Yes and Yes Book Club: Jane Eyre

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Caraway Seed Cake

Well kids this month I fess up that I just couldn't finish a book for book club. But I did finish the cake that I made for book club. Priorities ya know.  

This month I was challenged to read Jane Eyre over at Yes and Yes - check it out HERE. I have read many things in my life but I had somehow managed to miss this classic. So head on over to Yes and Yes and see what I thought of what little I read...and what more I watched on Netflix.  

Also get the recipe for Caraway Seed Cake. Trust me when I say you can eat this in the middle of the night with a swath of butter. 

BATTENBERG CAKE

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Battenberg Cake

Things that happened this weekend, the Fourth of July, 2016: 

1. I got a haircut while drinking a canned white wine spritzer.

2. I "played" my first game of strip poker with a Hair Stylist, a Brewmaster, a Lesbian, and an Executive Chef. Thankfully my days at J Crew taught me well and I was well layered even on a 90+ degree day. 

3. I attended a Miss Gay North Carolina prelim. It was Drop Dead Gorgeous meets Priscilla Queen of the Desert. One queen had a broken arm. Sadly she didn't win. 

4. At a pool party I watched a fully grown British Man with a tramp stamp do a medley of Tina Turner hits while wearing a soaking wet fedora and holding a Chambong (a champagne flute fitted like a beer bong). Look it up. You won't be sorry. 

And it was this same British Man with a tramp stamp that got me into the kitchen this past week. Some time ago at a random meeting in my small Southern city his request for a Battenberg Cake was made. Given that his girlfriend is in charge of my current hair management system (aka helping me embrace my follicle shortcomings) I thought it best to see what I could do. 

With our Independence Day approaching I thought no better time to make this classic British dessert. I figured the poor man not only has a tramp stamp (for an honorable famille reason so we really do appreciate it) but here he was in a country that, over 200 years ago, put his country in a corner, like Baby.  

CHECK OUT THIS OLDY BUT GOODY ABOUT MY COOKBOOK DESIRES, CEMETERY SHENANIGANS, AND FORMER 4th OF JULY FUN

BATTENBERG CAKE

RECIPE INSPIRED BY BBC FOODS

Strawberry Cupcakes, The Southern Rule of Beauty, and (Keri) Strug

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Strawberry Cupcakes with Strawberry Buttercream

It was the middle of November and I found myself on a rooftop bar of a BBQ joint at a baby shower for a hairdresser who cuts hair in the chair next to my own hairdresser. A friend of a friend kind of situation. Truth be told I didn't even know her name at the time as I hugged her and congratulated her on her fertility.

Now because my own mother taught me well, I did show up with homemade cupcakes as I wasn't about to push my baby fashion beliefs on this first time mother. Why shouldn't we let newborns wear Ralph Lauren?

Not sure what the scene was going to be I enticed my Primary Southern Gays to join me with the possibly of wings and beer. As we settled into a cozy corner four top and placed our orders we were soon joined by my own Hairdresser. Being of a smaller stature she had to get a running start across the bar before pulling a full Keri Strug, making a perfect landing on the bar stool.

Introductions were made and with that her full confession of how much beer and whiskey she had already consumed. Trying to determine how much of my time I should dedicate to this party I began to prod Hairdresser with a Who's Who of the guest list. Unlike most baby showers I've attended this one was well mixed with both men and women. Some family were there. Some friends. Some clients. It was at this point Hairdresser said with eyes as wide as a heifer giving birth to twins, "Oh my God! My momma is coming and you have to meet her! She's looks like a skinny Paula Dean but with enormous boobs! No, seriously. She's had reductions done twice and they are still enormous!"

How can you not be excited to meet someone when their own kin describes them as such?

And as if cued by a stage hand, Hairdresser's Momma (HM) appeared at the top of the stairs. I should say her breasts appeared at the top of the stairs. She actually arrived about 10 minutes later, baby gift in tow.

After HM made her rounds she pulled up a bar stool and got to kibitzing with us. We talked beer. We talked babies. We talked about our haunted homes. Basically we became best friends.

Naturally it didn't take long for us to get around to the topic of death. What better topic to cover when at a baby shower? Hairdresser told her Momma about my own mother's forethought to help me find a Jewish cemetery after I had converted. At this Hairdresser's Momma began to tell us about her own mothers passing. And the preparative events that took place before her demise.

First let me say that of all the Southern women I have met, concern about ones appearance trumps all of life's needs. There is a level of gloss that is expected to be met and anything but will only spur the gossip beast that roams all church functions.

Now Hairdresser's Momma Momma (HMM) was no exception to the Southern Rule of Beauty. One day years ago while HM was over visiting her mother she was summoned by her mother to join her in the bedroom. When she walked in, HM didn't see her mother.

Calling out, "Momma where are you?!"

She was greeted by her mother as she stepped out of the closet in a new dress, makeup and hair fully done to complete the outfit. HM complimented her mother on the beautiful new dress. HMM thanked her and then proceeded to crawl onto the bed, lay down, hands clasped gently across her chest, eyes closed.

"Momma what are you doin'?"

"I saw this dress at the mall and thought it might be a good funeral dress. Now walk on up next to me like you're payin' respect and tell me if I look good."

STRAWBERRY CUPCAKES

RECIPE ADAPTED FROM BETTY CROCKER

STRAWBERRY BUTTERCREAM FROSTING

Carrie Bradshaw, Charlie Brown, and (Pumpkin Pound) Cake

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Pumpkin Pound Cake with Whiskey Sauce

Roughly around the time that I was adjusting to the fact that Sex and The City was never coming back to television, Starbucks decided to grace us with the Pumpkin Spice Latte (PSL as it is known by its cult members). Perhaps HBO and Starbucks had a plan figured out. One addiction would be switched out for the other. Sadly or thankfully I was not taken in by the PSL. Instead I continued to feed my Carrie needs by way of cable TV. And I maybe picked up a nasty Chai Latte habit along the way. Only to be switched out by old fashioned drip coffee. Google that one kids. Sometimes coffee comes black and is less than a $1.

Fast forward to 2015 and we as a human race have somehow created a whole new holiday season. It starts roughly around Labor Day and ends sometime when the vats of "pumpkin syrup" run dry near the Winter holidays. Gone are the days of fall being bookended by Charlie Brown's It's The Great Pumpkin and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Now my newsfeeds are filled with pictures of filtered white and green cups in lieu of sandal clad feet at the beach. But soon those cups will give way to a lifetimes supply of LL Bean boots traipsing though Winter's worst. 

Don't get me wrong. I love the flavor of pumpkin. But for me it's up there with Thanksgiving side dishes. It's good once or twice a year. 

So here is one of my two 2015 Pumpkin Based Foods - as requested by a friend.

And should Starbucks actually read this please know that you are my preferred Chai Latte maker. May the force of the PSL be ever in your favor. 

Pumpkin Pound Cake with Spiced Glaze

Recipe Adapted from Our State Magazine 

(Crawfish) Boils, Boston, and Boozy Cakes

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A few weeks back I took a vision quest to the small village of Cambridge, Massachusetts to visit some friends and partake in my very first crawfish boil. Now I am sure that many of you are picking your jaws up off the floor with the image of my fine Jew self sucking down some crawfish brains. It should be known to all that I was given official Jew approval by the official Southern Jew (SoJew) herself. In fact her exact words were, “You are a Southern Jew now. Get over it.” With those words of encouragement and $40 cash it wasn’t but a few minutes time that I found myself beard deep in serving platter of the little red bastards. One thousand pounds of crawfish had been ordered for the annual LSU Crawfish Boil held at The Baseball Tavern. I ate roughly 999 pounds. I kid. I ate enough that I was afraid to fart in public but not enough that I also chased it with a cheese burger from Tasty Burger about two hours later.

The event overall was wonderful. I was able to spend hours with friends talking about all the great times we had at LSU. The picnics we had in the quad between classes. The all night ragers over at Lamda Lamda Lamda. And then I realized I didn’t go to LSU. That I spent all my time in college working at the mall like all good gay virgins with dreams of big city Working Girl lives. Oh Tape World. I miss you.

The whole weekend was full of fun activities. There was the night I kiki’d with the girls over Indian take out. That night I learned that I am the same Myers Briggs personality type as Joe Hackett from the seminal television classic Wings. Television has not been the same since that show left us.

Then there was the afternoon that I lost my virginity while getting a pedicure. I have to admit it actually was my first time in the pedicure chair. And I have to admit that I really do think I lost my virginity (again and again and again) to that same pedicure chair. My fine Boston friend, Ms. Antipasto, apparently didn’t feel it necessary to tell me that the chair reenacts scenes from movies you normally have to verify your age to watch. The place was lovely. If I lived there I was would have a standing weekly appointment. Maybe on Saturday mornings.

Part of an afternoon was spent crying in a Christian Science library. Part of an afternoon was spent acting out our favorite scenes from Evening Shade on balconies overlooking bays. One morning was spent getting to know strangers over cheesy grits. Another morning was spent binge eating pie for breakfast with friends.

And through it all we still had time to squeeze in some greatly appreciated episodes of Good Times. Thankfully JJ got out of jail in part two of that nail biter.

All in all a great weekend.  

Now I am sure all of you are wondering what the “H”, “E”, Double Hockey Sticks I whipped up in the kitchen this week for the blog.

If you recall last week's riveting post you will know that at one point during my weekend shenanigans I found myself a bar listening to my wonderful friend Leasing Agent sing. While there the barkeep suggested I try this new to me root beer with a kick. He handed me a bottle of Not Your Father’s Root Beer by the fine folks over at Small Town Brewery. Let me just say that if you are a fan of root beer and a fan of alcohol pick some up. Warn your family that rehab is your plan for next Summer and call it day. If this liquid gold had been around when Nancy Reagan was in office she would have warned us against it on an episode of Diff’rent Strokes. As my plan is to not be plastered at the pool all weekend I decided to use what I bought for a good old fashioned Root Beer Cake.

Not Your Father’s Boozy Cake

(adapted from The Food Network’s Root Beer Bundt Cake)

Prepared Buttercream Frosting (recipe here)