eggbeater

The Bakers Dozen Cupcake Meeting

I flew back from Florida in time for a Bakers Dozen meeting yesterday dedicated to the cute but serious Cupcake.

If you live in Northern California, love to bake, bake professionally or at home, are a pastry chef, have a business from making sweet things, write about food, style food, blog about baked goods, make bread or chocolate things for a living, want to learn more about the wide world of baking,

        you should join up with us, the Bakers Dozen. {This cookbook represents much of its constituents.} It costs very little to belong, we have 4 meetings a year, and each person and meeting is a treasure of inspiration and education beyond compare. Email me directly if you want a membership form.

[We're not quite caught up to the modern age of websites and blogs but by 2009, if I can push and poke and prod lovingly, I am hoping to help change that.]

Also, we in the Bay Area are Bakers Dozen West. There's also one in NYC / The Greater Metropolitan Area, and Utah. Do you want one in your area? Contact Bakers Dozen to see how it happens.

The highlights of the day were listening to 3 panelists who have started their own cupcake bakeries, and seeing how each place chose to decorate and frost their little cakettes. And of course it's always an exquisite lunch at Foreign Cinema!

To see a number of cupcake examples from today's meeting, check out the set at Flickr. There are dozens of cupcakes I was not able to capture, so I am truly sorry to those members who made delicious cupcakes themselves.

Florida, coming to a close.

This afternoon I bid farewell to Florida. As always, visiting family is like looking into a very deep mirror of myself. I see who I am, who they are, who I am in their eyes, who they are and have become, who I can or might become. I see us all age, come into ourselves, and attempt to navigate old mines.

I see photos and take new ones. I lick wounds and create others. I visit places, both concrete and metaphysical, which sooth and sear.

As always, family is blood, and memories are shared, recreated, retold and reburied.

       

    we will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it

/They say the only thing we can rely on is change.

on the printed page, everything 2 dimensional

it's impossible
to paint a three dimensional picture on a page
to tell you who I am, to describe who I love
to remind you
if you've known me forever
what my character is made of
who built it
laid foundation
set bricks
and painted the mortar.

here,
in this fluid space
I am who you decide I am.

you read a sentence
and make your decision
and I am my words
on that date
in that context.
.

it's an impossible place,

this.

caught, shot, trapped
figured out
found out
exposed
stripped

I have no adjectives to protect me
no verbs to drive the getaway car
no iambic pentameter to dance until midnight to.

just me and the page
black but for little etches and scratches

bites and pokes
laid just so
to mark my way.
you
are just a page turn away.

.

it's alright
I can be your paragraph
your flash in the wordy and crowded pan

because I'm too large
too grand
to fit on a page
my story has yet to have an ending
I am non fiction in fiction
mis shelved, misplaced, mistaken

I'll just shake off a few ampersands, a hundred too many hindering commas,
    holding me back,
and step into a new chapter
or knock on Mr. Joyce's door when I want to be
one very very very long sentence.

somersault down a hill filled with wildflowers and nettles
both

,

bending serifs
but not beyond recognition
and
be all mortal and shit
when I want.

.

I am not two dimensional,
no.

but there a lot of words
too many, perhaps,
and they will continue to arrive
until they don't.

the twins eating supper.

Florida. What I eat with family.

I wish I could tell you about the food here. Good or bad, mediocre or spectacular. But for me, here, it's not about food. I try and eat well, I attempt to educate without preaching, but it's a very difficult proposition.

I eat here what comforts. What is familiar and familial. I eat what is in season in my heart: Jewish renditions with American ingredients. I eat what I ate when I lived with my grandparents in high school.

Today I sat with Nanny (Eve Gordon, my maternal grandmother) and she said how wonderful it was that she could eat her food because now her family made her dishes. Kasha Varnishkas, Noodle Kugle, Stuffed Cabbage (sweet & sour), Brisket. And for an in-between snack we schmear matzoh with whipped sweet butter.

We eat Italian American favorites because in NYC and Long Island, where my mother and her family grew up, Jews live side by side with Italians and eggplant parmigiana is as much a staple as matzoh ball soup.

This week is not about food, per se, but it is about nourishment.

Headlands Center for the Arts Open Studios, April 08

Every once and a while someone asks me why I don't live in NYC anymore. Those of us from NYC will say that when you live there you have the whole world at your fingertips. Many people I know are somewhat "jailed" by the apartments they know they will never find again and they never want to live in a place where they will have to learn how to drive.

When people ask me why I don't live in NYC  anymore, I think of the Headlands. I think about how it's a ten minute jaunt from the Golden Gate Bridge. I think about its Turner bigsky-esque beauty, it's quiet landscape, the rough hewn cliffs leading abruptly to the Pacific Ocean's tumultuous edge, and The Headlands Center for the Arts, an artists-in-residence center as big as my old college nestled in its hills of wild sage, Cypress and Eucalyptus trees.

I think about how I have been going to and photographing this gorgeous area since the late 1980's, and how I never tire of it. I think about how I have cooked in a kitchen designed by an artist and spent many an afternoon surrounded only by the sound of seawater and birds mating and hunting. There is also a fantastically large and imposing Youth Hostel there, just in case your art work doesn't win you a year long stay.

I don't live in NYC anymore because the seasonal fruit in Northern California is enough to twist my complying arm, but I live here because something like the Headlands is accessible all year round to anyone who stumbles upon it. (There's also a bus you can catch from SF, just in case you don't want to drive.)

Not only is Open Studios at the HCA wonderful because there are so many kinds of artists practicing various mediums, but the buildings are art in an of themselves as well. The bathroom in the main building is a functioning art installation and many of the buildings corners and crevices, staircases and ceilings, are filled with architectural details the likes of which are rarely placed in Military structures anymore. When I go to HCA I fall in love with, over and over, the surroundings, whether they be outside or in.

If you are interested in my latest photo essay, you can see the series at Flickr. As you can see, I fell especially hard for this one staircase.

Florida, here I come.

I'm in the air, hopefully,
by now.

On my way to a tropical land
with perfect bagels, warm sea and all the humidity I could ever want.

If you have pressing questions about sugar, osmotic reciprocity, biscuits, classes, rhubarb, caramel, pie or anything else such as this: please be patient. I will not be on the ground with computer in hand for a day or so.

You know what?
I might get to meet Chad & Aran! I am so very very excited.

P.S.

KQED {Bay Area Bites} is having some design and link issues. If you are looking for past recipes, go here and scroll through.

there are days/ when no one is safe

when I can't protect you
from my heart
when I can't shield you
from my passion.

you could find protective gear:
goggles, gloves, hats, gas masks
and
they won't protect you
I have X ray vision
I can see beyond your wallpaper
I can touch you
in that place you're protecting,
defending, shelving, shielding, burying,
hiding from.

feel free to lie to me
I welcome your lies
I eat them on toast with tiny fish
I smile diplomatically
I tell you I believe you

because you don't want to know otherwise.

in my dreams I find you there over and over.
you're more relaxed.

.

there are days
when no one is safe
from my heart, my eye, my noticing.

on these days I feel more alive
my senses are on high alert,
orange and magenta
cobalt and cerulean
salt and sour
biting and scratching

        a pinch of this and a slap of that

I can drink you in
and let you wash over me

we can make love slowly, for hours
we can kiss and nothing else
I can be contented with a nap in late afternoon sun
and a small cold bowl of strawberry ice cream.

.

there are days
when no one is safe
from my gaze.

watch out
if you've met me on one of these days,
for I can swallow you whole
and act cordial the next week.
I am two people, or more
I make you feel smart and funny and handsome and beautiful and special
and I can be hungover the next day
waking up next to a stranger.

.

today
everyone was lucky.
I saw art, a deeply familiar geography, held hands with an old friend,         ran into people I know and appreciate, was recognized by people whose art I feel a love for, and
my camera
allowed me access to corners where light fell like silk
rendering all gorgeous
and full of possibilities.

today ended with a night
where supple delicious butterlobster was in my mouth
and lemons were squeezed into a glass whole,
    the conversation was lively and opinionated.
cheftalk.

.

there are days
when no one is safe
including me, its carrier.

for my heart is a grand space
with more than enough room
for crushes on first sight, deep loves hidden,
and words which will not quell until they are set down.

.

on these days
these unsafe days
it's best to remind all and sundry that I can not be held accountable
for stolen kisses
long gazes, random acts of flirtation
off the record talks, recorded
and
tucking you into my card catalog for dreams.

you know you're in the right kitchen {job} when you

miss getting up at 5 am,
feel sad that you will not be working 12 hours {8 of those hours are non-stop service} on a saturday,
are sad to be going on vacation,
have an individual crush on every cook, and are falling in love with the team as a whole,
are learning new things about recipes you have been making for years,
are skipping along the aisles at Staples to buy organizational things for your station,
wish you didn't have so many days off,
eat at your place of work and the food is so good you almost start crying,
tell the owner how amazing the food is and you're not:
    lying, leaving out certain important details, are trying to kiss ass, exaggerating,
get up at o'dark hundred even when you're not going to work,
want everyone you have ever loved or hated to come in and enjoy the food,
miss your co-cooks as soon as you walk out of the kitchen,
go home absolutely physically to' up, but happy,
are beaming with pride,
are excited beyond reason to enter recipes and spreadsheets into Excel,
can't wait to come home from a tropical place to work in a small hot room rolling pie dough,
get that old feeling that you used to get when you were a line cook 15 years ago,
make a difference where you work: the owner appreciates your efforts and your team makes you want to do better every day,
are getting back to basics and you are not getting bored, but rather invigorated,
are not delusional, but have some serenity around being part of a larger picture,
feel respect and admiration for those signing your check,
take your first ever bath in your little house for the first time to see and accept your 40 year old self and hope the hot hot water will relieve you some of your muscle hangover,
make plans to hang out with your co-baker because you are not going to see her, or work with her again until after you get back from the east coast.

/just a reminder, I am not naming the place where I am working. If you do so in the comments, your comment will be edited. Need an explanation? read this. If you live in the area and you must absolutely taste this delicious food I speak of, email me directly. many of you have seen me there already. also: I am not "The Pastry Chef" here, I am a cook/baker and I am making traditional baked goods, with extra love & affection.

another Lydon is born ~

Today, in Ireland, the brand newest member of my family was born. I am sobbing with elation. I got the news from my father and then found some of the photos on Flickr just now. You could say all this web 2.0 stuff is just theory but when I can share in the joy of a birth thousands and thousands of miles away because of a silly site dedicated to photo sharing, it's an amazing thing. This is why I love Flickr and I'm happy every day to peruse and see what people who I know or may not know are finding interesting enough to photograph that day.

Congratulations Valti, a new Mama, and Colum Lydon, a new Papa, on their hefty little boy addition to the Irish Lydon clan!

one kitchen's loss is another's gain.

my last day here today.
my last day waking up at dark and getting home from the second place near dark.
don't get me wrong, it's exciting, but it will be good to be married to only one place soon. the polyamorous kitchen thing is not really my style.

one more class this saturday. then off to land of alligators and summer every day.

what's been interesting as of late is how challenging kitchens can be, physically. both for my own body but also for how they are laid out-- how a small restaurant chooses to spend its money on what equipment and what equipment might be missing for lack of space and bank account.

for example, not all restaurants have walk-ins, or freezers, or 20 Quart stand mixers. not all restaurants clean their spaces even when what they started with was something brand new and something they paid to build-out themselves.

these challenges are what make us better cooks, professionally. for we rely on efficiency to make us faster and be able to produce plates with finesse and cost effective numbers and percentages.

the thing is that everything is tied together with invisible chewing gum. one detail here connects to another detail there. and the chef/owner who thinks otherwise; a chef owner who thinks they can just hire people to connect the dots has got another thing coming when they see that the house comes down if there's no place that the roof joins with its walls and thus foundation.

I've done a lot in Excel lately. kitchen organization and recipe spreadsheets. what I like about the 2nd place is that my order can and wants to be utilized. there's a brand new team in the kitchen and we're all excited about being a team and supporting the chef owner to make her place the best it can be. I haven't had this feeling in a long time. perhaps it's my insane loyalty thing coming back to bite me in the ass, but I'm going to ride it for as long as I can. because here is a kitchen, a restaurant, run by a veteran, just like me, with a long, thorough, extensive resume; a person with values and the ability to take heed of what's really going on around her. I like it.

I like when I get to be a part of making something stronger, more efficient & organized. but this can only sustain itself if the owner and chef are on board. if the team turns its loyalties on a dime (as I saw was the case with my last job) or sells you down the river for a nickel, then the restaurant stagnates, or worse, dies.

yes, all restaurants, all people can re-invent themselves (we are in California remember), and start their day over at any point in 24 hours, but where is the heart, where is the soul and the intention of a house? every kitchen needs a leader, every restaurant needs a team. because not every house is a home, many are temporary lily pads, designed only for leaping off and to for a moment. or they're performative experiments.

I'm looking forward to waking up without an alarm clock tomorrow and not taking a shower while sleeping. the work is hard, yes, but soon it will be a little more rewarding. I seem to need to learn over and over that standing alone in a corner does not utilize all who I am as a cook. I'd rather be a cook among cooks, all working towards a goal with our integrity intact.

Family Photos. Or, why a scanner is so nifty.

remember when.
1968.
the year I was born.
the place: san francisco
the time: tumultuous
the feeling: newly alive

my parents were still married
{i have no memories of this fact}
love was in the air,
    as was war.

who are we looking for when we flip through old images?
what is memory and what is re memory?

i look at her and i see someone i love so much it breaks my heart.

i look at him and there's no doubt where my body comes from. my features

are theirs combined.

~

I have begun to scan old images. Ones I want to remember, and share. As I go along, and have time, many more photos will be added to this set.
{yes, I finally bought a scanner. it's an amazing tool.}