Chocolate Chip Cookie Muffins

America never ceases to amaze. Walking through a convenience store the other day, I noticed something called a "breakfast cookie." Made by Quaker, the oatmeal people, it appears to be nothing more than a large, individually-wrapped oatmeal cookie with the word "breakfast" on it. But I haven't tried it - I suppose it could be more of a circular granola bar. In any case, it struck me as a pretty shallow marketing ploy.

But I may now have to rescind my initial derision. For I've discovered my own - less duplicitous – way to eat cookies for breakfast. I call them: Chocolate Chip Cookie Muffins.

I woke up Saturday morning wanting muffins, but, not having planned ahead and still lacking in many basic foodstuffs, didn't know what kind of muffins I could make. Luckily, I have a book called Muffins A to Z (by Marie Simmons). I've probably had this book for at least 10 years - my mom gave it to me for my birthday when I was little and we used to make the Lemon Drizzle Lemon muffins from it all the time. They're really good. The Devil's Food Chocolate Chip Muffins aren't bad either - probably because they bear a great resemblance to cupcakes.

But back to the chocolate chip cookie muffins. At the back of the A to Z book is a recipe for "Quickie-Mix Muffins" (she needed something for Q) - just a very simple muffin base you can throw anything into. Lo and Behold, I had all the Quickie Mix ingredients on hand. I also had a bag of chocolate chips. Or thought I did... have I mentioned we're having a heat wave here in New York? (At least that's what they say... if you ask me it's just more of the same oppressive heat we've been enjoying for weeks.) But no worries, I broke apart the semi-molten semi-sweet chips to the best of my abilities, and, since my abilities are nothing to shout about, the muffins boasted some nice big chocolaty patches.

Here's the recipe, if you, too, would like to guiltlessly eat large, soft chocolate chip cookies
for breakfast. Pour yourself a glass of OJ and call it a balanced meal.

Chocolate Chip Cookie Muffins

First, make the quickie mix by whisking together:

10 cups flour
1 cup sugar
3 Tb baking powder
4 tsp baking soda
2 tsp salt

Unless you want to make a ridiculous quantity of muffins, measure 2 2/3 cups of the dry mix into a bowl. Store the rest at room temperature in something airtight. You can use it next time you wake up wanting muffins.

Preheat the oven to 400º and coat a 12-cup muffin tin with non-stick spray.

Add another 1/4 cup of sugar to the 2 2/3 cups of dry mix in the bowl.

Then, in a separate bowl, whisk together:

1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1/4 vegetable oil
2 large eggs

Add the wet ingredients to the dry. When almost combined, fold in 3/4 cup of chocolate chips.

Divide the batter evenly among the 12 cups - it won't rise much, so you can fill them up pretty well.

Bake 19-20 minutes, or until slightly browned.

Cooking from "Cooking for Mr. Latte"

I just finished Cooking for Mr. Latte, an engrossing, recipe-filled take on the food memoir genre that inspired me to put down the book and pick up a spatula. Admittedly, it also filled me with envy - what I wouldn't do to have Amanda Hesser's job. The lucky girl was a food writer for the New York Times, where she initially wrote "Mr. Latte" as a series of columns. They were cobbled together into this episodic book, which remains a series of closely related vignettes. They all focus on food, of course, and each concludes with a handful of promising recipes. Hesser has an MFK Fisher-influenced take on food and life, which is to say that life, love, food and friendship are all closely intertwined for her. She writes about food's power to bring people together, to create lasting memories, to challenge us and to define us. She's part of the contingent who truly believe you are what you eat (or cook or bake.)

Inspired by the stories behind her recipes and, admittedly, my envy of her life, I thought I'd try my hand at a few of Hesser's recipes. Unsurprisingly, because I am me, the two recipes I've tried are both baked desserts.

I settled on the first, Amanda's mother's Peach Tart, because I found myself in front of a giant pile of apricots at Whole Foods with the book in my purse. This is a really interesting, sort of bizare tart recipe. First of all, it's made in a square cake pan instead of a tart pan. Second, you mix the dough for the crust right in the pan. Third, there's olive oil in the dough – I thought this gave the tart and interesting Mediterranean sort of flavor, but my mother didn't like it (and she loves olive oil.)

I have to admit I kind of screwed up and mixed what Hesser calls "the pebbly mixture" (sugar, flour, salt and butter) into the apricots, rather than sprinkling it on top. Oops. (See picture, then don't do that.) I kind of liked the effect though, I thought it gave the impression that there was a custard between the apricot slices.

In any case, here's the recipe, the way I made it.

Judith Hesser's Peach Tart, with Apricots

1 1/2 cups plus 2 Tb Flour
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
3/4 cup olive oil (you could use vegetable oil if you agree with my mother)
2 Tb milk (I used skim)
1/2 tsp. Vanilla (the recipe says almond extract, but my mom hates almond extract, so we don't have any in the house)
2 Tb cold unsalted butter
8 or 9 Apricots, thinly sliced

1. Preheat oven to 425º. In an 8-inch square pan, stir together 1 1/2 cups flour, 1/2 tsp. salt and 1 tsp. sugar.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together the oil, milk and vanilla or almond extract.

3. Pour the liquids into the pan and mix gently with a fork, just enough to dampen. Then use your hands to pat out the dough so that it covers the bottom of the pan and goes about 3/4 of an inch up the sides. Amanda says "This will be easy if you pat firmly and confidently, but not if you curl your fingertips into the dough." (I did as she said, and it was easy.)

4. In a bowl, combine 3/4 cup sugar, 2 Tb. flour, 1/4 tsp. salt and the butter. (I might've skimped on the flour a bit because the apricots weren't juicy at all.) Use your fingers to pinch the butter into the dry ingredients until crumbly, with a mixture of fine granules and tiny pebbles.

5. If you're Amanda: "arrange the peaches in rows over the pastry; they should fit snugly. Sprinkle the pebbly mixture over the top." But if you're me, toss the apricots with the pebbly mixture then dump the whole thing into the pan.

6. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, "until shiny, thick bubbles begin enveloping the fruit and the crust is nut brown." Or until it looks like this:

I thought it was delicious, my mom thought it was a bit too tart and had the aforementioned olive oil issue. Obviously, in order to really decide what we thought of Ms. Hesser, we had to make another recipe. Also, I needed something to give Miranda, who is kindly allowing me to crash on her couch in New York again tonight. We decided on the Chocolate Chunk-Pecan-Coconut Cookies on page 303.

Perhaps because they were devised as a cleaning-out-the-pantry project, these cookies call for a ridiculous amount of chocolate. Twenty-four ounces, to be exact. That's a lot of chocolate. Luckily, my mom keeps industrial amounts of baking supplies around the house. Also luckily, Julia was there to help me chop it all. Although she left before it was time to fold the chocolate, pecans and coconut into the dough, which was exhausting. As Amanda says, these cookies are really chocolate and pecans held together by some shreds of dough. My mom argued that it's okay to mix chocolate chunks in with the Kitchen Aid, but I didn't want them to be chocolate cookies. And the workout was worth it: the shards of chocolate made a nice pattern on the finished cookies that reminds me of straciatella gelato. They're really quite attractive, for cookies with everything but the kitchen sink in them. They're also, and this is key, delicious. The coconut makes them incredibly chewy, even the next day. They're not too sweet, but still have that great brown sugar taste. And, unsurprisingly, the ridiculous amount of chocolate was just enough. Congratulations Ms. Hesser, you've won.

(P.S. I don't have time right now to write out the cookie recipe, but would be happy to if anyone wants to make them. Or you could buy the book - it's awesome!)

Flourless Chocolate Espresso Cake

This cake was a hit from the time it left the oven in Providence Thursday morning to the time I left Addie's apartment at 11:30 that night. It even attracted the attention of an MBTA conductor who would have given me a free ride if I'd only be willing to cut her a slice. I would have, but a cake less one slice isn't a very nice thing to bring to a dinner party.

Addie and Alexis were having an "apartment cooling" party before they moved out of their loft, since they had never had an apartment warming. They made stuffed Cornish game hens,
asparagus and potatoes, which were all delicious. The meal was rounded out with several bottles of wine and their homemade beer and mead.

Addie offered to let me bring dessert, so of course I spent the next 24 hours thinking about what I would make. I think cakes are nice for celebratory occasions, but it had to be able to survive the train ride from Providence to Boston, then the subway, and finally, several blocks of walking - during which it just happened to be raining. So layers were out. Anything unstable at a range of temperatures was probably a poor idea. Nothing that could fall over or deflate. Finally, I had a pie-sized pasty box lying around, but no cake boxes, so it would be nice if it was no more than 2 inches tall.

These constraints led me to one of the most decadent, chocolatiest caffeinated desserts this side of a heart attack. The recipe (on epicurious.com) is from the September 1995 issue of Bon Appétit, and it's as good now as it was then. I know it's not exactly health food... but this is one of those cakes you don't need more than a sliver of, so you won't be eating more than a fraction of the ingredients (especially if you leave the leftovers with your dinner party hosts.) Since there's so much chocolate in the cake, it's important to use the good stuff. I used half Scharffen Berger bittersweet (70% cacao) and half Ghirardelli. I also sprung for real espresso from a café in Wayland Square where I know its good. However, I wasn't sure how many shots were in a cup, so the guy working the register guessed 4 for me... which was only half right. Turns out a cup is about 8 shots, so I made half a cup of instant espresso and mixed the two (sacrilege, I know.)

You may notice, as it's baking, that the top of the cake is really ugly. Like a mud pie, or perhaps a sinkhole. But never fear! The cake is served upside-down, presenting a beautiful mousse-y surface begging to be decorated with raspberries. Just don't let anyone flip their piece over.

Finally, whatever you do, don't skip the raspberry sauce. No matter how much you love chocolate and coffee (which I do, very, very much) the raspberry sauce is key for elevating this cake into the realm of the divine. That said, I didn't follow the Bon Appétit recipe, which calls for frozen raspberries in syrup. Instead, I stirred a couple tablespoons of sugar and a little cornstarch in a pot, then added two thawed bags of frozen raspberries (Ingredients: raspberries) and mashed them with a wooden spoon while it cooked. I let the liquid thicken a bit and mashed the raspberries pretty well, then strained the whole shebang into a bowl, which involved more mashing with the wooden spoon and a good deal of waiting. But I wound up with a cup and a half or so of beautiful, seedless raspberry sauce (and one very red wooden spoon.)

Unsurprisingly, the results were absolutely delicious and satisfyingly decadent. And very appropriate after an equally delicious dinner, especially if you need to wake up a bit before heading home! Anyway, I'm determined to make this cake again soon, so if anyone wants to have a dinner party....

Chocolate Peanut Butter Ice Cream Cake

I've been eating ice cream cakes from Dairy Queen for years, and I have to say, they're pretty great. So when Nick, whose birthday was on Wednesday, told me his favorite kind of cake is ice cream, I was slightly disappointed at the lost opportunity to bake for him. But it was his birthday, not mine, so I agreed to buy him one. But my mind wouldn't rest, and as I thought about it, I remembered seeing a recipe for ice cream cake in one of my mother's cookbooks.
Armed with the knowledge that it is, in fact, possible to make an ice cream cake at home, I turned to the trusty internet. Lo and behold, epicurious.com produced several recipes for ice cream cakes, pies and tarts. There was cherry-almond, mocha crunch and cookies and cream. Some had layers of cake between the ice cream, others chocolate. One used macaroons for a crust, another, amaretti cookies. Whichever would I choose?

As I tried to find a cake that would please the birthday boy, I remembered his request, months ago, that I make something chocolate with peanut butter icing. I narrowed my search, and this time, was less-than-satisfied with the results. It appeared that if I wanted to make a chocolate and peanut butter ice cream cake, I would have to make it up myself. So that's what I did.

The first order of business was a shopping trip. First, to Crate & Barrel, for a nine-inch springform cake pan. Then, to the grocery store, where I picked up the following things:

1 package Oreo cookies (45 cookies)
1 pint chocolate ice cream
1 pint vanilla ice cream
Peanut butter (I like it smooth, but I suppose chunky would work too)
Unsalted butter
1 jar hot fudge sauce
Reeses peanut butter cups
Wax Paper

This was Tuesday morning. I started the cake that afternoon.

First, Dana and I scraped the cream filling out of the entire package of Oreos. (Except 2, which we ate.) Result:

While we did this, we let the chocolate ice cream sit out on the counter to soften.

Then, we chopped the cookies up in the food processor (we threw out the filling) with 2 tablespoons of butter and 4 or 5 spoonfuls of peanut butter. The mixture was crumbly but moist. We patted it into the bottom of the pan, about 1/3 inch deep.

Then, we spread about an inch of the softened chocolate ice cream on top. We covered the surface with waxed paper and popped it into the freezer.

Then we went to get coffee. We may have studied a bit. It wasn't memorable.

We came home to our frozen cake, and I decided it was time for another layer of cookies, and some chocolate sauce. I wanted to use my mom's hot fudge recipe, as I remember it being delicious. So, following her instructions, I put sugar, chocolate and butter into a pot on the stove. The problem was, the first four ingredients in the recipe were sugar, chocolate, water and butter. But the recipe made no mention of the water. So, as I often do in moments of baking doubt, I called my mother. She agreed that the sugar, chocolate and meager amount of butter in the pot looked prime for burning. She also agreed that melting chocolate and water together is generally a bad idea. But, for possibly the first time ever, she didn't know what to do either.

So she called her mother. Her mother, my grandmother, tried to find the original recipe, which, supposedly, is Julia Child's. But to no avail. But, she said, put the water in, the butter will protect the chocolate. She also instructed me, via my mother, on testing the sauce for done-ness by dropping a bit into a glass of water. It's supposed to form a soft ball. I was not so good at this.

Which is why I do not provide my mother's/Nana's/Julia Child's chocolate sauce recipe here. I don't know if I cooked the sauce too long or if it's just not a good sauce for freezing, but both chocolate layers in the cake were harder than they should have been. And although the one in the middle was delicious and took on a chewy, candy-like consistency after slight thawing, it makes the cake very difficult to cut without an electric carving knife.

Anyway, after the game of telephone and a few false "soft balls," we poured the finished chocolate sauce onto the cake. Then, another layer of cookie crumbs, and back in the freezer.

I forget what we did for the next hour or so. I'm sure it was riveting.

Once the cake was frozen again, I took the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and put it into the food processor with a few spoonfuls of peanut butter. Maybe 7. I mixed until it was all mixed and soft enough to spread. Then we spread it on the cake, covered with waxed paper, and popped it back in the freezer.

Then we went to Seth's, watched some bad TV and drank some wine.

Finally, we came home and cut a handful of Reeses peanut butter cups in half. Then we reheated the chocolate sauce (I think that was the problem with the top layer) and poured it on top of the cake. While the sauce was still warm, we stuck the Reeses on in an attractive arrangement. I wanted to try and make the stand up, but they melted as we stuck them on, so that didn't work.

Then, back in the freezer, for the last time.

It was now almost midnight. This is why most people just buy ice cream cakes.

But apparently I never learn. Either that or I'd just rather be cooking than doing anything else (like writing a research paper.) This is why I spent a solid four hours the next day making Nick corned beef and cabbage. I won't go into detail here, as corned beef and cabbage is really not half as good as ice cream cake, but suffice it to say that this required yet another call to my grandmother, the master. It was also pretty good, if you like that sort of thing. (Nick does. I'm less sure. And Dana and Vicky are vegetarians.)

We were unanimous, though, on the spectacular ice cream cake. Cutting difficulties aside, it was delicious. Granted, you can't go too wrong with ice cream, Oreos, peanut butter and Reeses.