Ugly Ducklings: Pumpkin Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

My son has always been a little weird about birthdays. Some years he hasn't wanted anyone at all to attend. Some years he wants just grownups. Some years he's wanted just to take one friend, a little girl he's known since he was a toddler, to high tea. Twice, we've had a real party: once here, when I made an attempt at creating a space themed party (complete with moon rocks and jet packs), and once at a paint-your-own-pottery place, which ended up being sort of anticlimactic ("is that all?" asked one very sweet little girl when I served up the cupcakes, party coming to an end).

This year, I probably nudged him towards a real event. We don't have a house that's very conducive to parties, though. No basement, a large attic that's his room (but where you can't stand up except in the middle), small living room. And in September and October, there's no guarantee that you can do anything outside; as it was, the weekend had been threatened by the possibility of Hurricane Joaquin before it turned away from the east coast, widely skirting the midAtlantic states.

I offered up a movie, but when we started to look at the options, there was nothing much playing, and it feels weird (to me, anyway) to invite people to a movie party where you can't talk with each other. Pottery was out. Laser tag felt awkward with a group of five or six kids. Most places wanted a guarantee of ten children, and they'd charge you whether you brought those children or not. On a whim, I suggested bowling, and he seemed to warm to the idea.

There is exactly one bowling alley in our county. (There are actually no movie theaters in the county, so I guess one bowling alley is progress, but don't get me started.) It's an old family-owned place, the sort of place you might drive by and not think twice about, surrounded by dried-up overgrown weeds, adorned with large bowling pins in well-worn paint on the side of the red brick exterior. The almost-always-deserted parking lot is riddled with cracks where weeds push up through the macadam, as if re-staking their claim on the field that used to dominate the plot of land. I'd never been inside.

I sent them an email, not wanting to drive an hour to the next-closest lanes, and asked about reserving a time. They took my information casually, making me wonder if they were keeping any record of my request, not asking for any deposit or credit card information. All they wanted was a head count, the day before.  It was cheap, as kids' parties go.  It seemed almost too easy. 

My son wanted pumpkin cupcakes. Not vanilla or chocolate, or even red velvet, but pumpkin. I scoured my cookbooks to find something suitable, worried about kids not liking pumpkin, worried about the high standards adults set for my baking, because I hadn't made cupcakes in a while. (This is for another post, but has anyone ever typecast you as something you no longer want to be solely identified for?)  In my zealousness, I overfilled the cups with batter, which overflowed into giant cupcakes, stuck together and stuck to the pan. I decided not to pipe, but frosted with a flat knife as liberally as I could, uncharacteristically (for me) to the edges of the cake, knowing that frosting hides all sorts of flaws. Not that most (any?) nine year olds would care about how a cupcake looks.

On the day of the party we packed up what little we had to bring with us and drove out, parking, for the first time in my memory, on the cracked macadam lot. Inside the bowling alley, it smelled like sweaty old leather and snack bars of fried food; the plastic orange bucket chairs and dingy plastic-encased computer screens looked like something out of the 70s. My husband kept laughing at the kids who would touch the screens, thinking that something would happen. It was ... retro.  And not on purpose.

But it was also bright, and friendly, and non-threatening. It was a place where kids could wander around back and forth, where you could bowl a terrible game with friends and still have a good time. Which is exactly what we did for the next two hours, adults and kids alike.  The kids organized themselves once they had a bowling order, and we asked for an additional lane next to the kids, where we laughed and joked about needing bumpers, cheering wildly when one of us bowled a good frame.

And though they weren't exactly everyone's favorite, the cupcakes, like the bowling alley, were just right once you got past appearances. Moist, not too sweet, tasting like fall.

Pumpkin Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting
from Crazy About Cupcakes by Krystina Castella

1 stick unsalted butter, room temperature
1 c. firmly packed light brown sugar
1/3 c. white sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
2 c. all purpose flour
2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1 t. cinnamon
1 t. ginger
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/8 t. cloves
1/2 t. salt
1/2 c. milk
1 1/4 c. pumpkin puree
1 t. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line your cupcake pan.

In a large bowl (I use an electric mixter), cream together butter and sugars until fluffy (about 3-5 minutes). Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, the baking powder, the baking soda, the ground cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves and salt. Add a third of the dry ingredients to the butter mixture, mix gently. Add half of the milk. Continue to mix gently, alternating dry ingredients and milk until everything is combined. Don't overmix!

Add the pumpkin puree and the vanilla extract and beat until smooth.

Fill the cupcake liners 1/2 full (seriously, don't do what I did), and bake for 20-25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Cream Cheese Frosting

One 8 oz. package cream cheese, softened
6 T. unsalted butter, softened
3 c. confectioners’ sugar
1 T. vanilla extract

Using an electric mixer, cream together cream cheese and butter until smooth.  Slowly sift the confectioners’ sugar into the mixture, and continue beating until all lumps are gone.  Add the vanilla and mix until fully incorporated.  Add a splash of milk if you would like the mixture to be a little fluffier, and add more sugar if you'd like it to be stiffer; beat to the desired texture.

Allergy-Friendly Guest Post at Natural and Free today!

I've always been lucky, I guess, in that I can eat pretty much anything I choose to eat.  I knew about food allergies from an early age, because my aunt can have a potentially deadly reaction to shellfish and strawberries.  But back then, I didn't think much about food choices.  I met my first vegetarian in elementary school, when it was still sort of a "hippie" way of life.  In college, I met people who kept kosher, and found a host of people who were not only vegetarian, but vegan.  And after grad school, I started to encounter friends who had a wide variety of allergies and sensitivities to all kinds of foods: dairy, fish, nuts, soy.  Recently, the number of people I know with sensitivities to wheat and gluten has grown significantly.  Because I love to feed other people, and feeding people means being sensitive to restricted diets, I've become increasingly interested in recipes that accommodate both diet choices and allergies.

I jumped at the chance to guest post about an allergy-friendly treat at Natural and Free today!  Julie's blog is an amazing resource for people who need to accommodate for allergies in their diets; many of the recipes she posts are nut-, soy-, fish-, dairy-, and gluten-free; ALL of them are allergy-friendly in some way, and all of them use unprocessed, natural, real foods.

Please go visit Julie's blog for the story behind my allergy-friendly chocolate cupcakes (updated from my previous recipe for people who are also allergic to soy), and for a wealth of healthy, allergy-friendly recipes and advice!

What You Need: A Recliner, Chocolate Cake, and Perspective

When I moved out to LA for graduate school, after living my entire life in NJ, I piled all of my worldly possessions in my little blue-green Ford Escort: my books, my CDs, some clothes, my bedding.  I figured that we could get anything else I needed when I got there.

My mother drove across the country with me, helping me with the move and the transition to a life 3000 miles away.   I'd secured a place in a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood, large enough for a futon in the bedroom, a beanbag chair and a smaller futon for the living room, some upside down crates that I used as tables, and a piece of plywood laid across two crates that I used as a desk.  At Kmart, I splurged on a tiny cheap wooden dinette set with a white table and farmhouse chairs, and I think I found a used swivel chair curbside somewhere off of Melrose Place.  I was living in the lap of luxury.

Sometime in the fall, my father came to stay with me for a visit.

For all of his risk-taking and adventuring, my father was also a creature of habit, the kind of guy that fell asleep in front of the television every night, head tilted back, mouth open slightly in a light snore.  Like Archie Bunker, whom he vaguely idolized, he had his chair, a recliner that no one else sat in (mostly because when we were at home, he occupied it).  I remember talking with my mother about the upcoming visit, laughing nervously, wondering where my father would sit.  She told me he'd make do.  I was dubious.

When we climbed the stairs and opened the door to my apartment, I held my breath.  What would he say about this, my first place of my own?

I entered the room, a few steps ahead of him, and turned, stepping aside with an arm flourish a la Vanna White.  "So?  What do you think?"

He was gaping.

Uh-oh, I thought.  I braced myself for the firestorm of disapproval.   Wondering what he was seeing.

"But Tinita," he said to me in all seriousness, in his slight Spanish accent, "where do you sit?  Where is your recliner?"

I almost peed myself laughing, though I knew I couldn't possibly laugh out loud.  Having refused any financial support from my parents, determined that I was going to do this doctoral degree thing alone, I was living close to poverty level.  Rice and beans and tortillas were my staples.  The improvised desk, the crates for bookcases and tables, the cheap pots and pans that leaned backwards from the weight of the handle when I put them on the stove, all of this carefully selected with a graduate student budget in mind ... and he wanted to know where my recliner was?

He insisted that we go, straight away, to a furniture store to procure said recliner. 

"But Dad," I said, as gently as I could manage, "they won't deliver it today."   You will, I thought, still laughing to myself, have to plant your ass on my cheap carpet.

My father was a stubborn man, though, and would hear none of my logic.  I was able to delay the trip to Levitz for a day (because heaven forbid we go somewhere sensible like IKEA), but eventually, he won out.

I dimly remember the visit to the furniture showroom, feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.  We sat on recliner after recliner, my father and I, opening and closing them with great gusto.  Looking at fabric samples.  A strange father-daughter bonding.  "This one has a HANDLE!" he would exclaim, legs flying out with a thunk as I sank down into a green model further down the row, bouncing a bit to test its resilience.

We finally settled on one, a wide seat with low armrests, a deep forest green fabric with barely visible multicolored stripes, and it arrived on the day my father was to leave.  He sat in it for a good long while before we left for the airport, and when I returned home, it still smelled like him, a combination of hard work and aftershave.

I still have that recliner, 17 years later.  It's worn, like any piece of furniture that has lived in a graduate student apartment and made its way across the country.  But I can't bear to get rid of it.  Right now, it lives in our bedroom, where sometimes I sit in it, looking out the window, or curl up in it and cat nap.  Sometimes our kids rock in it for a minute or two while I'm folding laundry.  It reminds me of my dad, sitting in his recliner on a weekday night, falling asleep in front of the news, completely at peace.

I didn't need a recliner.

But sometimes, the things you didn't need turn out to be exactly what you needed after all.

Have you ever been surprised to "need" something that arrived at just the right time?

Six Minute Chocolate Cake
Adapted from the original Moosewood Cookbook.  My husband informed us tonight, as we were playing in the kitchen after dinner, that some chocolate cake would be exactly right.  You never need chocolate cake.  But this one comes together quickly, is vegan, and you don't have to feel too guilty about eating it.  A five year old can (and in fact did) make it mostly on his own.  It's not drop-dead fabulous cake, or rich gooey cake.  It's good, un-fancy cake for when cake is really, deep down, what you need.

1 1/2 c. flour 

1/3 c. cocoa powder 

1 t. baking soda 

1/2 t. salt 

1 c. sugar (coconut palm if you like)

1/2 c. oil (melted coconut oil would be great here)

1 c. cold brewed coffee (or water if you don't like coffee)

2 t. vanilla (or 1 1/2 t. vanilla and 1/2 t. almond extract)

2 T. apple cider vinegar 

chocolate chips (optional)
 

Glaze (optional; I rarely do this)
1/2 lb bittersweet chocolate 

3/4 c. hot water or 3/4 cup milk 

1/2 t. vanilla extract 

Preheat the oven to 375F.  Whisk together the flour, cocoa, baking soda, salt and sugar into an ungreased 8 inch square or 9 inch round baking tin.

In a 2 cup measuring cup, measure and mix the oil, water or coffee and vanilla. Pour the liquid ingredients into the baking tin and mix the batter with a fork or small whisk.

When the batter is smooth, add the vinegar and stir quickly. Pale swirls will occur where the vinegar and baking soda react (this is actually really entertaining for a five year old). Stir just until the vinegar is even distributed throughout the batter.   If you're feeling crazy, toss some good chocolate chips on top.

Bake for 25-30 minutes. Set aside the cake to cool.

If you are making the glaze, reset the oven to 300F. Melt the chocolate in small ovenproof bowl or heavy skillet in the oven for about 15 minutes. Stir the hot liquid and vanilla into the chocolate until smooth. Spoon the glaze over the cooled cake. Refrigerate the glazed cake for a minimum of 30 minutes before serving.

The Food of Summer: Creamsicle Cupcakes

Summer has definitely arrived in New Jersey, and I've been reminiscing about my own childhood summer days.  There was the town camp one year, with the unforgettable taste of orange drink, and the constant sound of nok-hockey.  There were long bike rides to the reservoir.  There was summer reading club at the library.  And sometimes, there was the beach.

My parents were both teachers, and because they had summers "off," we would usually take a day trip to the beach at least three or four times per season.  My father, who loved the beach, would start to pack the car at dawn with two raucous plaid lawn chairs and a chaise lounge strung with orange plastic tubing (why we needed three chairs for two adults, I will never know), our carpet-like beach blanket, his blue and red Martini and Rossi umbrella (which could be seen from a mile down the beach if you happened to have taken a walk and lost your way in the sea of bodies and towels), the oversized cooler (always filled with 7-Up we weren't allowed to have, tortilla española, fruit), and too many plastic beach toys.  When we got there, he'd head down to the water, get out beyond the breakers, and float on his back, dark sunglasses still on his face.  My mother used to say she worried that some day he'd float out to sea; I thought that was sort of his intention, at least for a little while.

As a child, I never liked the beach much, which is apparently abnormal for someone who grew up in a state where "down'a'shoah" (down the shore) is a single word in the vernacular.  Though I liked building sand castles as much as most kids, I also have vivid memories of sand getting stuck in sensitive places in my overly frilly bathing suits, sand that burned my feet as we carried the mountain of beach gear for what seemed like miles to the water, vicious waves that sucked at my knees (I never could swim very well, and contented myself with standing in chest-deep water, pushing off as the waves came barreling in towards the shore).  I preferred the rocky, sometimes-cloudy coastline of Maine, where my grandmother lived, and where I could clamber over the jettys, searching for shells and seaweed.

One thing about the Jersey shore I did love, though, was the food.  Something about the salt in the air made everything taste better.  I often lobbied to go to Point Pleasant instead of Sandy Hook just so we could go to the Lobster Shanty on the way home, where they had a salad and hot food bar with strange and wondrous things like hush puppies and shrimp cocktail, and New England clam chowder that I'd order even on the hottest days.  Though we were never allowed to eat boardwalk food, my mother would reminisce about the orange-vanilla custard (that's soft serve or "creamies" to you non-Jersey folk) at Kohr's on the boardwalk at Asbury Park, where she went to the beach with her mother for a week every summer.  A foodie from a tender young age, I vowed to myself that as an adult, I'd come back and eat my way through the boardwalk, consuming as much custard and salt water taffy and lemonade as I could stand.

The first time I had a creamsicle, I was in college, on the boardwalk with friends, tasting the forbidden fruit of my childhood.  We stopped at Kohr's and I ordered an orange-vanilla twist.  Maybe it was the salt in the air combined with the sweet of the custard, but it was like a revelation.  It was like summer in my mouth.  It almost made me love the Jersey shore.

It's been a while since there have been cupcakes for your viewing pleasure, and since my new business card claims that I am a "cupcakepreneur" (yes, I totally made that up and I'm sure it's grammatically incorrect), I thought I'd post one.  I've been wanting to create a creamsicle cupcake for a while, and this was just about perfect.  It reminded me of everything I love about the Jersey shore, without the sand in my bathing suit.

What are your memories of summer?

Creamsicle Cupcakes

1/3 c. canola oil
3/4 c. granulated sugar
3/4 c. soy milk
1/2 c. orange juice (fresh squeezed is best)
1 t. vanilla
1/4 t. orange or lemon extract
1 1/3 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
1 T. + 1 t. finely grated orange zest.

Measure the flour into a small bowl.  In a large bowl combine the oil, sugar, soy milk, orange juice, and vanilla and orange or lemon extracts.  To that mixture add 1 T. of flour and mix until combined. This will help emulsify the mixture.

Sift together the remaining flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the wet in three batches, mixing well after each addition until smooth.  Fold in the orange zest and mix to distribute. Fill each cupcake liner 2/3 to3/4 of the way full.

Bake for 20-22 minutes at 350F. The tops should spring back when touched, and a toothpick come out clean when inserted into the center of a cupcake. Remove from the muffin tin and cool completely on a baking rack before frosting.

Orange Cream Cheese Frosting

1/4 cup cream cheese
1/4 cup butter or unsalted margarine, softened
2 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 T. fresh orange juice
1 tablespoon finely grated orange zest
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1/2 t. orange extract
a few drops each of red and yellow food color
sea salt, for garnish
festive sprinkles, for garnish

In a small bowl combine the cream cheese and butter until well combined.  Add the confectioners sugar in about 1/2 cup additions.  After each addition of sugar, add a splash of orange juice and beat well on medium speed. Add the vanilla and orange extracts and orange zest, and beat for another 3-5 minutes until the frosting is smooth, creamy and fluffy. Add red and yellow food color to achieve your desired color.

Frost cupcakes, and sprinkle ever so lightly with sea salt; if you're feeling young at heart, with sprinkles, too.

Freedom, Protection, and the Mixing Bowl: Vegan Lemon Lemon Cupcakes

My son has been my companion in the kitchen since he was born.  I have vivid memories of him as a small blob-like baby perched in his car seat, watching me make apple pie as I talked to him, flashing measuring cups, naming ingredients, dancing to some CD or another.  And now, even though he often has better things to do (like play Legos, for example), when I call him from the kitchen, he often comes to dump things into the mixing bowl, to stir or to turn on the mixer, and to lick the beaters.

My husband and I had a disagreement recently about whether or not I. should be allowed to use the stand mixer on his own.  I wouldn't exactly call it "unsupervised," but there are times when I let him turn the mixer on by himself as I'm rummaging in the cupboards to get something.  S. thinks that this is not a good idea; that I. will stick his hands or arms into the mixer, and there will be disaster.  I feel like I've given him enough instructions and that he has good enough instincts that he can be trusted with the mixer now.  And while occasionally there is flour everywhere when he turns it on, he has not yet let me down, and he usually starts it at the lowest speed.  Still, S. does have a point; I. has occasionally done bizarre, impulsive things (like stick a bead up his nose), despite his usual rational behavior.

The question is, at what point do you decide that a child is ready for certain kinds of freedom--freedom that could give them a chance to offer their talents to the world?  For how long do you protect them?  What do you do to make sure that their encounters with others are as safe as possible--that they don't hurt themselves or other people?

The same kind of question comes up when we let people--even adults--use any social networking tool.  Mel recently called my attention (via the Prompt-ly list) to a project called The Listserve, which, when it reaches 10,000 subscribers (and it just has) will allow one of its subscribers each day to send an email, consisting of whatever they want, to the list.  The difference here, of course, is that while I have some sense of how my son will operate the mixing bowl, we have no idea who the other 9,999+ subscribers are, and how they will use this common tool.  Like the things that come from the stand mixer, a lot of good could come from this list.  New ideas.  Community.  Global goodwill.  Rallying around social justice projects.  It could help to overcome the silo-experience of social media, where we find ourselves talking to friend lists and reading blogs and following pinterest boards full of people who are just like us.  Then again, the users could send self-promoting advertisements.  They could send hate speech.  They could use it for cyber-bullying.  They could send suicide notes (though there's a hopeful article here from a few years back about how people responded to a suicide note on PostSecret; one hopes that the response would be similarly compassionate and constructive).  There's nothing on the site to indicate that the site owner will censor any email, no policy about what will or will not get sent (though an article I read says they will vet email for things like porn or viruses).

(This also reminds me of the "enemy" plug-in that was recently created for Facebook ... and in that case, you could do some real damage without, it seems, any of the positive payoff.)

When I've been reading around to see what other people think of the project, it seems more like people are thinking about what they're going to say, rather than what they're going to get.  It's a chance for people to say something with an audience who may actually listen, to say something that will--presumably--not get "lost" in the social media chatter.  But what does that focus on authorship say about being a responsible reader?  Are we so self-absorbed that we're not even worrying about what other people might say, but are, instead, interested in our own 15 minutes (or so) of fame?

On the one hand, I think that the responsibility for the emails that get sent will rest on the shoulders of the project owners, five masters' students at NYU.  Sort of like (though I realize that the analogy is far from perfect) giving your five-year-old power to turn on the stand mixer.  If you're going to set him loose, even if you're supervising from across the kitchen, you should make sure he's ready to handle that kind of responsibility.  You should give him training.  You should be prepared to spring into action if something goes awry.  (None of this, I should add, is evident from TheListserve's site.)  But maybe the analogy is more appropriate when conceived this way: the makers of the stand mixer, which is a tool, are not responsible for the quality of my cake, or for my five-year-old's fingers.  I also think that the responsibility rests on the users.  After all, they've signed up for this experience.  They've elected membership in this haphazard "community," for better or worse.  They are inviting the possibility of radical difference into their inboxes.  And opening yourself up to contact with radical difference entails taking a risk.

Maybe some people will say some awful things.  I suspect that most of them won't.  It's certainly an interesting experiment in social nature.

I signed up for the list.  Though I don't typically solicit email, I'm curious.  And a pretty large part of me hopes I don't get picked to say something to the world, because I'm not sure I have a gem of wisdom to pass on just yet.  I'm the kind of person who sits through many meetings before I speak up, and what I have to say is usually something I've been mulling over for quite some time.  I suspect I'd say something about compassion and social justice, and perhaps I'd hatch a project to promote those things, but I'm not going to commit to that today.

What do you think?  Who should be responsible for what gets posted to the listserve?  Would you sign up?  And if you got chosen to speak, what would you say?

And: these cupcakes are made with a whisk, for those days when the stand mixer really does feel too risky.

(Vegan) Lemon Cupcakes
(makes 18-20 cupcakes)

2/3 c. canola oil
1 1/2 c. granulated sugar
1/2 c. soy yogurt
2/3 c. soy milk
1/2 c. lemon juice
2 T. lemon zest
2 t. vanilla extract
2 1/4 c. all purpose flour
1 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt

Preheat over at 350 degrees, line pan with cupcake liners. Stir together oil, sugar, yogurt, and soy milk. Add the lemon juice, zest, and vanilla. Mix to combine. In a separate bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add the flour to the liquid mixture in two batches, mixing very well in between each addition. Fill the cupcake liners 1/2 to 3/4 of the way full and bake for 20-22 minutes. Let cool, then frost.

Lemon Buttercream Frosting

1/2 cup vegetable shortening
1/2 cup earth balance margarine, softened
4 c. confectioners’ sugar
1/4 c. + 1 T. fresh lemon juice
4 t. finely grated lemon zest
2 t. vanilla
1/4 t. lemon extract

In a bowl, cream the shortening and margarine and then add the sugar 1/2 cup at a time. After each sugar addition, add a splash of lemon juice and beat well with mixer. Add vanilla and lemon extracts and beat for another 3-5 minutes until smooth and fluffy.

You're Beautiful: Carrot Chocolate Chip Cupcakes

It's nice to know that despite some of the frightening legislation being passed out there affecting women, there was one bright spot last month: the Israeli law banning underweight models in ads.  We're not talking about women who are just skinny, but who would be considered malnourished by World Health Organization standards.   The other interesting piece of the law requires that advertisements disclose when they use altered digital images, Photoshopping women into something they're not.

Then again, this is another attempt to legislate women's bodies, positive though it might be.  Should I be more concerned than I am about a slippery slope?

I've struggled with weight and body image for my entire life.  While I'm not "fat" by most standards, I also don't fit into Ann Taylor skirts.  I have curves.  I grew out of my "chubby" phase later than most other girls did, but I was a dancer: muscular on the bottom, small on top.  In graduate school in LA, I starved myself--for a variety of reasons, I guess, some of which had to do with how much money I had to spend on frivolous things like food, some of which had to do with feeling a lack of control about everything else in my life, some of which had to do with the skinny, beautiful people who seemed to be everywhere around me, swilling their lattes without a care in the world.  I came back to the East Coast weighing in at about 20 pounds less than I had in high school, and gained it back (and then some) once I settled into a job and a place of my own.  Since then I've become more fit: I used to kickbox, I run (my paltry little 5 miles on a really good day), I do yoga, I work out regularly when I can.  Still, I've gained and lost and gained weight again with my pregnancies, and grown, intelligent, self-confident woman that I am, I still poke and prod at myself, frown disapprovingly in the mirror.  I wonder, would a law about the images of women that get portrayed in the media do anything to change that?

Should women be able to choose how to treat their bodies?  (Please note: I am not suggesting that anorexia is healthy; this is a much larger question, I think)  A few days ago Pinterest also banned pro-anorexia images: it now expressly forbids content that “creates a risk of harm, loss, physical or mental injury, emotional distress, death, disability, disfigurement or physical or mental illness to yourself, to any other person, or to any animal.”  How does one measure this kind of risk, especially risk to others?  Who should decide?  While I don't want my daughter to grow up looking at images that make her doubt her body (heaven knows there are already too many internal, invisible reasons for women to doubt their bodies: see Kir's great post yesterday about accepting our bodies despite infertility), should people have the right to look at these images and share them if they want to?  How do images of anorexic women compare to, say, pornography? 

I'm teaching a class at my church for the young people who will be celebrating a coming of age ceremony, and as part of the journey, they all undertake a small social action project.  One of the young women wanted to do a day of post-it blitzing around her school with positive self-image messages for other young women.  We all thought it was a good idea, but worried about the follow-up.  What effect would a single day of anonymous messages have in the long run?

I've been baking a little bit less lately in an effort to eat better.  After my daughter was born, I gave myself permission to eat pretty much anything, and (in case you couldn't tell) I have a weakness for sweets.  And breastfeeding only balances out so much cheesecake and chocolate.  The problem with baking, of course, is that unless you're baking for others, you wind up eating what you make ... and when there are a lot of homemade baked goods in the house, my willpower goes out the window.  My son has noticed the dearth of cake and cookies, though, and plaintively asked the other day when I might be making more.  I decided that if I made something half-healthy, maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty about eating it.  Kir, these are for you.  And for everyone.  In case no one has told you today: you're beautiful.

And, for the record, I will be pinning chocolate chip cookies on my Pinterest site, not anorexic women.  Because I have a thing for beautiful, and not always entirely good-for-you, food.

Carrot-Chocolate Chip Cupcakes
adapted from Cooking Light, August 2003

1 lb. carrots, peeled and sliced
1 1/2 c. sugar
6 T. vegetable oil
1/3 c. low-fat buttermilk
3 large eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 oz. semisweet chocolate, finely chopped (you could also use about 1/4 c. raisins)

Preheat oven to 350.

Process carrots in a food processor until finely minced.

Combine carrots, sugar, oil, buttermilk, and eggs in a large bowl. Lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups, level with a knife. Combine flour, soda, and salt, stirring with a whisk. Add flour mixture to carrot mixture, stir until smooth. Stir in chocolate.

Spoon batter into 22 muffin cups lined with paper liners. Bake for 22 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan 10 minutes on a wire rack, and remove from pan. Cool completely on wire rack.

Frost with cream cheese frosting or dust with powdered sugar.

Community, Yoga, and Vegan Gin and Tonic Cupcakes

(You're intrigued by the title of this post.  I know you are.)

This past week I got back to yoga class for the first time in weeks, and it felt really, really good.  Not only to practice, but to be back in that room, part of the community, the sangha, of my yoga studio.  Sure, I could practice on my own (and sometimes do).  I could watch yoga videos.  But I've come to the conclusion that my practice of yoga both is and is not about me, a lot like blogging, and quite honestly, a lot like everything in my life that is meaningful to me.

A friend of mine posted this video caricature about yogis to her facebook wall, and I've now watched it at least five times, laughing out loud every time.



I probably don't need to tell you that most yogis aren't really like that.  Shallow.  Self-centered.  In fact, every class at my studio ends with the chant Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu: may all beings everywhere be happy and free.  My teacher talks about practice as something that is for us, but also something that we do with an intention for something greater ... that our yoga touches everyone we touch, which again touches everyone they touch, and so on.  Because yoga is about allowing prana, the life force, to flow better through you, out into the world and back ... not about achieving some kind of smug satisfaction from turning yourself into a pretzel.

I remember when I was younger my old world Catholic father telling me that nuns did good for the world by praying, and thinking that being a nun must be a good gig (discounting the poverty and chastity bits, of course), since it looked to me like what they were doing was a pretty self-centered form of nothing.  But I think now that I see it a little bit differently: that the most inward-facing activities, the most mindful activities, can be the ones that affect us, and therefore everyone else, the most.  I suspect that's why some of us self-censor a bit in our blog writing: because we know that there is an audience out there, and if we're lucky enough to get comments, we begin to know who they are, and how our words become larger than ourselves.

My husband sent me a link to a NYTimes article about how yoga can wreck your body.  I told him that my teacher wasn't like the teachers in that article; that she doesn't push us to go deeper (though she does "adjust" our asanas).  In fact, what she says is that we know we're doing it right when we don't feel depleted after class, but renewed and rejuvinated.  To me, the community is part of what makes that renewal possible.

Today was my husband's birthday.   When I asked him what kind of a cake he'd like, he told me that he wanted a "custom" flavor: gin and tonic cupcakes (because gin and tonics are one of his favorite adult beverages, and because I've done adult beverage cupcakes before) ... and then he said that if it was too much trouble I shouldn't worry about it.  The thing is, when I bake, even late into the night, as I'm wont to do, I'm not depleted.  I'm renewed.  Because I know that what I'm doing is going to make other people happy.  It's why I used to bake for my classes, or for my colleagues.  Feeding people feeds me.  In both the literal, and the not-so-literal, sense.

Yoga doesn't exactly go with adult drinks, unless you're doing wheat grass shots, I guess.  But I'm posting these in the hopes that you'll know we're not lushes.

Lokah samasta sukinoh bhavantu, and happy birthday, S.

Gin and Tonic Cupcakes

1/4 c. tonic water, stirred vigorously for about a minute to get some of the fizz out
1 1/2 t. lime zest
a few drops of lime juice
1 c. unsweetened soy milk
1/4 c. vegetable oil
1 T. gin
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1 c. sugar
1 1/3 c. flour
1/4 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt

Preheat oven to 350F. Fill a 12-cup muffin tin with liners. In a large bowl, mix together tonic water, lime juice, lime zest, soy milk, oil , gin, vanilla and sugar. Sift in flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Whisk until just combined. Divide evenly into muffin tins. Bake for 20-24 minutes, until a tester comes out clean and the cakes spring back when lightly pressed. Cool completely before frosting.

Gin and Tonic Frosting

1/2 c. butter (or equivalent), softened
2 T. vegan nonhydrogenated shortening
2 t. gin
2 t. tonic water
a few drops of lime juice
2+ cups confectioners' sugar


Cream together butter/nonhydrogenated shortening (depending on whether you want the frosting vegan or not).  Add confectioners' sugar.  Add lime juice, gin, and tonic.  Beat well and add in more sugar as needed to make frosting desired consistency. Spread or pipe on cupcakes.

Compassion: Gluten Free Carrot Cake

Imagine the most honored guest you could think of was coming to dinner.  What kinds of preparations would you make?  What would you serve?  How would you make that guest feel comfortable and at home?

Now: imagine that you are the honored guest.

When was the last time you treated yourself that way?

I'm not talking about hedonism here.  I know the six bags of candy you bought for Halloween are calling your name.  That's not compassion; that's the kind of thing that gives you a hangover the next day.  I'm talking about being kind to yourself, making yourself comfortable.

In yoga class last week, we chanted the Tibetan Buddhist mantra "Om Tāre Tuttāre Ture Svāhā": a call to Tara, who is considered to be both symbol of light and life, and provider of compassion.  Devotees also believe that she can grant wishes, eliminate suffering of all kinds and bring happiness.  When called upon, she instantaneously saves us from eight specific calamities. The First Dalai Lama interprets them as representative of corresponding dangers as follows: 1) lions and pride 2) wild elephants and delusions 3) forest fires and hatred 4) snakes and envy 5) robbers and fanatical views 6) prisons and avarice 7) floods and lust 8) demons and doubt.

I don't know about you, but I could use saving from wild elephants.

The mantra is really more of a heart opener, though, than anything else.  To ask for compassion for ourselves, and to call ourselves to the work of compassion.  My teacher asked us to imagine the heart as a box that can hold everything: all of our worries, all of our struggles, all of the nagging thoughts that won't go away.  All we need to do is give those things to the heart, and the heart will take care of them, giving us comfort.

In my case, I think this means I shouldn't beat myself up for imperfection.  For yelling at my daughter, in one of my more unattractive moments today, to "go the F to sleep" (have I mentioned that she's a horrible napper?  Yeah, that didn't work so well).  For not landing a job, despite the resumes and cover letters that continue to go out.  For a host of other things.

It's funny; I don't usually get upset about imperfection in the kitchen.  I might stress over something in the process, but once it's done, if it's not right, I either eat it anyway or throw it in the trash.  (Yes, I realize that this is wasteful.  Trust me ... things don't often get trashed.)  Sometimes when cupcakes sink, I confess: I just put more frosting on them, and no one knows the difference.

That happened here, because I was making gluten free cupcakes as a surprise for my neighbor's birthday, and didn't have gluten free flour with xanthan gum in it.  But they only sank a little, and they were pretty awesome anyway: moist, warm, sweet without being cloying.  So what if the cream cheese frosting isn't centered? 
 

Gluten Free Carrot Cake

2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 cups light olive oil OR your favorite vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose gluten-free flour mix (see notes)
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons gluten-free baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup chopped nuts
3 cups freshly grated carrots
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 ounces cream cheese
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups gluten-free powdered sugar (See note)

Preheat oven to 350 F

Use two round 9-inch cake pans, one 9x13 pan or 36 muffin cups for this recipe. If using round cake pans, lightly grease and place a circle of parchment in the bottom of the pan for easy removal. Use paper lining cups if making cupcakes.

Cream sugar and eggs in a large mixing bowl with an electric beater or stand mixer. Add oil and vanilla and beat just until smooth.

In a separate bowl combine gluten-free flour mix, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Whisk to combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and beat until blended.

Stir in grated carrots and nuts. Pour the batter into prepared pans.

Bake in preheated oven for 45-55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. For muffins, reduce baking time to 30-35 minutes or until they pass the toothpick test. Cool on a wire rack.

While cake or muffins are cooling prepare the frosting: place butter, cream cheese and vanilla in a large mixing bowl and beat on high until smooth. Add powdered sugar and beat until smooth and creamy.  Frost when cake is completely cooled.

Notes:


Most powdered sugar products are made with granular sugar processed with cornstarch or tapioca starch. However, when buying powdered sugar, read labels carefully to be sure that the product you are considering is not made with wheat starch.

You can use Bob's Red Mill Gluten-Free Pizza Crust Mix in this recipe with good results. It contains xanthan gum, eliminating the need to add more gum to this recipe. Use your favorite gluten-free flour mix in this recipe and add 1 teaspoon xanthan or guar gum to the recipe if the mix you're using doesn't contain one of these baking gums.

How Blogging Saved the Day: Gluten Free Vegan Chocolate Cupcakes

In my church, coffee hour is a big deal.  It's not that we don't come for the service.  It's just that the fellowship is every bit as important as what happens in the sanctuary.  We talk about the sermon, our kids, surgeries and illnesses, social justice efforts, new jobs, good books.  But one of the things I really like about coffee hour is that adults don't just chat with other adults; we also talk with the children, who come and go from the fenced in playground.  This past week, for example, I learned how to "eat" honeysuckle nectar from a ten year old, who was completely shocked that I'd never done it before.  (It was absolutely delicious, in case you've never tried it either, and I now need to find a way to replicate that flavor in baked goods.)

I'm a firm believer that some of the best conversations happen when you break bread with someone, and because my fellow UUs agree, there are always treats at coffee hour: kids and adults alike orbit tables filled with home-baked muffins and scones and cookies, and fruit and cheese and crackers.  People linger after services, and for good reason.

Recently, one of the little girls in the fellowship was diagnosed with a host of food allergies: to gluten, to wheat, to flax, to eggs, to peanuts, and to dairy.  Needless to say, she's been very sad at coffee hour (and at church in general), and wouldn't talk with anyone about her allergies.  Come to think of it, she hadn't been talking much with anyone at all ... she'd mostly been burying her head in her mother's lap.  I decided that I needed to put my baking talents to good use, and so I asked if I could make her some treats.  She nodded shyly, eyes wide, flashing me a half smile.

When I showed up with chocolate cupcakes this past week in a special container with her name on it, you would have thought I'd given her the moon.  I assured her that there were other people out there who had the same sensitivities she had (in fact, I had some great blogs for her to read), and that it was possible to make some really tasty treats ... that this was a chance for her to learn how to be an expert baker.  She agreed, picking up a cupcake with a wide-mouthed grin, and taking a big lick of frosting.

As someone without any food sensitivities myself, honestly, I probably would not have delved into the world of alternative ingredients had it not been for the blogsophere.  Elana and Karina educated me about gluten sensitivities.  Lots of others helped me to learn about the ins and outs of vegan baking (though these are adapted from Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero's excellent Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World).  And strangely enough, it was through food blogs that I learned about the ALI blogging community, which continues to be an incredible source of support for me, even after my successful pregnancy.  I've been thinking about Mel's post this week about the "small blog," and how much I love the fact that blogging--even the small blogs about mundane things like food--has helped people to connect with each other and do something good.  This is "enough."  It's not about having a gazillion followers, but making some small difference in the world, just by adding our voices and our perspectives to the conversation.  And who knows what the ripple effects might be?

(Of course, this is making me even sadder that I'm not going to be able to swing a trip to BlogHer'11.  Wah.)

Here's the recipe for the cupcakes. It's usually recommended to use xanthan gum with gluten free flours, but I can't bring myself to buy a $10 box of the stuff to use only a tiny bit ... so I did without it, and it seemed to work fine both times I tried it. The secret of these cupcakes is to use really high quality vanilla and high quality cocoa powder (I use a fair trade variety), because that's the taste that comes through!

Gluten Free Vegan Chocolate Cupcakes

1 c. soy milk
1 t. apple cider vinegar
3/4 c. granulated sugar
1/3 c. canola oil
1 1/2 t. vanilla extract
3/4 c. fava bean and garbanzo flour
1/4 c. potato starch
2 T. arrowroot
(or substitute the above three with 1 c. Bob's Red Mill Gluten Free all purpose baking flour)
3/4 t. xanthan gum (optional)
1/3 c. good quality cocoa powder, Dutch-processed or regular
3/4 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt

Preheat oven to 350°F and line a muffin pan with paper or foil liners.

Whisk together the soy milk and vinegar in a large bowl, and set aside for a few minutes to curdle. Add the sugar, oil, vanilla extract, and other extract, if using, to the soy milk mixture and beat until foamy. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add in two batches to wet ingredients and beat until no large lumps remain (a few tiny lumps are OK). Be careful not to overmix; you'll find that if you do, your cupcakes will sink in the middle after baking!

Pour into liners, filling 3/4 of the way. Bake 18 to 20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool completely.

Gluten Free Vegan Chocolate Frosting
 
1/2 c. nonhydrogenated shortening (Spectrum organic)
1/2 c. nonhydrogenated margarine (Earth Balance Vegan)
3 1/2 c. powdered sugar, sifted if clumpy
2 t. vanilla extract
1/4 c. plain soy milk or soy creamer
1/4 c. or more of cocoa powder

Beat the shortening and margarine together until well combined and fluffy. Add the sugar and beat for about 3 more minutes.

Add the vanilla and soy milk, and beat for another 5 to 7 minutes until fluffy.

You can add cocoa powder to the frosting to make it chocolatey ... add until you like the taste.

Make them for someone you love!

She's Baa-ack: Lavender Cupcakes with Honey Lavender Frosting

Today is one of those days when I confess I am remembering why I go to work. It's been raining since last night, and so we haven't gone anywhere. A friend from work who was supposed to visit had to cancel.  My other friend ended up not being able to meet for coffee.  I considered making a trip to my favorite ice cream store, but thought better about it once I realized I'd have to cross roads that are perpetually flooded to get there.  And my hair salon couldn't fit me in for a haircut (which I have not had for over six months) during N's "naptime."  N. has been refusing to sleep except on my shoulder, and sometimes even crying when she's on my shoulder, because it's not comfortable enough for her to fall asleep (no kidding, girlie).  We had been walking around the house like zombies since about 7:30 a.m., and as much as I love my daughter, the end of the day couldn't come soon enough.  I don't know how those of you who are stay at home moms do it; my hat's off to you amazing women.

I am yearning for spring, for consistent better weather, and for a time when N. figures out how to take naps instead of getting mad at the world for interfering with her ability to go to sleep.

In the middle of my frustration, I remembered a little canister of culinary lavender that I'd been given by my husband's friend and coworker.  We had been talking about cupcakes over a batch of pistachio rosewater cupcakes that I'd made over the summer, and they had been encouraging me to start a business from my cupcake-making hobby.  We were dreaming up flavors together, and the natural extrapolation from rosewater was lavender.  I had complained that I wanted to try lavender cupcakes but hadn't been able to find culinary lavender.  Some time later, in late fall, my husband brought home a small package from them, containing the most wonderful-smelling delicate lavender flowers.  Today was a good day, I decided, to make lavender cupcakes. It's been a while since I've baked anything fancy, and perhaps I needed to taste spring.  And after all, didn't you start reading this blog for the cupcakes?

I happened to have self-rising flour, which I used in place of the flour/baking powder/salt, but you can use the separate ingredients; just sift them together before you add them to the batter.  Though I can't do a damn thing about sleep training, hopefully if we bake some of these, spring will come faster.  Right?


Lavender Cupcakes

1/2 c., granulated sugar
1/4 t. dried lavender flowers
1 stick unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 eggs
1 c. flour
1 1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
2 T. milk

Preheat the oven to 350F.

Put the sugar and the lavender flowers in a food processor and process briefly to combine. Tip the lavender sugar into a bowl with the butter and beat together until pale and fluffy.

Beat the eggs into the butter mixture, one at a time, then sift in the dry ingredients and fold in. Stir in the milk.

Spoon the mixture into the paper liners. Bake in the preheated oven for about 18 minutes, until risen and golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

Honey Lavender Frosting

2/3 c. cream cheese, softened
3 T. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/3 c. confectioner's sugar, sifted
2 T. honey
red and blue food coloring (optional)
Choose one or both:
1-2 t. dried lavender flowers, ground
1-2 t. dried lavender flowers, whole

Beat the cream cheese, butter, and confectioner's sugar in a medium bowl with an electric mixer, until light and creamy. Beat in the honey and a few drops of the food coloring. Stir in the ground lavender flowers.

Spread the frosting onto the cupcakes and sprinkle with the reserved lavender flowers.

Midnight Mass and Candy Cane Cupcakes

On Christmas Eve, I went to midnight mass.  I abandoned Catholicism long ago, for a variety of reasons, but there's something about the solemnity (or potential solemnity, anyway) of Christmas midnight mass that strikes a chord in me, and reminds me of my old-world Catholic father, who died eight years ago this February from stomach cancer.  Though "midnight mass" when I was growing up happened at 9:00 p.m., I can still remember him singing Christmas carols in French and Latin in his booming baritone, burying his head in his hands as he knelt in prayer.  

There is a Catholic church just a block from where we live, so since I was awake anyway, I walked up the street, listening to the silence, looking at the stars, tasting the crisp wintry air, and feeling the quiet in my soul.  When I got to the church, I sat in the back, watching the parishoners filter in, looking for friends and family, admiring each others' Christmas finery (and four inch spike heels).  I was wearing my ratty green maternity sweater and clogs, looking very pregnant.  No one greeted me, and few people looked my way.  But I had to laugh as I thought to myself, sitting there, that in a strange way, I was physically the closest person in that church to Mary at that moment.  I smiled, thinking about the difference between this church and the UU fellowship that we attend, where everyone greeted everyone with hugs and kisses at our Christmas celebration, and no one was looking at what anyone was wearing.  A 20th century Mary and Joseph would have been welcome in our midst, and would have been offered a cup of coffee.  Still, though I didn't make it all the way through the midnight mass --I lost steam about halfway through, I was glad to be reminded of my father, for all of his faults, and the way he embraced the spirit of renewal and possibility that was Christmas.

In that same spirit, I finally got around to a baking project I'd intended to try for weeks, inspired by a blogger friend who'd had a dream, while she was still pregnant, that she was eating candy cane cupcakes.  Melissa was originally due to give birth to her third child just after I was, but had her baby girl at just shy of 30 weeks, 3 lbs. 11 oz.  Kiari has been doing remarkably well in the NICU; she's been a fighter since before she was born.  I've been wanting to send them something; I'm in charge of what's fondly referred to as the "casserole brigade" in our fellowship (though I refuse to call what I make "casseroles"): when there are new babies or illnesses or other crises in life, I organize the group of people who bring food and comfort to the doors of our friends.  Candy cane cupcakes sounded like they might offer some promise of traveling well, if I sent the frosting separately, and I knew that a part-buttercream would keep with no trouble in transit, given the weather out this way lately.

So I made my standard vanilla cupcake using half peppermint extract in place of the vanilla (if you're going to try this, don't just settle for something called "mint extract," which is half spearmint, and really won't work at all) and tinting half of the batter with red food coloring, layering the two colors of batter, and swirling them around just slightly with a toothpick before baking.  I packed a standard vanilla buttercream, made with crushed candy cane bits, and included some extra small candy canes in the package for decoration.  (Here, in the picture, I put some crushed candy cane bits on top.)  Before we sent them off, we tested one to make sure that it was fit for human consumption.  While it was good, it wasn't exactly as good as I was hoping; I think next time I'd be less sparing with the peppermint extract (which I was afraid would be too overbearing), and possibly alternate two kinds of batter, red velvet and white chocolate pappermint instead of vanilla with peppermint.  Still, the end result was pretty, and the stripes inside were even more or less what I'd envisioned.

The best part of this story, though, is that the cupcakes arrived on Melissa's daughter Kelsi's birthday.  Kelsi was one of the three smallest living babies born at the hospital where she entered the world six years ago, and sadly, she didn't survive.  But every year Melissa and her family remember Kelsi's short life, and celebrate the effect she has had on so many people.

So happy birthday, Kelsi ... may 2011 bring us all hope and the human connections that make us better people.  Thank you, Melissa, for letting me be part of such an important day in your family's year.  The bloggers and friends I've met on this journey have inspired me, humbled me, and helped me to keep putting one foot in front of another.  And as much as I wish I was holding a live child in my arms right now, instead of worrying about these last few weeks and all of the things I know could still potentially go wrong, I will take comfort in the fact that I have a community of amazing people rallying around me, cheering me on to my own small miracle.

When Life Gives You Lemons: Gingerbread Cupcakes with Lemony Frosting

I was going to post another soup recipe today, but I had such the day from hell that I couldn't possibly think about celeriac and cauliflower.

This is how it went:

4:00 a.m.: sudden powerful leg cramp in my right leg, going up the length of my thigh.  Thank you, pregnancy.  (But I guess I shouldn't be complaining, right?)

4:30 a.m.: continued tossing and turning, unable to get pregnant self comfortable, even without considering leg cramp.

5:00 a.m.: heart pounding.  Can't get back to sleep.  Consider going for a run, but decide against it, since husband has to be out of the house early this morning, and I have to take child to school (adding an extra half hour to my commute), and it would mean risking not being back in time to get child ready AND take shower.  Watch minutes tick by, one by one.

5:50 a.m.: finally get out of bed, fetch child, make lunch and snack, make breakfast, go shower.

7:10 a.m.: out the door with child, note that it's raining, so a run at work is also unlikely.
(interlude: traffic on highway, hooray for Mondays and trucks.)

8:25 a.m.: arrive at work, decide to go for a run anyway, despite a late morning meeting with new boss.  Take usual route, and realize that I need to find a bathroom half way in.  Luckily, know all port-a-potty stops on all run routes.  Stop at the next port-a-potty, do business, discover: no.friggin.toilet.paper.  Goodbye, bandana.  Mentally note that this had better not be an indication of how the rest of my day will go.

9:15 a.m.: try to bathe in the ladies' room at work, feeling completely disgusting.  Decide to go without underwear today because of the whole no-toilet-paper ordeal; stow underwear with sweaty running clothes.

11:00 a.m.: boss-in-waiting (New Boss) arrives for meeting we had scheduled over a month ago, with no follow up questions about his responsibilities in the spring (he will "figure it out," he says, and I realize that he is going to get someone else to do this work for him, and that I will have to train this other person), but announcement that he will be attending a meeting I'd previously scheduled with Boss' Boss.  Not good.

2:00 p.m.: meeting with Boss' Boss and New Boss.  Informed that they will be hiring a faculty director to work in my program alongside me, because they are concerned about "faculty involvement" (never mind that I correspond with close to 100 faculty members currently, on a regular basis, and both seek and implement feedback).  Informed that New Boss will be using my office while I'm gone, and that a student will be using the old (currently unoccupied) faculty director's office, meaning that a recent graduate with no experience will have a private space, while my program coordinator/assistant has no space of her own and is treated like a receptionist/secretary.  Know that this will be a slap in the face to said program coordinator/assistant, and that I will have to break this news to her.  Then informed, by Boss' Boss (who has never been anything but supportive of me), in front of New Boss, that we need to discuss my "attitude" towards faculty members, whom someone said I think are lazy.  Here is where I lose it: never, in my 12 years of working at this university, of building this program from the ground up, of recruiting a few hundred faculty members to work with me, of earning the respect of faculty members with whom I now work as colleagues, have I been accused of having an attitude problem, and NOW?  Break into tears, in front of New Boss and Boss' Boss.  Epic fail.

3:00 p.m.: leave meeting, feeling like I have been slapped in the face, mentally composing letter of resignation.  Wonder if any of this would have happened if I hadn't been pregnant, realize that the answer is "probably not."  Feel completely dumbfounded.

4:00 p.m.: leave the office to begin the hour and a half drive home so that I can pick up child on time.  Try to compose myself so that I don't get myself or child killed on the way home.  Apologize to Bean for suggesting that she has a role in this mess.  Bean kicks back, agrees that we need to go to yoga teacher training together.

9:00 p.m.: spill seltzer all over myself while writing this blog entry.

OK, I get it.  I should not have gotten up this morning.  So much for the bright side of life.

I'm really hoping that this week gets better.  Luckily, on Friday I'm getting together with some other women from a working moms group I co-founded over two and a half years ago, for a dessert recipe swap.  I think I'm going to make these cupcakes again, which I made for my class last week.  All I need to do is make it through four more days at the office.  I can do that, right?  Boy, I hope so.

Gingerbread Cupcakes

1  1/4 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
3 t. ginger
1 t. cinnamon
1/4 t. cloves
1/4 t. salt
1/2 c. canola oil
1/3 c. molasses
1/2 c. maple syrup
1/4 c. soy milk
2 T. soy yogurt
1 1/2 t. lemon zest
1/4 cup chopped crystallized ginger

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, line the tins, and break out two medium bowls.  In the first, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, cloves and salt.  In the second, whisk together the oil, molasses, maple syrup, soy milk, yogurt and lemon zest.  Mix in the dry ingredients in two batches.  Then, fold in the chopped crystallized ginger, pour into the tins, and bake for 18-22 minutes.

Lemony Frosting

1/4 c. shortening
1/4 c. margarine
3 t. lemon zest
1 t. vanilla extract
2 c. powdered sugar

Cream together the shortening and margarine, and add in the powdered sugar in half-cup batches.  After each batch of sugar is mixed in , add a splash of lemon juice.  After 2 cups have been added, beat in the vanilla and lemon zest.  Add powdered sugar to get the right texture, and frost the cupcakes.  The lemon goes beautifully with the ginger; you could also do a lemon cream cheese (vegan or not) frosting, which I imagine would also be a good complement.

My 100th Post: Ghoulish Vegan Cupcakes and a Giveaway

I can hardly believe that I've been working on this blog since January.  It's the most consistent I've been about a writing project ... perhaps ever, considering that no one is looking over my shoulder requiring me to turn it in (wait a minute, that was my dissertation, too ...).   I even have followers (thank you, everyone!) that make me feel like I'm not writing out into the void, and some people have told me that the food end of it is pretty good, too.

It's been an interesting journey.  As I've said, this blog started out mostly as a food-and-pregnancy-loss blog, turned into a food-and-infertility blog, and now is a pregnancy-after-loss-and-yoga-and-food-blog.  At least one thing is consistent!  I've been grateful, though, for the support of both the IF community and of the random people I've met on this journey.  All of you have given me perspective, have cheered me on, and have offered me a virtual hug when I need it most.  Thank you for being here ... wherever "here" is.

To celebrate (well, truthfully, to celebrate Halloween, and to amuse my class this week), I made gravestones and brains.  Cupcakes, of course.  Brains to represent ... er ... brains.  Mine.  Working.  My writing brain.  And gravestones to signify the demise of insecurity about writing.  (Yeah, right.)  Actually, I'm completely making this up: I just thought people would get a kick out of them at school.

I went with standard vegan vanilla and chocolate batters because they're foolproof and turn out a moist cake, and then for the brains, piped on vanilla frosting using a #12 tip, starting with a "D" shape on each half of the cupcake and adding the squiggles in the middle.  For the cemetery, I used chocolate frosting, dusted with crumbled chocolate cookies and green sprinkles, and topped with a half of an oval-shaped vanilla cookie (Milanos worked well for me, but someone recommended Oreo Fudgies ... I haven't been able to find those here.)  In retrospect, I guess spiders would have been a little less morbid, but I had these cookies that needed to be used ... and besides, I really hate spiders.

I also thought I'd celebrate my readers with a little giveaway.  Since this blog is about baking, at least part of the time, there's a wonderful company I like called King Arthur Flour, which has all sorts of ingredients and tools for the ambitious and less ambitious (e.g. pre-packaged-mix-loving) chef, even things for special (e.g. gluten-free) diets.  They ship anywhere, and there are some things they ship for free (not sure about whether that's true for packages going to Tasmania, but you never know).  If you'd like to be entered in the giveaway, leave a comment below telling me something you've enjoyed so far about my blog, and/or why you read it.  Make sure that there's some way for me to contact you, either through your blog profile, or by leaving an email address.  And please consider poking around a bit, and following publicly if you like what I write!  It helps me to know who my audience is, and I like to try to "follow back" -- or at least read -- the blogs of people who follow HalfBaked: after all, blogging, for me, is about becoming part of a larger conversation.  You're welcome to post this in other "giveaway" sites, but I'm not going to do any of that "if you like me on Facebook you get three more chances" sort of thing ... I feel like everyone deserves an equal chance, because that's the spirit of the blogging communities I've joined in this little corner of cyberspace.  And of course, you're welcome to comment and tell me that you don't want to be considered for the giveaway, too ... no one is forcing you to bake!

The giveaway will be open until next week, Wednesday, November 3 at 10pm Eastern time, at which time I'll choose a winning number from random.org.  Good luck, and thanks for reading!

Vanilla Cupcakes

1 c. soy milk
1 t. apple cider vinegar
1¼ c. all-purpose flour
2 T. cornstarch
¾ t. baking powder
½ t. baking soda
¼ t. salt (increase salt to ½ teaspoon if you’re using oil instead of margarine)
⅓ c. canola oil
¾ c. sugar
2 t. vanilla
¼ t. almond extract, caramel extract, or more vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line muffin pan with cupcake liners.

Whisk the soy milk and vinegar in a measuring cup and set aside for a few minutes to get good and curdled.  Beat together the soy milk mixture, oil, sugar, vanilla, and other extracts, if using, in a large bowl. Sift in the flour, cornstarch, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, and mix until no large lumps remain.

Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20 to 22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.

Chocolate Cupcakes

1 c. soy milk
1 t. apple cider vinegar
3/4 c. granulated sugar
1/3 c. canola oil
1 t. vanilla extract
1/2 t. almond extract, chocolate extract, or more vanilla extract
1 c. all-purpose flour
1/3 c. cocoa powder
3/4 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt

Preheat oven to 350°F and line a muffin pan with paper or foil liners.

Whisk together the soy milk and vinegar in a large bowl, and set aside for a few minutes to curdle. Add the sugar, oil, vanilla extract, and other extract, if using, to the soy milk mixture and beat until foamy. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add in two batches to wet ingredients and beat until no large lumps remain (a few tiny lumps are OK).

Pour into liners, filling 3/4 of the way. Bake 18 to 20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool completely.

Mmmm. brains.

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cupcakes and a Major Award

A few weeks ago S. saw an advertisement for an amateur photography competition at the library.  "You should enter it," he said, encouragingly.  I laughed, and thought little more of it, until he came home with registration forms.  "We'll both enter," he told me.  So I chose one of my favorite non-food photos, which S. enlarged, found a cheap frame at the local box store, and left the rest of the doing in S.'s capable hands, assured that I wasn't even in the running.

Today, I got a half slip of paper from the library, asking me to come accept my prize on Saturday the 16th at 1:30.  Apparently, I'm one of their winners!  (All I could think of was that scene from A Christmas Story, when the father gets news that he's won a "major award.")

Now, it could very well be that I'm the only person who entered a photo in my category, or that the other entries are terrible, or that I've won fifth prize, but still ... the idea of winning was, well ... exciting.  Someone else thinks my photographs--or at least one of them--is worth looking at!


Since the soup pictures have been less than beautiful recently (and, dear reader, there are more to come ... we are now hurtling headlong into soup season), I thought I'd post another "pretty" picture in honor of my win, which means baked goods! 

I've already mentioned that the pumpkin is here ... and that I've bravely roasted ours, and am now dealing with the pulp.  It's interesting to me that in Australia it seems one mostly eats savory pumpkin dishes, not sweet ones. While I did make a curried pumpkin soup, too (fear not, my faithful Australian readers! that post will be coming soon, in your honor), the requests I got from the other residents of this house were mostly for baked goods.

Ian (wearing his poofy chef's hat, of course) helped me to make these, and I brought them to the class I'm teaching this semester, whom, I jokingly tell them, I am trying to bribe into giving me--and the course--good evaluations.  I don't think they take that seriously, but I will admit that there has been more than one comment about cupcakes (quantity, quality, flavor, etc.) on my teaching evaluations in the past.  Well, so be it ... when I was an impressionable graduate student at a not-so-small fairly-well-known university in California, my teaching evaluations included commentary on the shape of my eyebrows and need for a waxing.  Cupcakes are harmless, comparatively speaking.

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cupcakes

1 c. canned pumpkin
2 T. canola oil
2 heaping T. unsweetened applesauce
1 c. sugar
1/4 c. soymilk
1 t. vanilla
3/4 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1/4 t. ground cinnamon
1/4 t. salt
1/2 c. chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 12-cup muffin tin or a 24-cup mini muffin tin with paper liners and mist lightly with cooking spray. In a medium bowl, combine the pumpkin, oil, applesauce, sugar, soymilk, and vanilla.

Sift in the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Gently mix together with a whisk, fork, or spatula. Once combined, fold in the chocolate chips.

Fill muffin cups 2/3 full.  Bake for 22-24 minutes for regular cupcakes. When done, let sit in the pan for a few minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.  Frost as desired, either with (vegan or not) cream cheese frosting (my preference) or a cinnamon-powdered sugar glaze.