute. This year I just pulled platters out of my fridge, plopped them on the buffet table and reheated the foods that needed to be hot. It was wonderful! Glorious in fact! Long live the buffet table! 

Normally for the holidays, I do these crazy elaborate meals with hot and cold appetizers, a multiple coursed dinner and elaborate desserts for a crowd – anywhere from 15 to 30 people. I tent my backyard and decorate to the max and honestly, it’s just exhausting to prepare. The end result is always beautiful but it takes a physical and emotional toll on the whole family. By the time the actual celebration arrives, we can’t enjoy it because we’re tired. Maybe when we’re out of the toddler era and sleeping normally we’ll enjoy setting up that kind of party again.

Since I’m very pregnant and very uncomfortable and I also have a toddler running around, I decided to simplify things this year. And you know what? I think this was one of my best holiday menus yet! I did zero actual cooking on Christmas day which left a lot more time to enjoy our yearly White Elephant party and lounge around. And I thought the food looked and tasted beautiful.

The Holiday menu:

Deluxe Bloody Mary Bar

Roasted Whole Salmon with Niçoise Salad garnish

Pistachio Cardamom Poundcake with Winter Citrus Orange Blossom Salad

4-inch Quiche Lorraine

Clam Chowder Cups with Dill & Thyme

Rosemary and Garlic Roast Beef French Dip Sandwiches with Au Jus

Bedazzled Pistachio frangipane & Chocolate Tart with Soft Whipped Cream.

I hope to follow up with the recipes over the next few weeks. Wishing everyone a wonderful 2019 full of LOVE!

The post Do Ahead Holiday Brunch For a Crowd first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Blogging is basically Dumbledore’s ‘Pensive’ where one can pull out thoughts and memories with a magic wand and put them in a pool for safe keeping. Lately, the fears and hopes I’m facing, feel like a ‘Pensive Vitaprep’ where contrasting experiences are whirled together leaving me with a fowl tasting smoothie. I cannot feel happy for myself when a renowned journalist’s fingers are cut off, or expect anyone to be elated over my outrageously crazy against-all-odds baby miracle when families are separated at the Border.

My happiness is so small in comparison to the extreme suffering of other human beings. I want to share the beauty of my unplanned vacation/Baby Moon but I am struck with the sorrow of complete devastation for those that couldn’t escape the Camp Fires and those that did but who lost everything. I feel guilty for my little vacay to get away from the hazardous smoke in the Bay Area while others had to suffer through it, even though it greatly effected my daughter Layla. Nothing feels right these days.

So you see, I have news! I have recipes! I have adventures! But it’s all so trivial and untimely in light of a world and a country headed towards moral destruction and undeniable human and civil rights violations.

Am I alone here? Is anyone having problems reckoning what’s going on in the world with their own personal lives? Am I the only person who can’t separate the daily atrocities on the news with personal happiness? It’s overwhelming. How can one person, with little resources, make a difference? And yet, here I am today getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving, so I write the following, with the objective that perhaps my story of hope will provide a brief respite this holiday weekend…

Lourdes, a highly sought after Home Care Professional in our neighborhood, who I have employed for years with her team of expert women, share each other’s company before our daily routines begin once every two weeks. Like me, Lourdes had an unexpected baby in her early 40’s and we often talk about the ups and downs of being older moms. Besides being a busy business owner, Lourdes is also active in her Church’s outreach to low-income Moms and I support her efforts in whatever ways I can.

On one particular Thursday, Lourdes arrives with her team and we chit chat sharing a cup of coffee before we each have to go our ways. She asks me point blank:

“So Amy, when are you going to have another baby?”

“Are you kidding??!? I’m so old and so sleep deprived, I just don’t think that’s in our future.”

“You know,” She says with a wry smile, “As soon as you donate your baby stuff, you’ll get pregnant again. I promise! ”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s even possible, or that I even want that, but I’m more than happy to donate baby stuff. I’ve kept clothes and toys for a long time now thinking there might be another, but it’s time to move on…”

“Sure, I can come by this weekend and take what you don’t want.”

“Great, thank you!”

I pack up Layla in the car and head to her French nursery school across town singing “Frère Jaques” all the way, filing away my conversation with Lourdes. It is time to clear the cobwebs and even though it would be nice to have another baby, we are super happy with the one we’ve got and count ourselves lucky to have had her so late in life, especially after two late second term miscarriages. And I’m back working with restaurants, creating recipes at home, writing, taking photography lessons, volunteering at Layla’s school and everything seems to be moving along in life – no need to go back to a year of pregnancy bedrest and constant medical checkups and endless anxiety or another two years of sleep deprivation.

Nope. This little family is complete, thank you very much. And frankly, it was complete before Layla arrived. She just happened to make it that much bigger and brighter.

Shortly after Layla’s miraculous arrival we considered trying for another baby because we didn’t want her to be alone in the world. We saw a specialist that told us we were too old and that we would need to do IVF and use a donor egg even though “we looked good for our ages”. It wasn’t the right choice for us.

One June afternoon, I’m taking a nap next to Layla and I wake up in the middle of it, levitating a few inches from the bed and look down at my body to see that I’m glowing green all the way down to my toes. Alien abduction? Acid flashback? Perhaps. But it’s a pleasant experience – my entire body is radiating an incredible bright green. It feels so good, so fresh, so youthful. I could be the spokes person for an Irish Spring commercial, it’s that ridiculously joyous! I fall back asleep no problem and when I wake up I can’t get the little green hallucination out of my mind.

Nine days later I’m dry heaving over a toliet bowl wondering what on God’s Earth I did to deserve such a nasty stomach bug. I go to my doctor, who enlightens me about morning sickness (which I never had with Layla) and he confirms via ultrasound that I am indeed pregnant, even though it is too early to really see anything. I leave excited, scared, and disbelieving. I go home and take four more tests that strongly confirm it. Ok. I guess I’m pregnant. At 44. I thought this wasn’t possible?!?!

A week later I go back to my doctor for another ultra sound. This time the news isn’t good. Using his archaic machine that never gives a clear picture, he tells me that that there is no baby inside the gestational sac and that I will miscarry. He offers to give me medication to speed up the process. I ask him: “But I’m so sick, how can there not be a baby? This pregnancy feels stronger than any I’ve had before?” He tells me that the pregnancy hormones are still going strong and that soon enough my body will recognize there is no baby and begin the un-fun process of renewal.

I say “no” to the drugs and decide to let nature take it’s course, and I leave depressed but still surprised that we even got pregnant for a little bit considering all the loud voices around us saying it would not be possible. And, for the life of me, I just can’t get that little green dream out of my head. I share the sad news with my husband and we decide once again, that our little family is perfect as is.

Another week goes by and I am so sick and sooooo fatigued and I have a gut feeling that the doctor’s diagnosis is wrong. I return for yet another ultra sound to see what exactly is going on. He begins to try and describe the blurry picture on the screen and assert once again that there is no baby when I stop him and exclaim – “Yes there is! I see a heartbeat! I see it!” At which point he also admits with surprise that there is a little baby. With the disclaimer, “It’s a good thing I didn’t give you that medication.”

He’s not my doctor anymore…

I’m a Halloween baby and I’ve always loved the creativity and harvest bounty that my birthday month signals. October in the Bay Area is the month where Summer fruit is coming to a close, yet still sweet & bountiful and Winter squash is done curing in the fields. Late harvest corn and dry farmed tomatoes overflow the farmer’s markets alongside tall stalks of brussel sprouts and giant globe artichokes. It is a great month to get going in the kitchen and I’m determined to create a recipe a day before my birthday. Now with a two-year-old who LOVES to bake, the idea of making all those fun creepy cool cupcakes and pumpkin-y treats is exciting once again.

But no, my recipe goal attempt is sadly unattainable. Layla brings home the flu from one of her little Frenchy nursery school co-conspirators and our entire family is laid out flat. All of us. Too bad Little Bean, our Cairn Terrier can’t cook.

I normally don’t get sick. I have never missed a day of work due to sickness – injury from cooking yes (like the time the handle came off an enormous pot of boiling salted water at Le Bernardin and burned the flesh off the top of my foot), flu or winter cold – no. My body simply attacks anything foreign. My body goes apeshit when it registers an intruder. It really doesn’t matter if the “intruder” is wanted. I have an overactive immune system and it’s not necessarily a good thing.

I spend three weeks, mostly in bed with the flu. My husband suffers the same. Layla has the mildest symptoms probably because we were smart enough to give her the flu shot, but she’s still having difficulty breathing and sleeping. We emerge from our sickbeds briefly to celebrate my 45th birthday before all of us end up with secondary infections. Brutal.

And then just as our lung infections are beginning to clear, the Camp Fire devastates Northern California burning 80 football fields a minute (hard to comprehend that statistic, I know) and our family is left again struggling to breathe in the hazardous aftermath of smoke that has made its way, the short distance, from Paradise to the Bay Area. 

Time for an unplanned Baby Moon? We head South to Monterey where the air is clear even though we know it’s late second trimester and the danger time during our pregnancy. But weighing the options of watching our toddler cough, wheeze and struggle to breathe properly with going Into preterm labor – we decide it’s best for all of us to be in breathable air.  

Layla ooggles sea otters at the incredible Monterey Bay Aquarium and stands open mouthed in front of the ethereal jelly fish exhibit. She puts her hands to the glass of the enormous deep sea tank and a gigantic fish comes up and stares at her for a full minute. She stares back without flinching. We watch octopuses slink around their aquariums, 7-gill sharks zoom-a-zoom-zoom and we stick our hands in man-made tide pools pulling out kelp and hermit crabs. This is by far, the most exhilarating living museum she has ever been to. I’m not sure that Hettie Rose can see anything but she sure is kicking the whole way through so it must be fun for her too.

Back at the hotel, located right on the beach, we grab shovel & bucket and hit the sand looking for tiny crabs buried just below the ebbing tide. Layla searches for sand dollars and little treasures while I try to keep up with her pace and hold on to her every time the tide rushes over her feet sinking her little body deeper into the sand.

We relax during dinner at Salt Wood, with rising star Chef David Baron at the helm. He’s a friend of ours and a father with two kids so he takes a little extra time to make sure Layla is fed-up with asparagus cooked in a silky miso butter broth and real house-made egg pasta drenched in homemade butter and shaved Parmesan. Layla picks the avocados out of my Caesar salad with David’s delicious black garlic dressing and scrunches up her face when ‘Baba’ tries to give her an oyster from the shell.

David’s unique food perspective effortlessly weaves fresh and local California comfort casual with flavors of the Philippines and Nicaragua. His food is beautiful, generous in proportion, layered in flavor without skimping on process or purity of ingredient, and he uses a massive wood fire grill for whole fish preparations, sand dabs, and many other sea food offerings which I love. His fried chicken served alongside an enormous buttermilk biscuit smothered in honey butter, is just ridiculous. I don’t know if he uses a pressure fryer, but I have never been able to achieve fried chicken quite like his – so crisp on the outside and so perfectly juicy inside. (And no, he does not sous-vide it or pre-bake it.)

After four nights in Monterey eating our way through David’s menu and splitting our time between the Aquarium and the beach, we are beginning to miss home. We only planned for a few days thinking the smoke would clear by now, but even Monterey is becoming questionable and our coughs have returned. We pack our gear and head further South to Big Sur to a cabin in the woods.

Although Layla has seen redwood trees, she hasn’t seen really old redwood trees and she stands under an enormous one and looks up slightly reeling backward all the time singing: “ooooooooooooooooo”. The wonder of nature is not lost on us either and we head to Pfeiffer beach after a little walk in the redwoods for some more sun and fun.

Normally Ramin and I would have a campfire going and be cooking morning, noon and night – leave it the Eagle Scout and Girl Scout to whip up some delicious fiery feasts but, it just doesn’t feel right to light up considering the smokey air. So we head to one of our favorite little spots, Big Sur Bakery, which has been a well loved restaurant for a long time now – my parents used to take me here when I was a kid!

The French restaurant manager greets us in the morning with a “Bonjour, ça va ça va? (Hello, how goes it?) and Layla offers back her version: “Boujee boujeee!” which makes him laugh and declare that “Layla is just too cute.” To which we agree whole heartedly. We sip rich roasted coffee in the cool morning marine layer and munch our way through the best tasting pastries I have ever had. Big Sur bakery marks Layla’s first chocolate chaud experience and we devour and relax while Layla covers her face in chocolate and pastry.  

Still no rain in California and fires rage North in Paradise and South in Malibu with little hope of containment. The air in the Bay Area remains hazardous and schools close down. We spend a whole day trying to find another cabin in Big Sur to extend our stay – why not?  – we’ve already been away a week and a half, it would be silly to come home during the worst part of it! But there is nothing available. And I mean nothing. Even the super expensive hotels are booked. There is no room at the inn – not in Avila, Big Sur, Carmel, or Monterey. This is unheard of. The entire Bay Area is invading our little getaway.

With nowhere to stay, we decide to head home. But as a last ditch effort we swing by a dog friendly hotel in Carmel and I walk up to the front desk with my big belly holding Layla on one hip with one hand and my dog leash in the other and plead to the Front Desk Lady: “I really need a room for tonight, do you have anything by chance available?”

She looks at me and smiles, “Let me check…You just got our last room. We are completely booked now. Two queens, does that work?”

“Oh halleluja, thank you!”

We weren’t exactly roughing it in our Big Sur cabin but it sure feels great to be back in a real hotel room, with a clean floor and big comfy beds and a hot shower. We take Layla to Monastery Beach and splash around for a bit before hitting Carmel’s outdated restaurant scene. 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that the food is bad in Carmel, it’s just old school. Every restaurant serves carbonara, Caesar salad, fried calamari and seafood blanketed in butter or cream sauce. Demetra Cafe, is the only Mediterranean restaurant (also old school) in town and the menu reminds me of my days as Exec Chef for Faz where pizza and pasta are served alongside Turkish and Persian offerings. It doesn’t totally make sense to me, but the restaurant is packed and the owner is there playing his lute, serenading all the guests, urging people to dance and clap their hands and he is very sweet to Layla. Upon asking her name, he kisses her hands repeatedly which makes Layla blush and cling to me like a koala bear. I have a feeling that there is a Layla in his family, because the name makes his eyes light up when we tell him. Bashar is Syrian and some of his dishes slightly point to this, but not as many as I would personally like.

We eat juicy lamb kabobs and rice with a little too much turmeric (and not enough saffron) alongside a scoop up tzaziki and grilled pita bread. It’s not Faz quality, but even still, it’s tasty. Layla belly dances at the table to the music and she offers up her hands for Bashar to kiss when he comes to check on our table and then hides away in my hair once he does. To say that Layla has charmed the pants off the Bashar, is an understatement.

Layla is a pro diner. She’s great in restaurants. This may come as no surprise but even with her limited palate, she will carefully poke her finger in new foods and taste to see if it’s thumbs up or down, sit in a high chair and observe the servers and clientelle, pretend to read a menu and hold a conversation at two-year-old level for at least a portion of the meal before we inevitably turn on YouTube French songs or programs so that we can finish without rushing.

Our vacation is coming to a close now that Northern California has forecasted rain for Thanksgiving. We pack our bags after our comfortable 3 night stay at Carmel Mission Inn, change into some new clothes that don’t smell of smoke or cabin or two weeks sans laundry and head North to my Auntie’s house in Santa Cruz where she will be hosting Thanksgiving dinner. 

My Aunt Suzie and Uncle Phill prepare the classic and delicious Thanksgiving dinner of my dearly departed Mother and Grandmother. In years past I have given Thanksgiving dinner various modern twists, but I have to say that I really just appreciate the good old-fashioned made-from-scratch-meal passed down through our family. 

The menu: Perfectly cooked heritage turkey with chestnut crispy skin, rich giblet gravy (no cream), mashed potatoes, spiced smashed yams with marshmallow topping, stuffing cooked in the bird and out, homemade biscuits, roasted asparagus with a squeeze of Meyer lemon, maple glazed carrots, cranberry orange sauce, and a slew of homemade pies. Yum.

All of my family is exceptionally educated, many are legitimately brilliant, and most are extremely liberal. Any heated political debate is normally about degrees of liberalism as opposed to Left vs. Right which is often frustrating but well intended. This Thanksgiving though, we steer clear of politics, it’s been too dividing a year all around. Even though we all play on the same team, no one wants to go down that rabbit hole. We love our Country and our fellow Americans regardless of religion, ethnicity, sexual persuasion or political affiliation and this has been a truly depressing year to watch the degradation of democracy and deep divide our current leadership has entrenched. Everyone is ready just to focus on family and on Layla and leave out the noise for an evening.

We skip the individual “what are you thankful for” toast because we all feel that being thankful this year for something we have (and we have so much) unintentionally implies some one else’s devastating loss. Instead, we raise our glasses to the rain helping to quench California’s thirst and extinguish the fires. 

It goes without saying that I’m always thankful for my family, especially my husband who keeps this little unit going strong – but some one lost their entire family in Paradise, some one lost their home in Malibu (and Florida and Cuba), and some one is not going to snuggle their little baby or even see them again at our Border.  

My cousins, Travis and Sophie, zero in on Layla and play with her for hours. Sophie brings out her old baby toys and Layla is in heaven having two super cool young people give her attention – much more fun than two old parents!

Hettie Rose is happy and kicking away. Little Bean is in a turkey comma. Ramin is relaxing and his funny ongoing banter with my expert story telling Uncle is keeping us all entertained. It is a lovely evening all around. We overstuff ourselves with pumpkin, pecan and apple pie, say our goodbyes, and leave to drive over the mountain and head home to Oakland. It will be good to sleep in our own bed tonight. The rain is in full force now and the air quality is back to breathable. 

I take Layla from the car after our long journey home, sound asleep and carefully put her in bed. She briefly wakes up, smiles at the sight of her room, then falls fast asleep. Hettie Rose, who has been busy inside my tummy the whole evening is starting to wind down and I can tell she’s ready for me to sleep. I share Hettie’s name now because she is so much a part of my life already and I am well aware of the risks I face, so I want to full-heartedly welcome her into this world for as long or as little as she might be here to enjoy it.

Her due date is somewhere in-between St. Patrick’s Day, March 17th and Persian New Years, March 21st which marks the advent of Spring. Hmmmm, maybe that’s what the green dream was all about?!?!?! 

Oh, and I guess there is one thing I’m truly grateful for this Thanksgiving weekend: I’m thankful to Lourdes for telling me to donate Layla’s baby clothes to her Catholic Charity!!!

The post Turning 45, Embracing Miracles and Thankfully Giving Away first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

And yeah, I get it, I mean there are just some things that taste better in certain environments. I feel that way about octopus. And definitely there is something to being in Spain, Portugal or Italy and eating right on the beach where the fish was caught hours before that makes the experience feel rustically beautiful.

But these Sardines are also local, from the Pacific, right out the “Gate”! Even my local fishmonger was surprised to get them in because for years they were overfished in these parts, but now it looks like they are making a return (I hope, I hope – many sea animals depend on sardines and anchovies for survival in Northern California).

I wasn’t sure what to call my green sauce: Chimichurri? Pesto? Salsa verde? Green harissa? Caponata minus the eggplant and tomatoes? So for now it’s just ‘spicy jeweled herb sauce’. It was an experiment of sorts that I would happily put on a restaurant menu. I took everything in my garden and in the fridge that seemed appropriate and put them all together: parsley, dill, red chili flake, Meyer lemon zest, Castelvetrano green olives, toasted pine nuts, wine soaked golden raisins, white balsamic vinegar and olive oil. It’s an awesome salty, nutty, puckery, sweet, spicy combo that compliments umami flavors. 

I think the real reason that sardines scare people away is that most don’t know how to eat them. And nobody wants to look like an idiot trying to debone elegantly at the table. It’s actually quite simple: using a sharp steak knife make an incision down the back bone starting at the base of the head and working down to the beginning of the tail. Then, with your fork and knife, lift the filet away from the central bone starting close to the head. Using your fork or your fingers, gently lift the central bone away from the bottom fillet and put it on your bread plate. Violà!

Grilling sardines is easy and fast. It takes about a 1-2 minutes per side. And yes, I do have some tricks that help keep the delicate skin from sticking to the grill… First, turn the grill on high, brush it clean and season it using olive oil. If the grill isn’t clean then any remaining particles will stick to the fish skin and glue it to the grates. Secondly, once the grates are hot, season them again about a minute before you put your fish down. It’s important to wait a minute so the oil on the grates has time to heat up but not long enough to cook off. You can also brush the fish lightly with olive oil, although I don’t usually do this since my grates are well seasoned.

Or skip all of that and use a grill fish pan. I hear they work well.

And lastly, don’t use those long barbecue tongs to flip fish on the grill. I know, it’s hot! I know the smell of burnt arm hair is malodorous, but if you use tongs you’re just going to tear the fish apart. You need a peltex or fish spatula. Tongs were outlawed when I cooked at Le Bernardin. We NEVER used them in the kitchen. Get one, they’re only fifteen dollars from JB Prince! I use a peltex for everything because I get a much neater flip and I don’t squeeze out juices or crush whatever protein I’m working with.

So there ya have it, how to grill whole fish like a pro! Let me know how it goes! Get out there and get your Omega 3’s and try my green sauce! I served these sardines with a simple sliced tomato plate and some creamy egg-y potato salad…

The post Grilled Sardines with Spicy Jeweled Herb Sauce first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

The magazine pairs the flank steak with grilled baby artichokes, roasted potatoes and for dessert a grilled balsamic glazed nectarine topped with marscapone. I’m sure there was a soup or salad to start but I don’t have the full issue. I used my Mom’s signature grilled artichoke recipe instead of the one suggested. And of course, I’ve altered the steak recipe and adjusted it to what’s growing in my Chef’s garden at present. 

And about my garden – what is going on California?!?! – my heirloom tomatoes are going nuts! It’s October!!! I know this is a Summer recipe of sorts, but my tomatoes are just hitting their stride and I think we might be headed towards another Indian Summer here on the West Coast. I’ve got Green Zebras, Early Girls, Slicers, Marzano, Sungold cherry tomatoes, yellow pear cherry tomatoes and one other type of cherry that I have no name for. None of my plants are ‘determinate’ and they have hit about seven feet in height so far with no signs of slowing down.

Layla does not like tomatoes. However, she did pop a Sungold in her mouth after I told her it tasted like a strawberry. It came back out shortly after she felt the tomato jelly ooze. I think it was more of a texture freak-out than a flavor issue. She does like to hunt for the ripe ones though. My old family pup Annie (short for Anniversary), used to love to pop cherry tomatoes in her mouth. She would never swallow them but I think she thought it was fun!

Flank steak is a quick meal. It takes me about 3 minutes per side on the BBQ for medium rare meat. The real key to this recipe is making the cherry tomato relish about an hour before and letting it sit at room temperature. The sherry vinegar and salt draw out the tomato juice to make a delicious vinaigrette that melds perfectly with the steak’s juices. If you are not an olive fan, they can be subbed for capers – anything salty and meaty tasting works in this relish. Add a side of mashed potatoes, roasted potatoes, polenta or even wild rice to make a hearty meal.

Credit, where credit is due, here is the original recipe that I adapated from Bon Appetit: Herb Crusted Flank Steak with Cherry Tomatoes and Olives

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Galette’s are my rustic go-to dessert for feeding a crowd. I can easily feed 10 with this galette and maybe 12 if I slice the wedges thin (and really, that’s all anybody needs after a big dinner). As far as most desserts go, this is low sugar. It’s the fruit that is the show stopper. Brown sugar and cardamom brown butter are sprinkled/drizzled over top before baking. The crust is a rich and flaky pâte brisée, similar to pie crust but with the addition of an egg yolk. 

I think galette’s should be rustic in appearance. Had I not been working on automatic, I wouldn’t have even peeled the apples. I made a crazy quilt design with the slices slightly overlapping the edges. I’ve seen pictures of well manicured galettes where each apple slice is perfectly arranged over the next (as in my old Pink Pearl recipe: Tarte Fin Aux Pommes), but I don’t think you need to go there – unless of course you want to – galettes are meant to be beautifully imperfect.

And if you happen to have a two-year-old hangin’ around and looking for something to do, this is a fun recipe. I know Layla really loves to roll dough out and she enjoys sprinkling sugar over everything and anything. She also helped pick the apples. For the longest time Layla didn’t like apples but the day she helped me harvest was the day she changed her mind about the fruit.

Oh, and another fun thing to do, if you have too many apples sliced up for this recipe and not enough surface space to use them all – throw them in a small sauce pot with a little water and a little of the brown butter and make apple sauce. It’s pretty on yogurt or just by itself and kids love it!

I’m not sure why pink pearls aren’t grown commercially because they are low maintenance and the flavor is superior. Maybe it’s because the growing season is short, about two weeks. Look for them at your farmer’s market… or plant one in your backyard!

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How to talk like a Mom…

First of all, you must refer to yourself in the third person. I am “Mama”.  Not “Amy”, not “I”, not “me”. When I want something from my lovely two year old, Layla, I say something like: “Mama, would like you to drink your milk”. And when my two year old responds by blowing a raspberry and making a gross face, I repeat “Mama, would like you to drink your milk and not spit at the dinner table while eating”.

You see, by referring to myself as “Mama” it’s almost as if I’m talking objectively about some one other than myself that is requiring my child to follow instructions. It’s almost as if I personally could care less whether the milk gets finished or not, but this mythical creature ‘Mama’ on the other hand, is going to open the proverbial can of whoop-ass if her instructions aren’t acted upon.

Babas don’t do this. Only Mamas. You don’t hear Babas referring to themselves as “Babas”. And this switch to ‘Mama’ happens literally upon birth. I remember thinking to myself shortly after Layla’s arrival: “Why am I speaking to my daughter in this weird version of third person?” But it was too late, the mythical ‘Mama’ had already taken over my former self.

Two year olds do not mince words. Mostly because they have so few to mince from. My daughter is bossy. She has no problem telling her father “Baba, water!” and pointing to the sink or “Mama, uppy!” and lifting her little arms up for a snuggle or “Little Bean, go!” and ushering our little dog outside. She gets right down to business. So in turn, I find myself speaking in the most direct form when it’s crucial. Very chef-like, but perhaps even a bit more authoritarian. Like when she reaches up towards the stove when I’m cooking or decides she wants to bring her dolls under my feet while I’m sautéeing, it’s just a direct: “Layla – NO!” It’s like this higher power controls my brain and takes over completely when my daughter’s safety is in question. I don’t think about it for a second, it just happens. Phrases like: “Get down now”, “Two hands”, “No weeeee” (for when she tries to do backflips off my bent knees while I’m lying on the sofa), “Stay put”, etc, etc, etc…. no mincing around for Mama.

Layla has her own language which both Mama and Baba have adopted in order to communicate. For example the TV is called “No-no” and I’m sure you can guess as to why. And she prefaces shows with “no-no” when she wants to see something on TV like: “No-No-Chef” for Junior Top Chef or “No-No-Pup” which is a learning program starring a purple pup named Violet. “Dah-doo” is ‘thank you’, “dood” is ‘bread’ for some unknown reason – even the Farsi translation isn’t close, and “pwwwweeez” is obviously ‘please’.

Animals are simply referred to by the sounds they make. So, a cat is a “meow-meow” (pronounced mow-mow), a horse is a “nay-nay”, a rabbit is a “hop-hop” (because they don’t really make a sound), a rooster is a “doodle-doo” a chicken is a “bok-bok” and a monkey is an “ooo-ooo-eee-eee-ah-ah”. I’m not sure if it’s directly related to Layla-ese, but the repetition in the animal sounds has definitely driven Mama to repeat herself often when talking to Layla and unfortunately sometimes when talking to Baba too. Or maybe Layla repeats the animal sounds in part because Mama always repeats herself. Oh, I don’t know. Which came first, the chicken or the bok-bok?

Mama doesn’t sleep. Really. Ever. I mean, Mama hasn’t had more than three hours of consecutive sleep for two years and that is no joke. And lack of sleep greatly effects the way Mama talks. There are times that Mama can’t remember what exactly she is saying and on nights where Layla is sleepless there is a stutter that accompanies Mama’s normal conversation because the brain and the tongue just aren’t working in tandem anymore. As you can probably tell, Mama normally isn’t one that has any problem putting thoughts to tongue, but these days if she can think far enough to the end of a sentence, she’s ahead of the game.

There’s also the really smushy gushy fruity high pitched talk that happens and Babas are guilty of this too. It’s really hard not to pick Layla up constantly and kiss her and snuggle her and tell her she’s Mama’s: sugar pea, sweet peach, nut (when she’s silly), sweetie pie, jujeh (little chicken in Farsi) or petit chou (‘little cream puff’ literally translated). I mean these are things Mama would have rolled her eyes at before motherhood. She would have been like: “Seriously, you’re likening your child to a vegetable?” had she heard this on this street. But something happens with you have kids and the brain just flips a switch. Unfortunately, I’m afraid, there is no ‘off’ for that switch…

Aside from Mama stuttering, repeating herself often, shouting short orders, and talking about fruit in a weird little kid’s voice, I’d say Mama is mostly an eloquent speaker who is adept at handling both sides of the conversation. When talking to Layla, she doesn’t always talk back. So if Mama asks her: “What color is the sky today?” and Layla doesn’t respond, then Mama finishes her own question with a: “The color of the sky is blue today”. To the untrained eye, it might appear that Mama is suffering from a mild form of Schizophrenia since she pretty much makes conversation with herself all day and sometimes even rehearses and sings conversation back and forth to herself.

But no, it’s just part of how to talk like a Mom…

Oh how life has changed since How to Talk Like a French Chef!

The post How To Talk Like A Mom first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Life changed drastically when I found out I was pregnant with Layla. I literally put the brakes on everything. No cooking professionally, no writing, no nothing. Why? Well, because three years ago everyone I loved passed away: my Mom, Stepdad, Grandpa, and our two daughters late second term. I was at the top of my game professionally which, thankfully, was all-absorbing but, I was walking through emotional quicksand. So I left my work as an Executive Chef for six restaurants and hopped on a plane to India after loosing my Mom and second daughter within a 3 week period.  And I spent some time far, far, far away from stress, grief, depression, pain, anger and all those yucky feelings that go along with loosing your family.

When my husband came to meet me in Delhi, we both had this incredible sense of relief. It was so liberating to leave our emotional baggage at home and reconnect. We lived it up completely treating ourselves like Moguls and rode elephants through castles, made wonderful friends, ate the most delicious food I’ve ever had and came home happy, well rested, and much to our surprise – pregnant!

When I found out the good news, I knew that cooking professionally was not going to be an option for the duration. My doctors also said: no more cooking. No more standing for 12 hours a day, no more stress, no more adrenaline rushes –  basically no fun and I spent nine whole entire months on modified bed rest. Yes. Nine months. I know, sounds like a holiday and it was for the first two weeks but, from there on out it was pure torture. For a person who was used to running 5-10 miles after a full day of cooking, being imprisoned to a sofa was brutal. I watched so many episodes of Law and Order that my husband was convinced our daughter was either going to be a lawyer or a serial killer! I did not write my blog. I did not cook. I did not read books or better myself in any way. I just zoned out on murder mysteries. It’s really all I could do to get through it.

But now, here we are two years and nine months later, almost to the date, with a gorgeous little girl who is the best little Sous Chef a Mama could have. Layla brings so much joy and love into our lives. Our cup runneth over…

And she loves to bake! She likes to mix, sift, roll out dough and pop whatever we’re making into the oven. And of course she loves to eat up her creations with extra whip (whipped cream apparently goes with everything). I am so happy to be her Mama. She is pure sunshine. And this is, by far, the most demanding job I’ve ever had.

So yes, my priorities have shifted. My ambition has mellowed (sightly). I’m a Mom! But that’s not to say that I still don’t have my finger in the pie, I consult for restaurants and enjoy the challenge of designing menus and fine tuning operations. It’s fun. I love it. I’m good at it. And I still get to snuggle my Little One and be there for her and all of her firsts.

And this Fourth of July definitely had a lot of firsts – our first lemonade stand! Our first bake sale! Our first blueberry pie! And I guess my first post in almost three years. Whew, well, if fireworks were an emotion, I certainly would be one heck of a colorful show this 4th. Thanks friends, family and long time readers for all the support over these last 15 years. This is certainly one new adventure and I’m hoping to bring family and fun back to the kitchen.

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