Magic Jewball

I alluded the other day to my Failcake and so I thought I’d follow up on that. I didn’t do that right away because you know how much I love a happy ending so I had to wait till there was one. And there was! Good cake is always a happy outcome.

I had a task, and that was to make an olive oil cake, something I had heard of but imagined tasted like a bottle of olive oil, not something I enjoy in my desserts. But the theme was Mediterranean and since I don’t do baklava (well, I eat it, I just don’t make it), this seemed the best alternative. Particularly when I Googled and found a recipe from the Food Network, specifically from someone who is supposed to be an expert in Mediterranean food. I don’t know from such things, I only watch Ace of Cakes (one day, I will work at that place), but it had great reviews so I went for it. Actually, the idea first popped into my head from an article and recipe in the Times a couple of weeks ago which involved blood oranges and looked great. But it looked like a pound cake, not a fancee cake you serve people you want to impress (anyone other than myself is someone I want to impress) plus, it involved hacking an orange into pieces, not something I had the patience for.

But yeah, this did not turn out well. I should have known any cake calling for a cup and a half of something you usually put on salad or cook fish in was not something that was going to have a good result. This cake ended up having the texture of an Alaskan oil spill (you know how your fingers feel after eating pizza? yeah.) although I will admit it tasted pretty good. You may wonder how I knew it tasted and felt thus when in theory, I should not have been able to cut into it until serving it. But this is how. You see, this thing WOULD NOT be extricated from the pan. I made it in a non-stick bundt, something I use all the time with no trouble, but this was the cake that would not be released. I slid a knife around, then a sharper knife, then a frosting knife, then a spatula and nothing. I pounded on the back of the pan. Stuck. This was at 1am, so it’s lucky I hate my neighbors.

In the end, as you can imagine, it finally came out with half the cake still stuck to the pan. This is what I call Failcake. It looks something like this:

Ouch. I know.

The next day, I was all set to say, “Fuck the Mediterranean” and make the cake I do best, double-banana, but luckily, Alfa passed along yet another citrus olive oil recipe, this one from Cooking Light, which had tangerine instead of orange (whatever) and more importantly, 1/3 the oil (I guess that’s why they call it light). This one needed a little help releasing but did fine and although it didn’t have any olive oil taste (people just had to believe me on that one), it did taste moist and tangeriney and delicious. Oh, and it looked great, judge for yourself:

Yeah, now that’s what I call cake.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with the Exxon Valdez Uglycake.

Recipes
Good cake

Failcake

NY Times Cake

Title based on:
Donna Summer – MacArthur Park

Ha! I’ve been wanting to make that pun for years! To ruin the joke, Haman is the villain of the Purim story. Yeah, I know, there really wasn’t that much to spoil.

I apologize for not running a bake sale this time, especially because I had a cause I really wanted to support and because charity is such a big part of this holiday, but life has just been kind of strange and wacky lately. Hopefully, later this year. In the meantime, please enjoy this obscenely close look at a batch of this year’s Hamantaschen. It’s like you’re actually in the bowl!

Happy Purim!

Filter – Hey Man Nice Shot

You may wonder, after months without baking, where I am currently getting my cookie supply. Because a life without cookies is just not worth living. I mean, 95% of the reason I paid assorted Brooklyn craftsmen my life savings was so that I’d have a better space in which to make cookies.

The other day, I volunteered to my good friend IrishCardinal that I had deigned to purchase Little Debbie gingerbread people. I think this thought scandalized her and she promptly sent me a box of homemade (in North Carolina, I might add), gingerbread people. I say people, because these were clearly of two genders.

Here, as you can see are A-Rod (he’s the one with the pink lips) and his current squeeze. It’s not Madonna, though. It’s Little Debbie.

Irish says, “His build is more like Sidney Ponson’s, but that’s what hanging out with Little Debbie will get you.”

Ha! But if you are confused, the reason he’s now with Madonna is because soon after this picture was taken, I ate Little Debbie. As you’d expect, she was delicious.

Not only is this the only Madonna song I can stand, I actually love it. Sue me.

Madonna – Like A Prayer

Ever since I did my rugelach bake sale for charity, several people have asked me if I would do the same thing with Hamantaschen, those filled triangular cookies of awesomeness. And so, I have decided to do it! Here is my post from last year describing the process of cookie-creating, should you not be 100% sure what I’m talking about. Hamantaschen are named for the villain of the Purim story, Haman (he wanted to kill the Jews, so trendy!) and Purim is this Friday. Another important thing to do on Purim is to give gifts to those in need so check out how well that works out!

This time we have two exciting charities to choose from as well as two flavors of Hamantaschen. You can see all the details and the method to acquire these tasty treats on my new Bake Sale page. The picture is not of my own cookies, but you get the idea. So get your orders in and we’ll celebrate giving to good causes with tasty treats.

Edited to add: for those who didn’t order last time, it is a medium-sized (4 cup) Gladware container.

Edited again to add: last day to order is Saturday 3/22.

Eurythmics – Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)

Well, not a restaurant, really, a fast-food place. That’s a kind of restaurant. The kind of restaurant where you are your own waiter and your service to yourself begins when the guy behind the counter yells, “#2312!” There aren’t many fast-food places I can frequent, being liberally Kosher as I am. But this month, my favorite vegetarian mini-chain, Zen Palate, opened a Faux McDonald’s in East Midtown and as soon as I had an easyish day that enabled a two subway trek to food-gather, I went for it.

The funny thing is, it’s near Grand Central, which has so many fine food choices (including a Kosher deli) that I nearly didn’t even leave it to get my Zen Burger. But I kept my eyes on the prize and finally found it in all its orangey glory. I would post pictures except for the small fact that I don’t have any. But I’ll link you to some at the bottom! Anyway, the line was out the door, even though I take a somewhat late lunch. I kind of wish I had polled people to ask them why they were there. Were they vegetarians? Bored with real meat? Thought it was healthier? Who knows! They were a mix of normal business people, hipsters, and average joes. There was one Muslim lady and a woman who was clearly a frum Jew (word to the frum, there is no hechsher that I know of). I guess the concept was supposed to be strange because there were two people stationed along the line to answer questions. I’m not often at McDonald’s, but I’m pretty sure they don’t do that. The frum lady, who was a few people in front of me, asked a lot of questions, like “is there real beef in the ZenBeef Burger?” I wanted to say, “Listen, the word Zen is like that slash through the equal sign. It means not. It’s beef, not.” When he approached me, I did have a question, “When are you coming to the West side?” He was very enthusiastic and told me they were opening 1500 locations in the next decade, including one imminently in Hollywood. Perhaps he thought I said West coast.

They had all kinds of combos of NotBurgers or NotChicken or NotShrimp and fries and drinks, and I understand their iced tea is fab, but I wanted the most FauxDonald’s I could get. So I got a Southwest burger (it had chipotle mayo and the word chipotle is just magical – it’s like the sun dried tomato of the new millennium) and Chicken FakeNuggets. By the way, these are my names, they’re all called ZenThis or ZenThat. Mine are more descriptive, though. And then I waited in a crowd of people for my number to be called. They were all glowing – it was kind of like the Apple Store for food. Which sounds strange because something called the Apple Store really should sell food.

And then I got my lunch and hauled ass back to my office. Total time, one hour. And it was great! Which is terrible. Now I’m going to be addicted to fast food like the rest of America. But maybe they will come to your town! I hear there’s a good chance of that if you live in Hollywood.

I heard about this place from a blog I subscribe to called Midtown Lunch. Which is pretty much what it’s about. He never describes anything near me, I guess I’m only on the fringe of Midtown. But it’s a fun read! And you can see Loud Orange pictures there.

Hey, instead of a song, let’s have a look at how McDonald’s is selling burgers abroad, shall we? “Rediscover the taste of liberty with the Big Tasty.” Also, stereotypes of the old West. And mullets.