Friday Fuck-Up: Just One More Minute

So these are Momofuku’s Corn Cookies. Yes, they should be yellow, not brown. I am pretty good about using a timer when I am working on several projects around the house at once. However, when the timer went off for these I peeked and saw two of the cookies still had a slightly uncooked middle, so I popped them back in for ‘just one more minute’. I promptly got distracted by laughing at all the things that are not artisan, and about 6 minutes later smelled something funny. So I quickly grabbed them out of the oven, but it was too late. The first batch were goners.

But wait! This fuck-up is two-fold:

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Friday Fuck-Up: Rice Puffies

First off, I would like to say that I did not actually make these.  However, I did attempt to eat them, and there is no doubt that they deserve a mention on here.

My dear friend Jenn is an excellent baker.  She makes cupcakes from scratch and they actually taste good.  One day, though, she fell into the trap of cabinet experimentation.  She is moving soon and trying to eat down the pantry, and thus came across an uneaten bag of marshmallows.

Rice Krispies seemed the logical choice.  Her husband was stopping by Yes! Organic Market that afternoon and was assigned the task of picking up the cereal. Well, Yes! may be a great place to go for organic hummus made from hand-coddled chickpeas, but they are not helpful when it comes to name brand products.  Instead of snap, crackle and pop, Pat enlisted the help of some Kashi puffed rice.

All I can say about the resulting atrocity was that I should have stopped as soon as I tried to cut off a piece and nearly bent the knife.  It was fortunate that none of my teeth are filled, because they wouldn’t be any more.  The combination of stickiness and chewiness would have been impressive if it weren’t so horrific.  The worst part is, Pat could have totally warned me when I said, “Ooh, Rice Krispies!”, but I am pretty sure he kept quiet so that he would not be forced to eat any more himself.

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Friday Fuck Up: Dry Pasta Salad

I thought it was a genius move. Actually, I thought it was the second genius move in just one dish.

At first I panicked when I saw only a 1/4 of a box left of the whole wheat squiggle pasta. How could I complete a proper salad for a birthday party with only a 1/4 box of pasta?! But then I spied some orzo. Who said pasta salad must only carry one type of pasta?

I thought, like I just said, that it was a pretty smart move. I compared cooking times and knew exactly when to drop each pasta into the salty cooking water. Bravo, Gansie, I said to myself. Actually, it might have been out loud.

Anyway, that worked out.

I run a mostly no-mayo zone in the kitchen. It’s not a strict rule, just something we don’t buy. (For fear that Bennett will suddenly make 14 peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches in a row. That’s right. I said peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich.)

With the no mayo in my fridge, I reached for yogurt as the base. Oh, you darn nasty yorgurt. I think you fucked me.

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Friday Fuck Up: Are Those Tortilla Chips in Your Jell-o?

I confess: I don’t like recipes. That, and my tendency to leave out key ingredients even when they are listed right in front of me, makes me a worse-than-average baker.

It’s not that I can’t follow directions; from K*nex to origami, I have personally experienced the power of step-by-step instructions in my life. When I’m in the kitchen, though, I’d rather be swept up in the moment, adding a little of this, a little of that. Generally, the results are, if not supremely delicious, at least edible. Next time I make tomatillo salsa though, I will do so with recipe in hand.

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Friday Fuck Up: Ricotta, Don’t Fail Me Now!

Yes, I realize this is a gorgeous plate of pasta. Whole wheat noodles, swirling high, bombarded with thick rods of asparagus and topped with green garlic and grated parm. But what are those darn clumps of white? Fucking ricotta.

I bought a tub of ricotta from the far mar (although you can apparently make ricotta yourself) for my strawberry ricotta sticks, and wanted to use the rest of it up quick. I thought a creamy ricotta based sauce would be fantastic for my spring pasta medley. Well, ricotta doesn’t really melt. Or smooth out. Or blend in. It just kinda forms into these lumps of cheese. I tried to let it absorb in the pasta cooking water. I added more butter than I care to admit. And still nothing. Blobs of ricotta.

The meal in its entirety still tasted good, but not what I had envisioned. Is it even possible to turn ricotta into a sauce? Please help me not fuck up again!

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Friday Fuck Up: Norwegian Wouldn’t

In the Northwest, which has a large Scandinavian population, May is a very festive time. Why? Syttende Mai is Norwegian Constitution Day. I’m not quite sure what this means historically or whatever, but I know for my community it means we have a huge parade and eat and drink a lot. While I myself am not particularly Nordic, I am happy to join my friends and neighbors in gravlax eating and akvavit swilling.

Although I am not the most confident baker, this year I decided to bake my own cardamom buns, skolleboller. These fragrant, light buns are very delicious and a Norwegian staple, especially around the holidays. I love to eat them with gjetost, brown cheese. (Gjetost is a polarizing cheese: it has a very strong, nutty, caramelly flavor. I think it’s almost reminiscent of peanut butter. To me it is uniquely delicious. Many people hate it though.)

I imagined I would frolic around town with my rolls in a lovely woven basket, handing out celebratory breads to all who crossed my path. Probably some baby deer would be galloping alongside me while little birds chirped along to the traditional Norwegian tune I hummed. It was all quite idealistic. (I don’t even know any Norwegian tunes unless we’re counting this.)

Anyway, with a song in my heart, I started out on my buns using this recipe from the Transplanted Baker, which seems to be very trustworthy. I like her blog and I do not blame her recipe whatsoever. But… something happened. My dough did not rise.

 

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