Martha Washington's Shrewsbury Cakes

Shrewsbury Cakes

Having survived yet another week in the cube farm I opted to spend my Friday and Saturday evenings being social. This has lead to a very screwed up sleep cycle.

Things That Have Happened Due To My Messed Up REM:

  1. While walking home one morning at 130am I was mildly shocked to have a golf cart whiz by at a good speed on main street with two young women in the back seat yelling, “Oh heeeeey Benjamin.” I have no idea who they were.

  2. It is quite possible that a group of young adults and one senior citizen had a conversation over brunch about sharting. Yes, sharting. It was determined by the group as a whole that if one sharts alone it is rather embarrassing. However, if one sharts in the presence of a loved one, say a boyfriend or girlfriend, the shart is to be deemed hilarious.

  3. While downing beers, watching football, and eating what I feel to be the saddest BBQ pulled chicken sandwich ever I was pleased to learn that my own inquiry of “presidential cookies” on Google returned with a list of the favored cookies by all previous FLOTUS (or is is FLOTI because it’s plural?).

HIllary had her Clinton Chip’s. Barbara had her Cowboy Cookies. Mary Todd had her Sugar Cookies. Eleanor, her Honey Drops. And now Melania with her Sour Cream Sugar Cookies in the shape of stars. Let’s just assume that last recipe was handed down from the Old Country. 

However, this week we are going back to the OG FLOTUS herself, Martha Washington. Known around the swamp and Lady Washington, Miss Martha was quite the hostess. And among her arsenal of revolutionary treats were the delicious Shrewsbury Cakes shown above. 

More of a biscuit than cookie (or cake as it is named), this cookie was perfected in a time when sugar was not readily available. The Shrewsbury Cake is pretty tasty and I feel would hold up well when smuggled across the Potomac in the dead of night. Or eaten raw while horizontal on your sofa praying the next fart is simply just that and nothing more. 


Shrewsbury Cakes

RECIPE FROM MARTHA WASHINGTON


FOR MORE COOKIE BASED FUN CHECK OUT THESE POSTS FROM MY PAST!

SMACK, TOFFEE COOKIES, AND THE (DIA)BETES

THE DAMN MONTH OF PUMPKIN

DARK BROWN SUGAR COOKIES



Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding

It's Sunday morning in November. I'm in my underwear watching Hello Dolly on Netflix for the 1000th time since my 8th grade choir teacher gave me my first hit of broadway musical based movies (the gateway drug for so many young gay men), and binge eating a Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding I whipped up because one does not waste a donut. Plus once the donut is used in a capacity other than traditional donut consumption it becomes a legit meal. So eating 10 donuts in one sitting isn't bad because you really just ate a big meal. 

I had a very productive Saturday so this moment of Sunday Self Care doesn't riddle me with guilt. 

Yesterday I found myself traversing the North Carolina country side with two neighbors. First hitting a craft fair that was small at best but large enough the local sheriff had been commissioned to direct traffic in and out of the field turned parking lot. Naturally we ran into someone we know while perusing the monogramed coozies and holiday wreaths made of shell casings. Yes, you heard me. Shell casings. The more you know. 

We then found ourselves attempting to get a meal in a town housing the self proclaimed "World's Largest Chair". Oddly no establishments were taking credit or debit cards. Again you heard me, "establishments", plural. Multiple places were tried. So we move on back to our debit/credit accepting home of Winston-Salem.

WHERE WE HAD OUR TAROT CARDS READ!!!

For two years the neighbors and I have been threatening to get our cards read by the local readers down on main street. And yesterday was the day. 

In the back room of a crystal and incense laden boutique, behind a curtain and on a gold velvet settee we found ourselves listening intently as Cat, our reader de jour, gave insight to our spiritual sides. 

Not shockingly she had to stop mid reading of my cards because my hot mess of a life left conflicting messages within her cards. Thankfully she rallied, composed herself, and sent me on the way with direction for the future. 

Who needs a shrink when you have Cat?

Back to bread pudding and Babs.

Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding

Serves 10-12


FOR MORE SOUTHERN AND BREAKFAST SHENANIGANS CHECK THESE OUT!

SUPPER SLUTS DOES BRUNCH

PUPPY CHOW AND SOUTHERN LIVING

FRIED SWEET GRITS AND CUSSING



BATTENBERG CAKE

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



Puppy Chow and How I Have Learned To Love The South

Puppy Chow

My adult moment this week involved a canned wine spritzer, a service dog named Dotty, and a stranger. All of those things, including the adult moment, took place at the hair salon I visit monthly for (non sexual) human contact, beard trimmings, and now canned wine spritzers. 

As is my nature I arrived early to this month's hair cut. It's a familiar place decorated with old North Carolina barn wood, taxidermied moose, a foosball table, foul language, leather chairs, and a service dog named Dotty asleep in the corner. Located in an old store front just one block off main street and next to a strip club that only opens when the owner feels it is time to piss off the local chamber.

Upstairs is a lounge for special customers. A pieced together room of antique store finds and flat paneled technology of the future. Leather sofas line one wall. A card table in the corner. Tobacco memorabilia on the wall that still somehow works as advertising. You cannot help but feel like a club member of a bygone era. This sweaty afternoon it was host to two older men in bermuda shorts, the air of cigar, and a dirty joke. After they left I was warned one of them likes to kiss everyone in the room on the forehead as he leaves if he's had just the right amount of whiskey.  

A stranger to me was getting his haircut as I waited. A young man who spoke with a tired voice. He was going on about the struggles of fatherhood and the arrival of a third child. Without hesitations and with the swiftness of her shears the hairdresser doled out encouragement and advice. Assuring the young man it would all work out in the end. The best of her advice being a story about her own mother raising three kids with the story ending with, "I'm pretty sure she beat the ass of that day care lady that day. And we never went back to daycare again. I love my momma." 

It was at that moment as I sat canned wine spritzer in hand that I thought how lucky I was to be here today. Though unfortunate as that young man's story is, it added to the colorful narrative of my life in The South. 

This week I have learned of the hooker who worked out of the local waffle house that burned down. Word is she has taken up residence in a neighboring town's waffle house. I have had a glass of wine with a former debutante, while discussing her conservative views and fear of Donald Trump. I have watched a soccer match in a bar full of scarf wearing transplants. I participated in a nerve wracking game of credit card roulette where the loser buys the entire round for all participating. I listened in on a heated debate about where to buy the best chili and slaw for a cookout (only if God forbid you cannot make it yourself). 

I have somehow stumbled into a mash up world of Steel Magnolias/In The Garden of Good and Evil. I am a John Kelso from up North waiting with baited breath for the next Lady Chablis to turn the corner. I am eager to sit next to Clariee in hopes to hear about latest neighborhood gossip. I have my beard trimmed by a modern day Truvy. 

But deep down my inner (and  let's face it sometimes outer) pudgy gay boy only heard one thing while at the hair salon that day. Dotty the service dog somehow got into some store bought "puppy chow" and did it not agree with her. So canned wine spritzer in hand I made the mental note of "pick up Rice Chex at the grocery store tomorrow Benjamin. It's a binge worthy weekend." 


Chex Muddy Buddies (sometimes called...)

Recipe by General Mills



Toasted Bread And Butter Pudding

Toasted Bread and Butter Pudding

It's a gloomy day here in The South. And though I went for my daily anger run on the treadmill and was bullied (with love), by my dear friend Fitness Instructor to attend her morning class, I still found myself unhinging for a fundraising hot dog for lunch.

Hours later I again found myself needing a feeding. So before I slipped into a shame spiral of Netflix viewing for the evening I continued my quest to use only what I have on hand. Have you figured out how lazy I am when it comes to grocery shopping? And to think I used to do it for a living. 

The end result was bread pudding. Folks down this way love their bread pudding. And on more than one occasion I have heard the harsh whisper of "it's good, but it's not my momma's". And since my momma didn't make bread pudding growing up I went to one of my books of worship and asked one of our chosen people for inspiration. 

Ruth came through (not Biblical Ruth - though I image she has a good kugel recipe or two up her robe). 


Toasted Bread And Butter Pudding

Recipe from The Gourmet Cookbook by Ruth Reichl

***notes on recipe: I used a cubed brioche in place of challah. Topped with mixed berry compote.