I just watched “The Kids are All Right” and Annette Bening said it was awful to start a thank you note with an apology. I’m applying that sage advice to my blog. Instead of saying “Sorry!” for ignoring the blog for such a long time, I’ll show you why I’ve been neglectful.  As some friends and readers know, I left my job in March, and since then have been tinkering away at a new, though related, trade: food styling. I still develop recipes, but spend much of my time on photo shoots, both professional and personal.

A few weeks ago I got together with photographer Ellen Callaway for a test shoot in Ogunquit, ME. In spite of a stupid seagull who terrorized the set, it was a perfect day for a beach picnic.

Planning the food. Ellen and I talked about a beach picnic. This was no tuna sandwich and Cheeto affair, though…roast chicken, broccoli rabe and orecchiette, rosé, crusty bread.  I agonize over personal shoots just as much as over work ones. Lists! Post-Its! More lists!

Planning the props. Dishes, utensils, glasses, bowls, cutting boards—some items I had, others I had to shop for: Each menu item needs special attention. In addition, I wanted to hint that a couple were having a special evening out on the beach.  Sequined shoes, scarves, and a sea-blue bowtie did the trick.

Making the food.We planned on a two-stage shoot: In the morning, we would set up breakfast with blueberry scones and jam. (I was hoping to eat the scones, but the seagull swooped in, made off with a scone, and in the process, knocked over the rest. Boooo.) In the evening, dinner would be served. I cooked everything the day before, then carefully packed it up and took it on the road. Yes, as if I was really going on a picnic.

The Set-up. I tricked O into coming. Poor thing served as our sherpa, as Ellen put it. We had to lug props, food, and photo equipment down steep steps to the beach. Then back up. Then back down. And back up. Onlookers  and passersby thought something “big” was going on.

The Process. There’s a lot of back-and-forth between photographer and stylist. It’s good to work with someone you like because to an innocent bystander, conversations can sound like an old couple, nagging each other to death.

“Can you move that over a little bit?”

“Like this?”

“A little more.”

“OK. Wait, no. I think it was better before.”

That’s me, when I was a chickie, gathering eggs at my grandpa’s farm in Granada.

Green eggs, but no ham.

In a foul mood today. It’s perky and sunny outside, and I should be cheerful and traipsing out the door in a sundress and sandals, but blechhh. I wish it was a rainy day, better suited for sulking.

Maybe I’m being a sourpuss because dinner sucked last night. I had cereal, which normally I’m fine with, but shredded wheat does not a Saturday evening meal make. (I tried adding peanut butter to my Honey Nut Cheerios in an attempt to liven things up, but it wasn’t one of my more inspired ideas. The peanut butter clumped—duh!)

A “do-over” meal cancels out a bad one—I figured a good breakfast (no cereal, thank you!) might set me straight today.

WILTED ARUGULA AND CHEESE OMELETTE
Makes 1 omelette
Use whatever cheese you like—I prefer a sharp, stinky cheese here.

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cup arugula, tightly packed
Salt and pepper
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon butter
¼ cup shredded cheese, such as Tomme de Savoie or Gruyère

- Heat the oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the arugula and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until wilted, 2 to 3 minutes. Trasnfer the arugula to a plate.

- Beat the eggs with a generous pinch of salt and pepper until the yolks and whites are completely blended.
Add the butter to the skillet and swirl it around the skillet to be sure it greases the entire surface. Add the eggs and swirl them around the skillet until they’re spread out and they look like a thin, even blanket.  Cook until set, 2 to 3 minutes.

- Place the arugula on one half of the omelette and carefully slide it onto a plate. When half of the omelette is on the plate, gently, with a spatula, fold the other half over it. And there you have it.

You must agree—it looks oddly reptilian, like a Komodo dragon, no?

P.S.
I had papaya for dessert. I hadn’t had it in ages, but took a chance and bought one a few days ago. Not only was it absolutely gorgeous, it was perfectly ripe, sweet, and buttery.

I eat sandwiches all the time. Morning or evening, doesn’t matter. I had one last night (ham and Swiss), one this morning (grilled ham & Swiss on a so-so croissant), and another one for lunch. “Stop carb-loading!” I reprimand myself, but I love bread and it’s so very, very hard to not eat it.  At the husband’s request, I’ve been avoiding buying it, but, the second he left town on a business trip I ran out and bought a demi-baghette and American cheese (that was on Tuesday…I had a grilled cheese right before bed that night). The demi didn’t last long and I wound up buying a standard one on Wednesday. I have to go grocery shopping later and will do my very best to refrain from buying a loaf of Wonder bread, but alone and unsupervised, there’s not much I can do.

I wasn’t all that hungry today (horrible heartburn), but I can’t let noon, i.e. lunch time, tic-toc by unacknowledged. A search of my tightly packed and poorly organized fridge revealed a hunk of blue cheese, a leftover cooked steak, and a box of baby spinach. “MacGyver those leftovers!” And voilà, lunch was served. It was a little more tedious than my usual grilled cheese, but worth the involvement. Special treat.

BEEF & BLUE SANDWICH
For when you’re eating solo

1 to 2 ounces blue cheese, such as Roquefort
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon brown sugar
1 leftover steak, thinly sliced, or 4 ounces deli roast beef
1 6-inch piece baguette, halved lengthwise
¼ cup salad greens

- In a small bowl, with a fork, combine the blue cheese, mayonnaise, vinegar, and pepper to taste until smooth.

- Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Add the shallots, sugar, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook, stirring frequently, until the shallots are crisp and golden, 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer the shallots to a small plate.

- Brush the baguette on all sides with the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and toast in the now empty skillet until crisp and golden, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer the bread to a plate.

- Spread the crumb sides of  the bread with the blue cheese mayo and top with steak, shallots, and greens.

My mother and I always baked together (¡TQM, mami!). She used to make an orange Bundt cake very often, and I used to zest the oranges (I wasn’t too thrilled about it, but I guess even at a young age, you have to pay your dues!).  She also made carrot cake and with a generous slather of cream cheese frosting. Sweet, tangy, and silky, I prefer cream cheese to any other frosting. Especially buttercream. I loathe and detest buttercream. I think I can eat a hunk of butter straight off the stick, but there’s something smothering and unctuous about buttercream that gives me the willies.

I got carried away on my buttercream diatribe. I fully meant to say that the following frostings are easy to make and would make a great Mother’s Day treat. How ‘bout something as nice and sweet as she is on her special day? And, if you’re a mom, the cherry and chocolate versions below are a piece of cake to make with a little one who wants to lend a hand or lick a sticky spatula in the kitchen.

All of the following recipes make enough frosting for: One 9- by 13-inch cake / 24 cupcakes / Two 9- by 9-inch or 8- by 8-inch cake squares or rounds. Cake recipe follows at the end of post.

SALTED CARAMEL CREAM CHEESE FROSTING
TIPS: You’ll recognize Maldon salt by its large, flaky crystals. It melts delicately on your tongue and is my favorite for seasoning food once its served. Look for it at specialty stores and/or supermarkets.

Cool the salted caramel before making the frosting—it’ll melt otherwise.

¡Atención! If you read my Red Rum! post you’ll remember my warning: working with hot sugar is muy peligroso. I read a Julia Child recipe last night where she says to cook something until it’s “too hot for your finger.” Melted sugar is always too hot for your fingers.

For the Salted Caramel
¼ cup water
1 cup granulated sugar
½ cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon Maldon salt or Kosher salt, plus additional for sprinkling

For the Frosting
1 stick (4 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
2 (8-ounce) packages full-fat Philadelphia cream cheese
1 (1-pound) box confectioners’ sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

- Place the sugar and water in a heavy bottomed, stainless steel, medium saucepan. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat and cook, gently swirling the saucepan from time to time, until the sugar turns deep amber and begins to smoke (you really will see wisps of smoke), 10 to 12 minutes.

- Immediately remove the saucepan from the burner, and slowly and carefully pour in the the cream. The mixture will sputter quite violently—don’t move the saucepan or stir the mixture. Once the sputtering has subsided, return the saucepan to medium heat, and with a heat-proof rubber spatula, stir it until smooth, about 3 minutes. Cool completely before making the frosting.

- Using an electric mixer, beat the cream cheese and butter on medium speed until they’re light and airy, about 3 minutes. Beat in the chocolate, vanilla, and salt, scraping the sides and bottom of the mixing bowl with a rubber spatula from time to time.

- Reduce the mixer speed to low. Add the sugar and beat until just incorporated, about 1 minute. Add the salted caramel. Bring the mixer speed up to medium-high and beat until smooth, about 2 minutes. Frost cake and sprinkle with salt.

Chocolate cupcake with cherry cream cheese frosting.

CHERRY CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

2 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
4 ounces butter ( 1 stick or ½ cup), softened
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt
1 (16-ounce) box confectioners’ sugar, sifted
¼ cup cherry preserves
3 to 4 drops red food coloring

- Using an electric mixer, beat the cream cheese and butter on medium speed until they’re light and airy, about 3 minutes. Beat in the vanilla and salt, scraping the sides and bottom of the mixing bowl with a rubber spatula from time to time.

- Reduce the mixer speed to low. Add the sugar and beat until just incorporated, about 1 minute. Add the cherry preserves and food coloring. Bring the mixer speed up to medium-high and beat until smooth, about 2 minutes. Frost cake.

De chocolate.

CHOCOLATE CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

6 ounces semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, chopped, melted, and cooled
2 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
4 ounces butter ( 1 stick or ½ cup), softened
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt
1 (16-ounce) box confectioners’ sugar, sifted

To melt the chocolate on the stovetop: Fill a medium saucepan about ¾ full and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low, making sure the water remains at a steady simmer. Place a medium stainless-steel bowl on the saucepan. Place the chocolate in the bowl and stir constantly with a rubber spatula until melted, smooth, and glossy. Remove from the heat and allow the chocolate to cool to room temperature before continuing with the recipe.

To melt the chocolate in the microwave: Place the chocolate in a microwave safe bowl and microwave for 1 to 2 minutes, pausing to stir with a rubber spatula every 30 seconds, until the chocolate is melted, smooth, and glossy. Allow the chocolate to cool to room temperature before continuing with the recipe.

- Using an electric mixer, beat the cream cheese and butter on medium speed until they’re light and airy, about 3 minutes. Beat in the vanilla and salt, scraping the sides and bottom of the mixing bowl with a rubber spatula from time to time.

- Reduce the mixer speed to low. Add the sugar and beat until just incorporated, about 1 minute. Bring the mixer speed up to medium-high and beat until smooth, about 2 minutes. Frost cake.

EASY CHOCOLATE CAKE
One 9- by 13-inch cake / 24 cupcakes / Two 9- by 9-inch or 8- by 8-inch cake squares or rounds
This cake is adapted from Food & Wine

2 cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1¾ cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1½ teaspoons baking powder
1½ teaspoons baking soda
1½ teaspoons salt
2 large eggs
1 cup full-fat sour cream
½ cup vegetable oil
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons boiling water + 2 teaspoons instant espresso powder

- Preheat the oven to 350°F.

- Butter and flour a 9-by-13-inch cake pan or two 12-tin muffin pans—or line with paper cupcake liners and spray with Pam for Baking.
In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar, flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

- In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, oil, and vanilla.
Whisk the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Whisk in the boiling water and coffee mixture. Pour the batter (it will be thin) into the prepared pan or muffin tins and bake for 30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

- Cool for 10 minutes, then invert. Cool completely before frosting.

I snapped this photo and couldn’t bear to throw it out, so I drank it. With a bendy straw—just to make sure I got all the hot sauce at the bottom.

Hangover cures? I’ve heard it all: Sleep. Avoid caffeine. Drink water. Or pickle juice. Vitamin C. The Onion suggests taking a shower, in case you vomit, so you’ll have less cleaning up to do (eeewwww!). Travel + Leisure did an article on international hangover cures.  If you have foreign roots read it and find out how your great-great-great grandpa treated his delirium tremens.

Back home, you can go to a beach-front bar and have sopa levantamuertos—a seafood soup that raises the dead. If inland, head to a seedy bar, such as El Munich and order the same. Or just keep on truckin’—hair of the dog is probably the most universal cure.

I assume many of you will be toasting Benito’s first tussle with the French tonight and may be in need of a refreshment tomorrow morning. My suggestion: have a chilled michelada. You can have one tonight, too, natch—it’s the perfect warm weather drink.

MICHELADA
Makes 1
There are countless recipes for micheladas, with common ingredients being beer, lime juice, and ice. My version is below.

1 bottle ice cold beer, such as Pacífico
Ice
Kosher salt and black pepper
3 tablespoons lime juice
Worcestershire sauce
Hot sauce, such as Tabasco or my favorite, Valentina
Clamato or V8, optional

Rub the edge of a chilled glass with a lime, then dip it in salt. Fill the glass half to ¾ of the way with ice. Add the lime juice, ¼ teaspoon pepper, and Worcestershire and hot sauces to taste (and a splash of Clamato or V8 if desired) Pour in beer. ¡Salud!

For a recent cooking class, my tutee wanted to make rum cake. I don’t have rum cake in my repertoire, and although there are several fortified Nicaraguan desserts and rum is like mother’s milk to the populace, I couldn’t find one in the infamous Nica Joy of Cooking, Doña Angélica. My mom suggested I use our household orange bundt as a base and replace some of the milk with rum. A sensible suggestion, but I Googled “rum cake” anyway. Boxed yellow cake + rum. Not quite the avenue I’d planned on taking.

But then, an actual recipe claiming to be some well-known rum company’s original TOP SECRET recipe…

I like secrets! And I also like that this recipe had 3 sticks of butter plus 1 cup of heavy cream.

I added a few spices to the recipe and, deciding that ¾ cup rum in the cake was stingy (mother’s milk, remember?), made a buttery-burnt sugar-orange-rum glaze. This cake is incredibly moist and stays that way for about a week.  Love it. Love it. Love it.

RUM CAKE with BUTTERED RUM GLAZE

I recommend a 7 or 12-year-old Flor de Caña (Nicaraguan rum) for this cake. If you can’t get Flor, substitute with dark rum of your liking. For an extra burst of orange flavor, process the sugar and orange zest in a food processor for about 1 minute.

Prepare the glaze while the cake is in the oven. It’s best to use a stainless steel saucepan for this recipe—a dark pan will make it difficult to determine the caramel’s color and progress. Avoid a shallow pan as there will be sputtering.

¡Atención! The base of this glaze is caramel, just like the one  on flan.  Please be careful when working with hot sugar—it’s like liquid napalm and you should never be tempted to stick your finger in the pot to have a taste. Unless you’re looking to erase the friction ridges on your fingertips.

For the Cake
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground ginger
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup heavy cream
¾ cup dark rum
1½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1½ cups sugar
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 large eggs plus 1 large egg yolk

- Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat it to 350˚F. Butter and flour (or spray with Pam for Baking) a Bundt pan.

- Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and salt; set aside. Combine the cream and rum in a liquid measuring cup; set aside.

- With an electric mixer (use the paddle attachment if using standing mixer) on medium speed, beat the butter, sugar, and zest until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg yolk and beat until fully incorporated. Add the whole eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the vanilla and reduce speed to low. Add the flour mixture in 3 additions, alternating with the cream-rum mixture, stopping once or twice to scrape the sides and bottom of bowl with a rubber spatula. Mix until smooth, about 1 minute.

- Pour the batter into the prepared Bundt pan and bake until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean, about 1 hour.

For the Buttered Rum Glaze
½ cup dark rum
½ cup orange juice (use the zested orange from the cake recipe)
1 cup sugar
¼ cup water
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
¼ teaspoon salt

- Combine the rum and orange juice in a liquid measuring cup; set aside.

- Place the sugar and water in a heavy bottomed, stainless steel, medium saucepan. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat and cook, gently swirling the saucepan from time to time, until the sugar turns deep amber and begins to smoke, 10 to 12 minutes.

- Immediately remove the saucepan from heat, and slowly and carefully pour in the rum-orange juice mixture. The mixture will sputter quite violently—don’t move the saucepan or stir the mixture. Once the sputtering has subsided, return the saucepan to medium heat, and with a heat-proof rubber spatula, stir until smooth, about 3 minutes. Stir in the butter and salt. Reserve ½ cup of the glaze.

- Once the cake is out of the oven, poke it all over with a metal or wooden skewer. Pour the remaining glaze over the cake and allow it to sit in the pan for 20 minutes before turning out onto a cooling rack.  Brush the cake with the reserved glaze and cool completely before serving.

P.S. This is how good this cake is:

Easter was a casual affair, with some simple but decadent food.  A friend brought over a tin of duck confit (thank you very much!) which was promptly shredded and crisped and served alongside potatoes sautéed in a ladleful of duck fat, then topped it with runny-yolked fried eggs. It was salty, crisp, starchy happiness. The salad, the mesclun greens with grapefruit suprêmes, shaved endive, and paper-thin pear slices, lightened the meal a bit, but I still think all that richness gave me a touch of gout.

For dessert, I made waffles that were supposed to be crispy, but turned out  to be tough. Insert blush of embarrassment: I hope my guest of honor didn’t crack any teeth! Some important rules to live by: don’t get a haircut prior to an important event, and don’t experiment with recipes when you’re entertaining. The pineapple compote-goat’s milk dulce de leche topping were fabulous though, so hopefully that makes up for the waffle failure. Similar to how some great shoes and glam accessories will spruce up your so-last-season frock…

Age 4: Bliss. Mac’n’cheese on a rainy day at my best friend’s house.

Someone asked me if I’d always “been into” food. I thought, “Not really…” and began reviewing my youthful ambitions: Ballerina. Disney Imagineer. Christian martyr.

Being a cook never crossed my mind. But then I went back and did some digging. If I had a bare wall and was allowed to decorate it only with the crispest snapshots of long-ago occurrences, food would be main point of focus. Some highlights in my food timeline:

Age 2: Buying powdered doughnuts at the drive-through convenience store in Miami.

Age 3: Sitting in the yard with my cousins, wearing a ratty t-shirt reserved for the stains from impossibly juicy mangos. Instead of mud pies, my grandmother and I made mud tamales.

Age 4: Tea time with my mother at 3:00pm, prompt: white toast with butter and guava jelly as the sun set in a blaze of orange. Tea time in Buenos Aires: white sliced bread, butter spread evenly to crust-less edges, cut into quarters.

Age 5: Realizing that not everyone had enough to eat. The supermarket in Granada was mostly dusty shelves. Encountering rice pilaf as an individual course in Mexico—and hating it.

Age 6: Experiencing fancy food: Guanábana bombe for a fancy dinner party, courtesy of my grandmother. Profiteroles bathed in warm chocolate sauce at a white tablecloth restaurant in Mexico City. Getting sick after eating marzipan grapes at a First Communion party. Discovering consommé.

Age 7: Eating birthday cake with Jell-o. Apparently a common occurrence at Mexican birthday parties. Feeling grown-up because I loved pistachio ice cream.

Age 8: Eating my first TV dinner—I just had to try that cherry cobbler.

Age 9: Reading the Anne of Green Gables and Little House on the Prairie series, mesmerized by the descriptions of food preparations. The Hobbit falls into this category as well.

Age 15: Reading Jeffrey Steingarten’s article about Roman pizza bianca, then devouring a 12-inch rectangle of said item at the forno in Campo dei Fiori. It was better than I’d dared to imagine.

Age 16: Discovering Roman peaches. I can still smell them.

Age 28: I don’t think I’d ever really enjoyed lobster until I had it cooked in briny ocean water in Cape Cod.

When I eat or cook it’s hard to stay in the present and not travel back in time. The smell, the taste, the touch—déjà vu and comfort.

My favorite way to eat coffee cake: smear both sides of the slice with butter and whatever topping crumbs you can collect, then griddle over medium-low heat until golden.

My apartment is overrun with cooking equipment and groceries. They’ve busted out of the kitchen cabinets and counters and begun squatting on the floor, on my dining room table, on top of the bookshelves… Developing recipes from home means I have to purchase groceries several times a week, and in some instances, more than once a day due to last-minute changes, “Hmm. I suppose I could use spaghetti instead of rotini here.”

I’ve been cleaning up as I go—never, never, ever allow pots, pans, etc. pile up in your sink until you’re done because I can tell you, woodland creatures are very unreliable and won’t clean up after you like they do for Snow White—but my kitchen can’t contain the abundance of paraphernalia I need for my assignments.

The eye of the storm? My coffee table. If I need a moment away from The Pit of Despair I sit on the couch and bask in the order of that table. New magazines, books, flowers, and most importantly, cake. Cake sitting pretty under that glass dome is one of the few things that centers me and irons out the crease between my eyebrows…I should make cake more often. Don’t you just love cake?

A moment of clarity.