We Want Cake!

Lemon Cake.

Lemon Loaf Cake. Lemon Pound Cake. The one from Starbucks. It goes by many names and people who eat this know what I'm talking about. 

The Obvious: With the exception of boxed cake, I really don't know how to bake. It took two weeks and three failed loaves before achieving this final product, which still isn't quite perfect but good enough for a friday. The first one I made turned out pasty and pale. Not edible at all. It was tough as cement and managed a heaving thud as it landed at the bottom of the trash. The second one looked hopeful, until I heard something sizzle in the oven. The loaf rose and collapsed, leaving a burnt mess of carcinogens in the oven. I had a gut feeling a lot of it had to do with my skills in creaming butter and sugar. The lack, thereof. 

Recipes called for some kind of fluffiness, a consistency of wet sand, gritty, grainy but this novice baker decided it was done when I said it was done. So much for taking charge. Baking is a lesson on precision, patience, and timing. 

This third one finally looked like a respectable loaf. It tasted alright but not mind blowing and it took very meticulous steps to achieve this mediocrity. Sifted flour, not-melted-not-semi-soft butter, room temperature eggs, and the strength to endure the overwhelming need to put everything in the mixing bowl all at once. 

Recipes here, there (didn't want to cheat with a boxed recipe but I'm curious to try this), and everywhere. ♥

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This Weekend

This weekend, a good friend's baby shower was the subject of my attention for the most part of the week. But alas, a nasty viral bug decided to settle down and get my baby sick, changing plans faster than San Francisco fog in the afternoon.  I suppose it never gets better for any parent, experienced or not. When a child is sick no matter what degree, even if it's just a bad cold (or croup in this case), you feel the pit at the bottom of your stomach, your body tenses up and like a programmed robot you just want to make chicken soup for her to eat, hoping it'll make her feel better.  

We like to wear party hats (from our First birthday) just because we can. We are nowhere near her birthday by the way. 

The I-will-sneeze-on-your-camera-lens look. 

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On The Table

Spaghetti with Broccoli Creme Fraiche Pesto

For a few years now, I've followed the culinary adventures of Smitten Kitchen with her unbelievably experienced hand in her tiny 42 square foot kitchen. She is not formally trained in the culinary sense but that's like saying an artist can't paint a masterpiece just because an education doesn't wield the brush. I'm sure she's just as great as most chef's out there, if not even better. As a home cook, I wouldn't dare dance around the flame of feeling extraordinary. I'm still finding my way in the kitchen, but I have come a long way. Six years ago - and I say this with utmost shame, I didn't know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, what a nutmeg was and couldn't cook rice to save my life. 

These days I'm finding endless ways to entertain myself in the kitchen, learning along the way. The recipe I found for this pesto - if we can call it that is courtesy of Smitten Kitchen of course, but modified with creme fraiche since I didn't have any heavy cream around. Thankfully, it made the dish rich and buttery with just the right tap of tartness. 

Ingredient List: 

Full Recipe Here

1/2 pound broccoli
1/2 pound dried spaghetti
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 small onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced (or, more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon table salt
Freshly ground black pepper or pinches of red pepper flakes
4 tablespoons creme fraiche
A heap of grated parmesan (about 1/2 cup), to serve

A heap of grated parmesan is indeed key! I find that freshly grated parmesan cheese is the key that unlocks the umami for pasta - or any dish for that matter. The sharpness and nutty flavor is lost when buying the pre-grated kind.  So don't be shy with it,  pile it on like white on rice. 

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