Confessions

I'm a fair-weather Red Sox fan.

I know only two words of Chinese: the words for beer and candy. 

I can't snap my fingers. Or whistle.

Coffee is my biggest vice. And mojitos.

I have my frequent flyer number memorized.

I love yoga, but really, really hate Dhanurasana (Bow Pose). 

Last night, I dreamt about baking bread pudding.

All I Need to Know Is "Cafe con Leche"

There are two anti-typhoid pills, five days, and a ten hour flight between me and Argentina.

This morning, I spent an hour with a native Argentine who gives Spanish lessons. It became a lovely, rolling discussion about Buenos Aires, the generosity and openness of the Argentinean soul, and the Italian inflections in the language.

While Ciao and Buenos Dias are no big stretch, I've given up on trying to learn the words for the many, many different cuts of beef. I purposefully tuned out the words for tripe and kidneys (ick). But a few words did stick. A punto means cooked medium and vino tinto is red wine. Papas fritas a la provenzal are french fries seasoned with garlic and parsley. And then there are the desserts. My eyes got really wide when I heard about alfajores, cookies stuffed with sweet, creamy dulce de leche. I can't think of anything I'd rather eat, especially with a strong cafe con leche (or, in my case, a cafe con mucho leche).

So we're almost off. The next few days will be guaranteed mayhem. I'm scribbling little notes to myself ("Pack white linen dress," "Buy sunscreen," "Cucurucho means ice cream cone") and I'm non-stop doing laundry. Three weeks in a foreign country... it's no joke.

But, once I take those last two typhoid pills and maneuver the pile of skirts and sandals into my suitcase, it'll eventually be time to get on that flight. I won't sleep much, maybe an hour, and then we'll land, just as I'm falling asleep.

I have sketchy ideas of what to expect... there's talk of tango, and cobblestone streets in San Telmo, and hot afternoons in vineyards, and dinners that start at 10pm.

But, from all accounts, I know this much: we'll be in a dream.

"Sugar, sugar.... honey, honey"

Writing about pie got me thinking about desserts generally. Here a few of my favorite bakeries, shops, cookbooks, and desserts:

Flour Bakery, Cambridge, MA and Boston, MA. All locations are great, but you’ve got to time your visit right. Otherwise, you’ll be fending off yuppie parents who use their strollers as weapons and think baby spit-up is adorable. I love babies, but spit-up just isn’t cute. But, back to the bakery – Flour is terrific and I’ve never been disappointed. I always order the roast beef sandwich (hold the onions and horseradish), an iced latte, and a treat, usually a scone.

Madeleines at Café Boulud, New York, NY. At the end of your dinner, warm, buttery madeleines arrive, snugly wrapped up in a white linen napkin. Just unreal.

Truffles from La Maison du Chocolat, New York, NY.  I like buying a tiny coffret of two truffles or stopping in for a hot chocolate at the Rockefeller Plaza location. We’ve been known to detour for hot chocolate en route to LaGuardia. We’re highly committed chocolate lovers.

Maida Heatter’s Book of Great American Desserts. Sometimes, I read the directions and I think “Good lord, that’s complicated” or “She’s asking me to do what?” Just do it. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the undisputed queen of desserts. I’ve made and shipped her chocolate cheesecake brownies to lucky recipients all over the country. But, to fess up, I do make some modifications. After all, every baker’s got to have some secrets….

Alice Medrich’s Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-in-Your-Mouth Cookies. A recent gift. I’m impressed by her thoughtfulness and the number of variations she gives for each cookie. These recipes definitely went through some serious testing. When I decide to get down to business and work on macarons, her recipe will be the first I’ll try.

Katharine Hepburn’s Brownie Recipe. A friend recently asked for my brownie recipe: It’s all Hepburn’s genius. I’ve been making these brownies since I was seven and had a lemonade stand. The lemonade stand was very successful and I had to open a savings account.

Haagen-Dazs. Ice cream solves all problems. But only good ice cream. And I can always justify paying five bucks a pint if it’s this good.  My favorite? Chocolate. I’m a purist. 

My Life Has Been Punctuated by Pies

My first pie memory is apple pie during a weekend on a farm in New Jersey. I was tiny – maybe three or four – but I remember my bite of the warm pie.

And then, somewhere along the way, I became a baker.

There was the pecan pie episode of 2005 when I baked more pies than I’d care to remember… pie after pie after pie. I got the filling down beautifully, but never perfected the crust to my liking. I hate Crisco with a fiery passion so I always tried to leave out the shortening. Thinking about shortening sends shivers down my spine.  And opening up a can of shortening is my own version of hell. It gives crusts a greasy texture that I really dislike – besides, it doesn’t even taste good – but unfortunately most recipes still depend on it. I ultimately waved the white flag of defeat and moved on to brownies. So, I have unfinished business with pecan pies.

And then there was the peanut butter chocolate pie of 2007. Damn good pie. I only bring out this pie when someone has done something really, really good and deserves pie. Pie is a privilege, not a god-given right. This pie made reappearances in February 2008 and November 2010.  It’s sort of like Elvis: every few years, there’s a sighting. Like I said, this is special pie.

But, right now, I’ve got fruit pie on my mind. Can you believe I’ve never made a fruit pie? I’ve made a lemon curd tart (Patricia Wells’ Lemon Lover’s Tart recipe is lovely and has made me new friends) but I’ve never made a pie with whole pieces of fruit.

So, we’re hosting a dinner party in about a month and I’m already planning pie for dessert. But, what kind? It’s not apple pie season, and the peaches are nowhere near sweet enough.  I’ve never liked rhubarb and I’m not about to start now. We’re in the no man’s land between the apples and pears of autumn and the berries of summer.

I have no back-up plan yet. I don’t like ending a great meal by bringing out a plate of cookies. I’m a huge fan of cookies and biscotti, but sometimes there’s no magic, no surprise, no zsa zsa zsu. I’d love to make macarons, but I’m afraid I’d be in over my head (Check out the interview with Annie Pambaguian, a supremely talented pâtissière, on Spicelines: Annie spent a whole year teaching herself to make macarons.).

Cheesecake might be good. Or buttermilk pie.  You see, I’m going for a crowd pleaser here. So, maybe, I’ll take up the gauntlet. I can see it now: Me versus the pecan pie, part two. 

* If you're a baker, amateur or otherwise, I'd love to hear about the dessert that you've always tried to perfect. Shoot me an email at runfasttravelslow[at]gmail[dot]com or leave a comment. 

Currently...

Baking chocolate chip walnut cookies… no brown sugar in the pantry, so I’m subbing maple sugar

Recovering from a brutal 5K…  oh, the things I do to set a personal record

Making my list and checking it twice…. that is, my packing list for three weeks in Argentina

Boston, Brick by Brick

My favorite part of Boston, by far, is the mix of old and new, that the tiny Old State House is nestled among law firms and investment banks and that Faneuil Hall has a lookalike in Graham Gund’s postmodern creation, One Faneuil Hall Square. The Old Corner Bookstore seems to have been forgotten and sits empty, while suited-up men turn up the collars of their trench coats against the chill. 

I walk down Cambridge Street, turning once or twice to look at the six-story, curved Sears Crescent building against the backdrop of the Financial District’s shiny, glass skyscrapers. I randomly pick a side street and I swing left, up into Beacon Hill. I really don’t know my way, and I’m running late, but I have my camera out and I stop to photograph a budding flower. It’s not spring here – March is fickle – but, today, it’s easy to think that warmer weather might be on the way. 

This afternoon is stunning – sunshine glints off the lampposts and lights up the brick facades. Boston at its best. As I come down one of those streets named after a tree – I forget which one – and I find Beacon Street, the afternoon is suddenly more beautiful than I can believe. But I really am running late and, as I shield my eyes from the sun, I walk faster towards Back Bay and leave the afternoon behind.    

Nothing Is Better than....

• Fresh, homemade challah for brunch*
• A hour and a half of vinyasa yoga with live drumming
• "Rehab" remix featuring Jay-Z by Amy Winehouse
• Making dinner reservations in far-away cities... it's almost time to go traveling again
• A batch of chocolate biscotti baking in the oven

* Mark Bittman's Challah recipe works well, with some fudging. I use a standing mixer and only nine cups of milk and I add much more flour than he does to get the right consistency. The warm challah is addictive and best served up with coffee and the newspaper.

The Best 6 Minutes of My Day

YouTube, aka my personal DJ, is home to some of the most amazing remixes. This remix of Ray Charles' I Got A Woman and Kanye's Gold Digger made me do some pirouettes and also some really bad pop-and-locking.

A little impromptou dance happens pretty often around here. I'm not one to free-style yoga... ever. But this changed my mind:

First, natarajasana (dancer pose).

Next up, my favorite: vrksasana (tree pose). I can almost hear the voice of my instructor: "Spread your branches!" Well, never mind about the branches. But I'm looking for a challenge, so I extend both arms and move my gaze upwards.

Just because I like a pretzel, I try garudasana (eagle pose). It's one of the only poses that forces this type A personality to just. stop. thinking. I move my intertwined arms away from my forehead and breathe. And, when I fall out of the pose and keel over, my only thought is, "Let's try that again." This time, it takes.

With thirty seconds left, I re-group. Tadasana (mountain pose).

Give it a try. Or, better yet, remix it.