Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Hurricane that Wasn't & Cashew-Toffee Clusters
Sunday was going to be a stormy day, an epic day, the first time any of us had experienced a hurricane in Boston.
It wasn't.
But I stuck to the plan. I woke up, pulled on my Hunter boots, and ran to get coffee down the street. And then I started to bake.
But, I'm not really into delayed gratification. So then I made these:
Cashew-Toffee Clusters. They're nutty, sweet, and chewy, with little pieces of crunchy toffee. They're good with a glass of milk, when you want something small and sweet, when it's rainy outside... or when there's a perfectly clear sky. So, basically anytime.
1/2 stick unsalted butter
1/4 cup canola oil
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup cashew butter (any nut butter would work)
2 cups old-fashioned oatmeal
Approx. 1/3 pound coarsely chopped toffee (you can use 4 1.4 ounce Heath bars instead)
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a saucepan over moderate heat, combine the butter, oil, and sugar and bring to a boil. Take the saucepan off the heat and stir in 1/2 cup of the cashew butter.
Pour the mixture over the oatmeal and stir well. Add the remaining 1/4 cup of the cashew butter. Stir in the chopped toffee pieces.
Use a tablespoon to scoop out balls of oatmeal and place the clusters on the baking sheet. It is easiest if you firmly pack the oatmeal into the tablespoon and then tap the tablespoon against the sheet to release the oatmeal. Refrigerate for at least one hour. The clusters will last several days if kept refrigerated. Makes approximately 30 clusters.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Let's Get Happy: Double Chocolate Chip Cookies
I'm meeting friends for lunch in Back Bay. I'm bringing cookies. They just don't know it yet.
And I have dinner plans as well. They're getting cookies too.
Baking makes me happy. Sharing what I make with others makes me happy.
Cookies are happy. And double chocolate chip cookies are irrefutably happy. These are buttery, crumbly, and studded with chocolate chips. There's almost an equal ratio of cocoa powder and flour.
They're for when you're really serious about chocolate and having a good time.
Double Chocolate Chip Cookies
2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
Canola oil (to grease baking sheet)
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly grease baking sheet with canola oil and set aside.
Cream together the butter and sugar with a fork until fluffy. Add the eggs one by one and the vanilla extract, mixing well after each addition.
Sift together the cocoa powder, flour, and baking soda in a separate bowl. Add the flour mixture to the butter and egg mixture all at once and mix well. Add the chocolate chips and stir to combine.
Scoop out two tablespoonfuls of batter at a time and form into a cookie shape. Place each on the baking sheet. Bake the cookies for 10 minutes. Let the cookies cool on the sheet for 3 - 4 minutes then use a spatula to lift them off the sheet. Makes approximately 20 cookies.... just enough to share.
And I have dinner plans as well. They're getting cookies too.
Baking makes me happy. Sharing what I make with others makes me happy.
Cookies are happy. And double chocolate chip cookies are irrefutably happy. These are buttery, crumbly, and studded with chocolate chips. There's almost an equal ratio of cocoa powder and flour.
They're for when you're really serious about chocolate and having a good time.
Double Chocolate Chip Cookies
2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
Canola oil (to grease baking sheet)
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly grease baking sheet with canola oil and set aside.
Cream together the butter and sugar with a fork until fluffy. Add the eggs one by one and the vanilla extract, mixing well after each addition.
Sift together the cocoa powder, flour, and baking soda in a separate bowl. Add the flour mixture to the butter and egg mixture all at once and mix well. Add the chocolate chips and stir to combine.
Scoop out two tablespoonfuls of batter at a time and form into a cookie shape. Place each on the baking sheet. Bake the cookies for 10 minutes. Let the cookies cool on the sheet for 3 - 4 minutes then use a spatula to lift them off the sheet. Makes approximately 20 cookies.... just enough to share.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Downtown Crossing: The Mingling of Past & Present
"Nature and man have combined to divide Boston into eight distinct and sharply defined districts, each with its own personality, its own flavor, and its own romantic history. Each district has its colorful past, its vivid present, and its promising future." -- George V. Weston, Jr. in Boston Ways (Beacon Press, 1957)
Downtown Crossing is a funny place. It is betwixt and between -- it is neither the Financial District nor Chinatown nor the Common. The jewelry stores and the fine Italianate details of the Filene's building remind us of Downtown Crossing's glory days -- when it was the place to shop and be seen -- but the massive hole in the ground nearby reminds us of its economically depressed reality.
I move down Washington Street and across the invisible boundary between Downtown Crossing and the Financial District. Right in front of the soon-to-close Borders, a dance crew has set up. They energize the crowd ("Showtime! Showtime!") with flips and turns. And they're clever too: "Obama wants change... we want dollars!"
I retrace my steps and I cut over to Tremont Street. At Thinking Cup, I don't hesitate. I haven't had coffee yet today and I want an iced latte. I'm thrilled to see that Thinking Cup brews Stumptown -- it's the first cafe in downtown Boston to carry Stumptown. I know where I'll be buying my beans from now on. The barista looks up, calls out my name, and knocks two shots of espresso into the waiting cup of milk, ice, and foam.
The cafe -- glass topped tables, brown leather banquettes, and black chalkboards -- is a welcome addition to the area, where there are few independent coffee options. Customers are a mix of college students -- all Converse sneakers and spiral notebooks -- and businessmen. There's a hum of chatter and the music goes straight from Thievery Corporation to Ella Fitzgerald. I like it and I want to come back to have the French Hot Chocolate.
I come back the way I came. And there's lots to stop and look at.
On West Street, I stop short when I see the carts and bookshelves of books that have taken over a small parking lot. Totally retro psychology and sociology textbooks, political texts, classics and books of poetry in metal carts, against brick walls and a true blue sky.
I find a 1957 book entitled Boston Ways, a history of this city with black and white photographs.
The book has that old, musty smell and, when I go into Brattle Book Shop to pay the $5 price, the air is thick with the same smell. And, a few pages into the book, there's a photo of Brattle Book Shop in the 50's. I compare: Downtown Crossing then, Downtown Crossing now.
What is its future?
Downtown Crossing is a funny place. It is betwixt and between -- it is neither the Financial District nor Chinatown nor the Common. The jewelry stores and the fine Italianate details of the Filene's building remind us of Downtown Crossing's glory days -- when it was the place to shop and be seen -- but the massive hole in the ground nearby reminds us of its economically depressed reality.
I move down Washington Street and across the invisible boundary between Downtown Crossing and the Financial District. Right in front of the soon-to-close Borders, a dance crew has set up. They energize the crowd ("Showtime! Showtime!") with flips and turns. And they're clever too: "Obama wants change... we want dollars!"
I come back the way I came. And there's lots to stop and look at.
 |
| At Sabella Couture |
On West Street, I stop short when I see the carts and bookshelves of books that have taken over a small parking lot. Totally retro psychology and sociology textbooks, political texts, classics and books of poetry in metal carts, against brick walls and a true blue sky.
The book has that old, musty smell and, when I go into Brattle Book Shop to pay the $5 price, the air is thick with the same smell. And, a few pages into the book, there's a photo of Brattle Book Shop in the 50's. I compare: Downtown Crossing then, Downtown Crossing now.
What is its future?
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Running the Waterfront
I jog from South Station to meet E and fifty others for a 5K fun run in the Seaport. It's a spectacular Boston evening, one of those evenings that makes me fall more in love with this city. The perfect golden afternoon meets the blue dusk, lighting up the waterfront.
E is fast. She sets the pace and I stay with her, as we cross the metal Northern Avenue bridge and move down Atlantic Avenue. This is my second workout of the day -- I spent sixty minutes with a barbell this morning and muscle fatigue is already setting in. But the speed feels good. It hurts so good.
We pass the Aquarium and whip around the end of Long Wharf. The waterfront is busy and fifty runners attract attention as we blast down the sidewalks. There's some clapping and cheering and I just barely hear a woman cry out, "Keep running!" I plan on it. I always will.
The halfway point comes at 11 minutes and some odd seconds. We go back the way we came and E's pace never falters. When we pass the Chart House and look up at the Custom House, I say, "Pretty!" and E agrees. Our feet pounding the concrete, we talk a little and breathe hard.
We reach Strega Waterfront at 22:28. Frank Sinatra pours out of Strega and it's lovely. I've never ended a run with jazz.
E is fast. She sets the pace and I stay with her, as we cross the metal Northern Avenue bridge and move down Atlantic Avenue. This is my second workout of the day -- I spent sixty minutes with a barbell this morning and muscle fatigue is already setting in. But the speed feels good. It hurts so good.
We pass the Aquarium and whip around the end of Long Wharf. The waterfront is busy and fifty runners attract attention as we blast down the sidewalks. There's some clapping and cheering and I just barely hear a woman cry out, "Keep running!" I plan on it. I always will.
The halfway point comes at 11 minutes and some odd seconds. We go back the way we came and E's pace never falters. When we pass the Chart House and look up at the Custom House, I say, "Pretty!" and E agrees. Our feet pounding the concrete, we talk a little and breathe hard.
We reach Strega Waterfront at 22:28. Frank Sinatra pours out of Strega and it's lovely. I've never ended a run with jazz.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Baked Love: Walnut-Honey Granola Cookies
The last few days have been hazy. The air is hot and thick outside and the sky is threatening.
And I'm hazy too. The rush-rush-rush of moving is over and life is a little slower now.
So I'm getting back to what I love.
I'm reading a book so good that I'm doing what I did when I was ten years old: I'm walking down the street and reading. This is dangerous. Especially in Boston, where so many sidewalks are made up of uneven bricks. But, even when I stub my toe, I keep on reading.
I'm dancing. Yesterday, in a dance studio high above street level, with air so heavy that the fans didn't make a difference, I counted out eight counts and moved across the wooden floor. Chainé and soutenu turns are so amazing paired with hip hop music.
I'm baking. I made walnut granola with a little cinnamon and honey and, when I didn't really feel like a bowl of cereal, I turned the granola into cookies. Buttery, nutty cookies.
And then I did the clichéd thing you can do when you live alone. Between bites of cookies, I grabbed the milk out of the fridge and drank right from the pint.
Walnut-Honey Granola Cookies
For the granola:
2 cups old-fashioned oats
2 tablespoons honey
4 tablespoons canola oil
1 1/2 cup walnut pieces
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.
Combine the oats, walnuts, and cinnamon. Add the honey and canola oil and mix well.
Spread the oats evenly on a baking sheet and bake for 30 minutes, stirring frequently (at a minimum, every 10 minutes). Use a spatula to scrape the granola off the sheet and let cool for 10 minutes.
For the cookie dough:
2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 2/3 cup all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Canola oil (to grease baking sheet)
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Mix the butter and sugar well. Add the eggs one by one, beating well with a fork after each addition. Add the vanilla extract and honey and stir well after each addition.
Sift the flour, baking soda, and cinnamon together. Add to the butter mixture and stir well. Add all of the cooled granola and stir well.
Drop 2 - 3 rounded tablespoons of dough onto a baking sheet lightly greased with canola oil. Bake for 10 minutes. Makes approximately 20 cookies.
And I'm hazy too. The rush-rush-rush of moving is over and life is a little slower now.
So I'm getting back to what I love.
I'm reading a book so good that I'm doing what I did when I was ten years old: I'm walking down the street and reading. This is dangerous. Especially in Boston, where so many sidewalks are made up of uneven bricks. But, even when I stub my toe, I keep on reading.
I'm dancing. Yesterday, in a dance studio high above street level, with air so heavy that the fans didn't make a difference, I counted out eight counts and moved across the wooden floor. Chainé and soutenu turns are so amazing paired with hip hop music.
I'm baking. I made walnut granola with a little cinnamon and honey and, when I didn't really feel like a bowl of cereal, I turned the granola into cookies. Buttery, nutty cookies.
And then I did the clichéd thing you can do when you live alone. Between bites of cookies, I grabbed the milk out of the fridge and drank right from the pint.
Walnut-Honey Granola Cookies
For the granola:
2 cups old-fashioned oats
2 tablespoons honey
4 tablespoons canola oil
1 1/2 cup walnut pieces
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.
Combine the oats, walnuts, and cinnamon. Add the honey and canola oil and mix well.
Spread the oats evenly on a baking sheet and bake for 30 minutes, stirring frequently (at a minimum, every 10 minutes). Use a spatula to scrape the granola off the sheet and let cool for 10 minutes.
For the cookie dough:
2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 2/3 cup all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Canola oil (to grease baking sheet)
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Mix the butter and sugar well. Add the eggs one by one, beating well with a fork after each addition. Add the vanilla extract and honey and stir well after each addition.
Sift the flour, baking soda, and cinnamon together. Add to the butter mixture and stir well. Add all of the cooled granola and stir well.
Drop 2 - 3 rounded tablespoons of dough onto a baking sheet lightly greased with canola oil. Bake for 10 minutes. Makes approximately 20 cookies.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Casualties
My hands. They are raw from ripping open boxes and using a screwdriver.
A bottle of Grey Goose. It's tragic, really. The cork popped out en route to my new apartment and the entire bottle leaked. But L brought over a new bottle as a gift. Sometimes, L is psychic.
My coffee press. It was sitting on the edge of the sink. And then it leapt to its death. And broke in a million pieces. This was not okay, because being highly caffeinated is not a choice but a necessity when you're staying up until 2am assembling furniture. Three nights in a row. Ow.
But the casualties are worth it. I look up from my coffee table -- champagne flutes and cupcakes split four ways -- and at the three people sitting around the table. And I wonder how I got here and why I'm so lucky. And I realize this is how it was always meant to be. I just didn't know it for a really long time.
A bottle of Grey Goose. It's tragic, really. The cork popped out en route to my new apartment and the entire bottle leaked. But L brought over a new bottle as a gift. Sometimes, L is psychic.
My coffee press. It was sitting on the edge of the sink. And then it leapt to its death. And broke in a million pieces. This was not okay, because being highly caffeinated is not a choice but a necessity when you're staying up until 2am assembling furniture. Three nights in a row. Ow.
But the casualties are worth it. I look up from my coffee table -- champagne flutes and cupcakes split four ways -- and at the three people sitting around the table. And I wonder how I got here and why I'm so lucky. And I realize this is how it was always meant to be. I just didn't know it for a really long time.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
My Cross-Town Move
1 -- Dunkin Donuts iced coffee
104 -- minutes spent moving
50 -- feet I drove the U-Haul
9 -- feet of clearance needed for the U-Haul
10 -- feet of clearance on Storrow Drive
2 -- Starbucks iced lattes
9 -- boxes unpacked
3 -- times I listened to "Boogie Shoes" by KC and the Sunshine Band
16 -- episodes of Melrose Place watched during the unpacking
4 -- champagne flutes found that I didn't remember I owned
48 -- hours and counting of decorating
3 -- bags of groceries
1 -- piece of furniture left to be assembled
104 -- minutes spent moving
50 -- feet I drove the U-Haul
9 -- feet of clearance needed for the U-Haul
10 -- feet of clearance on Storrow Drive
2 -- Starbucks iced lattes
9 -- boxes unpacked
3 -- times I listened to "Boogie Shoes" by KC and the Sunshine Band
16 -- episodes of Melrose Place watched during the unpacking
4 -- champagne flutes found that I didn't remember I owned
48 -- hours and counting of decorating
3 -- bags of groceries
1 -- piece of furniture left to be assembled
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Gratitude
I'm walking across the Beacon Street overpass near Fenway. There's absolutely nothing attractive about this overpass. The barrier walls are cement topped with wire; the Mass Pike is below.
I ran across this overpass during the Boston Marathon a few years ago. I remember looking up at the Citgo sign and feeling --- not knowing, but feeling --- that the finish line was near. I had never seen the Citgo sign before that day. There were strong winds and few crowds on the overpass. I ran through the tunnel of wind and then descended into a tunnel of noise as the crowds got bigger and bigger close to Copley Square. I picked up a little speed, as much as I possibly could.
I ran that day with a pinched nerve and I finished. I've liked the overpass ever since. And I've crossed it many times in late night runs.
Today, I'm walking quickly. And I stop. I stop and I stand there. Because I'm grateful. I'm grateful for finishing that Marathon. I'm grateful for all my body does and for all that I put it through. On Monday, I'll start training again for a 10K. And I've never had to give it a second thought. I know I can run.
I'm grateful to this piece of concrete that always reminds me of the power of my body and the sheer force of my will.
And I'm grateful to Boston for giving me this moment.
I ran across this overpass during the Boston Marathon a few years ago. I remember looking up at the Citgo sign and feeling --- not knowing, but feeling --- that the finish line was near. I had never seen the Citgo sign before that day. There were strong winds and few crowds on the overpass. I ran through the tunnel of wind and then descended into a tunnel of noise as the crowds got bigger and bigger close to Copley Square. I picked up a little speed, as much as I possibly could.
I ran that day with a pinched nerve and I finished. I've liked the overpass ever since. And I've crossed it many times in late night runs.
Today, I'm walking quickly. And I stop. I stop and I stand there. Because I'm grateful. I'm grateful for finishing that Marathon. I'm grateful for all my body does and for all that I put it through. On Monday, I'll start training again for a 10K. And I've never had to give it a second thought. I know I can run.
I'm grateful to this piece of concrete that always reminds me of the power of my body and the sheer force of my will.
And I'm grateful to Boston for giving me this moment.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Champagne on the Common
At 6:20, I walk into Mitchell Gold + Bob Williams.
At 6:45, I walk out, having custom-ordered a new sofa. That's what I call getting things done.
I chose a slate grey abstract print. It's going to look phenomenal. I can't wait.
And by 8, L, E, and I are sprawled out on Boston Common. We have three blankets and burritos. E brought a bottle of champagne and the rest of her frozen fudge birthday cake. We're here to see All's Well That Ends Well at Shakespeare on the Common.
But Shakespeare doesn't have a chance. Because we eat the cake and E opens up the champagne (as discreetly as possible of course, because we don't really want to get arrested). And we lie on our stomachs in a circle and catch up. It's like a slumber party. With champagne. Under the stars. We plan out the rest of our summer -- tennis games and rooftop cocktail parties -- and Shakespeare provides a little ambiance.
At 6:45, I walk out, having custom-ordered a new sofa. That's what I call getting things done.
I chose a slate grey abstract print. It's going to look phenomenal. I can't wait.
And by 8, L, E, and I are sprawled out on Boston Common. We have three blankets and burritos. E brought a bottle of champagne and the rest of her frozen fudge birthday cake. We're here to see All's Well That Ends Well at Shakespeare on the Common.
But Shakespeare doesn't have a chance. Because we eat the cake and E opens up the champagne (as discreetly as possible of course, because we don't really want to get arrested). And we lie on our stomachs in a circle and catch up. It's like a slumber party. With champagne. Under the stars. We plan out the rest of our summer -- tennis games and rooftop cocktail parties -- and Shakespeare provides a little ambiance.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
100 Minutes in Ikea and a Visit to City Hall
I'm moving to a new apartment soon. I'm not very good at moving. But I couldn't be more excited. When I go to bed every night, I think about color swatches and framed prints. And then I can't go to sleep, so I find myself playing Solitaire on my iPhone at 1am.
I went to the IKEA store in Stoughton yesterday. I was prepared. I brought a list -- with item names, serial numbers, and prices. I brought snacks -- an apple, a bottle of water, a Larabar, and an iced coffee. And I had a time limit. I power-walked the whole time. I power-walked through the showroom, head whipping side to side. When the arrows led me through the children's section, I walked even faster.
I took measurements in my new apartment. I took photos (they're labeled "future site of my bed" and "future site of sofa"). And then I realized I need a moving permit from the City of Boston.
So I went to City Hall. I paid my $8 for the signs and $55 for the permit. It was my first time in City Hall. Hard to believe, right?
Someone at City Hall likes to decorate.
L and I have been texting about sofas. Actually, we've been texting about several different topics. Our conversations overlap. We text back and forth fast like gunfire. Sofas. Blue or grey. Blue. Sofa or loveseat. Loveseat. And we cope with the iPhone auto-correction. Because sometimes "Pilates" becomes "oilseed" and "work-a-holic" becomes "work-a-holocaust."
I swear I'll get back to cooking and running and writing soon. I swear. But my mixing bowls and my tennis racket are already packed. And right now I need to go find a new sofa.
I went to the IKEA store in Stoughton yesterday. I was prepared. I brought a list -- with item names, serial numbers, and prices. I brought snacks -- an apple, a bottle of water, a Larabar, and an iced coffee. And I had a time limit. I power-walked the whole time. I power-walked through the showroom, head whipping side to side. When the arrows led me through the children's section, I walked even faster.
I took measurements in my new apartment. I took photos (they're labeled "future site of my bed" and "future site of sofa"). And then I realized I need a moving permit from the City of Boston.
So I went to City Hall. I paid my $8 for the signs and $55 for the permit. It was my first time in City Hall. Hard to believe, right?
Someone at City Hall likes to decorate.
L and I have been texting about sofas. Actually, we've been texting about several different topics. Our conversations overlap. We text back and forth fast like gunfire. Sofas. Blue or grey. Blue. Sofa or loveseat. Loveseat. And we cope with the iPhone auto-correction. Because sometimes "Pilates" becomes "oilseed" and "work-a-holic" becomes "work-a-holocaust."
I swear I'll get back to cooking and running and writing soon. I swear. But my mixing bowls and my tennis racket are already packed. And right now I need to go find a new sofa.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Breakfast, Brunch or Lunch?: Saturday Morning at South Street Diner
At South Street Diner, A and I can't decide what to order. I came with the intention of ordering blueberry pancakes and coffee. A is thinking about eggs.
But there are sweet potato fries. And there's a grilled cheese sandwich. We go back and forth and our waitress, who has fantastic dyed red hair, gives us all the time we need ("I'm here until 6!"). I like the place already. I can see why it has loyal fans and why it'll be the subject of an upcoming documentary.
A asks if I want to split a frappe. I do. Absolutely. Then A looks straight at me: "Wait, what flavor?" The choices are vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate. I vote for chocolate and A is relieved. We start dead-panning. This is what A and I do. A says any other choice would have called our friendship into question and I agree ("We would have had to call off brunch.").
We place our order: a grilled cheese sandwich with onion rings for A, a grilled chicken salad with balsamic vinaigrette plus a side of sweet potato fries for me. And the frappe obviously. We don't bother ordering it extra thick, because our waitress promises that her regular frappes are plenty thick. And she's right. It's a great frappe and it's hard to find good frappes in Boston. And I'm really into frappes (even though, where I'm from, they're called milkshakes).
My salad is huge and much better than I expected. I tear off pieces of pita bread and roll up the mixed greens and chicken. We pile all of our fries onto one plate and graze. A isn't wild about the onion rings, but I like my sweet potato fries (though I don't know why they're listed under "Healthy Choices" on the menu).
The diner is a little retro and a lot of fun. I beg A to get in the photo booth with me. We try to plan out our three shots, but we're not so good at synchronization. The photos turn out cute though. And when we're leaving, we see the mechanical horse out on the patio, mixed in among lounge chairs. I make a beeline for it. Obviously.
But there are sweet potato fries. And there's a grilled cheese sandwich. We go back and forth and our waitress, who has fantastic dyed red hair, gives us all the time we need ("I'm here until 6!"). I like the place already. I can see why it has loyal fans and why it'll be the subject of an upcoming documentary.
A asks if I want to split a frappe. I do. Absolutely. Then A looks straight at me: "Wait, what flavor?" The choices are vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate. I vote for chocolate and A is relieved. We start dead-panning. This is what A and I do. A says any other choice would have called our friendship into question and I agree ("We would have had to call off brunch.").
We place our order: a grilled cheese sandwich with onion rings for A, a grilled chicken salad with balsamic vinaigrette plus a side of sweet potato fries for me. And the frappe obviously. We don't bother ordering it extra thick, because our waitress promises that her regular frappes are plenty thick. And she's right. It's a great frappe and it's hard to find good frappes in Boston. And I'm really into frappes (even though, where I'm from, they're called milkshakes).
 |
| My half of the frappe |
My salad is huge and much better than I expected. I tear off pieces of pita bread and roll up the mixed greens and chicken. We pile all of our fries onto one plate and graze. A isn't wild about the onion rings, but I like my sweet potato fries (though I don't know why they're listed under "Healthy Choices" on the menu).
The diner is a little retro and a lot of fun. I beg A to get in the photo booth with me. We try to plan out our three shots, but we're not so good at synchronization. The photos turn out cute though. And when we're leaving, we see the mechanical horse out on the patio, mixed in among lounge chairs. I make a beeline for it. Obviously.
Friday, August 5, 2011
My Week, in Desserts
Tuesday: I had a few hours before yoga class. So I made apple-raisin-oatmeal bars.
Wednesday: L and I made a two-layer yellow cake, with milk chocolate icing. I hope the birthday boy liked it.
Thursday: I got home from work and made something up. Sugar cookie batter balls, dipped in chocolate. You should make them. Soon.
Friday: S came home with a strawberry shortcake cupcake from Sweet for me. S is the best.
Chocolate-Dipped Sugar Cookie Batter Balls
1 stick butter, softened
1 cup and 2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 tablespoons plain yogurt (I use non-fat)
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup chocolate chips
Beat the butter and sugar with a hand mixer until light and fluffy, about three minutes. Beat in the vanilla extract and the yogurt, mixing well after each addition.
Sift together the flour and the baking soda Add it all at once to the butter and sugar mixture and beat until incorporated.
Scoop out tablespoons of cookie dough and roll into balls. Flatten each ball slightly so that each has a flat base. Place the balls on a cookie sheet. Refrigerate for forty-five minutes.
Melt the cup of chocolate chips in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring to prevent it from burning.
Dip the cookie dough balls into the melted chocolate. I find it's easiest if you hold the cookie dough ball by the flat base and rotate the rounded top through a spoonful of chocolate. And be careful -- the chocolate will be hot.
Refrigerate the balls for at least forty-minutes or until the chocolate is fully hardened. The batter balls will last for several days if you refrigerate them.
Wednesday: L and I made a two-layer yellow cake, with milk chocolate icing. I hope the birthday boy liked it.
Thursday: I got home from work and made something up. Sugar cookie batter balls, dipped in chocolate. You should make them. Soon.
Chocolate-Dipped Sugar Cookie Batter Balls
1 cup and 2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 tablespoons plain yogurt (I use non-fat)
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup chocolate chips
Beat the butter and sugar with a hand mixer until light and fluffy, about three minutes. Beat in the vanilla extract and the yogurt, mixing well after each addition.
Sift together the flour and the baking soda Add it all at once to the butter and sugar mixture and beat until incorporated.
Scoop out tablespoons of cookie dough and roll into balls. Flatten each ball slightly so that each has a flat base. Place the balls on a cookie sheet. Refrigerate for forty-five minutes.
Melt the cup of chocolate chips in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring to prevent it from burning.
Dip the cookie dough balls into the melted chocolate. I find it's easiest if you hold the cookie dough ball by the flat base and rotate the rounded top through a spoonful of chocolate. And be careful -- the chocolate will be hot.
Refrigerate the balls for at least forty-minutes or until the chocolate is fully hardened. The batter balls will last for several days if you refrigerate them.
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