Many many moons ago a group of us had drinks at the Warwick hotel in Manhattan. And like any other evening of drinks with girlfriends, we sat among each other laughing and catching up until the server arrived. The server, I still remember as he served two of us again months later, asked for our drink orders – and so far all of this very typical night out – and that is when dear Alexa chimed in that I should try the French 75. What could that be? I wondered out loud and read the description of gin, champagne and a little bit of sugar. Why yes! I exclaimed. For it was a balmy summer evening, I shall have one of those. Moments later the server returned with a champagne flute full of my drink. I put the glass to my lips as my mouth curled into a smile. Oh, that is good. And from there a love was born.

Later in the summer while in New Orleans and then Seattle I was surprised at the popularity of the French 75. Why yes, all bartenders responded, of course I can make that. And if you’re looking for true excitement, said a waitress in Seattle, We also have the Seattle 75 and Seattle 76. It seems they like to mix things up when mixing things up in Seattle. With each sip out of a flute and with my pinkie up, I spent two weeks of the summer drinking this divine champagne cocktail accompanied by raw oysters. For two weeks things were delectable.

But oh, there is always a sad bit to every story. In this story it is the return home to a town without oysters. A town that thrived on wings and burgers. Which is fine but I craved. Oh did I crave my French 75. And so to every bar I went asking tip hungry bartenders if they could make me one. What is that, they’d reply. And I’d shrug and request a deep red wine. Forever leaving my mouth unhappy as what it wanted was nowhere near by.

One evening I went to the Volstead. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? A bar in midtown Manhattan. There was a full rager going on there. The weekend had been solid so of course I’d be able to get my drink of choice to end the weekend in style. So I sauntered up to the bar – already full of liquid courage – and asked for a French 75. Hmmm, the bartender said. I’ve never heard of it. I’ll show you! I said eager to see if I could remember and remember I did. Some gin! And then some lemon! Now simple syrup! And shake it! Now pour it into a champagne glass. Pour the champagne on top. Add a twist.

Here, he put the glass towards me and I sipped. So?

Perfect.

I carted my drink around to friend after friend proud of my new skill to remember how to make a drink – or anything for that matter – without having the directions directly in front of my face. I offered sips and each friend found what I had in my hands to be remarkable. Gin? AND Champagne? Who would have thought of this? Surely not I but I was glad to bring it to the masses. Oh and that bartender, he was thrilled. I tipped him 50% and told him to remember me.

Weeks later I was walking from the Upper East Side back in the direction of Midtown and was parched. My iPhone led me to Uncorked where I sat down and politely requested a French 75, please. The bartender said sure. So I sat and we chatted about tattoos and he made me two(!) more.

What follows here are photos of a bartender making a French 75 after you’ve already had a French 75 and this what they call the ‘Lush Effect’ on Hipstamatic:

1 1/2 shots of gin

1/2 shot lemon juice

1/2 shot simple syrup

Shake, shake, shake!

Pour

Add Champagne.

Et voila! Enjoy.

Here’s the recipe on Esquire.

I think I might have more Johnnie Walker Red than I had originally thought as evidenced by my returning home and crying and emailing and drinking the Chenin Blanc that had exploded all over my freezer. Please note that crying, emailing and drinking are not three activities that should ever be done at the same time. It’s like mixing napalm and well, oxygen. Police are so upset about people drinking and driving well psychotherapists and close friends should send out warrants for the arrest for overdramatic 20 somethings with a proclivity to confess The Feelings at 11:39 PM while weeping over a large glass of wine.

Woe!

The Spirit has been in and out. Next week when I’m sitting at home for 12 glorious, God sent, Jesus kissed days with nothing to do but write, write and maybe write some more, I will tell you about Friday night and how Susan had to keep me from jumping off my balcony while had a house full of people.

Merry Christmas! Try the eggnog! Excuse me while I leap all of three stories to my death but what would actually be a broken hip!

There is no proper segue here except that I need a very long break. Not a week off of work where I go somewhere else and pretend to be thrilled about TSA giving me an anal probe but a week off where I sit and read and play with my new Hayden Harnett. Speaking of which – and an utter digression of where this post is headed – I bought two Hayden Harnett bags for myself for Christmas. I even had them gift wrapped with a gift note. The gift note: “Dear Heather: You rock. Don’t ever change. Love, Heather”. So you know there’s that: Even if I’m feeling unloved by the world at large at least I love me and that’s what really matters.

Anyway, while I’m home I’ll probably bake and practice making gluten free goodies (post on why I find myself blatantly lying about why I don’t eat gluten coming soon to a crapass blog near you!). In the meantime I will leave you with these:

Gluten free pumpkin cupcakes. I’ve been holding onto these bad boys for a month now waiting for the right time to release them on you because people are terrified by the no gluten thing. As if anything sans gluten will taste like chalk paste ground up with salt. These are quite delicious. And I’m not saying that because I put my blood, sweat and tears into them but because I was apprehensive and had resigned myself to defeat that I would just have to suffer in silence. I test out everything I bake on my coworkers before I give them to actual people. The feedback from these was a resounding, “Quit your job and bake”. So if things in politics don’t work out and President Obama doesn’t want me in his administration because of my facebook/twitter/blog/MySpace sex shots (I AM KIDDING) then I can always bake for a living.

Gluten-free Pumpkin Cupcakes (from Simply Recipes)

Method

Cupcakes

1 Preheat oven to 350°F, and place rack in the center of the oven.

2 Using an electric mixer, cream the butter, brown sugar, molasses and honey, until as light and fluffy as it will be, about 2-3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add the pumpkin purée and vanilla and beat until incorporated.

3 In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and spices. Add the flour mixture and buttermilk alternately to the pumpkin batter, in three additions, beginning and ending with the flour mixture.

4 Add the pecans and raisins. Mix in by hand.

5 Set paper cupcake holders in a muffin tin. Spoon the batter into the cupcake paper cups, close to the top of the cups. Bake approximately 18 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let cool completely before frosting.

Frosting

6 Using an electric mixer, mix together cream cheese and butter until smooth. Add maple syrup and confectioners’ sugar and mix to combine. Once cupcakes have cooled, apply frosting.

Makes 16 cupcakes.

Below we have your basic sugar cookies but with a lemon glaze frosting because I had no patience to whip up vanilla frosting and think vanilla frosting is a product of the Devil. I did have powdered sugar and some lemons lying around so I made lemon glaze which made an ordinary sugar cookie taste like magic. If you’re ever looking to impress your coworkers or mother or parole officer; tell them that you made sugar cookies from scratch without the help of Pillsbury and they’ll all bow at your feet and tell you how fucking fantastic you really are.

Easy Sugar Cookies

1 Cup of sugar
1 cup of butter
3 tablespoons of milk
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
1 egg
3 cups of flour
1 1/2 teaspoons of Baking powder
1/2 teaspoon of salt

1. In large bowl, combine sugar, butter, milk, vanilla, and egg. Blend well. Lightly spoon flour into measuring cup; level off. Add flour, baking powder and salt; mix well. Cover with plastic wrap; refrigerate for atleast 1 hour.
2. Heat oven to 400 f. On lightly floured surface, roll out 1/3 od dough at a time to 1/8-inch thickness. Keep remaining dough refrigerated. Cut with floured 2-inch cookie cutter. Place 1 inch apart on ungreased cookie sheet,
3. Bake at 400 f for 5-9 minutes or until edges are light golden brown. Immediately remove from cookie sheet decorate as desired.

Serving size is one cookie with frosting…
Enjoy!

Number of Servings: 72

Frosting:

Whisk 1 ½ cups powdered sugar, two tablespoons lemon juice, and 1 ½ teaspoons lemon peel in small bowl. Frost.

And with that, have a very wonderful Holiday, listen to Carol of the Bells, drink eggnog spiked with four kinds of hard alcohol and I will see you all next week.

It was about a month ago when I went to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend and remarked that that trip had turned the LOSE YOUR SHIT switch in my head to the off position. And there it remained in the upright and locked position until the last several weeks slowly unraveled every lose thread in my brain. It’s as if there was that one tiny piece of string that begged to be tugged but once it was tugged there went a perfect hemline.

Since that weekend I’ve been to Denver, Chicago, San Francisco and I just left New Orleans. It’s that last trip that makes me bite my tongue when lamenting how hard my life is right now and how much stress I am under and how I’d really like to just bathe in a large bath of Swedish Fish while a butler fans me and brings me bottles of Peroni and beignets. Because if I want to see or feel hard, the people of the Gulf Coast of Louisiana can show me hard.

I go back to the Vineyard later this week during my mandatory vacation. I think it is forced upon us so that we don’t get all disgruntle and ornery or feel the need to take a swan dive into the Hudson with weights strapped to our ankles. The last time I went it was for my mother’s birthday and after she begged and pleaded with me to come out there, I brought with me a large bottle of Prosecco – her favorite – and a dozen lemon-raspberry cupcakes. Because love means willingly grating lemon peels for five hours and losing a knuckle in the process. It’s like please ignore the stubs of my once lovely fingers and enjoy the refreshing lemon flavor and the surprise bit of raspberry in the center. These are my new favorite cupcakes not just because they proved to my mother that I have other talents, besides being annoying as fuck. I think the only reason she won’t disown me now is because when she says JUMP, I say HOW HIGH and then provide her with goodies. I’ve been meaning to write about these for weeks because they are divine and easy to make and are a little bit of comfort and heaven topped with a fresh raspberry.

I think that right now I deserve cupcakes but after the last three weeks of enjoying French fries and beer as a meal, I’d much prefer a vat of lettuce, avocado and tomatoes. But I am totally not kidding about the Swedish Fish bath.

Lemon-Rasperry Cupcakes (from Epicurious) (Yields 12)

¾ cup (1 ½ sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
3 cups powdered sugar, divided
4 ½ teaspoons finely grated lemon peel, divided
2 large eggs
1 ¼ cups self-rising flour
¼ cup buttermilk
4 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, divided
12 tablespoons plus 1 tablespoon seedless raspberry jam
Fresh raspberries (for garnish)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees (F). Line 12 muffin cups with paper liners. Using electric mixer, beat butter, 1 ½ cups powdered sugar, and 3 teaspoons lemon peel in large bowl until blended, then beat until fluffy and pale yellow. Add eggs one at a time, beating to blend after each addition. Beat in half of flour. Add buttermilk and 2 tablespoons lemon juice; beat to blend. Beat in remaining flour.

Drop 1 rounded tablespoonful batter into each muffin liner. Spoon one teaspoon raspberry jam over. Cover with remaining batter, dividing equally.

Bake cupcakes until tester inserted halfway into centers comes out clean, about 23 minutes. Cool cupcakes in pan on rack. Meanwhile, whisk remaining 1 ½ cups powdered sugar, two tablespoons lemon juice, and 1 ½ teaspoons lemon peel in small bowl. Spoon half of icing over 6 cupcakes. Whisk one tablespoon raspberry jam into remaining icing. Spoon over remaining cupcakes. Let stand until icing sets, about 30 minutes. Garnish with raspberries.

Way back in March-ish my dear friend Moose had a horrendous break up with her boyfriend of five years. It was one of those things that might have been looming but to the rest of us, those who loved her and read her regularly well I can say that we were shocked. I distinctly remember my heart breaking for her because at the time, I couldn’t imagine what that could feel like. Of course now that I know what it feels like, we’ve been commiserating via email for several weeks because misery loves company. And I like to hear myself talk. The end.

Moose has the great fortune of living in San Francisco with the other ladies who freelance. A group of women that I envy and am in awe of because of their talent and the way they can put a few words together to make an actual sentence whereas I just look at a blank Word document and get diarrhea of the brain. Everything comes out in nonsensical bullshit and what could be said in one sentence gets said in a rambly paragraph full of digressions. Case in point: READ ABOVE. Anyway she is one of those people that I genuinely like and enjoy. If you ask she will tell you all about that time she cried in the Chicago Children’s Museum and while Chris Jordan sat and did some motherly comforting for her, I just stood there all opened mouthed and said “Um OK. I’m gonna go now.” I totally score on being the understanding friend.

Anyway because I love and because she is such a nice and lovely person I did what anyone would do from 3,000 miles away; I offered to bake cookies. Then I gave myself a hearty pat on the back for being the good friend who bakes and overnights cookies from the other coast. Then little brown sugar fairies danced in my head as the possibilities were endless.

That was in March. March was like two months ago. And in that two month period I myself suffered the break up from Hell and because I generally get distracted by shiny things I kind of put my cookie baking to the wayside. For the record I am also that friend that will say “OH YEAH! I will totally do that random thing for you” and then when push comes to shove I’m that friend who you’d like to kick in the shins because I’m full of good intentions and zero action.

Several weeks ago I had the great pleasure of sitting across from Deb of Smitten Kitchen fame and I remembered that I had to bake cookies and since she was sitting right across from her I made nice conversation and then interrogated her on some cookie recipes. She in turn sent me the loveliest email full of cookies for me to bake and I had to purchase a new laptop because of all the damn drooling. (Note to self: Invest in a bib. Also an apron).

The recipe that caught my eye though was for Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies. Here is how I feel about the commingling of peanut butter and chocolate: It is like an orgasm for your taste buds. In fact after consuming the two put together in perfect harmony, your tongue hangs out of your mouth for a bit – inadvertently of course – searching around your lips and if your tongue is as long as mine, down to your chin trying to grab those last few drops. For surely there must be more and your tongue is programmed to search and destroy. And do not think for one instant that I’ve never taken a spoonful of Skippy, sprinkled chocolate chips on top and called it dessert for my ever refined palate.

I clearly remember Deb saying that these cookies were addictive and perhaps I should put them in the far recesses of my kitchen. I just nodded and said sure then baked one batch for my family with my seven year old cousin. Now my family does not see me as the baking type. They see me as the woman who would like things delivered to her doorstep and ‘from scratch’ is some foreign lexicon. ‘Hostess’ is a word I am familiar with. Well imagine the surprise and broad smile that came across my incredulous and curmudgeonly, Republican uncle’s face when he put my cookies to his lips. In fact he asked for seconds just to make sure they were there and were for real. My Aunt Rachel ate four and my no carbohydrate eating mother kept eyeing them in hopes that maybe they were carbohydrate-less and calorie free and possibly made of air.

With the first batch a success I then made a second batch for Moose’s Mouth ONLY. She received them yesterday and had to shove two cookies in her mouth so she could type an email to me as to their deliciousness. Then told me that I was awesome. Well, duh.

I made the cookies out of love and because it was the only thing I could do for her. And since I’ve been going through what I’ve been going through people have been offering (and I’ve been declining) baked goods because nothing makes another feel better like a fresh pie or a pan of brownies. Really it’s the thought that goes beyond words and says that there are friends out there, amazing people who want nothing more than for you to feel better and normal again. So they put out what effort they can to make something and do something that really can mean more than words. Which leads me to yesterday’s post and all the posts of sadness and agony before; the words do mean more than you can ever know and if you really want to send me something, package up some French fries and a giant bottle of wine and call it a day. Or you can be straight up Canadian and send me a box of Smarties and declare your undying love for me. Either way, I’m easy.

Peanut Butter Soul Soothing Chocolate Chip Cookies (yields 36)

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup peanut butter at room temperature (smooth is what we used, but I am pretty sure they use chunky at the bakery)
3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon (for sprinkling) sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 large egg, at room temperature
1 tablespoon milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup peanut butter chips
1/2 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, the baking soda, the baking powder, and the salt. Set aside.

In a large bowl, beat the butter and the peanut butter together until fluffy. Add the sugars and beat until smooth. Add the egg and mix well. Add the milk and the vanilla extract. Add the flour mixture and beat thoroughly. Stir in the peanut butter chips. Place sprinkling sugar on a plate. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls into the sugar, then onto ungreased cookie sheets, leaving several inches between for expansion. Using a fork, lightly indent with a crissscross pattern, but do not overly flatten cookies. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes. Do not overbake. Cookies may appear to be underdone, but they are not.

Cool the cookies on the sheets for 1 minute, then remove to a rack to cool completely.

In biology we were taught a lesson on fermentation. While my classmates were all fascinated by the possibilities of leaving a cup of juice out to make their very own Tropicana orange juice flavored alcohol, I was wholly unimpressed. For me biology meant cell reproduction and the formation of humans which put me on track towards a successful career in obstetrics and gynecology or perhaps midwifery if my mother got her way. Sadly, that line of work involved something like 17 years of schooling and homework and I am not really a sit down in a classroom type of person.. Nor am I person who enjoys thinking in absolutes, which is what following my deep-rooted passion of delivering babies would entail. This is how I ended up majoring in four social sciences, because I hated the fact that three plus three must equal six. Why can’t we think about it for a bit and maybe have several different answers that could all be correct? Why can’t everything be answered via loads of bullshit?

I didn’t like alcohol and that was ok because I had ten Judy Blume books to see me through the hard times like my lacking breast tissue and poor wardrobe. In time I made up for the former while the latter is still a little on the pathetic side. Before I go on another tangent about my cleavage vs. wardrobe issue, I’ll continue with my story about how I disliked alcohol and imagine my surprise when I learned that eggnog, the most delectable thing in the history of Holiday treats, had alcohol in it. No one identified what the alcohol in egg nog was so I spent years assuming that someone would dump a vat of Coors Light into my creamy bowl of love thereby ruining it forever with the disgusting taste of crappy beer.

Blah blah blah, I got some sense and literacy and now extol the virtues of grapes in their fermented form and I could write a book on the million and one things that alcohol could and should be added to just to make it taste a little better. I could also write a book composed of the world’s longest run-on sentences. But once again, I digress.

Alcohol, yes? I drink it but after several years of being so ill I thought I was hanging precariously to the threads of my short lived life due to hangover, I stopped drinking hard alcohol unless it’s Ketel One or Grey Goose vodka. I stick to wine for the most part and as of late, I pour a glass, take a sip and 10 minutes later I’m drooling into my flannel sheets. During college I learned the hard way about mixing several types of alcohol. All I’m saying is tread lightly. Sipping is the way to go once you combine brandy, rum and peach brandy. Hell, smell it and you’ll run to the nearest church basement for an AA meeting. But never fear because it’s chock full of deliciousness and you won’t even notice that you’ve consumed three types of alcohol and 800 calories in roughly 45 seconds.

The recipe is courtesy of Sheryl at Papernapkin and was actually intended for a tree-trimming event that I ended up missing because I was too busy trying not to physically harm drivers on the New Jersey turnpike. This vat of eggnog will be the first in several Holiday themed recipes. Feel free to thank me later and I’ll link to whomever posted the recipes first so that you know who to bill after your stint at rehab. Yields…um…several mug fulls of nutmegy goodness.

Eggnog:

12 eggs, separated

2 cups sugar

1 pint brandy

1/2 pint light rum

1/2 pint peach brandy

3 pints whole milk

1 pint heavy cream

Nutmeg (optional)

Beat the egg yolks and sugar together until thick. Slowly stir in the brandy, rum, peach brandy, milk and cream. Refrigerate until thoroughly chilled and pour into a punch bowl. Beat egg whites until stiff, and fold ever so gently into the eggnog. If you want to, grate a little nutmeg on top. If you take this to a Christmas party people will fawn over you, and you will be the hit of the party. And if not, you won’t care because you will be having a lovely lovely time all by your own self.

Unintentionally my obsession with wine has abated. After years of coming home to sit down with a glass of pinot noir, I instead come home and just sit down and get stuff done. The amount that has been going on lately has left me exhausted and the whole opening of a bottle and finding a glass and then pouring it out is daunting. Really now, I wish I could find someone to hold the glass for me and bring it to my lips when needed. There is also the minor problem of no longer being able to kill two birds with one stone. The only fermented beverage sold in a grocery store is beer and though I enjoy Magic Hat, I’m not craving it every evening. Purchasing wine now requires more than one stop and there is no walking just driving and oh my god, the indolence.

Now, instead of drinking (at home. Alone.), I sleep or cook or watch “Tell Me You Love Me” and “Dexter”. I live this new exciting life that involves television and listening to Otis Redding while whisking or leaving the house (gasp!) to go to the movies. And no worries, I’ve already promised Danielle that I would start knitting after a project I’ve been working on is completed. This bodes well for what I expect to be the most excruciating winter in seven years.

I keep a word document of all the things I’d like to make. Anything that I’d like to roll around in gets highlighted but those things are becoming few and far between. This is where all seven of you haven’t run for the door after learning how damn boring I’ve become, will come in. I need recipes. These recipes can really be anything but must cater to my pescetarian needs. Which means – and I’m sure there will be tears because of this – no bacon. Please and thank you.

I hate linguini and spaghetti, but love fettucini and penne. There is something about the size and shape of the noodle, that keeps me from slurping up a bowl of spaghetti and marinara with fervor, but point me in the direction of farfalle with vodka sauce and I’m rolling around a carbohydrate filled bliss. Only recently have I noticed that shape and size dictate what I will and will not eat. I won’t eat sliced up carrot but will eat the stick version. I don’t like mashed potatoes but love mashed cauliflower yet will roll around in a vat of French fries and will vomit at the sight of raw cauliflower.

It didn’t reach real concern until recently when I wouldn’t eat cake and looked at a three layer chocolate cake with complete disgust. I suppose the size of most cakes seems unmanageable so I tend to be turned off by all of the layers and the frosting. Despite this anyone who has been reading this site for seven minutes will notice that I have a thing for cupcakes. Not just a minor little crush on cupcakes but an OMFG I’ll stop everything I’m doing to run out and get one…or four. I love cupcakes, because they’re small and bite sized and never imposing or constantly threatening to turn my butt into a pile of cellulite. I love that I can buy just one and be OK with what I have, which is a stark contrast to everything else in my life. Cupcakes make me happy.

Given how strong my love is for these sweet little treasures, I tend to leave the baking aspect to the pros or at least to someone who doesn’t feel like the need to inquire about adult supervision while baking. Because it was my birthday, I decided to test out baking much to the dubious laughter of my mother who kept repeating ‘from scratch?’ over and over again. I can understand her concern though given that the last time I used an electric mixer she was at the helm while I stood by her side waiting to consume what was left of the batter. My mother never has time to actually bake but when she does she makes chocolate melt in your mouth. I’m pretty sure that I did not inherit that gene and it’s the fear of being forced to consume something that tastes like paint chips and goat cheese is what precludes me from ever baking something I really like. It could either go really well and I could fondle my mixer or it could go really poorly and I could end up abhorring my beloved red velvet cupcakes.

I ended up with 36 – oh my God, no one ever needs 36 cupcakes. I brought them in for work and I don’t even know 36 people and yet they went rather quickly – perfectly made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. Given my own misgivings about my baking and that I only had two (one to taste test and one the next day. I’m actually sick right now) I wouldn’t really say they were the best ever or that I didn’t get to work and shove one in my mother’s face and demand that she TASTE IT NOW before I ended up giving my coworkers salmonella. But word on the street is that they were excellent and here I was holding out hope that I didn’t end up with Cajun style cupcakes.

The recipe is from Smitten and was used to make a three-layer cake so I just went with it and like I said, got 36 cupcakes. I’m only one person and my roommate is training for a marathon so her diet has been consisting of fruit and vegetables, not chocolate dyed red.

Red Velvet Cake and Cream Cheese Frosting (anything in bold is my two cents)

Time: 90 minutes, plus cooling
Yield: 3 cake layers (32-36 cupcakes)

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
3½ cups cake flour
½ cup unsweetened cocoa (not Dutch process)
1½ teaspoons salt
2 cups canola oil
2¼ cups granulated sugar
3 large eggs
6 tablespoons (3 ounces) red food coloring or 1 teaspoon red gel food coloring dissolved in 6 tablespoons of water
1½ teaspoons vanilla
1¼ cup buttermilk
2 teaspoons baking soda
2½ teaspoons white vinegar.

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place teaspoon of butter in each of 3 round 9-inch layer cake pans and place pans in oven for a few minutes until butter melts. Remove pans from oven, brush interior bottom and sides of each with butter and line bottoms with parchment.

2. Whisk cake flour, cocoa and salt in a bowl.

3. Place oil and sugar in bowl of an electric mixer and beat at medium speed until well-blended. Beat in eggs one at a time. With machine on low, very slowly add red food coloring. (Take care: it may splash.) (All over your counter and diswasher and cabinets) Add vanilla. Add flour mixture alternately with buttermilk in two batches. Scrape down bowl and beat just long enough to combine.

4. Place baking soda in a small dish, stir in vinegar (it’s like a science experiment!) and add to batter with machine running. Beat for 10 seconds.

5. Divide batter among pans, place in oven and bake until a cake tester comes out clean, 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool in pans 20 minutes. Then remove from pans, flip layers over and peel off parchment. Cool completely before frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting
Adapted from several sources

Makes 6 cups

8 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter room temperature
3 cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Place cream cheese and butter in a medium bowl. With a handheld electric mixer, beat until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add sugar and vanilla. Beat, on low speed to combine. If too soft, chill until slightly stiff, about 10 minutes, before using.

My love for Trader Joe’s runs deep and withstands distance and time. Every moment that I’m able to be in a Trader Joe’s is one more minute of nirvana and hope that I can successfully transport a jar of organic blueberry preserves back to NY without TSA thinking that it’s implanted with some sort of honing device or liquid nitrogen. It is also ridiculously convenient because at any point in time that you’re craving gnnochi with gorgonzola, they have it there. Frozen and ready to pop into a microwave and make genuine deliciousness. Also all of their rice comes in packages and takes no longer than three minutes to cook. Which means more time to sit around watching Pageant Place and teasing the cat with bits of tofurky.

I have this strange addiction to frozen meals. If it comes in a package and can be heated in five minutes or less then I want to marry it and have its babies. You should see me around a Healthy Choice tomato and basil panini, we might have cute little delicious smelling babies sporting mini afros, because that’s how strong my love is. I think it’s normal for busy people to crave convenience. I have the job and the incessant travel and the having of a life and the aforementioned watching of poor reality television and there is just busyness.

The above explains why my mother’s jaw had to be surgically removed from the floor when I mentioned something about cooking. When I mentioned actually putting food in an oven or turning on a stove with a pilot light and I think she just envisioned me losing my eyebrows or my kitchen spontaneously combusting. So I promised that I would start easy with the cooking. Nothing too strenuous and ‘quick’ and hopefully edible.

It’s hard to go wrong with penne pasta. I mean you boil water, put the pasta in and add sauce or cheese or perhaps roasted tomatoes with garlic and olive oil that smells like heaven while roasting. Along with some cannellini beans and my rather wide vegetarian ass is suddenly pumped with protein and happiness.

And as an added bonus, I enjoy taking photos – albeit completely shitty and amateur, photos – of food. Food doesn’t talk back or move or try to lick you when you’re trying to take a shot. Food doesn’t holler out “Make sure you get my good side!” or “Photoshop my hips!” when you have about 7 seconds to capture a moment.

Recipe from the Food Network:

3 large tomatoes, cut into wedges
4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1(15 ounce) can cannellini beans
1/2 pound penne pasta
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.

Slice each tomato into 8 wedges and discard the seeds. Put the tomato wedges and garlic into a 9 by 13-inch roasting pan. Drizzle with 1 tablespoon of olive oil and sprinkle with salt and a few turns of pepper. Roast in the oven, uncovered, for 40 minutes.

Drain the beans into a large colander in the sink. Cook the pasta according to the directions on the package. Drain the pasta into the colander containing the beans, so the hot pasta water will warm the beans. Return drained pasta and beans to the pasta pot.

When the tomatoes are done, pick out the garlic cloves, squeeze the garlic out of the skin into a small bowl and mash with a fork. Pour the roasted tomatoes into the pasta pot, add the garlic, the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil, the basil and additional salt and pepper, to taste. Toss to combine. Serve topped with the Parmesan.