Crème Brûlée

If you know crème brûlée, I’m going to assume you also know Amelie Poulain, specifically this scene where she's breaking the hard shell of baked custard. If you've had crème brûlée a.k.a. burnt cream, you should skip ahead to the recipe. If haven't tried creme brulee, you skip to the recipe anyway. 

I first tasted the wonders of crème brulee in Shanghai. My parents took me to a French restaurant that had just opened, suitably called Le Seine. At lunch, they served a buffet, complete with platters of salmon salad, foie gras, and roasted duck bathed in orange sauce. The best part though, was the dessert table. It looked like the Willy Wonka factory blew up and spit out glorious petit fours: chocolate ganache bars, strawberry cheesecake squares, a tiramisu bowl, pineapple soufflés, trays of financiers, fruit tarts filled with pastry cream, and of course, little ramekins of crème brûlée. As soon as we were brought to our table, I threw down my jacket and rushed past the lunch table, went straight to the desserts and swooped up as many creme brûlées as my greedy arms could hold just in case they ran out later on. Clearly, I was well versed in dessert buffet dining.

Breaking the layer of burnt sugar and scooping out chilled, lusciously smooth custard definitely ranks among my Top 20 of Life’s Most Pleasurable Experiences. I think Nigella Lawson describes it best, “[There] a few puddings are as voluptuously, seductively easy to eat”. I did some serious reading before making this for Valentine’s Day last week and even though I don’t have a blowtorch, crème brûlée is equally easy to make at home. Once the chilled custard is ready, sprinkle evenly with sugar and stick them under a broiler, soon enough, the sugar will bubble and squeak. Do what I did and share a ramekin with your loved one, I swear it tastes even better.

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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.

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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.

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Recipe here!

Vanilla Bean Bundt Cake

When I grew up, my family occasionally bought a tri-colored ice cream sold in a oval plastic container, how three flavours managed to comfortably fit in a box always bewildered me as a kid. When you peeled back the lid, a dull chocolate sat on your left, pallor in flavor and left a bitter alkaline aftertaste in your mouth. To that wash away, you could have a spoonful of the fairy-pink concoction to the right, its taste screamed artificial, but its label said Strawberry. Finally, sandwiched between the two was plain ol' vanilla, which was no better than it's neighbors.

I typically dived into the chocolate and strawberry ice creams first, devouring their exciting, albeit cheap, airy tastes. The container was no longer pristine, there was a mudslide on one end and a cotton candy disaster on the other, the vanilla sat untouched in the middle. I left it for later use, like thickening my milkshakes or dolloping over waffles.

Vanilla just didn't do it for me. The flavour, to me, was something better suited for wimps too scared to try exhilarating tastes like dark swirls of chocolate fudge dotted with chunks of nutty clusters, or speckles of strawberry, cold but chewy on the teeth. Even now, if given the option between chocolate or vanilla cake, I'd give you a disgusted look, roll my eyes and serve you a hefty dose of sarcasm, “DUH. Chocolate. Stoopid.” Vanilla to me is a bland, white sheet of paper.

Initially, I wanted to make this chocolate expresso bundt cake, but since I already spoiled you with this tart, I thought vanilla would be a nice change. Despite using my own vanilla extract for months now, I've never used the nitty black vanilla seeds before. So I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the wrinkly pods, their dark, enchanting, musky scent overwhelming my nostrils.

Just when I thought the scent of vanilla beans was overpowering, it's magnified 238 times when baked in a cake. Within minutes after sliding the pan into the oven, a heady sweetness filled my apartment, from the front door all the way to the balcony on the other side. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else but deep breaths of warm butter and sugar.

The worst part was not being able to taste it until much later, at my family's potluck dinner. I had to wait nine (9!!) hours to take a bite of this sucker, but boy, was it worth the wait. The golden ring surrounding the yellow cake was pure beauty, the grain (those little holes) was smooth and uniform. You could even see the vanilla seeds freckling each buttery slice. If there are angels, I imagine they would have this cake to accompany their afternoon tea, exclaiming how undeniably moist, light, and fluffy it is. They will dreamingly sigh how the cake glows with charm, its taste is simple and clean, not bombarded with other conflicting flavors, and then they will dainty pick up the remaining crumbs on their plates, lick their fingers and call it the Best Vanilla Cake on Earth.

This is the kind of dessert you want to enjoy with legs tucked underneath you, surrounded by a family that you adore because they share the same sense of humor with you, and it's just the thing to settle your aching heart after a long, hard week. I suppose vanilla isn't so bad after all (it's so good in fact, I had to change my blog header, so it could strut its stuff).

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Recipe here!

Lately

There has been Chai infused coffee cake

followed by mandatory Nap Time

at the stunning Niagara Falls.


There was also white sangria, concocted with white wine, ginger ale and pineapple juice

...shared with some special friends

and more cake. Like this uber creamy mango orange mousse cake.

There were buildings blanketed in white,

and snow settled on the crevices of everything in sight.

And nothing warms me up like a big bowl of soup noodles,

or spaghetti and meatballs.

And who says you can't have cookies for breakfast? Especially when they're Cornmeal raisin cookies with a cafe latte.

I've also been nursing my very own vanilla extract. It's estimated to be ready for use in 6 weeks, oh how I can't wait! *impatient twiddling of thumbs*

Meanwhile, I made some Benne Wafers. The original recipe failed me, each cookie metaphased with its net door neighbor. I added flour by the spoonful and finally rescued the latch batch; yet despite my frustrations, failures are still sweet.

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Recipe here!