Earl Grey Berry Tart

Bright blue, cloudless calm days. Small birds hopping from tree branch to tree branch, singing their songs. Delicate flowers hiding under large broad leaves and barely swaying branches with fluttering leaves. A season matures, the signs outside pointing to fast-approaching hot summer days. Green is everywhere. At least I think; I imagine.

I imagine bright blue, cloudless calm days while I take a moment to distract myself from a mountain of monotonous tasks demanding my immediate attention. I think about small birds hopping from tree branch to tree branch, singing their songs, while I listen to the chatter of a long-trusted advisor explaining the financial report in my hands. I wonder about delicate flowers hiding under large, broad leaves and barely swaying branches with fluttering leaves when I finally take a moment to stop and look through a window, only to find dark clouds plummeting to the ground in a cold, wet fury.

There is nothing in life – in the twenty-six years before now and in the moments which make up the present – that brings me more joy than the handwork, determination, and imagination that goes into starting a company. I find myself facing the most thrilling moments in my life as I stare straight into the biggest unknown I’ve seen yet. I trade sleep for planning. I trade meals with friends for meetings. I trade frivolous nights out for work and I love every second of it. But there are moments I find myself wanting to surround myself with green – calm, worry-free, taskless green.

I scoop a small spoonful of earl grey tea into a small square of cheesecloth, carefully folding up the corners and tying the extra bits into a knot. The clank of a heavy tea kettle rings from the stovetop; I wait for the familiar whistle. Somehow I inevitably find myself back at my computer, staring at more analyses in a business plan. A screech calls out and takes me by surprise. Why did I put that on? Oh yes. Tea. Sweet, calming tea.

Near-boiling water  pours over the cheesecloth into my favorite tea cup. I watch as the pristine liquid slowly melds into a beautiful rich, auburn. I rummage through the pantry looking for that nearly empty jar of gulf coast wild flower honey I know I left there. There it is. I struggle to coerce the last remaining drops into my cup. A silver spoon my grandmother’s grandmother once used finds its way into my hand; I stir the hot liquid and watch the swirling honey disappear. I slurp a sip, eager to taste the liquid without letting it sit on my tongue too long to burn it.

Suddenly I find myself outside, grasping the fresh earl grey with both hands as I lose myself in the green everywhere. It never really mattered what kind of tea I made – whether caffeine laden or caffeine free – it always calmed my mind and body. I wander around the garden admiring new and old flowers, listening to scurrying creatures and picking a fresh strawberry. Wait. When did this happen? Somehow in the blur that has been the past few weeks, I’ve neglected my fruiting strawberry plants. As I finish the last drops of my tea, I dust off a few dark red strawberries and bite in to the sweet, tart treats – holy shit these guys are so much better than what I find in the store. Then I make what could be the day’s most important decision.

I walk inside, clear my schedule, shut my computer, and begin collecting ingredients.

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The Classics – Chocolate Cake

This is the fifth chocolate cake recipe I am sharing on Chasing Delicious. Somehow though this is only the first time I am sharing a bare-bones, grandma-use-to-make-this, classic chocolate cake, a staple in any kitchen hosting a celebration. That’s exactly what my kitchen was doing this week. Not only did I turn twenty-six, but Chasing Delicious turned two and Rambunctious House (the company I’m starting with my longtime best friend Alicia) opened its doors all on the same day, May first! Since I share my birthday with this blog and my company – not to mention a holiday that involves dancing around a pole or protesting -, a crumb-licking celebration was in order to mark the occasion. Cue the chocolate cake.

I have three rules about chocolate cake: 1. It should be easy, 2. It should never look perfect, and 3. Chocolate cake should be so good that you want a second slice, but so chocolaty and rich that you don’t dare take a second slice. This cake is just that, a pretentious-free, no-fuss, chocolate cake worthy of any celebration – or any other day for that matter.

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Strawberry Rhubarb Pie + a Giveaway

As I flip the thin plastic pages of a dusty and tattered photo album, my eyes hopping from one old photo to the next, I find myself searching for memories or glimpses into these captured moments of yesteryear. I hesitate on a snapshot for a few seconds before giving up and moving to the next. I scan the photo for some magic image that will take me back but mostly I find nothing. But soon I catch myself chuckling; the only memories I conjure up are of the stories my mom has shared with me time and time again. Each photo holds a story – too young for me to remember – but at a time when my mother seemed to assign every infantile moment, no matter how mundane or typical, a story and importance.

Books and books go by before I begin to wonder, did my mom keep a camera with her twenty-four seven? I hurry past the pages of a nude baby version of me frolicking about – was I that uninhibited or did my parents not know when to put the camera down? I notice a plethora of costumes per year – clearly I was being dressed up on more than just Halloween. I even think about the small moments taking place behind the camera; more than 50 shots of a birthday means at more than one hurried moment, my mother had to wind up a spent roll of film, take it out, load another roll of film, and prepare the camera in time to catch another goofy baby smile; she had to have spent a fortune on film and developing; she must have bored a photo technician to death every time she dropped off a few dozen rolls of me sitting in a high chair with chocolate cake smeared across my face.

 

But mostly I see my mother’s smile in every shot. The true love of a mother, someone who has decided to dedicate their life to me, shines through image after image. Never a moment of concern – except the one time I stood on the railing at the Grand Canyon – or sorrow apparent in a single photo.  I see a young lady new to the world of parenting, loving every single second of it.

How do you say thank you for this sincere gift of life? What can I ever do to repay such an awesome bestowal? I say, “I love you,” as much as I can. I let hugs linger and find any excuse to slip a, “thank you,” into the conversation. Sometimes I argue – when I think I know best. And on occasion I say things I regret. But as hard as it is I apologize and remind myself I have a lot to learn, especially from my own mom.

To this day, when my mother stares into my eyes, a mirror image of her own hazel eyes, I know she still sees her infant son. A quarter of a century may have passed since my birth but I will always be her baby and she will always be the first person I turn to in a time of need or a moment of celebration. And while she may not know it, every time I say, “thank you for the present,” or “thank you for handing me a plate,” I am saying “thank you for giving me life, for showing me how to live, and reminding me that I will never be alone.” For she is my mother, the most important person in the world, and the person to whom I dedicate nearly every act and accomplishment that have made my life mine.

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Kitchen 101: Cooking Methods

Hello, y’all! Three weeks ago, SAVEUR named Chasing Delicious as a finalist in the  Best Baking and Desserts Blog category in their 3rd Annual Best Food Blogs Awards 2012. I must thank everyone who nominated me and has voted for me so far – I am honored y’all thought of me as your favorite dessert blog. If you’ve got the time I’d love your vote too. Voting is only open for three more days (until the 26th)! Thank you again! 

Slow and gentle, rough and fast, hot and wet. Can you guess what I’m talking about? Of course not, you dirty-minded foodie. I’m talking about cooking methods and their effect of cooking. Like mixing methods, our recipes always tell us how to cook something, but they rarely tell us why. And if you don’t know what one means, or even have one mixed up with another, then you could not be getting the best results for that dish.

Some methods refer to where the heat is applied and others refer to the tool used to create heat. For the moist-heat cooking methods, some indicate the amount of liquid use while others refer to how hot the liquid should be. Between them all, you can cook just about anything and get what ever type of result you’re looking for. And while some cooking methods are more exclusive and others all inclusive, each one let’s you do that something special that will have you coming back to that technique time and time again.

As for baking, you may be wondering just how many cooking methods are actually used in making pastries. Well, you might be surprised. I have a grilled peach ice cream recipe. So if the grill can be used in making dessert, then any of the cooking methods can be used.

Before we jump into the different cooking methods, here is a little cheat sheet to help you out with the cooking methods. Print it out, head over to the store and buy yourself an 8×10 copy or just bookmark it for handy reference!

To celebrate the new Chasing Delicious Store and updated posters (now available in three color combinations) all 8×10 posters are currently on sale. You can also save $25 if you order all five of the 8×10 posters by entering “ANNIVERSARY” in the discount code field.  As always, ten percent of poster profits will be donated to support education in the culinary arts.

Ok. Enough about these delightfully informative posters. Back to the cooking methods.

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Buckwheat & Brandy Cookie Sandwiches

Hello, y’all! Two weeks ago, SAVEUR named Chasing Delicious as a finalist in the  Best Baking and Desserts Blog category in their 3rd Annual Best Food Blogs Awards 2012. I must thank everyone who nominated me – I am honored y’all thought of me as your favorite dessert blog. If you’ve got the time I’d love your vote too. If I win I will bake everyone cookies! Ok. Wait. Maybe that won’t be possible. An internet hug for everyone? Yes! That’s it. Thank you again! 

“It’s going to come down tonight. Cats and dogs.” The weathered, experienced eyes of my grandfather stares up into the bright blue sky. Leather-like hands filled with wrinkles, scars and spots ruffle my hair as his deep, unhesitating voice predicts the future. My own eyes peer up to his then to the sky and back down to him.

“But the weather man said it’s going to be sunny all weekend,” an eight year old me insists.

The old man lets out a chuckle before turning to head back to the house; I still stand in the dry creek bed staring up at the sky, my mind wondering how could my grandfather be so sure of something that wasn’t going to happen. Could he be right? I turn to see I have been left behind; my small legs hustle to catch up with him.

Inside the ancient house, on the lime green couch my mom use to sit on as a child, I twiddle my thumbs in boredom, staring out the large bay windows. I patiently watch the sky, waiting for the right moment I can run to my grandfather and tell him I told you so. But, as my little eyes stare outside, my thoughts are interrupted with a flash and a deafening boom. Seconds later the pounding patter of a heavy rainstorm deafens any other sound first landing on the roof, then the ground outside. The light outside disappears as a large, rain-saturated cloud moves overhead.

The comforting – and simultaneously frightening – sound of heavy storms consumed the weekend. Dark afternoons were filled with captivating stories from my grandfather, from woking intelligence against the Japanese in World War Two, to his days at the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and eventually on to his job running a travel agency, including the time he hopped the counter to “persuade” the manager at a New York Hotel that lost the reservations for him and a high school band of 100 on a school trip . Grandmother meanwhile worked away in the kitchen making sure my brother and I were stocked with fresh-from-the oven chocolate chip cookies and tall glasses of warm milk.

Finally after the rain began to clear up, days after my grandpa’s prediction, I build the courage to ask him how he knew it would rain all weekend. With his intimidating, seventy-years perfected, stare he gazed down to me and laughed before walking out of the room with a mere wink. Soon I would learn such predictions are far from magic, but for those years a a child I swore my grandfather was physic. His sense of humor, dry and droll, let jokes span years –  I am still waiting on the punchline for some.

To this day I find myself laughing at his waggish humor, wondering what lessons and answers were really sarcastic jabs at my incessant questioning and wondering. And as the temperature on a hot day begins to drop and the air becomes saturated with the delightful smell of metal before a storm rolls in, I think about my grandfather and his all-knowing predictions. As I munch on warm cookies on a wet day I find myself staring out the window, watching large rain drops fall, thinking back to the years of stories I’d listen to hour on end.

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Boozy Pie Bites

Hello, y’all! This past week has seen Chasing Delicious bestowed with an amazing honor. I’ve been listed as a finalist in SAVEUR’s Best Baking and Desserts Blog in their 3rd Annual Best Food Blogs Awards 2012. I must thank everyone who nominated me – I am honored y’all thought of me as your favorite dessert blog. If you’ve got the time I’d love your vote too. Thank you again! 

Broken plastic eggs and candy wrappers lie about a green, grassy yard. Fingers are stained brown with chocolate and tummies ache in protest to the copious amounts of cloy chocolate shoveled into mouths minutes earlier. A guilty pleasure – enjoying the abundance of bunny-shaped candy Easter provides – becomes a Halloween-nightmare all over again. “Why did I eat so much candy?” someone cries out in pain.

An eye wanders over to a small pink basket filled to the brim with candies and sweets; a wave of nausea washes over a face.  The thought of a frivolous trek back into time, when a kid could eat their own body weight in candy, was entertaining at first. Now it is sickening. Feet carry a guilty soul across the room, out one and into another, anywhere to escape the haunting reminders of candy, candy and more sweet, seductive candy.

The sun begins to set and the mood in the small house changes. Frivolous play is traded for suspense. A scary movie is put on. Shrieks and screams, covering hands and small peaks comfort scared eyes and a terrified mind. Sweet, comforting candy is called upon. “Just a few bites. That’s all I need right now,” someone justifies. Soon the last remaining easter baskets – and hidden bags of extra chocolate – are gone. “Nooooooooooooo!” a blood-churning wail cries out; it’s just the scary movie – but an apropos timed shriek nonetheless.

Life returns to normal. No more does the candy-laden holiday haunting poor tormented, insulin-drained souls. Meals no longer consist of Cadbury eggs and jellybeans but of real, honest-to-goodness, grown-in-the-earth food. Emotions stabilize as sugar peaks and valleys cease to wreak havoc on sweets-addicted families and friends. Laughs will be traded about the gluttonous holiday weekend one day – after the extra five pounds everyone gained is treadmilled off.

One lone, chocolate filled, chocolate coated, chocolate dipped, chocolate filled – did I say that already? – egg rolls out from behind an unfound hiding place as if to remind everyone who is in control. The chocolate egg taunts its impolite deliciousness for everyone to see like a street-corner slut looking for a trick. It sheds a layer of foil in the hands of one weak, chocolate-addicted man. A quick acting friend comes to the rescue and slaps the evil chocolate from his friend’s hands.

The man proclaims to his friends that it is time for real desserts. He shouts, “It’s time for real desserts!” Stiff drinks are poured and busy hands begin work. Dough is kneaded a few seconds until a flaky texture is formed. Ingredients are combined and fillings are stirred. Little cups are lined up on a baking sheet and dough discs are moulded into fluted crevices. Soon filling pours in, some pies capped, and the lot are thrown into a hot oven. Three adult-friendly, candy-protesting desserts bake to perfection, their promise of a new, delicious way of life restores order.

“Some might say these boozy pies are our savior,” one friend randomly rings out.

“No. No one would say that. Delicious? Yes! Redeemer of sin and saver of souls? …Hmm. Actually, I guess in a strictly eating sort of way that definition does fit” says the critic turned believer. Pies are removed and devoured before they can cool – little care taken to prevent burnt tongues and roofs of mouths.

Booze and pie saves the day once again.

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Blackberry & Mint Brownie Parfait

The faint sound of a stirring permeate the thin, dirty glass hanging mere inches from my weary body. Stacked pillows and raised blankets do little to keep my slumbering mind dancing in marvelous thoughts and dreams. My tired eyes open with little shock to darkness, the barely blue and gold morning light struggling to reach around the planet and into my room. I give up my fight for sleep, far too curious about the sounds pounding at my window. My feet kick about to shake and free myself from the layers of blankets I’ve carefully constructed throughout the night. Too late to catch the noisy culprits, the distant glitter of a sun-kissed tree line capture my attention.

With my tired eyes half closed, I struggle to pull  the nearest pair of jeans up over my legs as I hop about my room. I put yesterday’s shirt on backwards, then on correctly, and drag myself to my bedroom door, grabbing my camera as I pass by my desk. In a race to make it outside, to catch a time of day I rarely ever see, I skip my morning chores, hot cup of coffee, a bite or two of breakfast – not to mention the search for clean clothes – and dart out my backdoor. I close just the screen door to give my cats a change to enjoy the burgeoning morning as well.

Eager feet carry me through the tall St. Augustine and wild flowers that litter my backyard. I fight with the half-century-old gate, dodging low hanging poison oak as I leave my yard and enter the greenbelt. I am welcomed with taller grasses and more menacing wild flowers until I find the barely worn path lining a familiar creek residing feet from my home.

Open fully for the first time, my eyes peer out over the gullied landscape just as the morning sun begins to peak over the distant pines. I trek east towards a bend in the creek and witness bright gold light beginning to scrape the fog forming above the damp, dew-laden grass and slow-crawling creek. A few early risers leapfrog me on the worn dirt path as I lazily move about the blossoming Texas wild flowers dotting the sloped creek bed. I move down the shallow valley to escape the patter of running shoes and the polite hello’s and how-are-you’s of passing neighbors; the whir and gargle of rushing water falling over rocks now fill the air. I watch the flourishing morning and contemplate my own.

I pass around one bend and reach another when I remember the camera hanging off my right shoulder – I forgot about it in my frivolous wandering. I bring the eye piece up to my eye right eye and peer through the lens. My index finger and thumb finger away at the aperture and shutter speed dials, tweaking each until the light meter reads the way I want it to – having learned the quirks of my canon from two years of toting it around I know I need this shot two stops underexposed. I push my damp, grass-clinging Nikes into the soft soil slowly to avoid slipping as I take a couple steps up the slope, looking for that perfect spot. My eye is glued to the  camera the entire time as I watch the change in perspective and composition as I move about.

Finally happy where I am, I kneel down just slightly, unmoved by the banana spider sitting on her web to my right and the clicking, hissing bugs to my left. I wait until the sun peaks above a puffy cloud and depress the shutter. I pause – hesitating to pull my eye from the shot composed in my viewfinder – before I drop the camera from my eye. My eyes continue to enjoy the real thing, staring east as fog and mist dance around in the warming morning air, as the sun marauds upwards towards the bright blue heavens, as the once lonely, quiet greenbelt roars to life. I finally glance away and take a look at the screen, smirking in response to the image I’ve managed to capture.

On my way back, an hour or two later – moments I didn’t spend wondering about how much time I was wasting – as the sun sat higher in the sky and the gully lit up, I began to notice fruiting dewberry, strawberry and blackberry plants littering the valley – early fruiting a welcome perk of the unseasonably warm winter. I risk the thorns and hiding creatures to pick a few blackberries, popping most straight into my mouth. As I get closer to my home I begin to collect the berries in both hands, conjuring up thoughts of desserts. Back through my gate, ducking under the poison oak and past the growing grass and wild flowers, I approach my herb garden and notice a burgeoning, out of control, mint plant. I drop the berries in a near-by, unused clay planter and begin picking a few of the leafy branches from my Kentucky mint plant.

Inside I find my eyes staring intensely at the green and dark purples and blacks of my catches – my eyes stare while my mind flips through the recipe book stored deep inside my mind. Eager to try one of my favorite combinations – tart berries with fresh, bright mint – with something new, I decide to repurpose the brownies I baked the night before. With little hesitation I jump into the preparation, confident of the treat these three flavors will create.

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Kitchen 101: Mixing Methods

A measuring cup filled to the brim with flour dangles precariously in one hand over a light, fluffy batter while the index finger of your other hand presses firmly against number eight, a vaguely-worded instruction in a worn and tattered favorite cookbook; your eyes dart between both hands as you wonder, “Am I doing this right? Do I really add this flour now? Wait. Did I miss a step?” You tip your hand and flour spills into the bowl. You slide the mixer on and watch in horror – and excitement – as a batter – what you hope is batter – comes together. Minutes later and you’re sliding your fork into a deliciously moist, rich cake. A smile pierces your lips in accomplishment. You have no idea why what you just did worked; all you know is you’ve found a new favorite cake recipe.

You may not have realized it as you were beating sugar and butter together, adding one egg at a time, or even after you had added milk and flour to the batter in small increments, one after the other, but you were performing a centuries-perfected  method rooted deep in chemistry and physics – a method devised to trap air, mix water and fat, and build structure (very difficult tasks when you consider the ingredients you’re working with) – all in the name of creating something delicious for you to snack on. Baking is, without a doubt, a science. There is a reason we keep our finger planted firmly on a particular step of the recipe we’re making – we know if we mess up one small detail, the entire recipe will go up in flames.

While the ingredients we use – and how much of them we use – play a very important role, the method in which we mix those ingredients together play just as an important of a part. And yes, nearly every recipe out there will tell you how to mix and what method to use, but knowing each of the mixing methods is essential in baking, especially when you want to develop your own recipes or adapt a new or unfamiliar recipe to your liking. Knowing the ten different mixing methods also comes in handy when you find a recipe with a scrumptious set of ingredients but a set of instructions that seems a little off  (Excuse me! You want me to use the creaming method to make pie dough?! I think not!).

That’s what this Kitchen 101 post is all about: the different mixing methods, when and why we use them, and some tips and tricks on how to make your dessert come out perfect every time. As with all of my Kitchen 101 posts, I’ve included a Mixing Methods Poster.

Feel free to bookmark it or print it out for your reference. You can also visit the Chasing Delicious Store and buy an 8×10 print here to have shipped straight to your door; you can also buy one of the three other Kitchen 101 posters!

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Bourbon & Chocolate Cupcakes

The pungent scent of whisky and soon-to-be-discarded cigarette butts fill the heavy air in the small, run down old warehouse. Chatter, a hundred separate conversations, carry through the otherwise silent open space. Anticipation builds and chants from old friends begin as a bass drum is checked, an amp turned on and the screech of a poorly placed mic screams through the stacks of speakers. The house lights dim to a candle-like glow; a few strategically aimed, colorful spotlights illuminate the stage as the five young men taking their places at their favorite instruments.

Nonsensical chatter and encouraging chants stop in an instant as the quiet, slow intro to a three-year-long perfected song is started. The song begins to build and the small crowd is pulled in closer. The dark, grungy room is filled with the progressive instrumental rock of a young band taking the stage for the first time. Friends, family, strangers, kind listeners, curious passerbys fill the audience. The crowd builds as the idiosyncratic sounds of Enloom entice ears. Years of work, practice, composing, recording and planning pay off in a spectacle of a first show.

An hour and a full set passes.  The calming, worldly and ethereal music is replaced with an enthusiastic ovation. A life time of chasing a dream has started to come true in a moment of celebrating new and once unheard music. I watch from the back of the room as my brother and his friends – together a band I have spent the last three years watching work hard – enjoy their moment.

The next morning my time is filled with the busy work  of one of my own creative pursuits as I construct and assemble a new recipe, a recipe devised just for the band in celebration of a milestone. I carefully arrange the eclectically decorated cupcakes on an old, passed-down silver platter and take the short trek through my kitchen, out the laundry room and around the short hall into the recording studio amended to our home. I step into the room filled with the equipment that littered the stage the night before – a room that was once a mere garage (the garage that started it all nearly a decade ago).

The cold, oil-stained cement floor now replaced with sound absorbing carpet; bare, open walls and a garage door replaced with custom-built soundproof, eight-inch-thick walls, lined with sound absorption and diffusing panels. Where my jeep once sat now lies a pair of drum sets. The evolution of this large room mirrors the evolution of my brother’s band providing the perfect metaphor – from garage to studio; a garage band turned something far more impressive.

I glance at my watch as I set the plater of cupcakes down; eight AM must be too early for the boys who surely were up all night celebrating. I keep quiet as I leave the room, trying my best not to wake up the four members who nap scattered about the room, or to distract the fifth – who like me seems to need no sleep – as he works away at a computer with his headphones on, surely composing or fixing some new song.

I head back to my own studio – my kitchen -, a small gift left behind for the boys. I bite into the one cupcake left for me. Dark, rich moist chocolate cake surrounds the spicy bourbon filling, both topped with a sweet, marshmallowy italian meringue frosting that melts in your mouth. Three distinct flavors and a cascade of textures come together in perfect harmony. I finish the scrumptious cupcake and am left wanting more – not unlike the night before as I, along with the crowd, chanted for an encore. I sneak back into the studio and take one more cupcake – surely they won’t miss just one -, carefully darting out of the room before anyone notices.
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Short & Sweet: Meyer Lemon Pecan Cake

You may have noticed something has changed here at Chasing Delicious. Yes, it is in fact that time of the year again. Spring cleaning is upon us. And so, as I have cleaned my house from top to bottom, reorganized my kitchen from cabinets to drawers, and even managed to tackle the two-years untouched shed, I’ve decided my site needed a little spring cleaning of it’s own.

You’ll notice a new logo, some new icons on the top right, a simplified menu on the left and a new color theme – or should I say a new lack-of-color theme. If you’d like to follow me elsewhere online (Facebook, twitter, pinterest, etc) or even shoot me an email, you can do that up at the top right of the screen now. The menu on the left will still take you to some Chasing Delicious favorites (Recipes, Kitchen 101, Encyclopedia, Blogs, etc).

Love it or hate it, the recipes are the same. My dedication to all-natural, from-scratch preparation, delicious baking is still top priority here at Chasing Delicious. I still plan to tell you stories. I will continue to explore food photography with an emphasis on improving my skills and giving y’all some mouth watering images in the process. And most importantly I have not given up on my chase for that ever elusive, most delicious dish ever. But now I’m inviting you to join me in the chase too!

That brings me to my favorite part: the new Recipe Linkup here at Chasing Delicious. The reason I started a food blog was to join the amazing community of food bloggers, share my ideas and recipes and hopefully inspire others to do the same. If you’ve ever – or plan to in the future – make one of my recipes or a recipe of your own inspired by one of mine you can email me a link, a super short (twitter-short) recipe bio, your name and blog name and I will post a link to it on the Recipe Linkup page. You can check ti out now but since I just started this the page, it is a bit bare. I will hopefully have some of y’all’s recipes up very soon though.

As for celebrating, I decided to make a super simple, very scrumptious cake. This is a whipped cream cake, meaning whipped cream is folded into the cake, and one of my favorite yet. This method makes the cake dense and very moist – does it get better than that in a cake? The Meyer lemons and pecans both add a subtle layer of flavor that together make this a deliciously nuanced treat. If you’re unfamiliar with Meyer lemons, they’re a sweeter variety of lemon that when fully ripe appear orange on the outside – make no mistake though they’re still a lemon and can be quite tart, so don’t go biting into one. The use of a sweeter lemon in this recipe give this cake a less in-your-face lemon taste and more of a sweet, subtle lemon taste. With the nuttiness and richness of the pecans, this cake is perfect on its own or great lightly sprinkled with powdered sugar.

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