Because I am a huge nerd...

I baked this cake in honor of the return of Battlestar Galactica.

Well, that's not exactly true. I baked a cake and then on a whim decided to ruin it with a bunch of the cheapo frosting in tubes that you buy in a fit of last-minute desperation at the supermarket and then discover years later at the bottom of a drawer.

Good lord, I just realized that this is my second nerdy blog post in a row. Oh well, I shall press on.

I was going to frost the cake with "So Say We All" except that I didn't have enough space and/or dexterity. To underscore once again what a giant, gleaming nerd I am, I will tell you that I first Googled the word "frak" to make sure I spelled it properly, which is when I learned that people were hosting "frak parties" at private homes, bars, and restaurants all over our awesome country that night. So it seems that I am not the biggest nerd out there. Except that I wasn't even cool enough to be invited to a frak party. Ponder it.

The cake, by the way, was delicious despite my best efforts to ruin it. It was Julia Child's Mocha Brownie Cake from Baking with Julia, and you should by all means buy the book and bake the cake if you haven't already. I like the recipe especially because the ganache uses strong, hot coffee which a) requires one to brew a quantity of strong, hot coffee, which means that there will be leftovers that must be drunk, and b) doesn't rely on espresso powder. I'm not a big fan of the stuff; I think it often adds a odd, bitter tang to baked goods.

I suppose I have just squared my nerdly status by admitting that I view a pot of strong, hot coffee as some kind of weird luxury item, and also by admitting that I have an opinion on freeze-dried espresso powder. FRAK!

Riva's cupcake

Last week I went to a cafe in Oakland with my friend Riva. She ordered a hot chocolate and one of those cupcakes wrapped in plastic that are usually stacked limply near cash registers.

I love sweets, but I almost never eat cafe pastries. They're a continual disappointment, almost always stale, or soggy, or gluey from being individually wrapped, or served freezing cold when they should be room temperature. (Those thick, heavy, chilly slices of cake topped with stiff rosettes of whipped cream ALWAYS piss me off. I'm sure the health department is responsible for their frigidity, but it's still annoying.)

Riva sat down across from me and unwrapped her purchase. "Have you ever had one of these?" she asked. "They're soooo good."

Bah, I thought. Who does she think she is, chasing a cupcake with a cup of hot chocolate without a moment's hesitation? The girl was mainlining chocolate, something I only allow myself to do when I'm feeling particularly devil-may-care. But her obvious delight was hard to ignore. It was a black-bottom cupcake, the kind with the dark, rich chocolate cake divided by a dollop of cream cheese. I couldn't take my eyes off that damned thing. Despite the plastic wrap, it really did look delicious. It'd been years since I'd had one.

The cupcake haunted me for the next seven days. I'd be watching TV. "Cupcake?" my mind would interject. Editing a spreadsheet at work. "Maybe you could have a cupcake soon, what do you think?" said a little voice. "But what about the black-bottom cupcake?" it asked as I was busy eating some other, vastly inferior form of dessert. "Why don't you just go buy some cream cheese..."

So I finally gave in. I just used the Joy of Cooking's recipe, which worked fine. I did not bother with frosting. I did not add a light dusting of powdered sugar. I did not use fancy cocoa or chocolate. Once I had baked them, Randy and I did not do anything except jam as many of them in our mouths as possible (while watching The Wire) until they were gone.

And now the cupcake voice has shifted its focus to something else: gingerbread from Tartine. "Why didn't you buy some of that soft gingerbread?" it is asking. "You were just there. You could have tried it. It looked so festive."

"But I have the cookbook," I tell the voice. "I can make it at home."

"Well then?" ...

Such a brilliant concept deserves a wider audience

This falls into the category, "Everything That's Wrong with America ...and Everything That's Right".

In case the photo is too reflective to truly understand what's going on, allow me to describe: this is a frosted brownie with a chocolate chip cookie pasted on top. It is available at the Nestle Toll House Cookie Cafe in South Lake Tahoe. Prior to this unearthing, it was available only in my wildest fantasies.

For a veritable laundry list of real stuff that's wrong with America (or our government, at least), you should listen to Daniel Schorr's commentary last week on NPR. Almost as delicious as the brownie.

Truffle take-out

[The phone rings. I check who it is, then answer. When Rachael calls, we waste no time on small talk.]
“Yeah?”
“Have you been to the truffle place on Divisadero yet?”
“No. But I’ve been dying t- …”
[Interrupting.] “I’m there. What kind do you want?”
“What do they have?”
“Mint, coconut, hazelnut, raspberry, blackberry, strawberry, almond, caramel, espresso, dark chocolate, Kahlua, red wine, cognac, hazelnut liqueur, raspberry liqueur, amaretto, Earl Grey …”
“Umm. Cognac. And hazelnut. And caramel.”
“I have to tell you what else this place has. They have Hostess Snack Cakes. What the hell are they doing selling Hostess Snack Cakes?”
“Wait, aren’t you at the store right now?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t they hear you making fun of them?”
”Yes.”

I guess they didn’t mind. Ten minutes later, this was deposited on my kitchen counter:

"This is nice and all, but where's the Hostess?"

Five Star Truffles and Coffee
411 Divisadero St
San Francisco, CA 94117
(415) 552-5128