The Cupcaketologist

Case Study 106: "The Salted Caramel Touch"

2012-01-26T13:37:00.000-05:00

"Lady, i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene

(lady i will
touch you with my mind.)Touch
you,that is all,

lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite care

the poem which i do not write.” ― E.E. Cummings

Valentines Day is less than three weeks away.

This year, I suggest we do away with all the fluff: the lace heart-toting stuffed animals, the drug store box of chocolates and those baby's breath stifled long stem roses. Let's do away with the expectations.

You see, to me, what is most sensual is that which evokes the greatest of senses, and clearly I choose the runner-up to the obvious "touch": taste.

Vanilla bean cupcakes topped with caramel buttercream, drizzled, slowly, with warm caramel and sprinkled with Maldon salt, chilled in the fridge, and ready for indulgence in any manner you prefer.

A little bit salty and a little bit sweet. Just like all the greatest love affairs always are.

Case Study 105: "The Winter Pecan Pie"

2012-01-19T22:10:00.003-05:00

 By this point, it should be of no new surprise to you 
that I really really love whiskey...

...and that I love to bake with it. Specifically, Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. Even more specifically, Maker's Mark, which is my go-to in the kitchen. And if we're being honest here, nothing pairs better with this good old spirit than pecans. So in an effort to update my standard combination on a snowy winter's evening, I decided I might improve my recipe and go all in.

So I chopped some pecans, and tossed them over the stove with brown sugar, corn starch, egg yolks, bourbon whiskey, sea salt, vanilla and butter.  A little stirring and reducing later, I had a damn good pecan pie filling, and it was like Thanksgiving in my kitchen all over again.  

Except it's January, so I had to hide the goods.

Brown sugar cupcakes with a bourbon pecan filling topped with a whiskey vanilla bean buttercream. The cake is light and fluffy against the sweet and nutty filling. And that buttercream? It finishes with a boozy kick in the pants every damn time.

Bake these suckers up and combine them with straight up Manhattans, your lov-ah and a good dose of the bluesy jazz. What you'll get is romance, shaken or stirred, on a cold winter's night.

Case Study 104: "The Champagne Year Cupcake"

2011-12-29T22:57:00.000-05:00

"I thought I'd learned my lesson
But I secretly expected
A choir at the shore
And confetti through the fall night air

It's not a perfect plan
But it's the one we've got

I tell ya, it's gonna be a champagne year"

- St. Vincent

This was a year. A year to take a different direction and to stumble along the way. A year of tornadoes, earthquakes and hurricanes. A year of learning to be at peace just living in the middle place, wherever that middle place was at any given time.

It was a year of travel- in cars, on trains and in helicopters. A year to live in hotel rooms, sleep in childhood beds and curl up in the wee hours of the morning on beach town couches.

It was a year of connection. Disconnection, re-connections and utterly wonderful new connections. A year to build a new support system, the kind to really depend on in times of romantic crises and style consultation, straight talk and life intervention, and everything in between.

And it was a year of champagne. For celebration, in memorial and absolutely no damn reason at all.

"The Champagne Year Cupcake" is a vanilla cupcake topped with a Chambord Champagne buttercream and little stars. It's light and sweet with a little boozy kick.

The nice thing about a year like this is that when it ends, we can take the stumbles, the travels, the connections, and yes, all of those champagne cocktails, and wrap them all up into a cohesive experience. One where everything- good, bad, right and wrong- is a lesson, and absolutely nothing warrants reason for regret.

I've promised myself that Twenty-Twelve will be my year. Everything is in place and all signs are pointing towards awesomeness. Besides, if nothing else, there will be adventures, misadventures and copious amounts champagne. I'll toast to that.

Happy Holidays from The Cupcaketologist...

2011-12-24T12:14:00.002-05:00

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,

not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there."

I'll be celebrating Christmas in Connecticut with warm gingerbread cupcakes topped with orange peel-vanilla bean mascarpone buttercream, homemade fondant holly...

and fifteen of my wonderful family members.

From my table to yours,

here's wishing you a very Merry Christmas

and a healthy and happy holiday season.

Notes from the Field: A Cozy Christmas

2011-12-15T23:40:00.004-05:00

  
"And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep...." 

My favorite part of Christmas is undoubtedly the feelings of nostaglia for home, for holidays past, and for the inevitable desire to be all nuzzled up someplace warm with my favorite people.

And so, I often find the most heavenly bits of the season are not really the fanciful or decadent, but rather what is cozy and just damn good. Nothing emphasizes this more than the fact that one of my most beloved Christmases ever was celebrated powerless and completely snowed in deep in the Connecticut woods. Brothers and sisters, cousins and grandparents, we made do all night, singing carols at the piano, doing somersaults by a roaring fire and hand-whipping heavy cream for dessert.

In my second edition of several posts on holiday cupcake pairings, I present to you the fixings for gettin' cozy. After all, tis' the season.

A Cozy Christmas

Cupcake: Gingerbread cupcakes topped with cream cheese buttercream and a ginger snap. The cake is warm and earthy and the cream cheese buttercream is made tart with a pinch of lemon zest.

Cocktail: Mulled wine. While the best mulled wine I ever had was in Vienna in 2006, the best "at home" recipe combines a bottle of red wine (such as Cabernet Sauvignon) with 2 cinnamon sticks, the juice and zest of one orange, 3 whole cloves, 3 star anise, 1/2 cup of sugar, and six whole peppercorns. Add all ingredients to a pot, simmer at medium heat for 2 minutes, then reduce to low heat for 30 minutes. Serve in mugs and garnish with cinnamon sticks.

Sound: The Christmas Song - Nat King Cole

As a child, we used to put on Nat's classic Christmas album on the record player every year. This is my favorite. Always has been, always will be.

Notes from the Field: A Sparkling Solstice

2011-12-11T10:41:00.003-05:00

Last night, a full moon hung low over my little elm tree-lined Connecticut town. Outside the air was cold. Tree skeletons stood frozen and illuminated. Inside the light through the blinds of my childhood room cast stripes across the wall. I love this season.

This was the sort of dreaminess that followed me through my winter years growing up here. Light and shadows across snow packed fields; a brief glimpse of a lunar flashlight as we sped through windy back roads. As I moved to the city, the cold winter nights turned into a hustle from street to fireside bar, where warm drinks and hands awaited to gather us in.

I love summer, and I love fall, but there a still and quiet loveliness about a cold winter's night that holds its own. A season like this deserves an endless celebration.

My recipe for all holiday festivities is simple enough: good music, cocktail and cupcakes. And so in my first edition of several posts on holiday cupcake pairings, I present to you the makings to warm up your cold winter's night.

A Sparkling Solstice

Cupcake: Vanilla bean cake topped with whipped vanilla buttercream and sugared fruits.
The cake is light and fluffy and the sugar dusting off sets the tartness of the fruit, and sparkles by candlelight.

Cocktail: Champagne Cocktail

In a champagne flute or saucer, soak a sugar cube in Angostura bitters. Swipe a lemon peel across the glass and fill it with good champagne.

Sound: I Do Not Care for the Winter Sun - Beach House

Combine all three elements, and serve chilled for a sparkling solstice eve.

Case Study 103: "The December Delight"

2011-12-01T10:33:00.004-05:00

December is here and it seems the weather is finally cooperating. There will be cold breathe clouds, necessary champagne toasts and mile long scarves to get wrapped up in. There will be bundled up strolls through the twinkle lit streets, because nothing says romance to me like New York City at night during this holiday season.

"The December Delight" is a chocolate cupcake topped with a peppermint buttercream, chocolate ganache drizzle and smashed up peppermints.

So here's to a month of merriment, brightness and all that jazz. However you celebrate, it's simply a reminder to love the ones your with and spread a little bit more joy.

Case 102: "The Bourbon Hot Chocolate"

2011-11-29T21:09:00.005-05:00

When I was twenty-one, on the eve of Mozart's two-hundred-fiftieth birthday, I went to Vienna for twenty euros.

Wait. Let me rephrase that.

If you've ever lived abroad as a twenty-one year old, you would know that to go to Vienna for a price so nice you would actually have to take a train to a bus to a tiny airport an hour from the fashion capital of Italy. And you'd arrive on the other end not in Austria, per say, but in a little Slovakian town called Bratislava, where paper dry pastries cost less than a euro and the sky is always gray.

And so, in weather colder than a witch's tit, after another bus and a train trip west, we finally arrived at the tiny hostel on Grangasse.

The experiences we had on this trip were not unlike that of most young travelers in Vienna. There was the room with bunk beds and starched sheets; there was the hostel bar with Australian backpackers and spiked hair. I took glowing shots in the pulsating lights and danced at the disco along the Danube with the shaggy haired boy from northern Connecticut who never ended up kissing me.

We drank gluhwein at the Naschmarkt and played Beatles songs on the guitar in an apartment by the Prater. We ate schnitzel in Stephanplatz, and Do-Re-Mi skipped under snow-filled trellises in Salzburg. We ogled over Klimt at the Belvedere, and I took home a copy of "Judith I" for my apartment wall back in Italy. We navigated the black and white floors of Hundertwasser's house, and at dusk we watched the light turn silver from the top of a hill over Schonnbrun Palace.

"The Bourbon Hot Chocolate" is a chocolate cupcake with a creamy bourbon buttercream. It's reminiscent of the cafe we huddled in with the painted tiles on the ceiling and endless saucers of this sweet and spike libation that brought us back to life.

We had descended into a tavern one night, filled with wooden walls and empty tables, and sipped homemade strawberry wine until the cuckoo struck eight and we realized we were late. I remember running through the cold cobbled streets to the wooden door in a courtyard waving tickets in our hands. Somehow, we were just in time, and entered the tiny room of twenty-five people and fresco walls. And there, in his practice room, on the very anniversary of his birthday, we took in Mozart's Quartett in C Major KV.157. Half-drunk, with many musical years behind me, I remember crying.

There are two times that I remember this trip the most: when I miss my Austrian grandpa and when winter rolls around. The mild mannered people and the unseasonal markets, the shape of the light around trees and the sound of a string quartet in the crisp air. During that week, I mostly remember feeling that so many of my life's experiences up until that point finally made sense. But when I think about it now, there really is something about Austria in late January that's just right. And that bourbon hot chocolate? It still gets me every damn time.

Case Study 101: "The Maple Whiskey Pumpkin Cupcake"

2011-11-18T09:52:00.003-05:00

"Time stands still best in moments

that look suspiciously like ordinary life."

- Brian Andreas

On the night of November 17th, fall finally arrived in New York City. It was a crisp evening that finally smelled like dying leaves. This morning the chill remained, and the early golden light matched what little color is left on the trees.

Of course this happens every year. But even two months late, I just can't help but find little magic in it when it finally does.

In a late New York fall, the cold streets and the warm packed bars cause windows to glow and fog. There's a romance and a sadness in the fact that daylight is replaced by Christmas lights, and only on that off-night do you see a sole man still braving an outside lone table on Mulberry Street. People start to move slower and it's easier to see that in Manhattan every situation is a possibility and every face is a story. I love this.

I made these pumpkin cupcakes topped with maple whiskey cream cheese buttercream for a weekend away with pre-Thanksgiving festivities, a gala and a hell of a lot of catching up with old friends. So here's to the ordinary fall weekends. Before you know it, winter will set in. Drink it up.

Case Study 100: "The Castagne"

2011-11-12T12:30:00.005-05:00

Pilgrims and Indians.

I remember pulling on white tights and black Mary Janes in the kitchen. I remember a floral table cloth and an ironing board, but my eyes gazed towards the television where Tom Turkey floated across Herald Square. I was more than four and less than seven years old.

She took us to the church that was dark and quiet still, and we were alone with the early light that came across stained glass windows to the faces of the saints. She took care of the priests there and as a result, we were able to run the course of the pews like maps in our minds. Those were the same pews that would be filled with dozens of those very priests too few years later when she met God again. The same pews that we would walk quietly through twelve years after that- out the door and down the stairs- as priests in Gregorian chant took her King of Hearts to his resting place on a gray morning on the 12th of November.

These were my grandparents.

For the first years of my life, my cousins and I donned bonnets and feathers over our holiday best as we replayed the first Thanksgiving meeting at a morning mass on Staten island before 9 AM. When you grow up as an Italian-American with a big New York family, you know that this is just something that you do. You know that just as quickly as you play MASH or whiffle ball around the Virgin Mary in the backyard, you play Communion, giving each other a cookie "Body of Christ." You know that at any given time someone would be throwing rocks and someone would be yelling, and there would be more than two nuns at the kitchen table telling you about your Roman nose. Someone would be doing penance on the stairs and the King of Hearts, the always constant in this wonderful chaos, would be mixing the Ambrosia, the one bit of his non-Italian heritage that gave everyone in this family their height and calmed their Sicilian tempers.

When this is your family, you understand that a salty antipasto or stuffed artichokes precedes any turkey dinner, and trays of dessert precede even that. I can see my baby uncle's fingers sneaking under the cellophane wrapping of Renato's cookies. I can see my godmother following suit. My mother would be after that and in no time, I could see many cheeky smiles around the table, as if every year they were fake surprised to find that we always taste the sweets first.

"The Castagne" are vanilla cupcakes stuffed with a chocolate chestnut cream and topped with a vanilla bean buttercream. The chestnut, which drops from the tree in the fall, has long been a symbol of abundance, of bounty, of rejoicing in what we have. And so, when I think of this, I think of my family. I think of the pictures of the children at Thanksgiving that have grown over the years. I think of the grand-babies have been replaced with great-grand-babies, who wave tiny fingers in the air at their angels: the two who harvested this abundant family and now protect it from above.

Last week I went to church, on a Wednesday at lunch. It was a new parish, one I'd never been before, but the way the light hit the walls, it was familiar. You see, familiarity to me is not the likeness of something to my memory, but the closeness of how much I can relate the experience to my family and find peace in that.

Those walls are everywhere. In a cathedral off 68th street, in the church of seven churches in Italy, in my uncle's hall in New Jersey where we gather in memorial of it all today.

This is my family. I take comfort in knowing that with them, no matter who I am or where I am, I am never alone. I could find them in a song or in the movement of light, and when it comes down to it, that's what familiarity is all about: it's familial...and it means that there will always be dessert.

Case Study 99: The Day is Mine

2011-11-05T12:50:00.005-04:00

"When it's over, I want to say all my life 
I was a bride married to amazement. 
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. 

When it's over, I don't want to wonder 
if I have made of my life something particular, and real. 

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, 
or full of argument. 

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."

- Mary Oliver

As I finish my twenty-seventh trip around the sun, I find myself here: settled.  Not settling- never settling- but landed, in a way, in a place that I've always dreamed of.

It might be fleeting, but I'll try to remember how this kind of wholeness feels.  I will think about it next week, next month and next year.  And I will hold it close, because by getting here I haven't been given anything but the key to open a brand new door to life. 

Tonight I want for nothing but to be with my people.  To be in my place.  To surround myself with music, faces and glittering light.  
  
Tomorrow is my twenty-seventh birthday.

So here's to today, my own new year's eve, and to twenty-seven plus twenty-seven plus twenty-seven more years of awe and wonderment after this. 

Case Study 98: Prizewinning Pumpkin Cupcakes

2011-10-17T10:49:00.001-04:00

On Saturday, I had the honor of competing as a finalist in my little Connecticut town's Fall Festival Pumpkin Recipe Contest.

Selected by judges the prior week, my recipe for "Pumpkin Spice Cupcakes in a Ginger Graham Cracker Crust with a Maple Cream Cheese Buttercream and Candied Pepita on top" competed against other pumpkin recipes in both sweet and savory categories. The competition was judged in a "Throwdown" fashion with scoring by local food celebrities and "People's Choice" alike. And the result was...

I won!

Prizes and glory aside, it was a priceless experience in my little hometown. The weather was perfectly autumnal, and absolutely nothing beats the look on people's faces when they eat something that you are really proud of.

I will include the "award-winning" recipe after it is published in the local newspaper, so check back soon!

Case Study 97: "The Ginger Snap Pumpkin Cupcake"

2011-10-07T21:53:00.003-04:00

Today was one of those Fridays.  

You know, the kind that ends one of those weeks.  The kind where you find yourself in the afternoon, halfway between gazing longingly at the clock and forgetting exactly where you are.  And so, I was hanging out in that middle place around three o'clock eastern standard time when I looked at the calendar and realized that there was not one but two countdowns beginning on this day.  

In less than one month, I will make a swift escape from my mid-twenties.

Long days and tough weeks require quiet nights, and so tonight I opted out of a wild night of traipsing through the city and instead hopped a train out of the city to my in-between space.  I poured a glass of a fifteen year old bottle of Chianti, turned on my new AM/FM and decided to let this whole aging thought bake for a bit...along with a third go of a recipe test for the perfect pumpkin cupcake.  

In many ways, age to me really isn't anything but a number.  You see, I've surrounded myself with people of all numbers my entire life.   I am the daughter of parents who defy any kind of years.  And I really don't feel any older as the months fly by. But over the past year, I have in fact aged.  I've refined my tastes and my choices.  I've pared down my necessities in favor of simplification, quality and what just feels right.  And I have entered a bit of a spiritual revolution, of which I am slowly, but surely, finding my way out.  

How does this bring me to the pumpkin cupcake?  Well, my first recipe in this series of tests was all wrong, and to be honest, the second wasn't much better.  My ideas were jumbled.  There were opinions and suggestions and quite a lot of noise.  The tastes were interesting, but the cake was flat, the texture off and the crowing adornment less than elegant.  Most of all, these cakes just weren't me. 

And so, I landed here: a light and fluffy pumpkin cupcake, nestled in a ginger graham cracker crust and topped with a maple cream cheese buttercream and a little pepita.   It's simpler than I anticipated.  It's clean and light, but underneath it's swirling with spice, creaminess and flavor.  It's just right.   

Luckily, with cakes, as with life, time is of the essence.  Time  allows for trial.  It permits frustration and denial, and then it gives  the opportunity to take the thought out of it and let what's natural  fall into place. 

Madness, like youth, can be a great catalyst for  creativity and ideas. But time, time begets a sort of enlightenment that is different.  The kind that can bring peace and grace.  And the kind that can lead to finally finding the  absolutely right cake.  

Notes from the Field: Oh snap...

2011-10-02T11:05:00.001-04:00

I was absolutely delighted to see a little cheeky cupcake throw-down in this week's New Yorker magazine.

Case Study 96: "The Sweet Bourbon Pecan Spud"

2011-09-20T14:55:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow is the first day of autumn.
  

The temperature has already dropped.  Women are wearing tights.  And that post-work promise of a few bright hours of sun, for lazy strolls and long runs, is quickly turning into a rushed dash home to grasp anything that resembles daylight. It's getting hard to keep up the summer fight...

So here is my promise to the new season.

For the rest of September, we will throw on boots, and crunch through the golden grass, as we remember the salvation of a fall weekend in childhood spent in an orchard, a pumpkin patch or a pile of leaves.  Clear blue Saturdays will be savored.  We will brush our fingers through the flannel in our drawers and take notice of the speckled corn husks in the markets. We'll accept it. 
  

When October rolls around, we'll miss the smell of barbecues at dusk, but smile anyways, because somewhere down the street a fireplace is burning midday. We'll get crazy at a Halloween soul shakedown in the woods, and make pies from the dozens of apples picked on a cool weekend.  The hot cider will get spiked with whiskey and cold fingers will get tucked into someone's jean pockets. 

By November, we'll celebrate. There will be big a raucous group of people and a birthday party, in an orchard, or a vineyard or a bar.  Rainy days will be the hardest days to wake up for, and so we'll complain and grumble, but carry on anyway with endless cups of tea, warm bowls of soup and a hot toddy to tuck us in before bed. We'll finally pack away those summer dresses for good, and wear wool over our tights.  

We'll make plans, and start counting back the days on the calendar, thinking about what we did, what we're going to do, and how to make sure we got it all in before the last good day of the year.  

"The Sweet Bourbon Pecan Spud" is a sweet potato cupcake topped with a bourbon pecan buttercream and a maple glaze pecan on top.  The cake is light and fluffy and surprisingly, not overmoist.  The buttercream is nutty, with a touch of vanilla bean and a boozy kick.   Tis' the season for gourds, for roots and for nuts, and in my kitchen, I say the more the merrier. 

Autumn to me will be for driving around the windy roads of Westchester County, top down and heat up, as the criss-crossing tree branches above bear new gold on their fingertips.  It will be for pulling wool socks over cold knees, an Aran sweater over the fading tan and lined leather gloves kept close enough in reach for the hands that holds the chill a little longer everyday. And it will be for the dusty records of Neil Young, crackling alongside the candles on the deck that no longer keep the bugs away, but rather shed a little warmth as the moon rises over the lawn.  

Although summer is over, I think I'm finally ready to make the most of fall.  Like I said, it's all about acceptance and promises.   

So, how will you celebrate the season?  

Notes from the Field: Cupcakes to go...

2011-09-16T11:30:00.001-04:00

Lately this has been my favorite way to transport little treats. It's mess free, reusable and even cheaper than an individual cake box. Not to mention infinitely more charming.

Case Study 95: "The Big Apple"

2011-09-15T18:58:00.003-04:00

"Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion. Eh uh, no, make that he, he romanticized it all out of proportion. Better. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin. Uh, no, let me start this over..."

-Woody Allen

In two short weeks, I will celebrate one little circle around the sun here in New York City.

The Manhattan that I grew up with, the one I dreamed about as a child, was Woody Allen's paradise. It was based on my parents' stories from the 70s and my own uptown dreams of romance on the steps of a museum at dusk. Fueled by music and lighting, I imagined what I knew: ballets at Lincoln Center and family dinners before The Met. New York was knishes at delis, bocce ball courts in restaurants and foie gras at Payard's. I savored the painted walls of Bemelman's, the front pews at St. Patrick's, and the glamour of Fifth Avenue stone architecture lit by the evening sun through the trees of Central Park.

As I grew older, of course, this all changed. I spent college summers catching the last train home to suburbia after spending long days trekking through labs uptown and monkey colonies downtown doing neuroscience research. The classics turned old, and the grandeur lost its hold. There were concerts at Rumsey Playfield, secret restaurants and movies in parks. I found art in modern galleries and photography. I drank sangria in garden bars and martinis on rooftops, and on one hot night, I got piggy-backed through the streets in a miniskirt to see Pearl Jam.

When we change our lives, we jump into the unknown, and this time the depth of my abyss was three-fold. The city I dreamed of, the city I knew, and the city that I realistically live in are very different things. And so, the past year has been filled with experiences that, even with all of my expectations, I could have never imagined.

On my first day of work, I accidentally drove through the Battery Tunnel and got lost in Brooklyn. I continuously missed turns, subway stops and ran for trains in heels at the end the day. When something in my life didn't feel right, I walked out the door and headed straight for the Brooklyn Bridge. There I took in a light breeze and the understanding that if you stand right in the middle of something for just long enough, you can see all sides clearly.

I took myself to concerts and movies and cafes alone. On my birthday, I sat for nearly an hour on the Bighorn Sheep bench in the Museum of Natural History at eleven o'clock in the morning. I took the time to see my city in the eyes of a traveler, and when I started working again, those of cynic.

I cursed at the subway and the deathly smells lingering over ten blocks on Broadway in midtown. I danced in a graffiti-filled sweat den in the Village with a twenty-three year old filmmaker until three in the morning. I was romanced by an academic with a vintage copy of Salinger on a grassy knoll in a Staten Island park. I threw dinner parties in my apartment, on my rooftop and by the water. I ran along the Hudson daily. I baked, I relaxed and I snuck into bed early more nights than I thought I would.

"The Big Apple" is an apple and walnut cupcake topped with a brown sugar cream cheese buttercream. It is sweet and earthy, crispy at the edges, and sturdy and strong. Just like good old New York City.

I have met so many wonderful people in this city so far, who, whether they're still with me or not, have changed my life forever.

But the truth is, I'm still finding my place. With my next move comes a new space, a new neighborhood and a new year to explore. Everything is uncertain and opportunities are endless, because in New York City every turn could stop you short, or push you forward or leave you on your way. My chapter one might be wrapping up, but our story has really just begun.

Notes from the Field: Sweet Sunny September Friday.

2011-09-09T17:56:00.002-04:00

No needs for words today.

But the rain has finally stopped and the sun is out.

I've been listening to Friday songs and dreamy tunes. I've been watching the afternoon light through the trees and feeling pretty elated about the fact that summer has decided not to go, yet. An anniversary approaches, and I love New York City more than ever.

This all, and a pending weekend on the beach away with friends, makes for one very happy cupcake.

Banana cake with peanut butter buttercream, a chocolate dip, and sweet little flags that wave in the slight September breeze.

For a birthday girl that I love real hard.

Case Study 94: "The Ultimate Maple Bacon Peach Donut Cupcake"

2011-09-05T16:12:00.001-04:00

 This is the cupcake.

This is the cupcake that was inspired by a lazy New York City brunch of  pancakes, summer fruits, bacon and love.  Bacon, in my book of course, is love, in  case you didn't know.

This is the cupcake that you bring to your lov-ah on a cozy Sunday  morning. The cupcake that you creep out of bed and brew coffee for.   The cupcake that you bring back to their bedside table, or if you play your cards  right, it is your bedside table that you spy it on when you blink those  bedroom eyes open.

  This is a Jersey peach cupcake topped with maple vanilla bean buttercream and a maple-glazed donut  sprinkled with Applegate Farm bacon. 

  The second part of an ultimate breakfast cupcake series.  It is sweet and salty and creamy and crunchy.    It is oh-so-heavenly and completely sinful all at once. Which is how all the best things in life are, am I right?

This is the cupcake to take you into fall with a kick of June and the smokiness of October.  The cupcake to celebrate a summer of  trips and parties, late nights, bare feet and all sand everywhere.  To toast the lovely little romances that took you on  bikes and boats, from starry bays to warm summer rain.  The cupcake to slowly ease the pain of  socks and sweaters, turning rum to whiskey and fireflies to fireside as  you drink up the last golden light of the Indian Summer to come.

This is the cupcake.  Just trust me on this one. 

Case Study 93: "The Hurricake"

2011-08-26T20:07:00.007-04:00

"Regret, by definition, comes too late;

Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate."

-John M. Ford

We interrupt this end-of-summer cupcaketology posting hiatus to bring you a very very important message:

Don't panic.

I have two memorable hurricane experiences. My first was in 2003. On the weekend of my uncle's wedding weekend in Long Island, Hurricane Kyle blew into town for the party, bringing wind, rain and thunder for days. I took the SATs, my uncle got married, and two years later, they named their firstborn son after the storm that ruined our hair.

The second took place early in college. I was a radio DJ at the time, and whipped up a clever playlist of all the great apocalyptic songs. I remember being twenty and looking for trouble. We ran through the streets, after too many beers, in tank tops and rubber boots, screaming for Hurricane Ivan. It just rained a lot.

Now listen, I'm not an expert at these things. I am from Connecticut, and we're historically a pretty boring place when it comes to weather. Where the Housatonic and Hudson valleys meet, there are four perfect seasons, and they are done well. Our autumns are long, and the weather turns crisp just as slowly as the leaves and the light turn golden and the earth grows cold. We ring in the winter with Nor'easters and the summer with humidity. We don't really do extremes.

"The Hurricakes" are homemade funfetti cupcakes with tropical storm swirled vanilla buttercream. They are as serious as I hope that this storm actually gets.

We are children of war, actual natural disasters and uncertainty. The weather is the only thing we cannot manipulate with buttons and machines. I think this makes us realize that every time we part might actually be our last. We learn that we take time itself for granted and don't just say what we want to say right when we mean it most. Because more often then not we forget that we're survivors when every yesterday becomes tomorrow and we are still here.

Today my little part of Manhattan was ordered to evacuate, and I spent latter part of the day floating in a quiet lake under a pretty clear sky. Surely this couldn't be the calm before a storm. Tomorrow I'll ring in Irene surrounded by friends and family, food and music. Because whatever happens, in the end, this is a really great excuse to be absolutely nowhere but together.

Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.

Notes from the Field: Until fall...

2011-08-08T17:45:00.000-04:00

Taking a little hiatus to enjoy the rest of the fairest season. All normal broadcasting will resume in the fall.

Happy Summer!

Follow on Twitter

Follow on instagr.am

Notes from the Field: Cup's half full...

2011-08-04T09:58:00.002-04:00

Midsummer.

Well, we've made it.

Oh, but it's already August, you say?

No no no. You see, in my book, summer lasts until at least the end of September, in which case we will likely enter the Indian summer. So before we get to sharpening our pencils and skipping through orchards, in my opinion, all we've got is time.

In honor of the weeks left on our summer books, let's celebrate with an abundance of fruity freshness...

We've got chocolate cupcakes, with raspberry buttercream, a chocolate drizzle shell and a fresh raspberry on top.

Some Kentucky straight bourbon and vanilla bean cupcakes topped with maple buttercream and fresh peaches on top.

And last, but certainly not least, Victoria sponge cupcakes with vanilla buttercream and fresh blueberries on top.

I know they say that summer is a state of mind, but lest we forget what's looming right around the corner. Our summer cups are still half full. So get outside and get after it!

Case Study 92: "The Eton Mess"

2011-07-26T12:47:00.002-04:00

When I was a kid, I had a pair of undies with a Union Jack on the bottom. And that's when the trouble began.

My favorite Beatle was George. I liked Monty Python more than Adam Sandler. My mother had a dog of an English uncle named Terry, and well, to be honest, he seemed like kind of a good time. And from the first moment my brother sat me down and forced me to watch Top Gear, I kind of wanted to makeout with Jeremy Clarkson (I know, what? Gross. I can't help it).

And so, in my dreams, I would move to the UK and marry a dark and handsome man and he would bumble on and on and I would laugh forever. We'd live in a stone cottage with big wet gardens and dogs, I would make roasts and trifles and drink Pimms all the time. I would be the next Nigella Lawson, but with a tinier chest (!!). We would have lots of children with the loveliest names and nicknames, and they would call me mummy.

To my English friends, past, present and future, I am sorry.

But, well, I was biased from the start.

I tried everything to get there. My dad nearly got us transferred there for work. I lived abroad, in a big house, with Englishmen who studied physics and rolled cigarettes and charmed me with their horrible North London Italian accents. I spent weekends in a penthouse over Hyde Park watching the clouds roll by on Sunday mornings after too many drinks. I tormented myself with a trip to the South Coast, and traipsed about Brighton and the beaches with a dear friend and her gracious family. I applied to graduate school, only in the UK, and was an inch away from acceptance, until the universe and admissions at Oxford told me they had other plans.

And about this time last year, I came to terms with the fact that I was going to remain an American for the time being.

Luckily, I had a friend who loved America a lot, in fact, enough to make me realize that it was A-OK to stay. So I moved to New York, I fell back in love with my home state, with New England, and I immersed myself in it all. I got a great job, and it even gave me the option of someday moving to where I always thought I would be.

Well. All of my friends are starting to plan moves to England.

And I am coping with it by baking cupcakes.

Let's just call it proper kitchen therapy, ok?

These Eton Mess cupcakes are made up of the simplest ingredients. Victoria Sponge cakes, topped with a light whipped vanilla buttercream, strawberries and crunched up meringue. No really, God Bless the Queen and you, my English friends, for making this such an easy and simple delight. The recipe was even sent by an old friend in Chichester, and the wrappers from a friend in Brighton. It tastes like summer, even in the heart of winter, which was, to be frank, the last time I had it, and there is no crime at all in something like that.

For now, I am still here. I might even be here forever. I mean, it sure is great in the U,S of A. I have sunshine and close family. I can afford many things. And lucky me, I will have plenty more people to visit in the good old U.K.

But, well, it sure does make me wonder...

Case Study 91: "My Mother's Tart Cupcakes"

2011-07-23T09:09:00.001-04:00

It seems I love to start my posts with a disclaimer, so here I go with another one:

I am made up of the contents of this cake.

My mother is a fantastic cook. She is an even better baker. She is the reason that I am who I am in the kitchen today. But she is even more so the reason who I am in general.

She is strong. She is brilliant. She could problem solve her way out of a paper bag, and is the reason that I found myself actively seeking to climb Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs while still changing the glitter rubber bands in my braces.

She is so very good at what she does, but she never acts out of anything but compassion. She is proud of everything that she has and we do. She is the most humble person I know. She appreciates a good cocktail, a good pair of shoes, and is completely aware of when it is just necessary to get to a spa. She is the worst singer I know, but this is counteracted by the fact that she has totally natural rhythm.

She is so beautiful it hurts, but she is also so unassuming that her aloofness lights up a room. She likes to worry, but she says that's her job. I always thought that was a general mom thing to do, but as you grow up and realize that not everyone was dealt the same mom card, you learn to appreciate it even more. This is because she loves unconditionally.

"My Mother's Tart Cupcakes" are vanilla cupcakes filled with vanilla bean pastry cream, topped with vanilla buttercream and an array of fresh summer fruit. They are cold and refreshing, sweet and simple and decadent. They are a version of the fruit tart we have always eaten in the summertime.

My mother was born in July. She began making this tart before I was born, and still has the recipe cut out to prove it.

I know because I used it to make the famous custard that normally fills cold pie shells before getting gloriously crowned with fruit. I know because as a child, like most children wait for their jello to set up, I remember waiting not so patiently for this hot divine custard to cool in little cups in the refrigerator, and wondering how hard it was to sneak a spoonful and not let its indent be seen. And I know it because although my mother's first hospital meals when I was born were coconut cake, the recipe cut out of the magazine is dated several months prior to my own birthday.

Therefore meaning...

I am made up of the contents of this cake.

I sometimes jokingly fear that I am destined for a Gray Gardens-esque life with my mother, you know, minus the feral cats and plus my father. She is, after all, my best friend and my confidant, my partner is crime, and quite possibly the most effortlessly glamorous person that I know. But in the end, I am so thankful to be bound to her for reasons of fruit tarts and coconut cake. And I am even more grateful that she is the most marvelous example of a mother that could ever even exist.

Happy Birthday to my big Momoo.

Case Study 90: "The Ultimate Blueberry Donut Cupcake"

2011-07-20T11:29:00.001-04:00

This is a very naughty cupcake.

Pure goodness, tastebuds dripping, sensory wonder and awe.

I love breakfast. I talk about this often. I could eat a thousand breakfasts and no dinners and be happy as a clam. That being said, I've never really been a donut girl.

Give me poached eggs, give me greek yogurt with a handful of fruit, give me a box of cereal and I could probably finish it in one sitting. Give me a cookie, and make it crispy and I will dip that thing in coffee all day.

But there are certain donuts that I most certainly break for, and this is one of them(I'll also eat anything by Fleming's Donuts on the Outer Cape, but that's another story).

Cakey goodness, dipped in butter and rolled in cinnamon sugar.

Oooooarrrrghhhhhhhhhh.

(That is the gut-wrenching sound that comes from my stomach and out my mouth when I think about it)

So naturally, when I finally invested in a donut pan (because seriously, who wants to fry when it's ninety degrees and scorching outside?), it somehow made sense to me that the first things these donuts needed were blueberries. And not just any blueberries. Maine blueberries (they're the best, clearly).

Sweet Maine blueberry cupcakes topped with a light amber maple vanilla buttercream and homemade cinnamon sugar donuts.

To me this tastes like every summer dream breakfast table all rolled into one scrumptious delight. Like I'm sitting outside in my skivvies and an old t-shirt, barefoot by a lake in the late July shade at 8 AM with a hot cup of coffee and a wet dog by my side, under the watch of a big ass American flag.

Breakfast, donuts, cupcakes, summer. BOOM.

The Ultimate Blueberry Donut Cupcake.

Case Study 89: "The Red Velvet Rope"

2011-07-14T21:48:00.002-04:00

I play a little game called court tennis.

Maybe you've heard of it? Maybe you haven't. But for what you do know about modern lawn tennis, squash, and any other game of racquets today, just understand that this sport is the granddaddy of them all.

Though it's history is a bit murky, court tennis evolved from a type of jeu de paume from the twelfth century, and was played in the courtyards of French monasteries. It was enjoyed by Napoleon and Henry VIII, and rumor has it that Anne Boleyn herself was arrested whilst taking in a match. It was played in the Louvre and at Versailles, and is mentioned in literature more than any other game. Perhaps this is why they called it the "sport of kings."

Court tennis is a game of short chases, played off penthouses, the floor and walls. There are only nine courts in the USA, seven if you count the ones used regularly, and a handful in the UK, France and Australia. It is played by a small population who like to travel up and down the east coast for tournaments, black ties and general debauchery.

"The Red Velvet Rope" cupcakes are red velvet cupcakes with a whipped cream cheese buttercream on top. They're topped by a vintage 1960s gentleman and lady tennis-playing duo, donning their finest whites appropriate for the court. They will make their way up to Newport tomorrow for the annual Velvet Rope tournament. It's a weekend of long nights and short chases, and, well, I'd say more about that, but... I think I'll stop there.

They say that court tennis is a mix of lawn tennis and chess, with the precision of billiards and the quick judgment of polo. I say that it is a damn good time. So here's to stiff drinks, swift racquet swings and a great weekend for all, behind the velvet rope.

For more on court tennis, check out this article.

For the best red velvet recipe, see here.

Case Study 88: "The Man Repelling Meringue"

2011-07-08T11:32:00.000-04:00

The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach...

That is, of course, unless you're cooking up lemon meringue. Yes. That's right. I have discovered the ultimate man-abhorred dessert, and it's not because it looks like a cream puff.

In a very scientific poll conducted this morning through the mediums of mobile text messaging and internet email chatting, I discovered that most men hate lemon meringue...and roughly ninety-nine point nine percent of women love it.

Well, this threw my little anthropologist ladypants in a tizzy.

Of course, I had to know more. So I went to my next source of knowledge, and googled the hell out of it. Men, lemon, tastebuds, poor taste, women, sweeter... things got a little out of hand, but you get the idea. Answers to my query included:

"Can lemon make Bud taste like lemon?"

and

"The science of man cake."

YIKES.

And yet, no real evidence surfaced, except for the possible (probable) fact that men likely have fewer taste buds than women.

Well gentlemen, I'm out to prove you wrong.

Slightly lemon flavored vanilla cupcakes with a dollop of lemon curd and a toasted whip of meringue on top. Perfect palate cleanser for a day of beers, beach and BBQ. Perfect light delight to help you keep your girlish figure. Perfect way to woo a lady (because hell, apparently they all like this).

So here's my question: am I right or am I wrong?

Men, do you actually secretly dream about lemon meringue?

I mean, as far as I'm concerned, these babies are one small step for cupcakes, and one more giant leap away from man-kind.

(Kudos, as always to the Man Repeller, who is so inspiring)

Notes from the Field: God Bless America

2011-07-03T16:23:00.000-04:00

"After you flew across the country we
 got in bed, laid our bodies
 delicately together, like maps laid
 face to face, East to West.

My San Francisco against your New York, your
 Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
 New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
 bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
 burning against your Kansas your Kansas
 burning against my Kansas,

your Eastern Standard Time pressing into my
 Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
 beating against your Central Time, your
 sun rising swiftly from the right my
 sun rising swiftly from the left

your moon rising slowly from the left my
 moon rising slowly from the right until
 all four bodies of the sky
 burn above us, sealing us together,
 all our cities twin cities,
 all our states united, one
 nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

-Sharon Olds

America, romance. Let's celebrate this 4th of July with the best plans that could be: surrounded by the people we love and with double vanilla cupcakes topped with vanilla bean buttercream and fresh summer berries. Happy Independence Day.

Case Study 87: "The Great Hollow Beach Cupcake"

2011-06-24T13:59:00.003-04:00

"The time must come when this coast will be a place of resort for those New-Englanders who really wish to visit the sea-side.

At present it is wholly unknown to the fashionable world, and probably it will never be agreeable to them. If it is merely a ten-pin alley, or a circular railway, or an ocean of mint-julep, that the visitor is in search of, — if he thinks more of the wine than the brine, as I suspect some do at Newport, — I trust that for a long time he will be disappointed here.

But this shore will never be more attractive than it is now. Such beaches as are fashionable are here made and unmade in a day, I may almost say, by the sea shifting its sands. Lynn and Nantasket! this bare and bended arm it is that makes the bay in which they lie so snugly.

What are springs and waterfalls? Here is the spring of springs, the waterfall of waterfalls. A storm in the fall or winter is the time to visit it; a light-house or a fisherman's hut the true hotel. A man may stand there and put all America behind him."

- Henry David Thoreau, Cape Cod

Out to sea with banana walnut cupcakes topped with vanilla buttercream, sandy crumble and homemade candy seashells.

Happy Summer.

Case Study 86: "Les Fraises"

2011-06-11T09:52:00.005-04:00

It's officially summer in New York. The heat has set in, everything's lush, and all anyone can really talk about is how the creeping humidity breathes heavy sighs down their neck.

I, however, find myself in transit. I am roaming up and down the northeast coast in a matter of week's time. A constant state of motion that would seemingly have me dripping from the pores, but actually finds me in a perpetually air conditioned room.

It seems I'm not alone. Very scientific cultural studies find that the nicer the office, cafe or store that you find yourself in might be, the lower the thermostat is dropped. As if to chill the class right into you.

But I say, I'll freeze when I'm dead.

Theses days, there's nothing more luxurious than an escape from that arctic blast. I strategically plan my exit against ticking of the clock, when the minute hand strikes the hour in which I'll catch the last squeeze of the setting sun. Leave the jacket at the door, drop the heels along the way. Let the hands fall free and create a breeze in hot evening air. A summer stroll taken for the damn sake of strolling.

"Les Fraises" are summer strawberry cupcakes topped with a whipped pillow of vanilla bean and lemon cream cheese buttercream. Have you ever seen the way water beads up on the side of freshly washed fruit? Fresh, cold, dripping. That is a true summer sweat.

Let's make a mess of ourselves this season in the bounty of summer's fruits. May we all find something a little closer to natural air and learn to appreciate it for what it really is. After all, we crossed our fingers, our toes and everything else that winter would finally go.

Your wish has been granted. Enjoy it.

Case Study 85: "The Slow Baked Chocolate Cupcake"

2011-05-15T12:38:00.002-04:00

Before we go any further, let me clear something up.

There is nothing slow baked about this cupcake. But I have been doing that thinking thing again, and after all was said and done, this just felt right.

"I had always imagined myself somewhere else, but somehow I am here." This is what someone said to me at a party a few weeks ago, and I can't get it out of my head. I always believed that the art of being present was a difficult one to master. But this made me think about what it means to draft your story one way, only to find that things pan out differently than you had written.

I had a friend who could not get past chapter seventeen of his book. There was something in the alignment of words or the movement of characters that made tattered edges fray at his fingertips. Another friend was stuck on what seemed like page eleven. Finding no answer in the pages before, the paragraphs left her empty, gnawing away what she couldn’t devour. The pen loses to hunger as the mightier of swords.

Chapters begin and chapters end. As we age, we learn that everybody has a life history. It is made up of stanzas and chapters that are both free and completely dependent on each other. When I studied the anthropology of individual lives, I found that while you can chronicle someone's chapters, a cohesive life history is one that is both written and revised. As I grew up, however, I realized that we forget about the rewriting bit.

Turn the page  

Write deliberately  

Find your protagonist
Weave your story through the chapter ends.
The author appears on the back of the book.

This all somehow brings me to the slow baked chocolate cupcakes with marshmallow frosting. This is a recipe I've never tried before. It is more labor intensive. It is rich and melted, and not rushed at all. It takes more than one bowl. It is not my go-to recipe. That is what it should become.

And here is where I am with all of this: I have writer's block. I don't know what my next page says. For once, I am trying to find peace in this. The problem is, I want it all. I move about, maybe too much, and I can't stop. I make chocolate cupcakes in a flash, so I can get out the door for another adventure. Hither and thither. I like to wander. I've learned to close chapters very easily these days. I'm greedy with time. And for years, I spent the half the minutes in a moment looking for the next step.

A very wise friend said to me "look forward to your weekends, but don't feel like you have to make up for anything and everything."  I try to live with few regrets.  I have wants and dreams, and I'm pretty certain that I can get them because I'm bossy like that.  

But I have to remember that sometimes today's paragraph is just about how I am here, nestled on the couch on a rainy day in Manhattan, drinking tea and eating a slow baked chocolate cupcake.  And that is quite alright. 

Case Study 84: "The Banana Split"

2011-05-08T13:11:00.003-04:00

Ice. Cream. Sundae.

Three words that when whispered softly to any human being induces nothing but sheer unadulterated joy.

When I was younger, the opening of the swim club was always marked by two things: the lengthening of the summer days and an ice cream social. We would run off the bus, throwing bags and books to the floor, and change into our suits in thirty seconds flat. Out the door again, on the back of a bike, hair and cares flying behind in the wind as we raced out the driveway, around the corner and up the big hill.

It seemed like Everest's climb, but salvation was at the end: moms in khaki shorts served peaks of cold creamy delights. We sat on the grass, in Umbros and tee-shirts, and kicked off our shoes, where new friendship bracelets graced our pale ankles and wrists. Refreshed, careless, we watched as they unlocked the pool gate. Summer's on and on, again.

"The Banana Split" is a fluffy banana cupcake, filled with strawberry jam, and crowned with vanilla bean buttercream, chocolate drizzle, sprinkles and a cherry on top.

Long gone are the days when your only real option of a nighttime treat was a trip to the ice cream parlor. We can make late night doughnut drives, pop into a cupcake shop and get every candy under the sun at any hour of the day. But tell me, do any of these things compare?

Sit me on a hot city curb and soft serve me a rainbow sprinkled cone on a hot summer day. Let my tongue tingle with the bubbly cold sensation of the perfect root-beer float, after the ice cream starts melt through the fizz. Give me a sliced banana and hot fudge over a trio of flavors. Sprinkle on nuts and jimmies, surround me with three friends and give me a cold spoon.

That, my friends, is summer romance.

Case Study 83: "The Roars"

2011-05-05T20:54:00.005-04:00

To God's greatest male creation thus far (also known as my nephew) on his 2nd birthday,

Let me start off by saying that because you are the first male child born into a big passionate Italian family, you will always be referred to as such. At this point in my short life, I still don't believe that by telling children how wonderful they are, they grow up without compassion and care for others. But hey, if things change in twenty years, let's talk about it, preferably over beers.

I am still amazed that you exist. I know it's been two years now, but you are still every ounce a miracle as the day that you were born, which remains to this very day, just at the right time. I cried when you were born, half knowing that while someone else was breaking my heart, the love you brought into the world would more than make up for that.

I didn't know I could love someone more every day, but I do. I will likely weep the day you stop saying the following things:"Octopush", "Crayb", "Hop Hop" and "Roar," when referring to God's creatures both alive and extinct. It rocked my world when I heard that last week, you killed it with the ladies in school by bootyshaking on the dancefloor while all the other little boys stood watching. And on Easter, when you refused to be anywhere but in my arms, I felt like the most important person in the world. I think I've only felt like that once before, and it was while cradling a grown man after a lost sports game and far too many drinks. Not a good look.

Some people say that watching children learn is the most remarkable thing. While I agree, my favorite thing to watch you do is be surprised. You bring a whole new meaning to "wonder and awe." I've watched your jaw drop at the page of a pop-up book, and heard you exclaim "wow" on Christmas Day. And the excitement on your face when you saw a real sea turtle after reading about them for months? Seeing that moment will hold me over on good thoughts for more than a few weeks.

Please remember that by being a part of this family you are entitled to three things: great hair, a fiery temper and an inescapable fate of being a nerd for one to three fourths of your time here on earth. I pray that you channel that passion into doing good and that you understand that intellectual curiosity will lead you to a long, interesting and successful life. If all else fails, you can always be a hair model.

May you revere nature, love and faith above all things, because they are the most powerful and mysterious elements that exist. May you constantly wonder and dream about them, because imagination is one of the greatest dying arts in the world today. Same goes for respect, but in a few years I'll play you a song by Aretha, and you'll get it, because by then you'll know how to spell.

But above all, no matter how isolated or surrounded you are by others, may you know that you are never, ever, alone. May you never be crippled by the thoughts that you can't achieve anything that you want to, because no matter how much the world changes, anything is possible if you are open to the possibility of everything.

Happy Birthday, littlest one. You are love. You are loved.

Notes from the field: Cupcake Secrets

2011-04-25T12:20:00.002-04:00

(Ferraro Rocher Cupcakes, March 2011)

Baking I think in many ways is a personal journey. I was born into a family that bakes, and it's really been part of who I am for my entire life. I could wax poetic for days about this, but what I'd really like to do is answer a few questions that have come in from you over the past few weeks, mostly surrounding being a new baker, tips and tricks, and recipes.

While I'm definitely not an expert, I have accumulated a few bits for new cupcake makers and bakers alike. So let's start at the very beginning...

Perfect the basics. Find good vanilla and chocolate recipes. Make them well with consistency. Memorize them. Many of your other recipes will either branch off from or contain one of these bases, so getting them down pat is a very good place to start.
Learn to read your batter and frosting. Does this sound nutty? Perhaps. But this is the school of thought that I come from. Baking is, indeed, very much science. Unlike cooking, if your measurements are off, the end result is not necessarily salvageable. That being said, the Italian in me knows that a cup of flour is about the size of my fist, and a pinch of salt is more or less a quarter teaspoon. I've gotten to the point where I rarely measure ingredients for my buttercreams. I know when the consistency is off, when I need more milk and when it's sturdy enough to hold a chocolate dip or get piped into ruffles. This also takes me to the next two points.
Cream the butter and sugar. No, really. Whip it good. And do it for at least three minutes. This process of incorporating sugar and butter exists because it brings air to your base, which helps cakes rise to a light texture once in the oven. If you don't eat rocks, don't bake rocks.
Overbeating is the enemy. Just as crucial as creaming in the beginning is not overbeating during the flour incorporation at the end of most general cupcake recipes. Overbeating is like the un-athletic kid who gets picked last in gym class dodgeball. It's great that he's is so enthusiastic, but he always gets hit first. Buzzkill. Just say no to overbeating by sifting your flour prior and never underestimating a proper fold-in technique. I prefer to mix a little and finish by gently folding the last of the flour in with a spatula or wooden spoon at the end.
Recipes are everywhere. Ok, well, kind of. Clearly the best place to find basic recipes is the internet. Food Network and Martha Stewart are great places for novice and seasoned bakers alike. Many cupcakeries have cookbooks or publish their recipes too. But what I mean by recipes being everywhere is that the better you can learn how to make a basic cupcake, the more likely you are to be able to modify it into your own recipe.
Know thy oven. I've learned through the power vested in me by moving every year since college that no two ovens are the same. What might rise well in a brand new convection might fall flat in a one pan oven from the fifties. So the sooner you learn to understand your oven, the more readily you will be able to alter your own recipes and find success with what the oven demands of you.
Art is art is art. Have you seen the video where no New Yorker identifies "art" in the same three words? This is how I feel about baking. To me, it's art, and it's personal. It is art when I have an idea and turn it into something. It is art when I find myself covered in flour and frustrated mid-process ("ah!" I think, "this is what a pissed off Picasso must have felt like!" Riiiighhhhht.) And it is definitely art when juxtaposed with the fact that I spend my days reading the minds of the people running financial institutions in New York. So above all, and I stress this, own your creativity. If your purple frosting actually looks brown, then add some more vanilla because that's brown too! If you ate a really good ice cream sundae and want to recreate it, then get the whip cream and sprinkles ready (and add a cone). AND if you want to put bacon and eggs on a pancake cupcake, then do it, dammit.
Go forth and bake!

Notes from the Field: Little Bunny Foo Foo

2011-04-20T23:46:00.003-04:00

I'd like to think that when I get in the kitchen, I have the best intentions. But to be honest, every time the oven turns on, the motive is different. On the best days, I bake to bring the brush to canvas, to see what happens when the flavors, the colors and the stories that have been brewing go from head to hands to reality. At other times I bake to order, which, is a lovely routine that requires little thought and a lot of heart, because tell me, who sends cupcakes out the door without heart?

But quite frequently, there is another reason I do it. I bake to forget the hours before the apron was tied on, the candle was lit and the music was turned low. This kind of baking typically yields one of two results: that which is completely brilliant and that which turns totally disastrous.

Tonight I met that second result. Things started off well enough, as many adventures with Easter candy generally do. There was vanilla and there was food coloring. The butter was beat just right and the piping was lovely. But then, well then things ended not so wonderfully, as, ironically, many adventures with Easter candy also tend to do.

There was a chocolate dip, there was a hammer (!), and there was a whirlwind that looked like Little Bunny Foo Foo went on a straight up bippity-bopping bender all over the damn forest, trashing cupcakes, hotel rooms and more. And the Good Fairy was nowhere to be seen.

Luckily in every disaster there is, of course, a lesson.

In Italy, there is a cookie called Brutti ma Buoni. The "ugly but goods." This name has always made sense to me for many reasons, not excluding the fact that those biscotti and a cup of coffee just so happen to be holy matrimony in a breakfast-in-bed treat.

I think that what you learn traveling through the creative process is that, just like in life, the key to growth is to stop taking the disasters so seriously. Or to look at them not as failures but as beautiful messes that took you from point A to point B...even if point B finds you sitting on the kitchen floor with a half-spilled glass of wine, laughing through tears as some horribly moody old John Lee Hooker song plays in the living room and you are faced with the ugliest cupcakes you have ever seen.

Which is where I was tonight, when my thoughts and imagination exploded into something not-so-pretty, but hell, deliriously delicious and worthwhile in its own right.

Notes from the Field: A Return, of sorts...

2011-04-11T19:53:00.001-04:00

Just a little hello! and how are you? as the cupcake hiatus is going along swimmingly. Spring has arrived in New York City, and there has been more time than ever to re-focus, then focus again and really settle in. Here are a few shots from when I waded back into the baking pool this past sunny weekend.

Plain old fashioned double vanilla bean cupcakes.

Seems I kept my floaties on when it came to creativity this round. But you know, I'm quite alright with that. Sometimes it's the simplest route that just keeps you afloat.

Cupcake Hiatus.

2011-03-01T14:29:00.000-05:00

"Worth: Purpose"

This little cupcake needs a break and a little refocusing. See you on the flip side, chickens.

Case Study 82: "The Happy Hippo"

2011-02-25T13:51:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you find yourself home from work on a random Thursday with a delightfully long weekend ahead and you think to yourself...

What could be better than just some sweet baby hippo-faces atop chocolate cupcakes filled with Nutella and topped with a vanilla buttercream?

At least that's how my thought processes go.

Case Study 81: "The Long Distance Love"

2011-02-13T14:29:00.002-05:00

I've done the long distance relationship before, and let me tell you, it ain't easy! So when a friend got sent on a business trip to Japan for several months, she decided to order a little something special for her Valentine...

Chocolate cupcakes topped with peanut butter frosting and a hidden banana slice, raspberry buttercream, and mint chocolate chip buttercream.

You know, just to remind him that even though they're on opposite sides of the world...she's still sweet on him.

Happy Valentine's Day, lovers.

Notes from the Field: On Love.

2011-02-11T07:59:00.008-05:00

A few random thoughts on love.  

I love Valentine's Day, for reasons that can only be explained by counting backwards the months from my birthday.  People ask if knowing something like that is strange, and I say no as I'm consistently reminded of a nice line that I read in passing through: We loved here. I love that quote, and I love knowing there was love, then and there. 

I've found love, fallen out of love, had unrequited loves and discovered new facets of love that I never knew existed.

There is some famous quote that says love is complicated. Really? I guess that after twenty-six short years of loving, I haven't quite yet figured out how. So for now, I'll leave you with my favorite love poem and some pretty pictures.

This poem is about a time or a place. Maybe it won't make much sense. Maybe I've been there or I'll never get there, and maybe it's not really a poem about love at all. But for me, this is love.

Route Six

Stanley Kunitz

The city squats on my back,

I am heart-sore, stiff-necked,

exasperated. That's why

I slammed the door,

that's why I tell you now,

in every house of marriage

there's room for an interpreter.

Let's jump in the car, honey,

and head straight for the Cape,

where the cock on our housetop crows

that the weather's fair,

and my garden waits for me

to coax it into bloom.

As for those passions left

that flare past understanding,

like bundles of dead letters

out of our previous lives

that amaze us with their fevers,

we can stow them in the rear

along with ziggurats of luggage

and Celia, our transcendental cat,

past-mistress of all languages,

including Hottentot and silence.

We'll drive non-stop till dawn,

and if I grow sleepy at the wheel,

you'll keep me awake by singing

in your bravura Chicago style

Ruth Etting's smoky song,

"Love Me or Leave Me,"

belting out the choices.

Light glazes the eastern sky

over Buzzards Bay.

Celia gyrates upward

like a performing seal,

her glistening nostrils aquiver

to sniff the brine-spiked air.

The last stretch toward home!

Twenty summers roll by.

Case Study 80: "The Schott Trio"

2011-02-09T23:15:00.005-05:00

When I think of the ultimate bad ass rebels without a cause, I inevitably think of men of yore: Dean, Springsteen, Brando, The Ramones... the list goes on.

Schott NYC, the fantastic American leather jacket company, has dressed them all, and I had the honor of collaborating with them to create concept cupcakes. But take heed, these confections are not your typical sweet delights.

They're for the salty sailors and the motorcycle boys. They're a bit offbeat, tough, and like Schott itself, they represent "the heritage of America and the rebel inside everyone."

"The Drunken Sailor" is a Valrhona chocolate cupcake topped with whiskey vanilla bourbon buttercream and cacao shavings. It's offbeat, liquored up and inspired by Schott's Classic Melton Wool Naval Pea Coat.

"The Top Gun" is a pistachio cupcake topped with a light caramel buttercream and a homemade pistachio chocolate crunch. Dressed in its best fatigues with an aviator spirit, it's inspired to take flight and live dangerously by Schott's G-1 Top Gun Leather Bomber.

And then, there's "The Perfecto," and it doesn't get any better than this: an Oreo cupcake topped with a chrome-detailed vanilla buttercream and sugar studs. Marlon Brando personified motorcycle cool by donning a black leather Perfecto in 1953 in The Wild One. Shoulder stars, metal snaps, silver finish on the exact fit, the jacket has been produced flawlessly for over fifty years.

Schott's done it right for nearly a century, making classic jackets that are iconic pieces of American history and heritage. Did you know that they were the ones who first put zippers on jackets? Bad ass and innovative all at once! When asked what he was rebelling against in The Wild One, Brando's Johnny replies: "Whaddya got?" Some people don leather, salute anarchy or sail the winds by sea. But in the end, attitude, pride and spirit are a state of mind, so don't forget to wear them well.

Notes from the Field: Non Mas.

2011-02-06T23:11:00.001-05:00

This year, we rang in the Superbowl and a birthday with wine, succulent brisket, white truffle mac and cheese, stromboli bread, crudite and the Cheesehead my dad brought back from Wisconsin for me when I was 10.

But oh, there were also...

double vanilla cupcakes with crunchy peanut butter frosting and milk chocolate dipped banana slices...

sweet little pink raspberry baby cakes...

the most light and fluffy salted caramel cupcakes, topped with homemade fleur de sel caramels...

And then, well, then my friends, there was a food coma.

Notes from the Field: LET'S BAKE

2011-02-04T10:54:00.000-05:00

Friends frequently ask if they can hang out in  my kitchen.  Save for a few fortunate souls, who inevitably lay victim  to copious amounts of wine, a veritable library of my senseless stories  and a light dusting of confectioner’s sugar, it doesn’t happen enough.   You want to know what it looks like when I strap on the apron and the  oven gets hot? 

This.  Every time.

Shall we bake?  Let’s bake. 

Case Study 79: "The Golden Ticket"

2011-02-03T21:59:00.006-05:00

Glamour. I've been thinking a lot about it lately as I settle into the Manhattan life I've been creating for myself.

It's a bit more decadent here in New York - a little excessive at times and a hell of a lot more luxurious just by nature alone. Swanky cocktails in classic Manhattan bars are quickly followed by dirty late night underground dance parties and white truffle pizza at 2 AM. We are surrounded by more forms of art and culture and diversity here than I could ever imagine, even coming from another large city. And for Christ's sake, half the time I get my groceries delivered now, and I can't even tell you about the wild goods that can arrive at my doorstep. With this all, I am reminded of that famous quote by Kate Moss when she said "My mum used to say to me, 'you can't have fun all the time,' and I used to say, 'why not?'. Why the fuck can't I have fun all the time?"

Making life extraordinary. Over the past few years, I'm finding that this is one of my golden rules. Adding a little extra effort to make the everyday a bit more fantastical, in even the simplest of ways, brings a bit more fulfillment to my life. That is what New York City has been for me so far.

"The Golden Ticket" is a chocolate cupcake with golden dust encrusted hazelnut buttercream. It's an over the top, sparkling and glamorous addition to an otherwise dreary winter weekday, and that's what makes it absolutely spectacular.

Fellini, master of fantastical cinema, believed that all that we create in our lives is autobiographical- that even the pearl is the life story of the oyster. In the end, the lives that we make for ourselves- the people we are surrounded by, the journeys we embark on, the lifestyles we fashion- are worth only the value of what we want the pages of our life histories to say. For what it's worth, I hope mine reads that no matter what came my way in life, I loved and I lived, and most of all, I really made it fun.

Notes from the Field: "How to Make Friends at Work"

2011-01-21T10:27:00.000-05:00

Step One: Bake one dozen delicious vanilla cupcakes.

Step Two: Bring cupcakes into office on a Friday at new job.

Step Three: See how many new friends you made. I can count one dozen.

Case Study 79: "The Dauphin"

2011-01-15T15:41:00.001-05:00

In a cavernous Connecticut bistro, filled with cellar stone walls and bottles of Sauternes...

On the Upper East Side, accompanied by mostarda, compotes and full-bodied squeals of delight...

On a sunny riverbank of Toulouse with one hand wrapped around mon amour and the other around a glass of rosé champagne...

Two nights in a row last weekend alone.

It is a fair statement to say that I am part of a completely, utterly and obsessively wild love affair with foie gras. And though I cannot remember when I first tasted the flesh, I can declare with confidence that I never forget a good foie experience.

With oysters and truffles, this petit delicacy makes up my most holy food ménage à trois. I've always reasoned that my affinity for these fares deals with a theory of essences alone: in the oyster, I taste the sea, in the truffle, the musty earth, and in the liver, the body of life.

"The Dauphin" is a dark chocolate cupcake filled with sour cherry compote and topped with a whipped foie gras chantilly and a slice of almond brittle. Light and moist, yet rich and earthy, it is the ultimate of tiny cakes. In the nineteenth century, English writer Sydney Smith stated that his idea of heaven was “eating pates de foie gras to the sound of trumpets.” I'd say that sounds about right to me.

When I began "The Cupcaketologist" over two years ago, I had envisioned it not only as a chronicle of my foray into self-discovery through baking, but also as a diary of my culinary growth. I've always considered my case studies less full of kitsch and more full of flavor; true testimonials of my hunger for life, through travel and experience.

For me, this is a cupcake two years in the making. The table Cupcaketology has now been set for a different kind of occasion: cupcakes for the super gourmand. Will they be for the faint of heart? I'm not certain. But what I do know, my friends, is that we can only go up from here.

Case Study 78: "The Hummingbird Cake"

2011-01-03T14:32:00.000-05:00

Twenty-ten was a year of changes. It started off with setting goals, and ended with reaching them. It took me to run and play in England, and enjoy a summer of sun in New England. It had me making choices, working hard and trying my best to be patient. I said goodbye to some people, places and a few immediate dreams in exchange for ones that were more realistic and healthy for the time being. I had moments of creativity that scared me.

At the end of the summer, I let go.

In the fall of twenty-ten, I made a big move and tried something new. When that didn't feel right, I made a decision that was scary, but I knew I'd be fine. Maybe I'd be better. I buzzed around a new city, made new friends, spent precious time with my family and got the break that I finally needed after three years of working.

In the winter, things fell into place.

They say that the origins of "The Hummingbird Cake" are unknown. It appears to be a mostly Southern thing, and the recipes were a good way to use the bits and pieces, the not-so-necessarily-perfect-together things that you already have to make something sweeter. And in a way, isn't every good year a bit like that? The components might not make much sense in their hours, days and months, but in the end, things fall into a place.

I have high hopes for twenty-eleven. I'm excited to see what a year of growth can foster in a year where things seem to be set up where they belong. It's been a long time getting to where I've been going, but it feels like this is right where I'm supposed to be.

PS: As a new career begins, cupcakes will likely be scarce around here. Follow my other inspiration and adventures over on The Cupcaketologist Tumblr.

Notes from the Field: Busy Elves

2010-12-17T11:23:00.001-05:00

This holiday season has been BUSY. And while I can't claim to have done a great job at reporting it, I've seen numerous orders go out in the past weeks. Some of the delightful confections that hit the doorsteps of New Yorkers this December include:

Chocolate cupcakes with a whipped peanut butter buttercream, hidden banana slice and milk chocolate dip...

Burnt sugar cake with salted caramel buttercream...

New York Cheesecake cupcakes with a vanilla cake nestled in a graham cracker crust, cream cheese buttercream and homemade cherry topping...

Lemon poppyseed cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and homemade sesame cookies on top...

And good ole' double vanilla cupcakes.

Needless to say, the elves have been busy.

What have you been baking up in the past few weeks?

Case Study 77: "The Salty Fig"

2010-12-03T13:28:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry, I'm sorry and I'm sorry.

I just couldn't help myself.

Two things:

A) If you invite me to a party, a lunch, a dinner, or a brunch, I will bring cupcakes. Whether it be an appetizer or a side, regardless of what you ask me to bring (I'll likely bring that too), that dish, but in cupcake form, is what you will get.

B) These cupcakes are dirty. Naughty even. Shield your eyes. Close your mouth. No wait, maybe open it. I took my favorite cupcake recipe and changed one thing: I candied an Italian meat. And not just any meat.

That meat.

Fluffy honey cupcakes topped with a creamy goat cheese buttercream, a fresh California fig and a slice of candied prosciutto.

So now that we've got that out there....forgive me?

Notes from the Field: "How To Deal with a Picky Eater" or "Payback's a Bitch..."

2010-11-16T10:47:00.001-05:00

Never did I ever think that at this point in my life I'd be writing about how to feed a child. But last week my mother came to me with a dilemma. As he nears two years old, my nephew, love of my life, has decided that he's just not that into food. What kid doesn't love to eat? I thought. I mean, I had to be denied food as a kid. Hell, I requested baccalà at a big family party at 15 months because I thought it looked good.

And that's when I remembered that when you're little, and you upset your parents, they use that line: "Just wait to you have one of your own." My nephew, like his parents, is brilliant. He is compassionate and loving, with the curiosity of a little engineer and the timing of a comedic actor. But for him, being a fusspot does run in the family. Legend has it that at the turn of the 80s, my big brother so abhorred food that the only way they could get him to eat it was to make French toast, cut it up in shapes, rearrange it differently and call it "English toast." And he still had one over on them.

Baby can not live on O's alone. He needs greens, fiber, protein and more, conveniently hidden in something fit for his little wandering hands. Sounds like a perfect recipe for a muffin. Carrots, apples, zucchini, bran, yogurt, agave, eggs and flax are just some of the healthy goodies inside these little "cakes." They're just sweet enough for little tastebuds, and pack the punch of all the food groups.

George Bernard Shaw said "There is no love sincerer than the love of food." I look forward to the day when baby, like his father, finally decides he likes food. We'll teach him about the finer delicacies, the worldly fares and everything in between. But for now, let's just get him to eat his veggies.

Apple-Carrot-Zucchini Bran Muffins

(Makes 24 mini-muffins)

1 cup whole-wheat flour 

½ cup oat bran
¼ cup old fashioned oats

¼ cup ground flaxseed

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon salt

1/8 cup organic cane sugar
teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon baking powder
eggs

½ cup fat-free greek yogurt

¼ cup agave nectar  

1 tsp vanilla
½ cup apples(sweeter variety, I used Honeycrisp), shredded

½ cup carrots, shredded

½ cup zucchini, shredded
¼ cup agave nectar 

¼ cup dates (optional)

¼ cup toasted pecans (optional, not for baby)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and grease/flour 2 minimuffin cup pans (24 muffins) well.
2. In a small bowl, mix the dry ingredients: flour, oat bran, oats, flaxseed, nutmeg, cinnamon, salt, sugar, baking soda and baking powder.
3. In a mixer, gently beat the eggs. Mix in the rest of the wet ingredients: yogurt, vanilla, apples, carrots, zucchini, and agave.
4. Fold the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients. Do not overbeat. Bake for 16-20 minutes. Let cook for 5 minutes in the pan and remove, to let cool completely on a wire rack.

The Cupcaketologist Bloggoversary!

2010-11-11T09:26:00.000-05:00

I somehow got too caught up in the mix to remember that mid-October marked this blog's two-year anniversary! It's amazing to look back and see the start of this journey, the turning points and where we are today.

Thanks for reading, and here's to many more adventures in cupcaketology ahead!

Case Study 76: "The Pumpkin Seed"

2010-11-07T15:58:00.002-05:00

Lately, I have been on the move. I head uptown on foot, I hop over to Brooklyn on the subway, and I drive through Spanish Harlem to leave the city. I see a man in a suit closing his iron gate under an overflowing window box on 82nd Street. There are children playing in the sidewalk beside mothers on stoops on 126th. There's an overcurated flea market on Lafayette with lobster rolls, asian hot dogs, and street style gamines searching for a ready camera. I keep my eyes open and I don't want to miss a thing. And yet, no matter what I see in the diverse neighborhoods I pass through, I keep thinking about one thing: the luxury of time.

When it comes to time itself, I've been a rich woman this past month. After passing through years like wildfire, I've been given the chance to slow down, re-evaluate, and breathe. Museums, parks, historic sites - these are the fruits of my labor these days. I walk away from the computer and I pick up the phone, I spend time with family and friends, and I reconnect with the physical world - the one that we never thought was a luxury until we started spending eight to twelve of our waking hours behind a screen, locked away in our corporate castles running circles against a clock.

"The Pumpkin Seed" is a pumpkin cupcake with a molasses maple cream cheese buttercream that is topped with a homemade pumpkin seed brittle. I've always thought that what pumpkin evokes in autumn was the essence of time. As a child I watched them grow all summer long over the stone wall of a farmhouse streetcorner in Connecticut. I'd pass on an August day to find them sitting on chairs like little round old men, too heavy for their vines against the rock. And when the cold set in, one by one they would disappear, some breaking free and rolling down the street, and others finding their way to plates and porches across the town.

I always loved that quote that reminds us that one twenty-four hour period of childhood equals twenty of our adult days. We lose a little bit of the ability to live deliberately and with intention when we grow up because there's always somewhere else to go. I've gotten lost these past weeks, and I'm so thankful that I've had to time to do so. Everybody has something to say about being early or being late. But nobody can argue that when you're on time for doing absolutely nothing at all, you are exactly where you're supposed to be, and that is a gift.

Notes from the Field: Cupcake Americana

2010-11-07T14:58:00.000-05:00

What makes a cupcake American? Recently, my dear friend Cary Randolph Fuller and myself joined forces to answer this question and bring New York readers the chance to win a taste of what we like to think of as "The Great American Cupcake."

The winner, Mariel of Preppy with Twist, received a dozen of these mini vanilla layercakes with raspberry filling and ruffled vanilla buttercream topped with handcut red and blue star sugar cookies. These little confections were designed with our nation's history in mind and the themes of individuality, diversity and freedom that comes from living in this great country.

Talk about red, white and blue.

Notes from the Field: Been up to my elbows...

2010-10-29T16:06:00.000-04:00

I have been nonstop busy the past few days....

Giving friends a hand here and there... 

And finding out that what they said was true...

 New York City is QUITE the meat market.

Baby red velvet layer cakes drizzled with chocolate and topped with cream cheese buttercream and freshly sliced fingers.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN.

Case Study 75: "The Salted Caramel"

2010-10-25T20:23:00.001-04:00

"Imperfection is beauty,

madness is genius

and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous

than absolutely boring."

-Marilyn Monroe

"The Salted Caramel" is a double vanilla cupcake topped with a salted caramel frosting and a sweet chocolate caramel crunchie disk on top.

In Italy, they have a saying "brutti ma buoni." Ugly but good. Sometimes the best things in life aren't the most obvious, the prettiest or the most perfect. Like these cupcakes, they might just be a gooey, sticky, sugary mess.

Case Study 74: "The Lady Cake"

2010-10-19T19:20:00.002-04:00

Last Friday, after a spin through the Guggenheim and the Upper East Side, I ducked into Bemelman's Bar for a quick cocktail. As usual, it was dark and quiet, save for the Mia and Woody on the other side of the leather banquette, sharing the most Midsummer's Night Sex Comedy exchange about philosophies, dancers and how great the other person was. I ordered a Sidecar, and Tommy, who's tended bar there for the past fifty-two years, whipped it right up, but not without a conversation first.

"You are some lady, you are, ordering that drink," he said, and proceeded to tell me all about the Sidecar itself. Cognac, Cointreau, Lemon. It was a popular cocktail in the 50s and 60s, after the war, but the libation eventually went into hiding in lieu of more complicated mixologies. I smiled, explaining how I've always been a fan of the classics, and after assuring him that his version was excellent, I got to thinking: about history, about class, and about being a lady.

"The Lady Cake" is a miniature lemon chiffon layer cake, topped with a fluffy lemon buttercream. From the outside it's light, fancy and whimsical, something truly dreamy and sweet. But underneath it is sturdy and full of dimension, layer upon layer, building up to be one strong piece of cake.

When I think about the women I admire most, relatives, icons, friends and my mother, what I find in common is a rare mixture of both dignity and courage. She is the one who balances the line of grace and attitude. She is naturally private, always a step ahead, yet completely unafraid to elbow her way through to where she wants to go. She is a gentlewoman among men. She defies time and place. But most of all, she has gumption.

I walked out of The Carlyle that afternoon, back into the gray Manhattan light, and strolled through Central Park back downtown. Across the terrace, along The Mall, and I smiled as I thought about one of my favorite quotes by Katherine Hepburn. She said, "I have not lived as a woman. I have lived as a man. I've just done what I've damn well wanted to and I've made enough money to support myself and I ain't afraid of being alone." That, my friends, is what it means to be a lady.

Case Study 73: "The Spiced Pear "

2010-10-13T22:58:00.002-04:00

In Greek mythology, the pear was seen as sacred to three goddesses: Hera, Aphrodite and Pomona. In China it symbolizes longevity and immortality. But in the culinary world, no fruit symbolizes the mid-October harvest like this sweet succulent pomaceous delight.

In the summer we savor the offerings of the vine. Mother Earth's truest candy is a fresh July tomato or ripe summer berry. But in the fall we pick from the earth. We find abundance in what is rooted to bring warmth and nourishment to our table and we keep this sacred for this season alone.

"The Spiced Pear" is a gingerbread cupcake under a light vanilla buttercream, crowned with a savory poire épicée. It is full of flavor and oozing with fruit's own syrupy goodness, spiked with the unmistakable notes of ginger, star anise, cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg wrapping up one warm aromatic bite.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately - in this month that's ruled by Venus and the symbol of balance - about life, about worth, and about how to measure it all. We spend our days working hard and our nights wondering what weight it all really has in the grand scheme of things. We wonder if what we expect of ourselves determines the value of our capacity, and we try to tell ourselves that experience that is bad can be experience well learned. But sometimes we just realize that life is too damn short to not just live it well. In the season, in the moment, and in the end, we have to live it well.

On Cupcakes in New York

2010-10-13T15:52:00.004-04:00

Since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve received quite a lot of inquiries on private cupcake orders for parties, baby and bridal showers, work events and just plain old personal enjoyment. I have been creating bespoke cupcakes for events for the past year and a half in the Philadelphia and NYC Metro region!

If you are in the New York City area and have an inquiry, please email or message me directly for pricing and delivery(included!).

Case Study 72: "The Artful Pecan"

2010-10-06T23:20:00.000-04:00

Three days after I moved in, I finally decided to christen my new Manhattan kitchen with the only thing that seemed fit: pie. Well, not really pie, per se. But when I think of moving, think of housewarming, and think of welcomes, I think of pie. And when I think of pie, I think of my mother's famous pecan pie.

"The Artful Pecan" is a bourbon pecan cupcake with a burnt brown sugar buttercream and a caramel pecan on top. It is haute design meets homecooked goodness. It is elegance inspired by recent tours of the landmark and art deco buildings that ground this city and one whirlwind dive into the crazy kitchen that is the New York restaurant business.

I once read that, according to the "science of happiness," location can as much impede our growth as it can serve to inspire us, help us grow and bring us joy. What we take in and what we perceive affect what we feel and what we create. New York City is a boundless pot of opportunity, with art lurking in every corner, waiting to be eaten up. I'd like to think that with this move, a new era of Cupcaketology has begun.

2010-09-30T12:22:00.002-04:00

This little cupcake got all dressed up in candied pumpkin, glacéed orange and an autumn leaf tuile for a glamour shot.

(Photo by Deb Wild)

Case Study 71: "The Harvest Moon"

2010-09-19T22:23:00.008-04:00

"Come a little bit closer

Hear what I have to say

Just like children sleepin'

We could dream this night away.

But there's a full moon risin'

Let's go dancin' in the light

We know where the music's playin'

Let's go out and feel the night."

- Neil Young

When autumn rolls in this Tuesday, I know just what I'm going to do. I will fold the top down on our little BMW, pop in that old particular tape, and head out on a drive through the windy Connecticut backroads. The air will be a little cooler and the trees will begin to sway more freely, like withering half-dressed skeletons against the night.

I'll press play, and be greeted by the repeat of ten strumming chords, the same ones that will play the melody of a him and myself, dancing- in the kitchen, on the porch, in the lawn under the great tree with the dripping iron candelabra. Turning and turning in the golden light knees knocking calves, elbows across shoulders, until the song breaks into those four deliciously picked notes. The same picked notes that I savored years earlier, lying on my back on the rug under the stereo, an eight-year old romantic with toes that swayed in the hazy waltz of the living room light.

Neil Young, "Harvest Moon." The album with the haunting cover of a dark silhouette and fringe across the water's edge. The song that made me yearn for the crackling fire, the hush of the woods, and the smell of burning gourds. The images that reminded me that, for all I ever believed myself to be a child of the summer, I was born under the stars of that flipped autumn sky.

"The Harvest Moon" is a pumpkin and spice cupcake crowned with a cream cheese buttercream. It is the most simple taste of autumn - in the flesh of the fruit, the cinnamon, the ginger, the nutmeg, all topped in a sweet cream - that evokes the unmistakable yearning for no other season but this. Leaves sauntering through the sky. The heavy crooked arms of apple trees bending to the ground in an abundant plie. The shifting patterns of birds as they take flight to their winter homes. The autumn dance.

It's not the fairest of the seasons, but it's the one that makes us remember what it means to be alive. It reminds us that seasons come and seasons go, and it's the going that makes the coming all worthwhile in the end. The sun rises and the sun sets. Flowers bloom and leaves fall. We run free in the summer and we hold each other tighter all winter long. Life is both up and down, and as we see the turning of the days, the moon fades from white to orange and hangs lower in the sky. We are never really ready for the fall, but when it arrives, like Neil says, we remember the dance.

Case Study 70: "The Cliffwalk"

2010-09-04T14:51:00.009-04:00

It was a blustery January day when I first walked around the perimeter of the Cliffwalk. Three and a half miles of stone path against the bluffs of a New England shore. It was wild, gray and cold, but somehow I felt warm, a feeling I attributed to either being in love, or an inevitable human reaction to standing where the icy path meets the trembling ocean surf.

Growing up, we're always told that life isn't about the desination, it's about the journey along the way. But as I get older, I keep thinking about the chapters in my life as little paths of their own. Occasionally, a path is unclear. At times it's even a dead end. But sometimes, if I'm lucky, when I stand at each destination, which might not come until days, months, or even years later, I see the path clearly.

"The Cliffwalk" is a rocky road cupcake, chocolate and with bits of marshmallow and chopped walnuts, topped with a vanilla buttercream and chocolate chunk. Chocked full, messy, a bit precarious, it's an undoubtedly decadent disaster.

A year and a half later, I stood alone at the start of that same shoreline path on a sun-soaked July day. It was near evening, and the sea breeze was surprisingly cool, so I sat behind a shield of cerulean hydrangeas, dripping from a run while the others had fallen into an afternoon slumber back home. They were friends, acquaintances, and one veritable soul sister, brought together by as much a constellation's turn as the decision to just not give a shit about making sense of it all. Though I had been there before, I felt no déjà vu.

You see, people and places come into our lives for a reason, and they leave our lives for a reason as well. These parts of the journey, the entries and the exits, aren't always smooth. And so we fixate - on the various paths, on the potholes, and on the crumbling spackle we've used to cover the cracks as we go. We forget that we control the direction of our feet and the strength to regain balance when we trip. We close our eyes and get the hell out of there, without realizing that there might be some really great things left to see.

The truth is, life is one rocky road. As I stood there that summer day at the start of the Cliffwalk, by choice and by fate, I took my first steps on a new path on Aquidneck Island. And I remembered that whatever beauty I might find at the end of the road was rolling against the horizon to my left all along.

Rocky Road Cupcake

(Makes 18 to 24)

1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
3/4 cup warm water
3/4 cup milk
2 tablespoons safflower oil
1 tablespoon melted butter
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup chopped walnuts
10 marshmallows, chopped into small pieces

1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line standard muffin tins with paper liners; set aside. Sift together cocoa powder, flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl.
2.Add eggs, warm water, butter, milk, oil, and vanilla, and mix until smooth, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides and bottom of bowl to assure batter is well mixed. Fold in nuts and marshmallow bits.
3.Divide batter evenly among muffin cups, filling each 2/3 full. Bake until tops spring back when touched, about 20 minutes, rotating pan once if needed. Transfer to a wire rack; let cool completely.

Vanilla Buttercream

2 sticks butter
4-6 cups confectioner sugar
1/4 cup milk
2 tsp. vanilla

1. In the bowl of an electric mixer, or by hand, beat the butter and until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Mix in vanilla.
2. Add 1 cup confectioner’s sugar and mix until combined, mix in half of the milk.
3. Mix in remaining confectioner’s sugar, adding more milk depending on consistency and preference.
4. Frost cupcakes, and enjoy the ride.

Case Study 69: "The August Peach"

2010-08-27T14:14:00.001-04:00

When summer gathers up her robes of glory,

And, like a dream, glides away.

- Sarah Helen Whitman

I notoriously clutch to every summer's end as it seeps through my fingers like the weakening light at dusk. Of course, it's inevitable that September will always roll around. But we're summer people, after all. And so year after year we stand, sweaters half-covering our swimsuits and bare shoulders, denying that we might be cold as the slight chill in the air at our door. And it knocks earlier and earlier each day.

I'll be right there! We shout. But we secretly hide in the backyard, standing below the naked parts of the trees above, where the sun is still hot, and we swear it's still summer where everything gold can stay. So we reason. The peaches are in season. The fawns are out alone. And the children next door just learned to ride bikes, which certainly means it can be nothing but summer.

"The August Peach" is a sweet summer peach cupcake topped with a vanilla-bourbon buttercream. It's ripe, boozy and filled with fruits of the season at their best.

We hunger, we desire, and we want to still lick the juices of the season off our sticky hands. So we grill up burgers and dogs and summer fruits, making a mess everywhere and hoping nobody sees that all the while, everywhere we go, we are leaving traces of our summer hands and feet. Hoping to keep the sadness of the colder months at bay. Hoping to forget that we're ending another third of our trip around the sun.

Case Study 68: "The Farfalle"

2010-08-22T23:32:00.004-04:00

They say the butterfly is a symbol for many things: conscious evolution, transformation, and the personification of the human soul. But whatever it evokes for the individual, when it comes to the family, it means a bit more.

I spent a day this weekend at a reunion with dozens of my closest relatives on my maternal grandmother's side. La familia. An enormous and forever growing chain of life that itself has seen many metamorphoses as it's evolved over the years. We are a family that celebrates. We are a family ruled by women. We are a family all about life. Lives themselves, and the act of livin' it.

"The Farfalle" is a vanilla cupcake with a vanilla bean buttercream and butterfly sitting on top. My mother told me that when she thinks about the family, she sees us all dancing, and we look like a big bunch of butterflies. And you know what? I can kind of see it. Young and old, wings spread, fluttering around the room. We all become the same thing when we hit the dancefloor.

We find pictures of great aunts and see ourselves in their eyes. We hear stories about the old country, about the new country, and about how we passed between the two. Years pass, and we learn that just as we die, we are reborn. Every single person, living or dead, is locked in time as an essential link that holds the whole chain together. And that somehow helps us makes sense of everything: who we were, who we are, and who we might become.

Resurrection, rebirth, re-life. Like a butterfly, old life begets new life, and that is what family is about.

Notes from the Field: Existential Cupcaketology

2010-08-17T18:05:00.001-04:00

"By releasing the pressure of

reality upon our lives,

fantasy convinced us that

life itself had no hold upon us.

We belonged to no place or country,

no class, profession, or generation.

Our truth lay elsewhere.

-Simone de Beauvoir

A cupcake is a cupcake... until's it's not.

Pink meringue takes the form of a cupcake, and gets stuffed to the gills with nutella and strawberries.

Yeah. Lots of deep thoughts over here lately.

Meringue Recipe Courtesy of Martha Stewart.

Case Study 67: "The Cookie Monster"

2010-08-07T00:02:00.000-04:00

There are certain gentlemen in this world that do not like sweets (you know who you are!). These salty fellows stroll through life with a taste for the more refined and savory delicacies of the culinary world. Or maybe, when it comes to sugarly delights, they frankly just don't give a damn.

Luckily, my big brother doesn't fall anywhere near that category. Oh no, his appetite for the edible makes me proud. I've seen him eat nearly an entire sleeve of graham crackers BEFORE dinner. He's been known to wrap a bundle of shoestring licorice around his tongue in mere minutes. And pitchers of margaritas? Make them bottomless, especially on vacation, when we've got nowhere to go.

My big brubba. The one who, at nearly six years old, wanted to send me back when I came roaring into the world. The one who tickled me until I peed my pants and blew my budding eardrums out with the Steve Miller Band, The Doors, and Jimi Hendrix when he so graciously drove me to school in the 90s. The one who sat higher up in the tree out back, a plastic desk nested in what seemed like miles above, while I manned the bottom branches and lowering the broken swing down for our mother to send up essentials (bandaids, juiceboxes, cookies).

He brought his older friends to stand guard when the boys teased me after school, and without fail he made light of every love interest I ever had, leaving me in the end with nothing but laughs, regardless of if it worked out or not. He always let me tag along for all the best adventures, and he went all in when it came to his hobbies in life, like car-racing, fly fishing, and cigar smoking. He has given me the gift-that-keeps-giving in the form of a nephew, who is so much his own shadow as he is his own little stubborn and silly bull.

"The Cookie Monster" is just that. A vanilla cupcake with a sparkly blue vanilla buttercream, and the face of one beloved monster with a mouthful of sweet delicious baked confection goodness.

So to my big cookie monster on his 31st birthday. Thank you for sparing me those tortuous years of yellow school buses, all while making me appreciate the wonderful music of generations before us. Thank you for being so crazily passionate and not giving me the option to not learn about your hobbies. Having all of that knowledge always makes me feel like one hell of a refined woman when faced with a room full of men. Thank you for giving me someone to look up to. Whether it was in tree branches or adoration, you set an example for radness and success that pushed me far beyond my years. And thank you for being there always, when I needed you most and when I didn't need you at all.

I guess that's just what big brudders do.