Peanut Butter Cookies with Marshmallows

Happy new year dear readers! I hope the new year is treating you well. I planned to post this weeks ago, but was hit with severe back pain, the flu, a stomach bug, and a stubborn dry cough that makes me feel like I'm retching out my lungs every.single.time. I've finally toughed through it, though there were moments where I cried myself to sleep, the back pain was too much to bear and yet, I'm here! And I brought peanut butter cookies! BIG WHOOPS!!

Sometime last year, I was flipping through Instagram and came across another foodie's afternoon treat: peanut butter cookies dotted with marshmallows and mini chocolate chips. It struck me how beautiful a marriage it was, oozy sweet marshmallows with nutty peanuts and bits of chocolate, really I couldn't think of a better combination. So sometime before The Week When I Thought I Was Going to Die I baked a batch of these lovelies. The first batch came and I struggled to stop myself from each two, three, four cookies all at once. The marshmallows leave a crusty, burnt top and melt into a puddle of sweet pillowyness, adding serious oomph to the cookies. They kind of remind me of s’mores, minus the chocolate, making them ten thousand times better.

To prove my point, here’s a picture of me with a plate of cookies, alone, nibbling away. When I uploaded these photos to my computer, I couldn’t stop laughing at how my nose twists to the side when I eat. It makes me wonder if I’m like that only when I’m dissecting cookie flavours in my head, or is it only a thing I do for the camera. Whatever the reason, I'm sure you'll enjoy these as much as I did.

Tweet

Recipe here!

Meyer Lemon Tart

My dad is visiting for a month from Shanghai. He works there, mom and I live here. We picked him up from the airport Saturday night, drove home, mom made a feast and by the time the dishes were cleaned, the table wiped down, it was still 8pm. My dad’s eyes were red and he was fighting to keep them open, it was 9 in the morning in China. So to help out, we took him to a popular dessert café in Richmond Hill, teeming with shrieking teenagers and lovey dovey couples. 

When the waiter set down our order of tiramisu ice cream on top of Bailey’s cheesecake and waffles with fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream, my dad’s face brightened instantly, he dug in and couldn’t stop raving how fantastically enormous the portions were, how perfectly smooth the ice cream was on his tongue, and how it didn’t melt right away so he could fully enjoy both plates at once. He had forgotten about his jet lag and proceeded to finish the cake, nearly licking the plate clean.

I inherited my dad’s insatiable sweet tooth. Throughout the day, my mind doesn’t shut up about sugar. I’ve fantasized about meyer lemons since reading about them everywhere. They’re hard to find here, but when I stumbled on them in a grocery store, I skipped straight to the cashier and immediately searched for recipes to use their intoxicating properties. They smell unlike any other lemon I’ve used, more floral with a sweeter juice. I first used them in a pound cake, grating the zest into the thick batter and even diced up lemon skin, throwing it into the mixing bowl to make the most of my purchase. The cake was a little dry and though it smelled like a lemon garden as it rose in the oven, it wasn’t special enough.

Nonetheless, I still had four lemons left.  I love tart crust; a crumbly cookie texture with a sweet, creamy filling always makes my day. I’m not a fan of making them however, tart crust requires patience, patience and more patience, something I strive to have one day. I get restless molding it evenly into the pan. The dough can be finicky, uncooperative, a plain nuisance. I’m bored just writing about it.

And yet, tarts rank at the top of my favourite things to eat. Savoury or sweet, I like them all. This meyer lemon tart is extremely lemony, there’s plenty of lemon juice and zest, so much that the lemon curd darkens to a nearly golden complexion. But next time, I’d separate the pulp from the juice to yield a smoother lemon curd, a crucial step that made the other lemon tart so satiny and irresistible. This crust is easy to work with unlike other recipes I’ve come across. I later found this useful article that I’ll definitely refer to in my next tart-making-escapade.

Still jet lagged, my dad ate the few remaining pieces of the tart after dinner, standing up, with a mug of tea in hand. He fell asleep on the couch thirty minutes later, his head bowed down, loud snores in rhythmic timing, a reminder of how good it feels to see my dad again.

Tweet

Recipe here!

Pear, Pistachio and Ginger Blondies

Meet my grandpa (or in Cantonese, my yeye). He passed away more than five years ago, I didn’t even go to the funeral, I was in school and the ceremony was in Hong Kong. My dad went alone instead. This photo was taken at Centre Island, when I was four and attached to neon green objects (note: polka dot capris and tennis balls) and also very close to my grandpa (who breathes coolness with his shades and coke). 

Yeye was a quiet, kind-hearted man. You would have liked him, maybe even spent an afternoon watching cartoons like Bugs Bunny and Tom and Jerry while splayed out on the carpet. He’s the kind of grandpa that would pick you up from school at 3pm every weekday and walk the thirty minutes back home. No matter what the weather conditions were, be it sunny or thick snow that piled to knee height, he still walked with you because that’s what families do (and when both parents are working). He took you home despite how you purposely delayed the walk to play in the snow, or you ‘accidently’ have to tighten your boots or you spotted 'something' in the snow.

But once, he told on me. He ratted out to my mom that I ate snow, and not just any snow, but snow straight from the sidewalk (hey, I was curious!). So much for being my best friend. My mom threw a fit, yelled at me for not knowing the difference between clean and dirty and punished me by forcing me to write Chinese poems 50 times over. Yuck.

When he wasn’t being a snitch, he would give in to my pleas for candy. My parents rarely gave in to my desires for fancy packaged candy since they had zero nutrients save for sugar and corn syrup. When I pointed at fruit gushers, I got a pink gumball that lost its flavour within a minute of chewing. I even tried to trade my seaweed at snacktime for a teeny piece of Fruit Roll-Ups from the blond girl in pigtails. I lived a sad candy-deprived childhood.

So, with no sweets at home, my yeye gave me a bowl and filled it with three spoonfuls of sugar. I crushed the sugar into white powder, smashing a spoon against the table, then dabbed my fingers before licking them clean, anything to prolong my treat. 

If he was here today, I think he would be proud that I moved on from eating snow to making my own treats, like these blondies. Sitting in the cakey, soft cookie-like batter are chewy bits of dried pear along with crunchy nuts, not to mention the spicy kick of crystallized ginger (which I lurve), a combination that would make any grandparent happy.

This recipe is from Martha Stewart and also where these treasures were born. I made these blondies last week for a friend’s birthday and gave some away to other friends too. One friend in particular sneaked a bite for breakfast, mumbled how yummy it was because it wasn’t too cloying, returned it to its foil packaging, went on to eat two bowls of cereal and milk for a real breakfast and then without missing a beat, reached for the blondies again for what I can only assume was dessert for breakfast. I approve.  

By the way, happy Chinese new year! May the new year bring you and your family happiness and prosperity. I just got home from a very filling dinner of roast chicken and steamed fish marinated in a ridiculously scrumptious tomato and coconut broth. In other words, may the new year bring you lots of good food too.

Tweet

Recipe here!

Marble Cake

Years ago when I lived in Shanghai, my parents and I would go to the Westin hotel for lunch. There weren't a lot of dimsum restaurants back then and a twenty minute taxi ride wasn’t too bad. Besides, this place was pretty decent, there was good service, velvet curtains that hung from the tall windows, soft piano music played in the background, and the manager came by our table to exchange pleasantries. Of course, what kept us going back were the juicy shrimp dumplings, steamed BBQ pork buns, and spare ribs with black bean sauce that the chef consistently pumped out every time.

After lunch, we walked down to the bakery on the second floor and pondered over thick crusty loafs of rye, sourdough breads, and baguettes, some dressed in sesame seeds or in a flurry of sunflower and poppy seeds, or just baring it all naked. On the other side of the room were homemade chocolates, heaping boxes of truffles for Valentine's day, chocolate bunnies wrapped in pink, yellow, and baby blue foil for Easter, plus little packets of orangettes, chocolate-covered mint patties and chocolate-covered almonds perfect for gifts.

There was also a table teeming with quickbreads, though they might as well have been called cakes, given the generous ratio of butter to flour. There was coconut bread, banana bread, pound cake, carefully arranged on display and each wrapped in cellophane, adorned with a gold label, tied with blue ribbons curled at the end like ringlets. We usually took home the marble cake, a heavy, nine-inch loaf with a gorgeous golden colour, an irregular crack running down the middle, and the mysterious curves of vanilla and chocolate that hypnotized me on the ride home.

I don't remember how it tasted, but I do recall my mom cutting me a piece for breakfast. Really, that's all I had. I hated milk back then, yogurt was out of the question, I didn't even eat fruit unless it was peeled for me (I'm a wee bit spoiled). The nutritional content of my morning meals were the least of my mom's concerns back then-- time was far more important. School mornings were a mad dash, she had to rouse me awake at six am, make sure I didn't 'accidentally' crawl back under the warm covers when I was supposed to get dressed, then she had to put breakfast on the table and usher me to the bus stop lest I miss it and shamelessly cab it to school, wasting $17 (a hefty sum in China).

 

The recipe is pretty simple: A basic white cake mix is prepared, chocolate added to some reserved batter, and then silky scoops of vanilla and chocolate batter are dumped into the loaf pan like a checkerboard. The best part is the twisting and twirling of the two flavors; a moment to pretend to be a famous artist, using a knife to swirl the batters all around the pan…Et viola! An edible impressionist cake masterpiece!

My mom likes loves LURRRRVES marble cake. She's been urging me to make this cake whenever she spots me rolling up my sleeves and take out the flour the pantry. So being the awesome (albeit sometimes spoiled) daughter that I am, I baked this cake not once, but twice in a week. Once for her birthday celebration with her friends and a second time for her real birthday. You would make this cake everyday if you could. The cake is velvelty smooth, buttery and rich, yet not too heavy that it fills you with regret, in fact, just one slice is enough to satisfy the sweet tooth that never seems to go away.

Tweet

Recipe here!