Danish Pastry Update

It has been over a month and my previous infatuation still stands. Definitely found a favorite in the apple kringle. For those of you who don't know me, a whole month squatting on the same pastry is some sort of record. They are THAT good.

When I die, can I please go to Denmark?

Because seriously, what could you possibly need in 'heaven' besides an endless amount of Danish baked goods. Assuming, of course, the baked goods in Denmark are anything at all like Nielson's Danish Bakery, which I discovered yesterday about TWO blocks from here and have subsequently revisited this morning.

Yesterday: The blueberry cream cheese danish. Excellent. Tasty. Buttery. In an amazing way, not in a are-you-sure-this-isn't-margarine? kind of way.

Today: Apple kringle (I think.) Whatever it is, it's flat, somewhat triangular, and has an apply substance in the middle that definitely came in contact with brown sugar and fairy dust at some point.

And, as an added bonus, I might actually succeed in getting up earlier if I know I need to make time for a pre-Nielson's dog walk/run in order to justify shoving another on in my face for the umpeenth day in a row.

Cheers to new hobbies!

Some things to live by:

1. You ALWAYS say yes to free sailing offers.

2. You ALWAYS say yes to free sailing offers.

Things I've learned so far:

1. The boat will not tip over.

2. Gloves are not just for keeping your hands warm.

More to come. Should be a good day today.

Italian Baking Disasters

A friend and coworker at my previous job kindly gifted me a cook book upon my departure. Since I am in the process of deciding whether to burn it I won't name any names. Lesson to self: don't say things like "oh you make bread? golly gee boy am I sure not very good at things involving flour and yeast" and open the door for some thoughtful person (yes please read into that) to help you out with just the thing.

The book? The Italian Baker, by Carol Fields. Otherwise known as the hard-core, no-nonsense guide to eating the next closest thing to a trans-Atlantic flight straight to the homeland. Apparently.

So, what the hell, right? It's not like I'm going to let the book win outright and just sit on a shelf. And I mean, seriously Ashley- you're a chemist for God's sakes. That's almost like having a degree in, well, measuring.

So, baby steps- which really means I started with the only recipe in the book for which I had all ingredients on a Thursday night around 9pm. Biscotti Integrali.

Things I learned from this experience:
1. Even if you weigh your ingredients it is possible to inexplicably have to add a f***ton of flour in order to roll the dough as oppose to 'a little.'
2. Is it normal to eat a cookie in Italy and ask the baker, "did you add the sugar?" If so, then I am already a success, and also James will fit right in with the locals.
**Yes, I added the sugar. I weighed it bitch.
3. Anything, and I mean anything, tastes better sandwich-style with maple flavored peanut butter bulging from in between. At least in Seattle it does, and I bet in Italy too...especially if they are baking Biscotti Integrali all the time.
4. Milk helps too.
5. I hate milk.


Not exactly off to a good start...stay tuned. Next up: Ciabatta bread. See mess in pic for sneak preview.

2009? What?

So it's been a few months. Sue me.

Let me see if I can appropriately summarize the winter season:

1. Pittsburgh stole all my fun dammit!
2. I stole the 'other' kind of fun back from OKC.
3. Remembered on Remembrance Day.
4. Thanksgiving saw 10lbs of butter disappear.
5. Seattle got dumped on and we dumped on Cali.
6. New Year's at the Space Needle.
7. New Year = new job offer. Boo Yah!
8. New job = new apartment. Because I can.

And the most famous quote for the New Year, courtesy of the really, really, really drunk European under the Space Needle on New Year's Eve is...cue awards show suspense music...

"This is America! They can take your mortgage...but they can never take your smiles."

Thanks, friend. Words to live by.

As a sidenote, I would like to point out that apparently, leaving old job does in fact = suddenly ok to break the 5-martini (personally imposed) limit at the company Christmas party. And as a sidenote to the sidenote, can I just point out that whatever you all followed me to the Triple Door.