Case Study 128: "The Roasted Strawberry Basil Cupcake"

OK. So we might have fast-forwarded to summer this week. 

Like any good culinarian, this got me jonesing for warmer weather things. Like sunset runs and day-drinking and taking my shoes off in absolutely any presence of grass.

It also got me excited for summer fruits. And flavors. And the sweet sweet magic that occurs when you combine sugar and berries and put them in the oven. 

These cakes are a product of that. 

Roasted strawberry cupcakes with sweet basil-vanilla bean buttercream and balsamic-basil candy on top. 

They're like any other strawberry cupcakes...except better. And more exotic. First, I tossed good ripe strawberries with a little sugar, olive oil and coarse sea salt and roasted them in the oven for about 25-30 minutes. I mixed these into the batter of a normal strawberry cupcake recipe that's never failed me in the past. For the buttercream, I steeped basil with sea salt, sugar and milk for 10 minutes, strained it through cheesecloth, and used it in my standard vanilla bean buttercream recipe. And balsamic basil candy? Just reduce a little maple syrup, balsamic vinegar, sea salt and dried basil in a pan until it bubbles, and turn it out onto parchment to cool, before breaking up and sprinkling on top.
 

We might be a little premature in saying that summer has in fact arrived prior to June 21. After all, the days still have to get even longer and the sunsets need to turn a little more gold until I can proclaim it the fairest of the seasons. But my god, if these days are any indication of what we have to come. I. Can't. Wait. 

Case Study 127: The Spring Hummingbird Cupcake

 “sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love"

- E.E. Cummings

Forgive me for being so quiet lately, but I was busy letting the month of March be so good to me. Luckily, amidst it all, spring finally arrived. We tired of snow, the sky turned blue and the dormant bulbs started pushing green shoots through the ground. 

I've got spring fever, and I've got it bad. 

Whatever you do, get outside this weekend. Throw on some shades, lose the socks and try to avoid the shady side of the street. Drink up some crisp nearly April air. Let the spring sunlight wash away the winter sins.

 

And if must spend some hours indoors, make them worth it and bake up these very spring-like Hummingbird cupcakes with cream cheese buttercream, flaked coconut and malted eggs on top.

Get awakened. Be new. And viva sweet love.  

Case Study 126: "The Bacon Caramel Pretzel Cupcake"

"Be soft. 

Do not let the world make you hard. 

Do not let pain make you hate. 

Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. 

Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree,
you still believe it to be a beautiful place."

- Kurt Vonnegut 

 

It's been "a week." Well, actually, it's been a few "weeks." Things have been a little stressful around here, so when I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, I wasn't too surprised. 

I had pretty much given myself a hall pass when suddenly I thought: "No." Why ruin a perfectly good Saturday? After all, I had places to go, and people to see later. Something had to be done. 

An hour, a trip to the store and some psychedelic 60's Peruvian and Turkish music (just go with it)later, I had an answer. 

Bacon. 

Well, bacon, chocolate, caramel and peanut butter, to be more precise. And a little dancing. 

I turned on aforementioned tunes and got cookin'. I whipped up the most perfectly light vanilla cupcakes, and as they cooled I melted semi-sweet chocolate chips. I laid out my pretzel flats, which were chosen for their ability to hold more things per square centimeter than the average tiny twist. And then I got to dipping. I dipped the pretzel in the chocolate and I rolled it in finely sliced pieces of crispy bacon. 

I did a little dance here, and I felt better already. I'm a firm believer that it's hard to stay mad when there's a dance party involved. I then turned to the buttercream, and seeing as my decision-making skills are off for the weekend, I went for peanut butter and caramel and vanilla, and I whipped it all up together.  

The end product? Vanilla cupcakes with peanut butter caramel buttercream, caramel drizzle and chocolate-bacon dipped pretzel flats on top. 

Coincidentally after that, my phone rang. Plans were set. The sky outside actually looked lighter. And before I hopped in the shower, I looked over my masterpieces again. All was good. I was ready to take the day. 

Case Study 125: "The Summer Citrus Cupcake"

Guys... I'm officially over winter. 

I knew it would happen soon enough - the charm of a errant snowstorm would reel me in enough to announce a love affair with the cold. But there's been no skiing yet this January, and quite frankly, I need a tan. Now, I summer hard and well, and what I've learned in my time is that every good summer girl needs an accomplice. I like to call these my "summer sisters" and for the past few years, I've been dealt a very strong hand.

She and I had rekindled our friendship at a Beach Boys concert, and as far as I'm concerned that in itself is the basis of everything. We kept in touch throughout the winter, but once June rolled around, the spark was lit. 

We went to polo matches. We lied in the grass and drank Dark n' Stormies until the horses went home. We went to Block Island. We drank mudslides and had serious dance parties at Yellow Kittens. We ate hot dogs at all hours of the days, went on a magical late night swim amongst bioluminescents and went skinny dipping at 2AM skinny in Sachem Pond. We celebrated New Years Eve with homemade pinatas and took over an island with 200 of our closest friends we just hadn't met yet.

I remember one fourth of July weekend, when we convened under the arbor behind a grey stone house. We threw back a few, and cut through the hedges lined with blue hydrangea as the sun melted over the Long Island Sound and the night turned blue. Twenty of us, in our best summer Nantucket reds, eyelet whites and gingham blues, trekked past ponds and manors, drinks in hand, down the winding Connecticut roads toward the shores of Tokeneke Club. 

There were candlelit cabanas, Seabreezes and fireworks at every angle across the water to New York. There was a seven piece soul band, and now barefoot, we twisted and shouted until no brow was dry against the American flags along the front of the dancefloor. 

The next night we hit the water and strung our boats together like a barrel of monkeys for hours in the misty night, until we sped back to the house to make pizzas with whatever we could get our hands on. We danced to 90s rap hits on marble countertops and drove vintage motorbikes across the lawn at three o'clock in the morning.  

Summer is like a spark to the ridiculously spontaneous - those people who light up like fireflies when the hot sun goes down. And those long summer night talks that happen - the happy ones, the sad ones and the hundreds of talks about men - are memorialized in a way that seems almost eternal. That's the thing about summer sisters. They cement a time and a place in your memory that carries us through the remaining cold damp months of the year. 

Tonight we'll set out on the town to celebrate. And though it's the middle of winter, there will be margaritas, plenty of summer spirit and these creamsicle cupcakes with blood orange-vanilla buttercream and candied blood oranges on top. 

Happy happy birthday, to my summer sister Z. I am so lucky that our paths brought us together again, and I'm fortunate to call such a loyal woman, filled with incredible drive and values, my friend. To continued success and balance, my dear. To more life conversations and real talk, to romantic Greenwich dinners and to many many more nights of mayhem in every month of every year.

Case Study 124: "The Winter Baby Shower Cupcake"

There are so many things they never tell you about growing up. But that didn't stop me from wondering...

I had a great childhood. It was a lot of riding bikes until dark up and down the southwestern Connecticut hills. In the summers we'd live on pool decks, listening to our boombox and swinging high on the swim club swings. In the winters we'd build snowforts and sneak into town after dark, when the streets were white and the tiny clock on Main Street was the only thing that lit our way to go sledding down the elementary school's hills. My youth was idyllic and romantic in every way...but the minute I turned eighteen, I was ready to go.

Give me red lipstick and martini bars. Give me Italy and a corner office. Give me all night dance parties on great lawns and let me kiss a lot of boys.

Well I'm there now, and if I had to recap the past ten years of adulthood, I'd say they've been pretty great. Lots of adventures and lipstick, men kissed and cocktails drank. There have been graduations and moves and even a bunch of weddings. All of those things I knew would eventually come along. It's just, well, nobody prepared me for how utterly amazing and surreal life becomes when your people start making....people.
 

I was lucky enough to have at least one nephew as a primer before this started - albeit one very high set bar of a primer. But then, as my friends have grown up, more babies have rolled in. I got two at once, with blue eyes and sweet hearts; then there was a little lady, born with crazy hair, chunky legs and the exact spirit of her mother at eleven years old, when I met her.

Yesterday we celebrated the (very) soon birthday of my first New Yorker baby friend. There were lots of mimosas, MetroCard rattles and laughs about the nuances of raising babies in modern times and in the city. There were strawberry-stuffed vanilla cupcakes with vanilla buttercream and little baby penguins and icebergs on top to welcome this sweet winter child. But in the end, it wasn't any different my other friends' baby showers because it was all about love. About love, about wonder and awe and about how that all comes together when people make PEOPLE (will this ever not be mind-blowing?). 

I can't wait meet this new tiny friend and see how see or he grows. I've had the fortune of watching my friend hit some big milestones, but I really really can't wait to see how she grows as a mother, a wife and mostly, just in life. Because while our time on earth is amazing feat, there's no denying that the miracle of life is even more miraculous in itself.

Case Study 123: "The Winter Wonderland Cupcake"

 

"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep." 

 - Robert Frost 

Robert Frost was popular in our household growing up, and having a New England childhood, this poem was a favorite of mine. There was just something about the imagery of those dark woods, the never-ending snowfall and a quiet journey. I'll always fondly remember the cozy and romantic feeling it gave me this time of year. 

The winter solstice falls on Friday, and I have to say is, dear God, let there be snow this year. And if there is not, at least let there be vanilla cupcakes with vanilla buttercream and flaked glitter, coconut and gold painted woodland creatures on top. 

Case Study 122: "The White Christmas Tree"

I have to be honest here...it took me a bit longer than usual this year to get into the Christmas spirit. 

  
This had me concerned because normally, Christmas is my jam. See, I'm nostalgic almost to the point of fault. I find joy in the smell of roasted nuts in the night air on New York City streets. I relish in falling asleep early in my childhood bed, with that safe feeling that my parents are still awake in the living room. And there is no greater sound than the whirring of our aging cookie shooter gun that, after thirty Christmas seasons, still churns out the best damn butter cookies in all of the land.

Now this year, Thanksgiving came early. I've been on the road, heading north to south and back again, all in a week's worth of time. And last week the weather in Manhattan hit sixty-three degrees. 

Whatever the reason, last week I finally decided something had to be done. I strung garland around the antlers on my wall. I trimmed our family tree. I baked Christmas cookies by candlelight. Yet, still the feeling held out. 

Until about nearly four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon. 

It was a cold day in Massachusetts, and from my desk, tiny lights twinkled around a little tree as the sky turned dark from gray to blue. I had no meetings, just work to do, and so I plugged in and pressed play. I passed the kitschy eighties holiday tracks. I even made it through the Vince Guaraldi Trio just fine. And then I hit Sinatra, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," and I was a goner. 

The thing about Christmas is that it defies time and space. It reminds me of years past, when nobody was tethered to anything but each other. When we sat by the fire, the kids rolling around like puppies on the floor and the adults telling stories on the couch. It makes me think of driving through cold streets, bundled up in the backseat as we checked out Christmas lights and slowly crept through snow-dusted Connecticut roads. And it reminds me that no matter how hard I try to bring back those feelings again, the world will never be exactly the same as it was those days. People grow up, time moves on and though we can never go back home to that place, the way we hold onto it is what sets the foundation for what we make our Christmases today. 

I literally cannot wait for next week. I can't wait to bake more holiday cupcakes, like these gingerbread cupcakes topped with vanilla and orange peel buttercream trees and edible glitter. I can't wait to finish work and snuggle in for a few quiet weeks. I can't wait for my dad to keep the fire going all day long. And I really can't wait to see my nephew in footie reindeer pajamas and his little round face on Christmas morning. But that's the thing about Christmas. The spirit, the memories and that real Christmas feeling? It's timeless.  

Case Study 121: "The Bourbon Salted Caramel Pumpkin Cupcake"

Are you feeling what I'm feeling? 

It's the end of November, the early frost is setting in and we've all reached the same point: pumpkin fatigue.

And from reading the title above, I know what you guys are thinking. Holy bananas,this chick isn't going to whip up another pumpkin cupcake, is she?  

Well, I am. 

But wait, here's the thing. This is the end... the very very end(until 2013). I promise. There will be no more pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, or gold-flecked caramel figs. You see, by the time we reach Friday, when we're all full from that big day where we eat all of the things, we'll have already started to be served new stuff like peppermint, Christmas carols and dreams of potato latkes with wings(personal dreams, but...as you were).

So let's think of this as "one last hurrah." One last fling before the ringing Hershey Kiss commercials hit TV and that baby polar bear slides down a glacier and somehow finds a bottle of Coca-Cola.

I think pumpkin cupcakes topped with bourbon salted caramel buttercream and spiced shortbread leaves will do the trick, don't you?

Good. So here's what we're going to do. First we'll whip up the fluffiest pumpkin cupcakes in all of the lands. I'm going to suggest you get all crazy and use "organic" pumpkin if going the canned route here because the consistency is perfect for creating said fluff. 

Then, while the cupcakes cool, get down and dirty with some caramel sauce. This isn't your mother's best friend from high school's mom's caramel sauce. No, this one has salt. And bourbon. I used this recipe. Now tread lightly here. If you put a spoon from the cooking bourbon salted caramel into your mouth, you will get burned. 

When the caramel has cooled COMPLETELY, make your frosting using a basic vanilla frosting recipe. But instead of using milk and vanilla, use the bourbon salted caramel. See where I'm going here? Use your eyes and watch the consistency.

We've reached the grand finale. Time to frost those cupcakes! Are you ready? Let's go. 

Pipe or schmear your bourbon salted caramel buttercream onto your cupcakes and top with something festive. It's Thanksgiving, which stands for abundance and overload and thankfulness of things, so this could be sprinkles, some form of cornucopia tchotchke or my choice, spiced shortbread leaves (recipe here).

We're done! One last hurrah of Pumpkin Cupcakes. See, that was easy. 

Now go forth and eat! 

Case Study 120: "The Ginger Pear Cupcake"

Today is for reunions and it looks like the weather is going to play along.

Days like this always remind me of fall in Bologna. The gray sky, the smell of the coming November rain and the first sights of marzipan in the pasticerria windows.

It reminds me of how we roused late and brewed caffe in our tiny perk before indulging in biscuits and Nutella from the jar. How the light would peek around the corners of the narrow streets, and in the early morning the grates would go up at the Mercato delle Erbe as the statue of Ugo Bassi pointed ahead.  

 

It makes me remember our homemade haircuts and long lasagna lunches. Parties at the house, marked by Nina Simone and hash cigarettes. The long walks up the six hundred and sixty-six portici that led to the sanctuary on the hill. And most of all, it brings memories of long afternoons at Il Cortile Cafe, where the day faded to night and we started every evening with prosecco by candlelight and listening to Django Reinhardt covers played live.
  

And so it's nothing but fitting that on a gray late October day, I'll reunite with my best Bologna people right here in New York. 

Back then we ate. And we ate. And we ate. For fun, for sustenance and really for no reason at all. We always went back for seconds, we never did it with shame. All of our senses and our gastronomical dreams were awakened and brought to life. And so, there's no way in hell that I would welcome friends to America empty-handed without the best that fall could offer. 

Fresh ginger and molasses cupcakes with vanilla-pear buttercream and dark chocolate candied ginger shavings on top. Yes, I think that will do. 

Today we'll stroll arm and arm like we used to. We'll take in an early aperitivi in a dim light cafe before the rest of the working world joins in. We'll drink prosecco, chats about boys and share memories about the dear old days of our adventures abroad nearly eight years ago. And as true friendship always goes, nothing, nothing, will have changed at all.

Notes from the Field: An anniversary.

 

Four years ago, I started a blog. 

I'm not quite sure what drove me to this madness. Perhaps it was because I was twenty-three, over the top and running with a pack of international Philadelphia foodies that were 8-15 years older than myself. Or maybe it was because I needed a place to diary my travels as a young anthropology major working in the insurance industry and trying to make sense of it all. Journals were never my strong suit, so maybe this could work. Regardless of the reason, "The Cupcaketologist" came to existence in October of 2008. 

It started fast, and I had plenty of tasters. My first posts were lofty. I baked chocolate salted caramel cupcakes, inspired by some odd Marcello Mastroianni dreams. My chef friend approved, but advised that next time I should use Maldon. 

Next came one of my signature and most beloved cupcakes ever made: honey and fig cake topped with goat cheese buttercream and a carmelized fig.  

  La Femme Mediterranenne

  
Now I had everyone's attention. I even created a logo (by hand,using old recipe books that I folded, glued, scanned, and inserted into the blog).

I did bacon before bacon was cool.

 The Heartattack 

I concocted disastrous malted egg cupcakes after a rough day of work and made the epitome of my confectionary dreams come true: the foie gras cupcakes that had me dancing around my kitchen like a fool.

 

The Dauphin 

I featured pets.

 The Peach Pit 

I chronicled my travel diaries through cupcakes. From Newport to Austria, England, France and to Italy more than anyone could even count.

The Cliffwalk 

 The Redheaded Sicilian 

The Bourbon Hot Chocolate 

I baked my way through birthdays, breakups, and more than one career change.

 The Roars

Tender Heart Cupcakes 

Twenty-Seventh Birthday Cupcakes 

I made a lot of cupcakes inspired by New York. From Woody Allen's New York...

The Big Apple Cupcakes  

To the architecture of New York (I was reaching here)...

The Artful Pecan Cupcakes 

To a recent spin around Central Park in the fall.

The Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookie Cupcakes

My cupcakes won awards, raised money, and were commissioned for parties, companies and gifts. 

Prizewinning Pumpkin Cupcakes 

 The Long Distance Love 

The Candyshop Quartet 

The Schott Trio

It's funny to think of blogging today and what it was back then. Now people do it for money. They do it for fame. They publish books from their blogs and they travel around the world as marketers for brands. 

I'm not sure that this will ever be like that for me. My blog has introduced me to a lifetime of experiences, and I think those are things more valuable than anything easy to spend. It's opened doors to friends, to conversations and to a whole side of myself that sees baking as a therapy, a passion and an art. A side that bakes to soothe, to make sense of my crazy imagination, to feed my friends and to translate experiences from my past and present into something tangible and good. I also did it for the writing.

This blog has followed me from a tiny Naudain Street galley to my Wall St. apartment with a dishwasher (!!). From kitchens in France and the South Coast of England to nearly every Philadelphia oven I could find. These are the moments, the times and the places that in some wild, whimsical and very strange ways have helped define life in my 20s.

Thank you for being part of my journey so far.