I had good intentions for tonight. They involved sitting on the couch with my knitting and watching The Straight Story or maybe The Jerk and a leetle bit of prep for the Saturday bakefest. Instead I spent literally the entire evening in the kitchen, save the 15 minutes when I ran cookies over to SELMA. The. Entire. Evening. I mean, there are worse ways to spend a Friday night – this just wasn’t what I had in mind.
First, cookies for Saturday’s hoop build and also for a Couchsurfing potluck. SELMA’s stopped using white sugar since there doesn’t appear to be any sugar available that is local AND non-GMO – so I tried to find a recipe that used other kinds of sweeteners. This recipe, from The Essential Vegetarian Cookbook, uses corn syrup, apple butter, and brown sugar – all of which are a little bit more wholesome, even if they don’t hit the local/non-GMO mark entirely. I made a double batch – which should have been 40 cookies, but resulted in 66 dense and chewy cookies. To be honest, they tasted more like fuel than like a treat, which is probably A-OK for hoop builders and race runners. I probably won’t make this recipe again, though.
Between cookie tasks, I prepped the ingredients for Saturday’s brunch cocktail, the Leland Palmer. I’ll tell you more about that once we actually consume them, but the prep involved a good amount of juicing, playing with jasmine tea pearls, and the last of our honey.
The last of our [x] turned out to be a theme of the evening – over the course of a few hours, I ran out of honey AND flour AND milk AND raisins AND probably some other stuff that I’m just blocking out right now because it was so ridiculous.
Finally, and perhaps in a kitchen that was too hot, I made the pastry cream for Saturday’s bakefest. Having helped with the pastry cream for both the croquembouche and the homemade Twinkies, I figured I’d be in good shape – but the damned cream just refused to thicken. It smelled fantastic, though, and after a few frantic texts to Olivia, I decided to leave well-enough alone and just put the cream in the fridge for further examination on Saturday.
Somewhere in there, I realized that it had gotten late and I was hungry. In lieu of dinner and in the spirit of using up the extra egg whites from pastry cream, I made a quick omelette with the last of the garlic scapes and the last tomato. Let me draw your attention to one important fact in this paragraph: this was the first time I think I have ever made a successful omelette. It was delicate. It folded in half. It was delicious. Perhaps the secret is more whites than yolks, and also benign neglect – I was so busy with everything else that I couldn’t really stress out over the eggs or the sauteeing scapes, and as a result, everything was perfect.