Love with Milk

The casuality with which we throw around the term "comfort food" is discomfiting. Not everything warm and wintry is comforting because comfort is not simply a biological response to seasonal changes or stress. A food which comforts does so because it is familiar, and familiar in the sense that it has been introduced through - and its taste espoused by - familial connections. Chocolate Chip Cookies are universally accepted as a comfort food because the majority of moms can make and have made them; they require neither culinary prowess nor time allowance.

Eating a Chocolate Chip Cookie mentally rewinds you to a time when you had to ask to lick the batter off the beaters. When I sank my teeth into these Chocolate Chip Cookie Bars, my thoughts and cares shrank to prepubescent levels. The napkin belonged on the lap no longer. Runny remnants of chocolate chips claimed my cheeks and chin, my eyelids dropped to a lusty half-mast, and brown sugar became my world. As when I was a child, I wanted only for milk and more cookies. Pairing milk with comfort foods is instinctive; mothers provide us with both.
The Chocolate Chip Cookie, when executed properly, is one of very few foods in the world capable of producing happiness. I mean happiness in the third-grade sense, as a complete if naive satisfaction in the present. It thrills us with sugar and sustains us with fat. It is inextricably bound with the emotional canopy of mom and, by extension, the aqua vitae that is milk. It is a postscript to recess and a prelude to a nap.

It is maternal love made edible. What could be more comforting?

Transportive Chocolate Chip Cookies
(Lifted from Cook's Illustrated)

2 1/8 c. flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
12 tbs. butter
1 c. light brown sugar
1/2 c. granulated sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
2 tsp. vanilla
2 c. chocolate chips (semi/bittersweet)

1. Heat oven to 325 degrees. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position. Line a 13 x 9 inch pan with foil. Spray foil-lined pan with nonstick cooking spray.

2. Mix flour, salt, and baking soda together in medium bowl; set aside.

3. Whisk melted butter and sugars in medium large bowl until combined. Add egg, egg yolk, and vanilla and mix well. Using rubber spatula, fold dry ingredients into egg mixture until just combined; do not overmix. Fold in chips and turn batter into prepared pan, smoothing top with spatula.

4. Bake until top is light golden brown, slightly firm to the touch, and edges start pulling away from sides of pan, 27 to 30 minutes. Cool on wire rack to room temperature. Cut into 2-inch squares and serve.

Pistachios for Whippersnappers

Let's get this comparison out of the way:

Moving on. Green is a color not naturally found in the dessert world. Where it does appear it is light in hue: key lime pies are pale yellow with green undertones, pastel green is the visual clue for mint, and matcha effects a muted grey-green in baked goods.

There is one exception to this generality, an exception our grandparents would be quick to point out if they were quick to do anything: eerily vivid pistachio green. Pistachios seem to have been in vogue decades ago, rising to stardom in ice cream cartons and bakeries nationwide. My generation, with its blithe indifference to the past, turns up its nose at neon-green sweetstuffs. And synthetic materials. And hard work. I digress.

On a mission to introduce the pistachio flavor to my peers, I brought these Pistachio Greenies to a party (a party with no thematic relationship to the Wizard of Oz, Halloween, or Ghost Busters). I cloaked the lurid green glow of the bars with a matte glaze of dark chocolate. A few beers into the fête, all culinary inhibitions - and all the Greenies - disappeared.

It only takes one bite to realize that the Pistachio Greenies are much more mild than their looks would suggest. Pistachios impart a mellow maple-vanilla flavor to the bar. Their somewhat cloying aftertaste is counterbalanced by a slick of bittersweet chocolate. For a dessert that counts pudding mix as one of its ingredients, Pistachio Greenies are surprisingly haute. The soft crunch of chopped pistachios adds texture to the cake-like bars, and the dark chocolate enamel brings a savory depth to an otherwise saccharine treat.

If Pistachio Greenies don't smooth over generational disparities, they will at least impress guests at your next costume party.

[Recipe adapted from this Pudding Brownies recipe. Substitute pistachio pudding mix for chocolate pudding mix (instant pudding is fine) and add chopped pistachios for nuts. Dark chocolate glaze is made by combining 3 tbs. butter, 4 oz. bittersweet chocolate chips, and 2 oz. unsweetened chocolate in a double boiler. Spread on cooled Greenies; refrigerate until set]

Disproportionate Cheesecake

This is me trying to fit in.

One of my hopes for this blog is that it will not become just another precious, obscenity-free homage to sugar. If it does I will no doubt be readerless; there are many bloggers who are better at baking/photographing/driveling than I. Ergo, I beg for internet attention by both exploiting an obscure dessert niche and by holding fast to my snarky tone.

My cool cynicism, however, fools few. I'm behaving like the sarcastic, chubby friend everyone knows, the one who compensates for a lack of remarkable traits by being quick to scathe the outstanding qualities of others. Just as Sarcastic Chubby Friend secretly yearns to wear a floral-print sundress - or madras slacks, if male - I wish I were half as good at food photography as most other baking bloggers. (I'll not be coy; I am one of the better writers among typists who know what tuile is. But nobody's going to comment on my Flickr photos because I know how to tango with a thesaurus).

I baked these Disproportionate Cheesecakes because the best part of any cheesecake is its graham cracker crust. Deb and Anna can back me up on this, though Mandy, you may be stunting the growth of your little fellas by leaving them crustless. I digress. The Disproportionate Cheesecakes have a cookie-like texture that amplifies the honey-cinnamon essence of graham crackers. The cream cheese frosting consists of only three ingredients - cold cream cheese, sifted powdered sugar, and vanilla extract - and its sweet tang brightens the flavor of the bar. I initially added the strawberries as a garnish; taste tests confirm their necessity in the recipe.

In an effort to out-twee my competition, I posed the Disproportionate Cheesecakes to make them look sexier than they really are. Notice the deconstructed plating style with its tip of the hat to minimalism (do minimalists accessorize?). Let your eyes relax before the simple palette. Discern the symbolism behind the symmetry, but don't ask me what it is. Acerbic bloggers are above art criticism.

Disproportionate Cheesecake

Graham Cracker Bars
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
Pinch salt
6 tbs. butter, melted
1 3/4 c. crushed graham crackers
1 egg
1/2 c. light brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
3 tbs. honey

Cheesecake Frosting
3/4 c. sifted powdered sugar
1 8-oz. package of cream cheese, cold
2 tsp. vanilla extract

To make Graham Cracker Bars:

Preheat oven to 350 F. Grease an 8 x 8-inch square pan.

In a small bowl, combine flour, salt, baking powder, and cinnamon. In another bowl, combine melted butter and graham crackers. In yet another bowl, whisk egg with brown sugar. Add vanilla to egg and sugar; stir in graham cracker mixture and then honey. Finally, fold in flour mixture. Spread in pan - dough will be quite sticky.

Bake for 20 minutes. Let cool.

To make Cheesecake Frosting:

Gently blend cream cheese and vanilla extract. Do not overmix. Fold in one-third of the powdered sugar at a time until icing is smooth. Spread evenly on cooled Graham Cracker Bars. Garnish with strawberry slices, if desired.