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. 

Case Study 119: "The Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookie Cupcake"

Good God, it's lovely out there. There's something about autumn in New York that makes it more wonderful than the smell of roasted nuts, burning leaves and cold hayrides together. It's the light. 

Put on your headphones and head to Central Park. Dave Brubeck should come first:"Take Five." There are young women walking arm and arm down Park Avenue in capes and brogues. The church bells at St. Ignatius Cathedral toll 6pm and there are tourists huddling on the stairs of The Met. The street musician dressed like Michael Jackson drops his horn to play their hasty photographer. Head north and a bespectacled gentleman in a navy blazer strolls past Guggenheim, trailing cigar smoke behind him. A Westie in a plaid coat trots leash-less at his side.   

Cross the Rhododendron Mile and take a lap around the Reservoir. Now your song is Duke Elligton's "Take the A Train," but you're still on foot. The sun begins to set and the light on the water is illuminated a sort of yellow tinge under the watchful eyes of The Eldorado's twin peaks. Golden indeed. Head back across the Eighty-Six Street Traverse to the Great Lawn and weave down to the Lake. Put on the Armstrong and Fitzgerald version of "Autumn in New York." Stop to see the way the Weeping Willows cast monster shadows across the water past the Boathouse.  

Take off your headphones as you climb the steps at Bethesda Terrace. A lone trumpeter stands where the shade meets the sun through the arching elms on The Mall, and he wails a dirty wah-wah version of "Summertime." In memorium, you think, but you carry on. Under statues of literary greats, an accordionist plays Edith Piaf's standard "Autumn Leaves." Your heart aches a little every time you hear it, but it's in the way that only fall can cause an ache, by juxtaposing warm sentimental feelings with a time of year when everything dies. Turn on Coltrane's "Central Park West" and make your way back uptown. 

Back in my kitchen, I can't help but keep things cozy. Candles are lit, windows are cracked open, and I throw on wool socks and flannel while my oven heats up. I bake and I bake and I end up with these deliciously airy pumpkin cupcakes topped with coffee and vanilla bean buttercream and a pumpkin chocolate chip cookie on top. I eat them for breakfast, I deliver them to friends and on my way back home, I head back to the park.

This is how I dreamed it up. As a child, I imagined New York as a sort of love affair, and it always took place in the fall. We'd hide away in the dark of Bemelman's while the sun set gold outside, secretly wishing and praying that on any other day but Monday, Woody Allen would stroll right into The Carlyle and fill the air with a clarinet sound even moodier than the clinking of ice cubes in Scotch and the quick swishing of white-coat waiters.

I'd smooth out my skirt and he'd straighten his tie. We'd throw on our trenches and slip outside - skipping first across Fifth to the Ramble, where we'd make a dash for the steps of the Museum of Natural History. We'd ascend, step by step by step, until he stopped. And time would slow, nothing else would exist and the chilling city would whirl at a million light years' speed around us, just as is does on every other day of any other year.

If you come to the city and open your eyes and ears, you'll find it. There's romance all around, and there is no season and no city that reminds you of that quite like autumn in New York. 

Notes from the Field: What's more American than apple pie?

This morning I woke up - refreshed, bright eyed, ready for a long day of fun around the city - and prepared to make cupcakes for a bon voyage party. When you're a cupcake baker, the answer to "what's more American than apple pie?" is always "apple cupcakes." And so, I put on some moody music to match the gray sky outside and set to coarsely chopping my apples from the farmers' market.
 
My favorite apple cupcake is adapted from a fail proof cake recipe passed down from an orchard that my family used to pick-our-own at in New Jersey thirty years ago. It's hearty and spicy and chock full of fresh fruit. This time I topped it with a plain vanilla buttercream and called it a day.... 

Or did I?

  

Well shit. I thought. Am I satisfied by that? Sure, there's nothing more "American" than apple pie, but I've never set out to be average. This is AMERICA, for Christs' sake, we've never been like anybody else. 
 
And so I got back into the kitchen, pumped up my tunes and churned out a batch of baked pumpkin donuts. And then I dipped them in butter. And then I rolled them in cinnamon and maple sugar and put them on top of the cupcakes. And I looked at my masterpiece and decided it was good. 
  

Being full of opportunity and equality means being more national than Old Hollywood, a Ford Buick and a Georgia peach combined. I believe that innovation and freedom are better than Monticello, the redwood forest and the entire state of Texas all at once. And on a cloudy September afternoon in Manhattan, you can bet that New York state apple cupcakes with vanilla buttercream and pumpkin cinnamon sugar donuts on top are much more Americana than that that plain old patriotic pie.   

And like a third grader at the end of a presentation, I can say, that's what being American means to me.

Notes from the Field: 21 days to Fall and Maple Pumpkin Fig Cupcakes

On the first of September, I put on my bikini and took a trip to the boat. The water was cold and the sun was weak. I cancelled my plans, a trip and a date, and relaxed in anticipation of what would come next.

On the fourth I slept late. I worked in my pajamas and made sense of my closet. I ran in the park and caught up with friends. On the fifth, there were butterflies. There was rose' and sidewalk pizza and a late night neighborhood bar. There was a kiss. Maybe two. On the eighth, I painted my nails one last coat of Clambake. A late summer storm rolled in and when it broke, we ate pulled pork and watermelon in the backyard. On the twelfth, I woke up and the air was cool. I got news, or what one could be a certain kind of gift, and I packed my bags and headed north to see what it was all about.

On the fifteenth I hopped the jitney east. The air was perfect and the sun was warm. I wore boots below bare knees and frolicked in sun scorched vineyards. We drank too much wine and donned captains' hats for dinner. We drank rum, lit sparklers and talked for hours at the table under the backyard tree strewn with streamers and lights. We slept with the windows open; we wore towels for warmth. 

On the sixteenth, the beach past the Swordfish Club was dotted with hundreds of monarch butterflies. Where they were going, we had no idea, but they pushed past the wind down the beach and stopped for nobody. The water was warm and the waves crashed tall as we drank mimosas in our rolled up jeans. 

On the seventeenth, I hopped the shuttle and took my next step. I worked hard during the day and settled into a new pace at night. I drank cold white wine and shame danced my way through a few good miles on a hotel treadmill in the middle of New England suburban slum. 

Yesterday I woke up and cancelled my plans. I boarded the helicopter home, and as we approached New York, the clouds turned dark. We flew low and fast, as did my cab uptown, where I dropped my bags, strapped on my sneakers and bee-lined it to Central Park. I crossed Lexington to Park, and caught the wind of three ladies in bobs and Chanel No. 5 by the Met. The 86th street Hot Dog man donned a yellow plaid scarf. I skipped up to the reservoir and ran a lap. The perfect song came on, and I thought of you. I ran another half, past the brown water reeds and was reminded that you can only really welcome a season by ending another first.

I went to the store for figs and came out with pumpkin as well, which in the end might just be the perfect pair as we start to tilt a little further from the sun. From here, on the cusp, I think pumpkin cupcakes with a maple buttercream topped with fresh figs, candied pecans and maple sugar will help celebrate the both seasons just fine.  

I'm not sure what will happen this fall. Maybe I'll hit it big at work, make strides and shake hands. Maybe I'll pick apples and pumpkins and make a batch of Christmas limoncello much better than the last. Maybe I'll spend my birthday abroad. Maybe I'll fall in love again.

For now, all I know is that today is September 21st. I know that this weekend will be for dinner parties, dark cocktails bars and Sunday football. I know that I'll watch the leaves turn gold each week in Massachusetts and when Thursday arrives, I'll watch the New York City skyline approach and get that same feeling of love for the city I've now called home for two years. I know that I'll have expectations, and things might turn out differently, but I'll be ready for whatever comes at me because that's what new seasons give you. Another chance. 

So are you ready? Here we go...

Notes from the field: On a very special 30th birthday...

We met on the internet. 

It started with a few mutual interests - namely the sea, the sun and a little South Coast English town called Brighton. Our first date was at The Mermaid, where we shared a silver tower of shellfish big enough for a party of grandpas in the Catskills. And we resolved, no matter the distance, to stay in touch. From there, the rest was history. 

We ate lobster rolls and reminisced about Bills. I showered her in champagne, confetti and sparkler fire as she finished her 29th lap around the sun. She dried my breakup tears with a wild weekend away and a crazy night at a beachside bar with rum punch, handsome young men and late night lifesaving egg sandwiches. 

There are some people that you meet and feel like you already know, and that right there is where the connection lies. 

Not long after that first sip of wine, you're gifting each other rainy day bouquets and finishing each others' sentences. You're sharing burgers and Bloodies at J.G. Melon and throwing back champers cocktails at your local pub. You are turning random Manhattan weeknights into spectacularly good shows - what with the endless bottles of champagne, back garden chats and dessert on the house - and the entire bar joins in to celebrate the nuttiness of life around you. You are touching base from Germany, from Vegas, from San Diego, from Philadelphia, from New York. You're talking about boys, work, lighthouses and travel dreams. About life, loss and the middle place in between it all.
 

Some people came into your life at the right time, even though I think that somehow they've been there all along. See, I believe that there are many types of soulmates. Past what we already know, we find soulmates in those that we are attached to forever, usually family, whose souls are as complexly entwined with ours as the double helix strands that tie us together. We can find soulmates in people that we attach onto, for however brief a time, and no matter what, they leave a lasting mark on us as they drift away. 

But then there are those people that were meant to be with you. They respect everything about you and expect nothing from you all at once. They think about you just when you think about them. They tell you you've "nailed it" even when you haven't because they know that sometimes life's failures are just too good to have a laugh about. They stand up for you, they challenge you and for Christ's sake, they just get you.

And so, when they tell you that their favorite flavors are banana, Nutella and sea salt, you make it work and whip up fluffy banana cupcakes in a HobNob crust with Nutella filling and fleur de sel caramel buttercream and hand painted Belgian chocolate seashell on top.
 

Happy 30th birthday, my sweet sweet Suze. You are a wonder and a joy, and this shines true in the people and the love around you. I'm so happy to get to share a brain, a thousand bottles of champagne and a little piece of my soul with you. To this weekend, and to many many more.

Notes from the Field: Until fall...

No big words here today. Just a few pictures from this summer's travels, some chocolate Nutella raspberry cupcakes from the beach last weekend and quick note to say that in my annual end-of-August fashion, I'm signing off to live the rest of summer to the fullest. 

Hope you enjoy these long days of sun as much as I will.  See you in the fall, as we close out the fourth (!) year on this little blog of mine. 

Case Study 118: "The Peach Crumble"

"This is the plum season, the nights

blue and distended, the moon
hazed, this is the season of peaches
with their lush lobed bulbs
that glow in the dusk, apples
that drop and rot 
sweetly, their brown skins veined as glands
No more the shrill voices
that cried Need Need
from the cold pond, bladed
and urgent as new grass
Now it is the crickets
that say Ripe Ripe
slurred in the darkness, while the plums
dripping on the lawn outside
our window, burst
with a sound like thick syrup
muffled and slow
The air is still
warm, flesh moves over
flesh, there is no
hurry"

- Late August 

by Margaret Atwood

It's hot outside. The August days march on and the air is heavy, as if every passing thunderstorm is a sign of the summer's passionate heat clashing in the sky. I crave clams. I only want rum and saltwater, and I'm pretty sure that my feet don't fit into normal shoes anymore. We are in barefoot season. Clothes are a nuisance, work is a chore and the sight of sunlight after three o'clock constantly brings to mind that Henry James poem: "Summer afternoon, summer afternoon...."

We are in the heart of summer's sweetest fruit harvest. Blackberries stain sweet honey on fingertips, watermelons provide the best hydration and the peaches are so swollen and ripe they can be sliced with a butter knife. 

Where there's seasonal fruit, there must be cupcakes, and better yet, Peach Crumble Cupcakes. 

The sweet local stone fruits of August were peeled, roughly chopped and thrown into moist vanilla and brown sugar cupcakes. I topped them with a vanilla buttercream, mixed with a scoop of whipped cream cheese for good measure. A peach's best sweetness is brought out by toasted bits, and so a crumble topping was necessary, making these cupcakes almost like mini- peach cobblers reconstructed.  This crumble consists of flour, brown sugar, crumbled walnuts and melted butter, spread on a baking tray and cooked crisp in the oven before topping. The crowning glory: I slid in a fresh peach slice for good measure.

Late August approaches, and to be honest, I'm in denial that anything close to fall could be on its way.  But luckily, somehow, time moves slowly. Three more August weekends left for these traveling summer hands and feet. Whatever they lead us to, they won't be wished away. 

Notes from the Field: On baby showers...

"Snips and snails 

and puppy dog tails, 

that's what little boys are made of..."

 

I love a good summer party, and even more so, I love the opportunity to dream up some whimsy for them too. Today's cupcake order is in celebration of the sweet baby boy of a chic Manhattan mummy-to-be.

Devils' food cupcakes with vanilla, Nutella and salted caramel buttercreams topped with chevron safari toppers. Decadent, glamorous and oh-so-sweet for a West Village baby shower on a gorgeous summer night. 

Case Study 117: "The Chocolate Hazelnut Mousse Cupcake"

Sometimes, when there's party in three hours and only a half cup of flour in the house, life requires improvisation.

You're about to embark on a six week adventure through Block Island, Cape Cod, Newport, Philly, Stone Harbor and Westhampton, so you're resting your tired legs for the night because there'll be beach jaunting, wild kitchen counter dancing and dark n' stormy drinking to do. It's pouring outside, the Olympics have been on for five hours and you're happy to oblige. 


There's good butter in the fridge and that funny little bottle of hazelnut liquor dressed like a monk in the bar. There's an endless supply of chocolate in the cabinet, and so you change things up a little bit. Whip the butter with the eggs, mix the cocoa with the milk and somehow, eighteen minutes later you've got the most perfect devils' food cakes cooling on the counter. 


The aroma fills the house and the rain beats on the skylight above. 

Maybe you'll fill them with cream and those little hazelnut wafer bites - or what if you just get out your aggression and beat those cookies thin and make a chocolate hazelnut wafer bite bark instead?  The cream filling somehow turns into a mousse, which seems sturdy enough to become a frosting, and suddenly, with an old tiny piping tip and a plastic freezer bag, you've fanned out some lion-like petals on top of the perfect devils food cakes and stuck the bark in tight. 


Where there's a will there's a way, and where there's a way there are devils' food cupcakes with chocolate-Frangelico mousse frosting and hazelnut wafer bit bark on top. Sometimes you are right where you're supposed to be, and good things come from the possibilities in that.

Case Study 116: "The Summer Chocolate Cherry Cupcake"

"There is a season for everything..."

This is the start of a quote from Ecclesiastes that lines the brick wall of my parents' house, under the dogwood tree out back. I can't seem to get it out of my head. 

In my job as a consultant, we have tests for assessing a company's readiness for change. We highlight needs, investigate the culture and determine the best fit approach for an organization in flux.

But in life, things sometimes change suddenly and it's easy to be blindsided. We can study what has happened in so many ways. We can test our hypotheses against what we knew was fact. And we can scrutinize what went wrong, stacking it up against past experiences, and try to resolve the important questions.
 

In business and life alike, the most successful ways to get from point A to point B in a situation is to accept the change, to have a vision and to be fully engaged. Seasonally thematic cupcakes can also help, especially when they are chocolate cake topped with vanilla buttercream and dark chocolate dipped cherries.  

My brilliant mother, whose birthday it is today, always reminds me of the first line in Scott Peck's best-selling book: "life is difficult." This can be a hard pill for most to swallow, but once it is accepted as truth, any change that lands on our doorstep can be worked through. To be human means feeling to the extremes - through struggle, triumph, the happy and the sad - and potentially never fully understanding what any of it really means. To me, accepting this is the basis of awareness, and if anything gets us through change, it's mindfulness and being aware.

 

If there's anything that I've learned in love and loss, it's that life is difficult, but it also goes on. We must be grateful for those extremes, the experiences and the growth we receive for seeing ourselves through it all. 

Summer is in full swing. Picnics in Central Park, alfresco cocktails, rum punch and wild beach nights. I have my vision and I'm fully engaged. There is in fact a season for everything, and fortunately, my changes have come in the right one.

Notes from the field: On summer.

 "Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
 

 

Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
 

What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am." 

- Stanley Kunitz

 

Desire, desire, desire. So lucky for me, my summer has finally arrived, and just in time. The sun is hot and the grass is green. The ocean is a baptism for tired winter bodies and the weekends provide endless opportunity for adventure and awe. 

Summer also gets sweet with these ripe strawberry cupcakes with balsamic spiked vanilla buttercream and local strawberries on top.

So relish in it. Drink it up, enjoy the magic, and remember that manifesto of a summer child is to let the season perpetually astonish you. 

Case Study 115: "The Summer Babycake"

As far as I was concerned, there were five ripe bananas on the kitchen counter of the house on the edge of a cow farm, and this meant something had to be done. 

Summer swept in last week. The city is stifling, Wall Street has slowed down and out in Pennsylvania my brother's garden is in full bloom. Oregano, zucchini, ripening tomatoes and a brand new baby boy who came into the world on the second to last day of June.   
 

New life is fascinating. We marvel at how touching a babies foot will cause the tiny toes grasp your finger with an eerie force. We watch as fresh grey-blue eyes look around, no doubt processing the alien shapes and sounds above. And we remember that just as things grow and things end, everything also becomes new again.  

The day after my nephew was born, we came back and held down the fort. At sunset we strolled past the four foot high corn fields and met eleven Amish cows gathering in the golden light of the clover field by the stream. We clipped squash blossoms from the garden out back and a sole rose from the bush. My nephew slept between my parents,and when I woke up, I saw that the bananas had turned black. 
 

With fresh eyes and inspired for the first time in weeks, I mashed them up and whipped into a batter.  I mixed up butter and cinnamon with a graham cracker crust and topped the banana cupcakes with vanilla-honey buttercream and a sweet blue hydrangea blossom.

Scientists have found that the way we process relationships and love as adults relates back to our interpersonal neurobiology as newborns. The sensations and communication experienced in those first few days of life leave a lasting effect on the rest of a lifetime's behavior. 

I am so lucky to have been a part of these first days of my nephew's life. Like his brother, I can't wait to dote on him, to love him and to watch him grow. I wonder how he will be different and how he will be the same. And most of all, I'm excited to see how he will continue to remind us, just by existing, how much of a miracle life really is.