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When it comes to Valentine’s Day I am of two minds. One mind thinks it’s sort of like New Year’s Eve—an amateur or cliché celebration of something you should be acknowledging all the time. If you have a Valentine shouldn’t you cherish him or her everyday and not just on February 14th? The other mind thinks the first mind has come up with its theory because I do not have a Valentine and therefore need to dismiss the day as being somehow superfluous when the truth is it is sort of nice to take a day to celebrate the one you love.
Things were so simple when I was a kid. I’d wake up to find a funny card sitting in my empty cereal bowl from a “guess who?” whose handwriting looked exactly like my father’s. Imagine that! In college there would be people selling carnations of various colors, each color meaning something different. Who knew red=love while yellow=friends? There was always a little flurry of whispering about who got what color from whom etc. Of course we were all too young and stupid to realize that the only thing cheesier than a single rose is a single carnation. And yes, I did get my share and no, they were not always yellow.
When I was first out in the world, and dating “men” you didn’t see every day in the dining hall, relationship timing played a big role; was it too soon to mark the holiday? And if not, what do you get Mr. Right-Now? How many pairs of heart-emblazoned boxer shorts did you buy (or receive) in the late 80’s? I’m cringing at the memory of foraging for the right size at Bloomingdale’s. And I don’t even remember who they were for.
There was the boyfriend who waited till February 15th to say “this isn’t working out,” the night after giving me a sleep shirt so hideous Victoria should have kept it a Secret. And there was the time my date was cooking me a delicious meal when his ex-wife phoned and he took the call. That was our last supper. But there were also years when lovely (carnation-free) floral arrangements arrived at my office or I was surprised by a private-joke engraved charm bracelet after a perfect night of John’s Pizza and Film Forum.
A few years ago I had worked late one night (okay, I guess more than a few) and stopped at the gourmet market across the street from my apartment to pick up some dinner on my way home. Standing at the fish counter I asked the guy for a tuna burger thinking I would test out my new George Foreman grill. “Just one?” he asked. “Yup,” I said with a smile. “Really, just one? Tonight of all nights?” he pressed. “Yes. Thanks.” I said wondering what his problem was and why buying this piece of ground fish was becoming a “thing.” And then, as if we were on stage, I felt like a spotlight was shining just on the two of us as the store went completely silent and fish-man bellowed, “Don’t worry honey! I’ll be your Valentine!” I wanted to die. I really had no idea this was what his questioning had been referring to and no, even if he hadn’t smelled like mackerel he was not a cute potential valentine. My point is that Valentine’s Day had become such a non-holiday to me that I really hadn’t remembered it at all. It probably helped that it was a weekday and thankfully not a Saturday night when the market would have been selling a special complete “dinner for two” starting with oysters and ending with heart shaped chocolate mousse cake.
So here we are at Valentine’s Day ’10 and although I have not been pierced by cupid’s arrow I am not going to be a cynical singleton. My all-time favorite ‘fancy’ cookie is the Linzer tart. I first had these spicy, buttery, jammy sandwiches when I was a kid and my parents would take us to the Madison Avenue Delicatessen for Sunday dinner. Despite some missteps (like ordering spaghetti and meatballs at a Jewish deli) I always had room for the giant Linzer. These are not as enormous because you never know when Mr./Ms. Right might ring the doorbell and you wouldn’t want to be caught with a powdered sugar moustache and hazelnuts stuck in your teeth. In an effort to create a little extra good love-life Karma I am using my optimistic heart-shaped cookie cutter. But I’m still holding out hope that a secret admirer surprises me with the Russell Stovers red jumbo heart box of chocolates—it’s only $10 at Duane Reade and way better than a carnation.
Happy Valentine's Day (?) Linzer Cookies
Adapted from Gourmet, December 2005
Printer friendly version
Ingredients
2/3 cup hazelnuts (3 oz)
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon orange zest
2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 12-oz jar seedless raspberry jam
1/2 cup powdered sugar for garnish
Directions
Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F.
Toast hazelnuts in oven in a shallow baking pan until fragrant and skins begin to loosen, about 6 minutes. Rub nuts in a kitchen towel to remove any loose skins (some skins may not come off), then cool to room temperature. Turn off oven.
Pulse nuts and 1/4 cup brown sugar in a food processor until nuts are finely ground. Set aside.
Whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves in a small bowl. Set aside.
Beat together butter and remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes in a stand mixer (preferably fitted with paddle) or 6 minutes with a handheld.
Beat in zests to combine.
Add nut mixture and beat until combined well, about 1 minute.
Beat in egg and vanilla.
Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture, mixing until just combined.
With floured hands, form dough into 2 balls and flatten each into a 5-inch disk. Chill disks, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, at least 2 hours.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Roll out 1 disk of dough into an 11-inch round (1/8 inch thick) between 2 sheets of wax paper (keep remaining dough chilled). At anytime, if dough becomes too soft to deal with place rolled out dough in freezer for a few minutes.
Cut out as many cookies as possible from dough with 2 1/2-3" heart-shaped cookie cutter and transfer to 2 parchment lined large baking sheets, arranging about 1 inch apart. Using small 1" round cutter, cut out centers from half of the cookies, reserving centers and rerolling along with scraps (reroll only once).
Bake cookies, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until edges are golden, 10 to 15 minutes total, then transfer with a metal spatula to racks to cool completely. Make more cookies from second disk and cool completely.
Spread about 1 teaspoon jam on flat side of 1 solid cookie and sandwich jam with flat side of 1 windowed cookie. Sandwich remaining cookies in same manner.
Sift powdered sugar over cookies and enjoy.
Note: Cookies keep, layered between sheets of wax paper or parchment, chilled in an airtight container 2 weeks. Yield: 22-24 sandwich cookies
Last week I started thinking a lot about fear. I noticed an obituary (don’t worry, I’m not going to talk about death) for Jerilyn Ross, a therapist and “Advocate for the Anxious.” She had become an advocate after becoming a sufferer. While visiting Salzburg (home of my previously mentioned favorite tourist attraction—“The Sound of Music” tour,) she was overcome by an overwhelming fear of heights. Not very convenient when vacationing in the Alps, I’d imagine. She later became known as the “phobia lady” and founded an organization that raised the public profile (and funds) for everything from social anxiety to O.C.D. to post-traumatic stress. These are conditions we are all familiar with now. It seems so odd that 30 years ago these disorders were still being figured out and the sufferers suffered shamefully and alone. Oh dear, I’m not talking about death, but this is a little sad.
I’ve had various fears over the course of my life, but what is so strange to me is just how fluid the fears are. For example, when I was a kid I loved to swim. Pool, ocean, pond—I had no issues. Now when I’m at the beach I wouldn’t consider diving in. Okay, ruining my blow-out factors into my resistance, but I think fear is what turns the hesitation into refusal. What happened between eight years old and twenty years old to turn me from a fish to a landlubber? My niece put the question perfectly, “you like to drink water so why don’t you like to go in the water?” I really don’t know.
I used to suffer from fear of heights, or acrophobia as the professionals call it. Years ago I was taken to Windows on the World for dinner and insisted on sitting with my back to the Windows. Now, when I’m on a high perch I don’t really think about it. Granted, I wouldn’t relish the idea of being on a rooftop 80 stories above the ground but my heart wouldn’t race. What happened there? I never did any cognitive behavioral therapy to overcome my phobia. It just kind of drifted away by itself to be replaced by….
Claustrophobia. I now cannot be in close, crowded places without my pulse quickening. The biggest offenders are elevators and subways, but a new twist is theaters. If I’m not sitting on an aisle I need to be sitting next to people I know who are sitting on the aisle. Make sense? I’d guess not if you don’t have this specific issue. I can’t be in the middle of a row surrounded by strangers because what if there is an emergency and I have to get out? Like what if all of a sudden I have to go to the bathroom or feel like I’m going to be sick or just need to get some air so “pardon me, ‘scuse me” please let me out of here!
Just writing that made me anxious. Speaking of anxious let’s talk about flying. Air travel combines the best of all the phobias—you have the closed in of claustrophobia, the 35,000 feet above sea level of acrophobia and the lack of control of, well, lack of control says it all. Again, my fear of flying comes in waves and then goes away for years. There was one Christmas vacation in the late 80’s when a flight to Key West involved two connections and two perfectly timed Xanax. Until one flight was delayed so another Xanax was necessary and then the flight was completely cancelled and there I was in the Memphis airport on Christmas day unable to walk a straight line. I slept at the Radisson for 13 hours straight while my family enjoyed the meal vouchers without me. Yet a few years later I flew round-trip to LA alone with no problem at all. Where’d the fear go? The fact is, the fear may be back but I never go anywhere so I have no way of testing my theory. Although, maybe that’s actually why I don’t go anywhere—for fear the fear has returned. I’m afraid this will remain a mystery until I win an all-expenses-paid vacation to Honolulu on a game show.
The presence of the above mentioned phobias doesn't really affect my day-to-day life. But when a certain anxiety threatened my sweet tooth I had to take action. I can live without air travel and pool diving and I can always find an aisle seat (even if I have to sit in the first or last row of the theater) but I cannot live without caramel. My fear started when I attempted a recipe I’d already made a handful of drama-free times and found myself so skittish and paralyzed around the boiling hot sugar that I let the mixture soar to the soft crack stage (270-290 degrees) ruining both the caramel and the pot I was cooking it in. I’m not sure why this happened. It might have been the pressure I was under. My mother, a wonderful PR woman for her daughter, had done such an effective sales pitch that one of her friends had commissioned a batch. It’s one thing when I decide on my own to take on a project involving a candy thermometer and 100% of my attention, it’s another when I know there is an expectant mouth and $10 worth of Callebaut chocolate at stake.
This resistance to candy making has really been cramping my style. I have a pile of confectionery recipes that I’ve been dying to try but have shied away from for fear of ruining another pot and acknowledging that my sweet tooth skill-set is missing a skill. I figured the best way to conquer my fear was to take a baby-step, sort of my own cognitive behavioral therapy. Why not try making the thing that caused me the anxiety in the first place but also the thing I know I really can make successfully? So, to that end, I took out the thermometer, used my Le Creuset pot (the best for caramel making I’ve found) and overcame my molten sucrose phobia. I’d like to thank the late Jerilyn Ross for helping to change society’s thinking and for creating an environment in which I need not suffer in silence. If only getting over every fear tasted this good.
Note: These are sweet, salty, chewy and chocolate-y and not for denture wearers. If you scorch your pot do not worry. Get as much off with hot water as you can then fill the pot with a little dish soap and water, about half way, and bring to a boil. All of the burnt sugar and chocolate will come right off. See my before and after below.
Don't Be Scared Salted Chocolate Caramels
Gourmet, December 2006
Ingredients
2 cups heavy cream
10 1/2 oz fine-quality dark chocolate (no more than 60% cacao if marked), finely chopped
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup light corn syrup
1/4 cup water
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces
2 teaspoons flaky sea salt such as Maldon
Vegetable oil for greasing
Directions
Line bottom and sides of an 8-inch straight-sided square metal baking pan with 2 long sheets of crisscrossed parchment.
Bring cream just to a boil in a 1- to 1 1/2-quart heavy saucepan over moderately high heat, then reduce heat to low and add chocolate. Let stand 1 minute, then stir until chocolate is completely melted. Remove from heat.
Bring sugar, corn syrup, water, and salt to a boil in a 5- to 6-quart heavy pot over moderate heat, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Boil, uncovered, without stirring but gently swirling pan occasionally, until sugar is deep golden, about 10 minutes.
Tilt pan and carefully pour in chocolate mixture (mixture will bubble and steam vigorously). Continue to boil over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until mixture registers 255°F on thermometer, about 15 minutes.
Add butter, stirring until completely melted, then immediately pour into lined baking pan (do not scrape any caramel clinging to bottom or side of saucepan).
Let caramel stand 10 minutes, then sprinkle evenly with sea salt. Cool completely in pan on a rack, about 2 hours.
Carefully invert caramel onto a clean, dry cutting board, then peel off parchment. Turn caramel salt side up.
Lightly oil blade of a large heavy knife and cut into 1-inch squares.
Yield: 64 caramels
More notes: Additional sea salt can be pressed onto caramels after cutting.
Caramels keep, layered between sheets of parchment or wax paper, in an airtight container at cool room temperature 2 weeks or they can be wrapped in 4-inch squares of wax paper; twist ends to close.
I’ve never been a big animal person. As a little girl I wasn’t interested in teddy bears, and I didn’t collect glass wild kingdom figurines or go through a horse-obsessed stage. When I was eleven, my eight year-old sister was granted her wish and given a dog. “Jessica’s Lady McDuff” (a.k.a. “Duffy”) was a Cairn Terrier who never weighed more than 13 pounds. Frankly, I was indifferent about her, as she only added to the chaos of an apartment containing three kids and two parents. She barked incessantly, nipped at ankles, and ripped up book jackets or wallpaper, whichever was closer to her very low mouth level. 
Duffy succumbed to stomach cancer at just ten years old, after a life of tummy issues brought on by her stealth consumption of a large chicken bone. She died the year my sister was to leave for college. That timing, the childhood to adulthood transition, only made her death more poignant and pointed. It was as if she was saying to her mistress, “I’ve done my job. Go forth. You can do this without me.” When we gathered as a family and buried her ashes under a tree in our backyard, I caught myself off-guard when tears sprung from my eyes as my mother said, “Godspeed Duffy.” I’m tearing up right now at the memory.Years later, my brother phoned my parents from college to say he’d adopted a dog from the pound and would be bringing her home when he graduated in a few months. My mother wasn’t happy—her nest had quieted down and she wondered whether this was really the best move for a guy about to enter the real world. Much to her surprise she, like the rest of us, fell in love with my brother’s “Lucy,” a sleek, sweet, and lovely black Lab and Greyhound (maybe—we were never sure) mix. She really felt more like the family dog and my father often remarked that she seemed to have so much to say. If only she could speak. Lucy gamely accompanied my brother on cross-country road trips and moved with him from the Upper West Side to Hell’s Kitchen, Brooklyn, and ultimately, Florida. It was there that she became a grand old lady and lived out her last days. Lucy’s death was hard on everyone but truly awful for my brother. In a way, the rest of us were spared that last good-bye, since it happened a thousand miles away. On the other hand, we never had a chance to say that last good-bye.
This week marked the loss of another loving black dog. My dear friend Rich had to put down his beloved 15 year old Lab, also named “Lucy.” She and a Chocolate Lab called “Barney” became his when a three month house/dog sitting stint turned into a permanent arrangement. If Lucy was the good little girl Barney was the kid with ADHD and every other behavioral disorder. He was a good soul but more than a handful, and too much for one person to handle in a small New York apartment. I won’t lie. When Rich took on the role as master of two pooches I was not happy. My clothes were covered in dog hair. My eyes puffed up with allergies and, frankly, I felt like this dynamic duo was getting more attention than I was. Maybe I should have tried knocking over the kitchen garbage can or shredding the slipcovers with my bare teeth. When Barney was adopted by country folk it was the first time Rich’s Lucy got to play the leading lady. She inhabited the part perfectly and became his best friend, loyal sidekick, and greatest joy. This last year was a struggle for her as she was plagued with Lab-related health issues. Through it all, she was a stoic trooper. Then she decided she had had enough, and she let Rich know it was time for her to go.
Again, I surprised myself with my reaction. Going with Rich to the vet as Lucy drifted off to peace was heart-wrenching in so many ways. This angel of a dog, who I once yelled at for drooling on my satin pantsuit as we were leaving for a wedding, was so ready to go but that doesn’t mean the man who loved her so much was prepared to say good-bye.
After telling various people about Rich’s Lucy’s death I was stunned by just how many of my male friends had gone through this exact experience in the last year or so. These men are big, athletic guys with wicked senses of humor tinged with more than a little edge, yet they were all brought to their knees by the loss of their canine pals: “the most miserable experience of my life,” “the worst day of my life,” “I miss my guy every day,” “I can think of a few real family members it would have been easier to euthanize.” Everyone talked about copious tears and enormous feelings of loss and sadness that took a long time to fade and have never fully disappeared. What is it about the connection between a man and his dog that is so primal and so intense? Is it the unconditional love? Could it be the unshakable loyalty? Is it that any feeling or personality trait can be projected onto a dog’s mute canvas? I don’t know but I have come to realize that it’s one of the most powerful and emotional relationships many men have.
Let's celebrate Adam's Vinnie (1996-2008),
Chip's Otis (1996-2010),
and Michael's Gussie (1999-2009).
I‘ve been told that Rich’s late mother, whom I was not fortunate enough to know, was a wonderful cook and caring baker. She made a signature thimble cookie to celebrate a lucky person, or to cheer someone up or to cheer someone else on. Ironically, she once made some for family friends whose own dog devoured the entire batch before the humans had a chance to enjoy a single one!
So to honor man’s best friend, and in the hopes of easing the pain of all those who’ve recently lost their devoted dogs, I attempted these special cookies. They are so pretty and melt-in-your-mouth good, that they’re bound to make anyone feel better. As you can see, they lived up to their reputation and put a little smile on Rich's face.
And Lucy, I want to apologize for snapping at you when you drooled on my pantsuit—you were right, it was hideous. I should have taken the hint and changed. Godspeed sweet girl.
We Love Lucy (and Duffy, Lucy, Vinnie, Gussie, & Otis) Rich's Mother's Thimble Cookies
Printer Friendly Version
Ingredients
3/4 cup superfine sugar
3/4 cup butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup shortening (I went to Whole Foods and found an organic, non hydrogenated, trans fat free one)
3 cups all purpose flour
3 egg yolks
1 bag Ghiradelli 60% Cacao Chocolate Chips (Rich's mom used Nestle's but I'm sure if they'd had Ghiradelli when she used to bake them she would have chosen the better chocolate!)
Directions
Preheat oven to 375. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.
In electric mixer beat yolks with whisk attachment until pale and lemon colored.
Change to paddle or regular attachments and add sugar and beat well.
Add butter and shortening and beat until creamy.
Add 1 cup of flour and beat well.
Add remaining flour and mix well.
Using two teaspoon size ice cream scoop portion out cookies and then roll dough into 1 1/2" balls.
Press open end of thimble (or pastry tube tip) into top of cookie and place one chocolate chip so that it sits on top of cookie surrounded by impression made by thimble/pastry tip. Press lightly to adhere to dough.
Bake for 17-20 minutes until pale golden.
Do not overbake. Cool cookies on pan for a few minutes, then transfer cookies to wire rack and cool completely.
Yield: 5 dozen cookies
When it comes to Valentine’s Day I am of two minds. One mind thinks it’s sort of like New Year’s Eve—an amateur or cliché celebration of something you should be acknowledging all the time. If you have a Valentine shouldn’t you cherish him or her everyday and not just on February 14th? The other mind thinks the first mind has come up with its theory because I do not have a Valentine and therefore need to dismiss the day as being somehow superfluous when the truth is it is sort of nice to take a day to celebrate the one you love.
When I was first out in the world, and dating “men” you didn’t see every day in the dining hall, relationship timing played a big role; was it too soon to mark the holiday? And if not, what do you get Mr. Right-Now? How many pairs of heart-emblazoned boxer shorts did you buy (or receive) in the late 80’s? I’m cringing at the memory of foraging for the right size at Bloomingdale’s. And I don’t even remember who they were for.
There was the boyfriend who waited till February 15th to say “this isn’t working out,” the night after giving me a sleep shirt so hideous Victoria should have kept it a Secret. And there was the time my date was cooking me a delicious meal when his ex-wife phoned and he took the call. That was our last supper. But there were also years when lovely (carnation-free) floral arrangements arrived at my office or I was surprised by a private-joke engraved charm bracelet after a perfect night of John’s Pizza and Film Forum.
A few years ago I had worked late one night (okay, I guess more than a few) and stopped at the gourmet market across the street from my apartment to pick up some dinner on my way home. Standing at the fish counter I asked the guy for a tuna burger thinking I would test out my new George Foreman grill. “Just one?” he asked. “Yup,” I said with a smile. “Really, just one? Tonight of all nights?” he pressed. “Yes. Thanks.” I said wondering what his problem was and why buying this piece of ground fish was becoming a “thing.” And then, as if we were on stage, I felt like a spotlight was shining just on the two of us as the store went completely silent and fish-man bellowed, “Don’t worry honey! I’ll be your Valentine!” I wanted to die. I really had no idea this was what his questioning had been referring to and no, even if he hadn’t smelled like mackerel he was not a cute potential valentine. My point is that Valentine’s Day had become such a non-holiday to me that I really hadn’t remembered it at all. It probably helped that it was a weekday and thankfully not a Saturday night when the market would have been selling a special complete “dinner for two” starting with oysters and ending with heart shaped chocolate mousse cake.
So here we are at Valentine’s Day ’10 and although I have not been pierced by cupid’s arrow I am not going to be a cynical singleton. My all-time favorite ‘fancy’ cookie is the Linzer tart. I first had these spicy, buttery, jammy sandwiches when I was a kid and my parents would take us to the Madison Avenue Delicatessen for Sunday dinner. Despite some missteps (like ordering spaghetti and meatballs at a Jewish deli) I always had room for the giant Linzer. These are not as enormous because you never know when Mr./Ms. Right might ring the doorbell and you wouldn’t want to be caught with a powdered sugar moustache and hazelnuts stuck in your teeth. In an effort to create a little extra good love-life Karma I am using my optimistic heart-shaped cookie cutter. But I’m still holding out hope that a secret admirer surprises me with the Russell Stovers red jumbo heart box of chocolates—it’s only $10 at Duane Reade and way better than a carnation.
Happy Valentine's Day (?) Linzer Cookies
Pulse nuts and 1/4 cup brown sugar in a food processor until nuts are finely ground. Set aside.
Whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves in a small bowl. Set aside.
Beat together butter and remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes in a stand mixer (preferably fitted with paddle) or 6 minutes with a handheld.
Beat in egg and vanilla.
Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture, mixing until just combined.
With floured hands, form dough into 2 balls and flatten each into a 5-inch disk. Chill disks, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, at least 2 hours.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Cut out as many cookies as possible from dough with 2 1/2-3" heart-shaped cookie cutter and transfer to 2 parchment lined large baking sheets, arranging about 1 inch apart. Using small 1" round cutter, cut out centers from half of the cookies, reserving centers and rerolling along with scraps (reroll only once).
Bake cookies, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until edges are golden, 10 to 15 minutes total, then transfer with a metal spatula to racks to cool completely. Make more cookies from second disk and cool completely.
Spread about 1 teaspoon jam on flat side of 1 solid cookie and sandwich jam with flat side of 1 windowed cookie. Sandwich remaining cookies in same manner.
Sift powdered sugar over cookies and enjoy.
Note: Cookies keep, layered between sheets of wax paper or parchment, chilled in an airtight container 2 weeks. Yield: 22-24 sandwich cookies
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