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I don’t really like buying people gifts for religious holidays, or any other holidays that seem to come with an expectation of spending money on people (Valentine’s Day, anyone?) I never know what will make a good gift, and I always end up second-guessing my choices once I HAVE bought something.
However, my good friend Yvette has always been one to give presents on the proper occasion. Every year she sends me two packages; one for my birthday, and one for Christmas. Since I wanted to return her kind gesture, I waited until after the winter holidays had passed, then sent her a link to this blog I created.
In addition to not liking to buy presents, I’m also not very original. I gave Yvette the same gift I gave my husband’s sister for her wedding: a year of cookies, picked from the menu on the blog and delivered monthly. In any case, I think it’s much more exciting than anything I could buy in a store. Yvette’s January flavor request was brown butter honey financiers, which I baked from this recipe. I used some local wildflower honey and browned the butter until it was quite dark. Since I don’t have financier molds, I baked them in well-buttered muffin tins. Mine ended up taking five minutes longer than the original recipe, probably because of the size of my muffin tin. The pictures don’t really do these cakes justice, because I am a terrible photographer at night, but you get the idea.
This picture is very orange. Orange silpat, golden cakes, poor nighttime lighting.
Up close and personal.
I think the next time I make these, I’ll toast the almonds first, since the raw almond meal I used didn’t contribute much in the way of almond flavor. Not that these were at all lacking; they came out perfectly, and filled my kitchen with the scent of browned butter and honey. Perfect with a cup of tea! Now I just have to pack them very carefully so they arrive in New Orleans in decent condition.
Since you’re all just dying to know where my favorite breakfast and brunch can be found, I figured I’d do a little photoessay. And I’m sure people are bound to disagree with me, but remember: these are just the personal opinions of one teeny little lady. (Though if you ask me, my opinion is generally the truth.)
There’s been a bit of a competition for my number one lately, but improperly cooked eggs knocked Rue Cler down to number two. Back at number one?
Vin Rouge Sunday brunch. I’ve been going to Vin Rouge for brunch fairly regularly since we moved here in July of 2008, and never had a bad meal. Sure, there’s been the occasional under-or-overpoached egg, and sometimes the service is a little rushed, but I don’t really care; I’m just there for the hollandaise sauce. And french fries. I don’t generally give a crap about french fries, but these here fries are delicious, especially dipped in hollandaise. Delicious enough to make me forget that my father had a heart attack when he was in his thirties, if that means anything to you.
Second on the list:
Rue Cler Bakery and yes, I do mean the bakery cafe, I just don’t have any actually photos of it. In fact, I stole this photo from Rue Cler’s website. I’m sure they’d approve. Right? Until very recently Rue Cler was a solid number one; my go-to breakfast on a Saturday morning before work and the farmers’ market. The last couple times I’ve been there, however, my eggs have been overcooked, and I HATE overcooked egg yolks. Now, to be fair, maybe they don’t actually have any standard way of cooking the eggs when you order the egg and cheese sandwich, and I’ve been lucky enough to get my eggs over-easy most times. In any case, I’m sure if I actually specified HOW I wanted my eggs cooked they’d be kind enough to oblige. But since I come from a long and proud line of complainers (Long Island Jews AND West Indians, how do you like them apples?) it’s easier to just whine about something than to actually, you know, make a request.
Bonus: the barista who works most Saturday mornings is super cute, and they have the best scones and drip coffee in town. Just make sure to get there by 10.30, because that’s the cutoff time for breakfast. But if you do get there late, you can just head into the dining room for brunch, which starts at 11 on Saturdays and Sundays.
And now, top contender for “perfectly acceptable, but I probably wouldn’t go back”:
Piedmont Restaurant. To be fair, I’ve only been to brunch there once, but I’d rather go back for dinner. Nothing we got was bad, it was all just…okay. You know what I mean? If I were you, I’d go to Piedmont for the housemade pastas at dinnertime, but that’s just my opinion.
And now, the most attractive breakfast that I’ve had in my lifetime:
 
At the Fearrington Inn in Pittsboro. Breakfast was part of our stay; the husband and I spent a night at the Inn for our wedding anniversary. This place is SERIOUS business; the cheapest room will run you at least $275 a night, and it’s the kind of place where the bathrooms are stocked with Molton Brown (and have heated floors!) and someone brings you truffles in the evening. AND your stay includes a traditional English afternoon tea service.
But if you’re not rolling in the dough or celebrating a special occasion, their other on-site restaurant, the Granary, serves brunch every Saturday and Sunday. Between brunch, wandering the village, and checking out the adorable Belted Galloways that live on the property, you could make a day of it.
Well, I was going to conclude this post with a brunch hall of shame, but since I’m fairly new at this blogging thing, I’m not going to be an asshole just yet. HOWEVER, since my opinions are so important, I will say this: if you are a local restaurant serving breakfast, and you put animal products in your grits, you should really note that on the menu. I know that some places may use lard in their biscuits, or deep-fry meat alongside veg, but I don’t expect chicken stock in my grits. And I’ve been making grits for a long-ass time. And you know what else? If I’m eating brunch at a restaurant, I expect the server to offer coffee refills at least once.
Okay, I’m done now.
Vanilla bean wafers. Homemade. But from a box will do just fine; I was making this banana pudding as a birthday present and I wanted it to be the best banana pudding this person would ever eat. In their life. I want my friends to think of me fondly.
Dulce de leche. Also homemade. If you’re buying this at the grocery store, STOP NOW. No, seriously. A can of sweetened condensed milk can be found for less than a dollar; the only other ingredient is your time, of course. And it’s ridiculously easy and mostly hands off: just empty a can of sweetened condensed milk into a pie pan, cover the pan with foil, and bake it in a water bath at 400 degrees, stirring every 40 minutes or so until it’s turned into dulce de leche. Seriously, do it. Dulce de leche will change your life. (For better and worse, depending on whether or not you’ve got dental coverage.)
Assembling the pudding: a simple cornstarch-based vanilla pudding the likes of which most everyone’s got a recipe for. (I used Joy of Cooking, and stirred in some dulce de leche at the end.) Wafers. Bananas, ripe but not too ripe.
Topped with dulce de leche whipped cream. Yes, that’s whipped cream on my thumb. And yes, I have the hands of an eighty-year-old woman.
If the idea of making banana pudding doesn’t exactly excite you, I’ve heard from a couple folks that Elmo’s diner serves up the best banana pudding in the area, unless you don’t like your pudding topped with meringue.
Any product that has a picture of a dead lion surrounded by bees on it must be delicious, right? Right. I’m a little ashamed to admit that despite being a professional baker, I’d never given any thought to golden syrup until this weekend. My husband and I were lamenting the disappearance of Haagen Dazs sticky toffee pudding ice cream when we realized we’d never had the actual dessert (which, according to Wikipedia, is Johnny Depp’s favorite food. Learn something new every day.)
I used my favorite search engine to find a recipe and ended up with one from my imaginary bff David Lebovitz. After a cursory glance at the recipe I realized we’d have to go on a search for golden syrup. Fortunately, the Chapel Hill Whole Foods has a small British foods section, so finding it was easy. (If you can’t find it, you can substitute cane syrup or molasses, but I’d recommend searching it out since it has such a distinctive flavor.)
Unfortunately, I didn’t pay enough attention to the recipe to realize that the toffee sauce called for two cups of heavy cream. Oops. After a quick and frantic search on the internet, I came across a sauce recipe that only called for a quarter cup of cream, which I scooped out of my jug of non-homogenized milk. (Semi-related: the cream from non-homogenized milk tastes like vanilla ice cream. Whoa, dude.)
The sauce: half a cup of butter, half a cup of brown sugar (we used sucanat), a quarter cup of golden syrup, and a quarter cup of cream. We poured a little in the bottom of the cake pan, but reserved most of it for pouring on top of the cake. The nail files were not a part of the recipe.
The dates: simmer in a cup of water, add baking soda. And remember not to eat any of the simmered dates, because they taste like baking soda.
The cake, pre-oven. We used the David Lebovitz recipe for the cake even though I made a different sauce. Good decision.
Just out of the oven, before saucing. I made the mistake of sticking a fork into the center of the cake and then sticking said fork in my mouth. That sauce we poured on the bottom of the pan? MOLTEN FREAKING LAVA.
The cake, plated, with vanilla bean ice cream.
So, the cake was a bit of work to make, in case you can’t tell from all the pictures. Was it worth it? HELL YEAH, unless you hate dates/deliciousness/butter. I have to say, the golden syrup definitely has its own flavor. If I tell you it reminded me of salty honey, will you still make this delicious cake?
though it makes me feel the sort of creeping guilt that eating at Chubby’s does. As much as I try to buy my food from the farmers’ market and the beast that is Whole Foods, there’s something indescribably appealing about Costco. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the Caribbean, where stores like this weren’t even a glimmer in my mind (though now there’s a West Indian version of Costco on my island, creatively named Cost U Less. I bought some flip flops there last time I went home. I could have, in fact, bought a ten-pack of flip flops had I wanted to. But I digress.) I mean, where else am I going to see this?
But more importantly, who on earth is buying an entire wheel of P’tit Basque? Really, I need to know.
Click on pictures for dates/locations; click again for fullsize images. I’m no professional photographer, so they’re not stellar photographs. No pictures from 2000-2002 because I didn’t have a digital camera yet.
I didn’t really start baking until 2002. In 2002 I baked a crazy vegan cake that may have been the reason my now-husband wanted to get into my pants. I got my first professional baking job in 2004; eight dollars an hour to do pantry at a French bistro in New Orleans. I learned more at that job than anywhere else, and walked out on it too soon. I realized that if I wanted to work in kitchens I’d have to grow a thicker skin and not run away from abusive and mean chefs. In 2008 I made the most I ever have doing pastry and got laid off after three months. It’s 2010 and I get paid a dollar more than I did in 2004; sometimes I wonder why I decided to bake for a living instead of finishing college and being content to impress my friends with my mad baking skillz. But I’m not regretful – I just wish I made a living wage. Maybe in 2010 it’ll finally happen!
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