Shamrocks on the Rocks

St. Patrick's Day is coming up and rather than spend it talking about green beer, drunken singing and fistfights (all fun topics that may require separate posts) I thought it might be fun to talk about Irish whiskey.

Our first little tutorial on the subject was on our honeymoon in Ireland when we visited the Old Jameson Distillery. We've enjoyed Jameson previously, but didn't know a whole lot about what sets Irish whiskey apart from others. We were told that the big difference is the triple distillation. While many spirit makers distill their whiskies only once or twice, Irish whiskey makes triple sure that their liquor is free from impurities and extra smooth. From there, the aging in wood barrels gives it its signature color and flavor.

Cut to a few months later. We were in our local wine shop this past week when we noticed a bottle of Clontarf Irish Whiskey. For our honeymoon, we stayed at the lovely Clontarf castle and before our trip ended, we made it a point to pick up a sample pack and bring it home as a keepsake. The fact that we spotted it in a wine shop we trust at a good price so close to St. Patrick's Day was a sign--a prodigious sign.

We bought the bottle and took it home. We then got out the nice whiskey glasses and poured the whiskey over some ice with a splash of water--the best way to enjoy a nice whiskey in my opinion. It had a very woody flavor to it, probably from the bourbon barrels they age it in. It wasn't quite as clean and smooth as Jameson, but it had a nice complexity. It was at this moment that we realized that we had a small bottle of twelve year Jameson from our honeymoon just sitting on our shelf collecting dust. A little taste test was in order.

I poured a little of the twelve year Jameson over some ice and took a taste. It was a little darker and a little more woody than a standard bottle of Jameson, but the core characteristics of Jameson remained intact--very clean, very smooth, and with a hint of vanilla and honey. Thumbs up Jameson; you've done it again.

We will most likely be enjoying another glass of Clontarf Irish Whiskey on St. Patrick's Day. It may not be as classy as drinking a Budweiser out of a green shamrock-clad aluminum bottle, but it suits me just fine. Now all I need is someone to start a fistfight with. Preferably someone smaller than me. Sláinte.

Mushroom Barley Soup

I'm not sure I'm ever going to get around to making Beef Bourguingnon. Last summer it was all the rage after the release of Julie and Julia, one of Julia Child's most famous dishes. But... it was July. Beef Bourguingnon is a heavy beef stew, one that requires leaving your oven on for four hours. In the insane heat of my un-airconditioned apartment, there was no way that was on the menu last summer. I told myself come winter I will make it. Somehow though, the winter slipped by me. I decided I must hurry up, so this last week I rented The French Chef off of Netflix, and watched the very first episode of Julia's famous show, watched her saute and chop and roast until she had a perfect dinner. It's a classic and I highly recommend you watch it.

I would have gotten down to work, but I don't know if you saw what the weather was like in NY this past weekend, but it was beautiful. Fifty degrees, sunny, birds chirping, and all I could think about were flowery dresses and Spring. Had it been rainy, hanging out in my apartment all afternoon as my dinner roasted would have been lovely, but it was sunny, and I could not remain indoors. Sorry readers, maybe some rainy chilly spring weekend I'll tackle this French comfort food, but this weekend I went to a coffee shop on the Upper East Side, read the paper and sipped an iced cappuccino.

I did however, still require dinner that night. Tucking my paper into my bag, I decided to try my luck shopping at Citrellia, a gourmet shop in the East 70's. It has that fancy food shop thing where everything is arranged really pretty, which makes you suspicious that they are overcharging you. Luckily, the things I bought where comparatively well priced compared to what I've paid in other places, so I got out of there with only one impulse purchase. Good for me.

With the nice weather (and the approach of swimsuit season) I wanted veggies, and if I couldn't make stew I would make soup. A few weeks ago I took a class in soups at the Brooklyn Kitchen, and didn't even come close to fainting this time. We made three soups in class, a Roasted Butternut Squash (too autumn) an Almond Gazapacho (way too summer) and a Mushroom Barley soup. Perfect. The root veggies of winter, with a hint of what's to come with a leek. The barley would give it a fuller texture, while providing amino acids and fiber. It was healthy, and full of flavor. The class was full of good tips, like how to properly clean leeks and mushrooms (let soak in cold water for a minute, then agitate. Sand falls right to the bottom) and that if you are running around with way too much to do in the kitchen while your veggies are sweating, and you just aren't going to get to them before they burn, throw in half a ladle of stock. You're going to add it later anyway and it buys you a bit of time.

Despite my not making Julia's dish this time around, I learned something from her show, and that was how to tell how fresh your mushrooms are, and if the stem is usable. If the flesh of the mushroom cap meets the stem underneath, it is a very fresh mushroom and you can incorporate the stem. If the flesh has separated and the gills are showing (the edge of the cap should still be curled under), you should probably remove the stem and throw it away. The cap is still usable, however. If the edge of the cap is flipping out, that is not a fresh mushroom.

Mushroom Barley Soup

Adapted from Chef Brendan McDermott

Ingredients:

-2 tablespoons olive oil

-1 tablespoon unsalted butter

-1 pound of hulled barley

-2 carrots, sliced

-1 leek, diced and cleaned

-2 stalks of celery, sliced

-4 cloves of garlic, diced

- 20 oz of mushrooms, sliced

-1/4 cup of white wine (optional)

-2 Quarts of Stock or Water (The class used veggie, I used beef, go with your gut here)

-Soy Sause to taste

-1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary

-3/4 teaspoon dried thyme

Directions:

In large stock pot heat oil until hot but not smoking. Add oil and butter. When bubbles subside, saute mushrooms in batches until tender (about 4 minutes per batch). Set aside.

Add carrots to the pot and sweat for 3 minutes. Add celery and garlic and sweat for 2 minutes. Add leeks and sweat for 1-2 minutes. If necessary, deglaze with white wine, and let reduce for 2 minutes.

Add barley and stir. Add the stock and the reserved mushrooms, with any liquid that might have accumulated. Simmer 10 to 15 minutes. During the last 5 minutes of cooking, and herbs and soy sauce.

That's it! If my directions seem less then scientific, you should see the notes I was given in class. That 1 pound of hulled barley? It was given to me as 1# Barley. Thank god I thought to ask. The main idea here is that it's soup, you can do whatever you want with it. I didn't use 2 carrots, I used 1, because I don't really like carrots. This recipe is a great template to do basically whatever you want. I'm thinking about deglazing with red wine next time and then replacing a cup of stock with red wine. I may even incorporate meat at some point, cause I'm just that crazy.

One other fantastic thing about the arrival of spring. As I strolled around Citrellia, looking at its fancy food, I spotted it from across the room. One of those seasonal happy moments when your taste buds are about to know it's spring. I spotted Fleur de Maquis cheese. It is entirely possible this cheese is available all year long, but my affair with it is strictly a March and April fling. It is a sheep's milk cheese, hand made in France and rolled in rosemary, fennel seeds, juniper berries, and a few chilies. It is soft and slightly sweet, and the herbs make you think of lamb and asparagus and that first breeze of the year that carries the smell of grass on it. It makes you want to pop open a bottle of wine, cut some fresh bread, and wiggle your toes in that grass, all while wearing a pretty dress with flowers on it. Welcome spring. Sorry Julia.

Anotheroom

In celebration of Heather's birthday, I took her out for a trendy date night. The main event of the evening was a restaurant called Locanda Verde in Tribeca. Last year, she clipped a review out of Time Out: New York and put it on my pillow. This was soon before the wedding and put on the back burner for a while. Once the wedding was over, back on my pillow it went. To Heather's credit, I'm not a guy who picks up on subtlety. Needless to say, it's a restaurant that Heather has wanted to try for quite some time now and apparently she is not alone. I tried to make reservations about a week and a half in advance and was unable. This is why I had to wait until this past Friday to do it. Oops. Better late than never I guess.

We almost never make it down to Tribeca, and with our reservations at 8:15, we had some time to kill. Heather, never being one to pass up an opportunity to try places in a neighborhood we're unfamiliar with, suggests we drop by a nearby establishment called Anotheroom. This is the third of three bars by the same owner, Craig Weiss, the others being The Room and The Otheroom. There are also locations in Florida and California called The Room and The Otheroom. I thought it would have been funnier to keep giving them different names to distinguish them like Yet Anotheroom or Anotheroom Still. Craig, if you're reading this, you can have those names for free.

One of the things I like when I walk into a bar is actual places to sit at said bar. Stools and such. It helps when you get to a place early enough. We were lucky to have seating because it's not a big place. There are only about eight stools total. They also have seating and small tables around the perimeter of the place. It's got kind of a dark and intimate feel to it with candles on the tables and bar. A beer is more attractive when it's backlit. Try it sometime.

When Heather told me about the place, I got it in my head that it was a wine bar. I'm not sure why; she may not have said it. But when we got there, I noticed it had quite a beer list. I get excited about big beer lists. In fact, it was bigger than the wine list. I asked Heather if she would feel left out if I had a beer instead of a glass of wine. She then told me that I was a grown man who can make his own decisions. Heather is nothing if not empowering.

I decided to go with a pint of Indian Brown Ale from Dogfish Head brewery. I've posted about Dogfish Head in the past and am fairly familiar with a few of their beers. I don't know how I missed this beer because it was delicious. It was dark, thick and almost a little smoky with a hint of coffee. It was so good, I had another one. Heather started out the evening with a malbec. It was good and everything you would want and expect from a malbec, but not a very generous pour. For her second round, Heather went with Blackthorn's Cider. It was okay, but we both agreed that it was a little watered down.

One thing to note about this establishment is that the restroom had a peculiar sliding door. It was kind of like going to the bathroom inside a storage elevator or a minivan. Who doesn't want to do that? I like Anotheroom and will probably go back. We would have stayed for a third round, but as you know, we had reservations. And I didn't want that listing on my pillow again...

Epicurette in Boston

I did not do a lot of cooking this week. No, it wasn't because I was tired, and no, it wasn't because I was snowed in and had no ingredients. I was on vacation! I kissed Will goodbye for a few days, my mother swung into town and together we hopped a Greyhound bound for Bean Town, we were headed North for Boston. The two of us hadn't seen one particular Boston resident, my incomparable Aunt Donna, for far too long and it was time to rectify that. Well that and eat as much as we possibly could.

I inherit my love of dining out from my mother, a woman who hasn't met an a la carte menu she didn't like. Despite this, there was a distinct lack of planning when it came to the whole "Where to eat" situation. She had gotten a few recommendations, I had tried to Google a bit, but really it was sort of a figure it out when we get there kinda thing. As the bus pulled in last Thursday, we knew we had a bit of problem. While we had dodged the snowstorms south of us (we literally pulled out of New York just as flakes had begun to fall) we had run smack into a heinous rain storm. Sheets of rain poured outside of the hotel. Couple that with exhaustion from a day of travel and the sense of adventure was sucked out of the evening. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how we ended up at the Legal Seafood directly across from our hotel.

It's not that I'm against chain restaurants, I'm not. Well, I am, a little. I'm a bit of a snob, alright? They do, however, tend to offer good appetizer comfort food platters, reliably boozy drinks, and a sense of standards. It's just, when I travel, I'm an adventurer. I don't like to take cabs, I want to figure out the transit system. I want to know where the cute shop and bar with the good vibe are hidden. And I only want to eat at places that I can't visit anywhere else. Being stuck in an El Niño system with my mother, however, was not the time to be stubborn about my adventuring standard. It was close, it was dry, and it served seafood and alcohol. I was not about to resist. Besides, Legal Seafood originated in Boston, so I figured it was good to get the touristy restaurant out of the way on the first night.

It was actually not a bad pick. Chilled to the bone we ordered soup, myself a clam chowder, my mom lobster bisque, and both came out hot, creamy, and soothing. Rain smacked the windows, but we were no longer concerned. That may have been aided by the cocktails we ordered upon sitting down. My mother got a concoction with cucumber and ginger that she still hasn't stopped talking about. We were warming up fast. Instead of full meals, my mother and I split the "Legal Experience", an appetizer sampler that runs about $30 and includes tuna sashimi, steamed wontons, shrimp cocktail and crab cakes. I've never been a fan of shrimp cocktail and I've had better wontons, but the crab cakes were meaty and the sashimi was light and and savory. Also our waitress was Dutch and adorable, so full marks.

The next night we met up with Aunt Donna, and headed out to dine. Aunt Donna has lived in Boston for 30 years, but the Back Bay/Theatre District area where we were staying was not her neighborhood of expertise. I understand this, if one was to ask me for a recommendation in Midtown East I would stare at them blankly and then put them on a subway going south. Armed with maps, guidebooks, and a coupon from a friend we stumbled upon Maggiano's. It was a crowded but nice Italian place, good cocktails, decent chianti, and what my mother swore was the best fried calamari she ever had. It was damn good, crispy and not greasy, and the round parts did not have the texture of rubber bands that is so common in calamari. They also did a great job on the muscles and we had a crispy and tasty flatbread. It is in fact, a chain, with 41 locations in 21 states. I hadn't been in one before, but there were telltale clues like when the word "Locations" pops up on the menu. Still, it was a very nice night out and I had tried a restaurant I had never eaten at before.

The final night I was determined to find a cute, local restaurant, something I would find only in Boston. We had spent the day touring the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a place I highly recommend because there are few museums more interesting then when a crazy and eccentric rich person decides to start a "collection." You get some great work but no order and usually a will that leaves future curators freaking out. Another great place in this category is any of the Henry Mercer buildings in Doylestown, PA. We also spent time at Trinity Church and then hiked, in the rain, back to the hotel. My mother and Aunt were ready to collapse. We decided happy hour was necessary, and somehow ended up at PF Changs. Yup. PF Changs. 133 locations PF Changs. I'm not saying the $4 appetizer specials were unappreciated. Nor am I saying that I did not enjoy my Asian Pear Mojito, that I may have ordered by staring witheringly at the waitress and imploring her for alcohol. It was just, PF Changs! I had spent four hours on a bus and ended up at PF Changs! We were, at most, two blocks from Chinatown.

Back at the hotel, I dug out the laptop. I searched Yelp, Opentable, Time Out Boston, and decided that the perfect place would be a bistro called The Butcher Shop. The menu looked gourmet, the prices didn't appear ridiculous, it seemed young and hip, and was only a twelve minute walk away. I called to inquire, and was told there would be an hour wait if we came. I withered, and the ladies decided they'd had enough of my antics. A quick question to the bell caption about where a good meal could be had in the neighborhood, and we were off to Flemings Prime Steakhouse. 64 locations. We weren't terribly hungry, the ladies had Caesar salads and I dug into some ahi tuna, and then we had some delectable deserts. Damn good wine list though, I had a Malbec from Pascual Toso off their "Red Wines of Interest" list that warmed me up and had me mellow.

It is not a total dining discovery loss however. One afternoon my mother and I had been wandering Charles Street in Beacon Hill, I had scored a vintage faux pearl necklace and was jazzed, but I was drooping. I needed sustenance, and caffeine. It was then we made our discovery, a perfect little french bakery called Cafe Vanille. It was a perfect discovery, plenty of seating, charming views of an adorable neighborhood, and oh my god the pastry case. There were tiny little cakes and pies, there were croissants, there were quiches and bechamels. One delectable ham and cheese croissant and we vowed to be lifelong customers, or, since we don't live there, weekend long customers. We hiked back the next morning for breakfast to show our enduring loyalty. Um, are you ready for this bit of news? It's a chain. A local chain! Only 3 locations, all in Massachusetts! Oh lord, I can't win.

Next time, I will do more research. Part of my problem going in was that I didn't understand how the Boston neighborhood system worked, so I had no idea how far the North End was from the West End, how to get to Cambridge, or what Downtown Crossing meant. Now I know. Now I'll be prepared. And dammit, if I have to show up at 5pm I am getting into the Butcher Shop. Because Orecchiette with Veal Shank, Black Trumpet Mushroms, and Celeriac sounds like a meal worth four hours on a Greyhound. Someday I'll let you know if I'm right.

Keep it Short and Stout

Note from the Editor: Due to schedule conflicts this spring, Will and I are switching days. This means you can get your weekly dose of beer and cocktail anecdotes on Monday, and your food stories and recipes on Wednesday. We hope this doesn't mess up your chi too badly.

Thanks!

Epicurette

As I was brewing my first beer, I knew that the next batch would be a stout. Heather, when giving me my beer brewing kit as a gift, was nice enough to include the ingredients for an IPA because she knew I really enjoyed that particular style. I wanted to return the favor and try my hand at a style that she enjoys.

Heather is not the biggest beer drinker in the world. That having been said, she certainly prefers some more than others. A general rule of thumb is--the darker, the better. She likes deep, flavorful and aromatic more than light, clean and ice cold. Guinness is one of her favorites, partly because of the taste and partly because she likes the smoothness of the nitrogen bubbles. They give a beer a distinct smoothness. Though I don't have the means to incorporate nitrogen into a beer, I can certainly look up a good recipe for a stout. I perused the internet for recipes, but wound up back at the website where I got my first one--Keystone Homebrew. I put together a shopping list and set out.

Heather was taking a soup class at the Brooklyn Kitchen two weeks ago and apparently on the day that a person takes a class, they get ten percent off of anything they buy. I'm in. We go to the store and check out the beer ingredients. On the table is a handful of xeroxed beer recipes. One of them included a sweet stout in which lactose is included. I learned during yeast class that a brewer puts lactose in his beer to make it sweet because it is too complex a sugar for the yeast to break down. Maybe one day I'll try it but the idea of a sweet beer is weird to me.

I was able to find my malt extract and comparable grains easily, but they didn't have the exact hops and yeast I was looking for. I spoke with a gentleman there by the name of Harry and he hooked me up with a different brand of yeast called White Labs Irish Ale Yeast. It comes in a glass vial rather than an expandable packet like Wyeast. I felt good about the vial. I'm sure that they are both fine methods for storing yeast but for some reason the packet seems gimmicky. The vial seems more scientific.

As for the hops, the recipe called for phoenix hops. I'm not an old hand at this sort of thing; I don't know the difference between one type of hops and another. Since they don't have phoenix, I ask what would be a good alternative. Harry whips out his iPhone and pulls up an app called "Get Hoppy." I guess what they say is true, there is an app for that. It gives the statistics for popular types of hops like flavor, acidity and substitutions. Unfortunately, phoenix is not listed in the app, so he runs to the internet and looks it up. It turns out it was bred as a replacement for challenger hops which they also didn't carry, so Harry set me up with U.S. perle hops. We'll see how it works out.

I thanked Harry and got a couple of other supplies--bottle caps, hydrometer tube, grolsch tops--checked out with my ten percent discount and headed over to Barcade to play some video games. When I got home I immediately bought the app for my iPod touch and played with it. I found out it also gives information on yeast. Ninety-nine cents is kind of a bargain.

A couple days before brew day, I decided I wanted to make a yeast starter. It gives the yeast a head start by letting the cells reproduce and shore up their numbers before the main event. I dissolved half a cup of malt extract into two cups of boiling water to make sort of a malt sugar syrup, cooled it, put it in a glass bottle (in this case a half gallon beer growler) and pitched the yeast right in. I wasn't around to see the bubbling (I do have a job,) but there was substantially more yeast settled at the bottom than I started with.

Brew day went a lot smoother this time around. The malt extract was a liquid this time around so I didn't have to wait as long for it to dissolve. There was a more substantial hot and cold break this time--which means that more of the unnecessary proteins solidified during the boiling and cooling of the wort and therefore won't end up in the finished product. And with my new hydrometer tube, I was able to measure and record the gravity of my beer. I'm curious why my kit came with a hydrometer and not a decent tube to put it in.

I also applied a thermometer to the outside of the fermenter so I can better regulate temperature. During the first couple days, when it was bubbling vigorously, I put it in the bathroom and opened the window all the way. All the activity gets the wort pretty warm. It's in my office right now so I can open the window if it's too warm and close them when it gets cool.

I'm excited to see how this one turns out. I'm a little older, a little wiser. I've got more equipment, certainly. When I started this endeavor I thought the next step would be lagering, but now I'm very curious about all-grain brewing as opposed to using malt extract. I'm told it gives a better character to a beer and offers more flexibility. But perhaps I'm getting to far ahead of myself for now. These are topics for future blogs.

The Inaugural Brew

After I bottled my beer, I set the bottles on the bookshelf to shield them from the harsh ambient light. I had two weeks to stare at the forty-three bottles of beer on my bookshelf and contemplate their contents. There's a certain element of awe involved. Soon it will be ready to unleash upon the world. Will it be good? Will it be bad? Who knows? Such is the mystery of life. It could be doing anything in those bottles and I'm powerless to stop it. Like an expectant parent, I worried about the future of my beer and dreamed about its infinite potential.

The best possible outcome would be if the beer turned out great. I could enjoy the fruits of my labor (or rather, hops of my labor) and share my bounty with all. The second best outcome would be if the beer was awful and undrinkable. The reason this scenario takes second place is that then I could bear my defeat in private. Sure I told people about my brewing project and shared my progress in cyberspace, but the beer would go down the drain and I could chalk it up to experience.

The worst case scenario in my mind--aside from the bottles exploding on my bookshelf--is that the beer is drinkable but off. There is an entire chapter in the beer brewing book I have about off-flavors called "Is My Beer Ruined?" It talks about causes for strange tastes in beer and possible remedies. Then when Heather and I took our yeast class in Brooklyn, our instructor emphasized how temperamental beer is as it's fermenting. I got nervous like an expectant mother. To calm myself down, I just kept telling myself, "As long as my beer has ten fingers and ten toes, I'll be happy."

But no one wants to make excuses for their beer. I didn't want to apologize as I handed out bottles. "Look, this won't be enjoyable but try to get through it." Also, I don't like being lied to. I would be forcing people to either bad mouth my creation or lie to me and say they liked it. I think if my beer were drinkable but not very good, I would be forced to drink it all myself.

I brought a six-pack to Pennsylvania for a weekend to unveil it. Heather and I snuck a taste with her mother just to make sure that it was indeed beer and not a stale mess of wort. I pulled the bottle from the fridge and slowly eased off the cap. As soon as I heard the pssst noise, my heart leapt. "That's what real beers do!" I thought. I poured the bottle into a glass, being very careful not to disturb the layer of yeast at the bottom. I took a taste and got very excited. Not only was it beer, it was decent beer. Nice and hoppy, just the way daddy likes.

I took it over to my parents' house and set up a little taste test. I let everyone try a little of my IPA and a little Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA. My mom actually said she preferred my beer to the Dogfish Head. Score one for me: My mom thinks I'm cool. Not only is it exciting to have accomplished something like this, it's exciting to have dozens of bottles of drinkable beer. Heather thought it would be a good idea to have a beer party as a way to share this beer with the world. I thought it was a great idea. She also thought that it would be a good idea to have it coincide with her birthday party. The small gathering seemed to enjoy the brew. It wasn't all about Heather's cake.

As my first beer brewing experience draws to a close, I want to say that I think it has been a rewarding experience. I like the investment of labor and patience involved. I like the seemingly magical process of sugar turning into alcohol and carbon dioxide. And I like the social aspect of beer creation--being able to share the benefits of my crazy science experiment. I already have my next exciting new batch in the bucket and I'm very optimistic. I look forward to continuing this hobby, fine-tuning it and sharing it with you on the blog.

Happy, Happy Birthday Baby

Well, it's happened. The moment has arrived. I am officially 27 years old. I'm not entirely sure how that happened. I'm pretty sure I was turning 21 about 10 minutes ago; I'm still half convinced when I wake up most mornings that I'm going to be late for my first class. Then I roll over and discover I'm in a grown up big girl apartment in Queens sleeping next to my husband. It's a bit jarring. Last week as I stumbled blearily out of my bedroom and into the kitchen to make some breakfast, a tiny bit miffed that there isn't a dining hall to just make it for me, I noticed a recipe tacked to the cork board. It's been there for quite awhile, last May to be exact. The title reads "Happy Birthday to Me, With a Spanish Lilt".

Last May as I rode the subway to work I was completely absorbed as Melissa Clark described her birthday cake that year--sophisticated, elegant, and with a bit of a European tinge. She had made herself an almond cake, and topped it with rich buttercream spiked with lemon and sherry. The article and recipe were so captivating that I nearly missed my stop, so for nine months this cake had taunted me. I wanted this cake.

At the time I read the article, as regular readers know, I wasn't much of a baker. I still struggle, last week I tried to make cornbread to go along with the Jambalaya, and forgot the egg. I got corn cracker, sitting sadly in the bottom of my cast iron pan. Baking and I tend to get in fights. At the time I found the recipe, I did not even own cake pans. It is entirely possible that the last time I made a cake I was 12 and there was a box marked "Duncan Hines" involved. This cake, however, was calling out to me, and it was more then your usual cookies and brownies type baking. It was grown up baking, challenging baking, figure out how to build a double boiler type baking (way easier then I had thought).

Along the way through, I sort of wandered away from Spain. Will brought home a bottle of cooking Sherry, a product I have never worked with, and it was awful. I don't know if this is typical to Sherries, but it had salt mixed in for no reason I could come up with. There was no way it was going in my icing. My eye caught on a bottle of Madeira I've been keeping around. Therefore, I took a bit of a detour around the Iberian Peninsula and ended up in Portugal. It was a damn good detour.

Almond Birthday Cakes with Medera-Lemon Butter Cream

Adapted from the New York Times

Ingredients:

For the Cake:

-1 Cup plus 2 tablespoons (2 sticks plus 2 tablespoons) Unsalted Butter, at room temperature; more for greasing pans

-3 large eggs

-1 cup sour cream

-1 teaspoon vanilla extract

-1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

-2 1/2 cups cake flour

-1/2 cup finely ground almonds (can be done in food processor)

-1 1/2 cups sugar

-3/4 teaspoon baking powder

-3/4 teaspoon baking soda

-3/4 teaspoon salt

For the butter cream:

-4 large egg whites (yes Will made me a cocktail with one of the yolks)

-Large pinch salt

-3/4 pound unsalted butter (3 sticks) at room

temperature

-2 tablespoons Madeira (or to taste)

-1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

-1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease two 9-inch by 2-inch deep round cake pans and line bottoms with parchment or waxed paper. In a bowl, beat together the eggs, 1/4 cup sour cream, vanilla and lemon zest.

In bowl of an electric mixer, whisk together the cake flour, ground almonds, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Beat in butter and remaining 3/4 cup sour cream until light and fluffy, 1 to 2 minutes. Slowly beat in the egg mixture until fully combined.

Scrape batter into prepared pans. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center of a cake layer comes out clean. Let cake layers cool in pans on wire racks for 15 minutes, then invert onto racks and peel off paper. Let cool completely on racks.

While cakes cool, make frosting: In a heatproof bowl suspended over a pan of simmering water (or use a double boiler), whisk egg whites, sugar and salt until sugar is completely melted (130 to 140 degrees on a candy thermometer), 3 to 4 minutes. Remove egg whites from heat; beat mixture with an electric mixer on medium-high speed until completely cooled and thickened, 5 to 7 minutes.

Beat in the butter, a little at a time, until frosting is smooth and fluffy. Beat in the Madeira, lemon zest and cinnamon. Taste, add more Madeira if desired.

To frost cake, put a little dab of icing in the center of your platter to give yourself a little stability. Place 1 layer on a cake plate, rounded side down, trimming if necessary so it lies flat. Spread with a third of the frosting, top with second layer (rounded side up this time) and frost remainder of cake.

The "suspend a bowl over a simmering pan of water" thing is not nearly as hard as it sounds. Just take your largest mixing bowl (heat proof is more important then usual here) and rest it on top of a saucepan full of boiling water. Voila! You've built yourself a double boiler, and saved yourself $35.

When I ground my almonds, I ended up grinding way too many. Therefore I spread them on my toaster oven baking pan, and just toasted them for a few minutes. After the cake was iced, I carefully went around and pressed the crushed almonds into the bottom 2" of cake. I swear, I don't know if I'm becoming domestic or am just a show off.

The cake was everything I wanted it to be. It's a dense cake, with all of that almond, but richer and more complex then what you expect biting into what looks to be a vanilla cake. The icing was even better, all the heart stopping butteriness that you usually get from a buttercream, but with this very grown up something extra involved. It was certainly a cake I was happy to serve guests in my very grown up big girl apartment, because, lets face it, I am not a college student anymore. I am a grown up big girl of 27 years of age. But I'm still going to wear the tiara.