Celebrating with Nathan Miller, the Chocolate Love of My Life

This past weekend was a weekend of celebration.

I celebrated another year on this beautiful planet of ours with THE love of my life and the people who allowed me to enter into it (I say "allowed" because I've been a difficult one from the start; abortion was an option for my parents multiple times, and they said "No, thank you," for which I am forever grateful).

I also celebrated being given the opportunity to do the very first book reading and signing of my first book, Marley Eats His Vegetables (or you can purchase a physical copy on Blurb.com). The event was planned by my old hometown library, Coyle Free Library, as part of their grand re-opening after a gorgeous remodel.

What an incredible day! The townspeople came out in droves (more proof that the idea of libraries going by way of the dodo is a bunch of hooey), and I got to read my book to a bunch of the cutest little kids I've seen in a long time. I met amazing local authors—Ron Keener, Jennie Brown, Sherri Maret and Esther Jones—and even more amazing townsfolk: Selma Thomson who had just turned 100 and was such a pleasure to talk to. Old friends I haven't seen in decades. A mom who encouraged me in a way I don't think she realized how much it meant: thanking me for writing a book that her daughter who struggled with learning to read loved and could read, and I got to talk to the little girl about the truth that it didn't matter how long it took her to learn; what mattered was that she was being persistent.

It truly was such a special day, and so to celebrate and keep it local, my family and I decided to go to Roy Pitz Brewing Company, an establishment I would highly recommend to both locals and those of you who pass through Chambersburg, PA, for whatever reason. It's always got great food and outstanding brew, and the waitstaff are always super friendly, too.



As we were finishing our giant mugs of beer, my mother reminded me to save room for dessert, not for leftover birthday cake but for Nathan Miller's to-die-for chocolate, sold in the same warehouse down the hallway from Roy's.

Nathan makes—and I am not exaggerating in any way—the best chocolate I have ever had. Crafted in tiny batches with beans that he sources from all over the planet, Nathan can literally take you around the world through chocolate, right from his tiny shop in good, ol' Chambersburg, PA.

This weekend we tried chocolate from Guatemala, a deep, dark, grassy chocolate. It was absolutely delicious (pairing nicely with his rich, nutty-and-caramel-y coffee), but it was the bite of his Buttermilk chocolate bar that sent me over the edge. So smooth, so rich and ever-so-slightly salty. It was what I always imagined Willy Wonka's bar to taste like—only a hundred times better.

Averaging about $8.00 a bar, NM chocolate bars make an excellent little gift, the kind where you don't want to spend a lot but still want to show a sincere token of your appreciation. Believe me, anyone who receives a gift of an NM chocolate bar will take one bite and know that your "little" token—and your "thank you"—are HUGE.

I know that my appreciation was huge. To end my incredible day with Nathan, the chocolate love of my life, and bites of his incredible chocolate?

Oh, sigh. There just could not have been anything better. 

A Foodie Honeymoon: Wednesday Lunch at American Sector

What a crappy day for weather it was on our Wednesday afternoon.  Torrential rains left us stranded for half an hour in a bar just two blocks from our hotel after we'd left to catch a streetcar for the National World War II Museum.  The unrelenting storm nixed that romantic streetcar plan, and we decided to call for a cab instead.  The streets were looking pretty swamped.

But our outlook wasn't dampened whatsoever that afternoon as we headed to lunch.  Today we were going to eat at American Sector, Besh's nod to American comfort food--just kicked up a notch.  The taxi dropped us at the door, and we bolted inside.

This restaurant had a very similar feel to Domenica: very open and loft-like, full of light and glass.  But here, I was hoping for a little something extra--and as we approached the host station, I got it: a hostess wearing bright red lipstick and coiffed hair greeted us with a smile.  Perfect characterization.

The restaurant was broken into two seating areas: a smaller room, partitioned off from the main dining room by a glass wall, was in full view as you entered the restaurant.  The larger dining area, where we were seated, was decorated with what looked like metal stripes undulating across the ceiling-- something like a flag, waving in the breeze-- and centered around a very large oval bar.

Within moments of being seated, our waitress, a cute blonde named Jocelyn, came to greet us, and within a few minutes more I could tell that, like all the other amazing servers we had had thus far, she, too, knew the food and was willing to talk.  And I, once again, was so incredibly grateful for this one hour relationship that I knew was going to develop.  Whether they know it or not, Besh's staff provide a rare reward to diners such as ourselves with this openness.  It's not just the food that sets them apart.   It's like that little mint you get once-in-a-blue-moon with your check: you don't pay for it, so you don't expect it, but when you get it, it is sincerely appreciated.

Jocelyn took our drink orders (I opted to try the housemade seasonal peach soda) and then proceeded to entice us with the appetizer of the day: squash blossoms stuffed with shrimp and ricotta, tempura battered and fried, and then scattered with baby herbs, tomatoes, shaved ham, and caramelized pineapple. Intriguing.  So we got it.  As for the main course, both of us immediately zeroed in on what we were going to get: Chef Reiton wanted the short rib "sloppy joe" with fries, and I couldn't stop fantasizing about the chicken and dumplings.  Both very American, and both one of our favorite foods.

After Jocelyn left we talked about our evening plans of going to Preservation Hall, of the gifts we wanted to take home for our family--and before long, this piece of art was brought to the table:

In five minutes flat, this is what was left of it:

I'm not even going to try to describe what eating a flower stuffed with cheese and shrimp then fried and blended with caramelized pineapple was like.  Just--please...if you ever are offered the chance to try them: DO.

Soon after our empty plate was removed from the table, our main courses arrived.  So fitting with the theme of the restaurant, the presentation itself was classic.  My chicken and dumplings-- a slowly stewed concoction of chicken, green beans, yellow squash, carrots, porcini mushrooms, and tiny dumplings in a thick chicken gravy-- came in a little enameled cast iron pot.

Chef Reiton's short rib sandwich, piled with fried onion straws and tomato and lettuce straight from the kitchen garden, was plated on a mini chopping block with fresh cut fries in a tin can.

And the flavors? They were perfect, simply because they were exactly what you wanted them to be.  Isn't that what comfort food is all about? Flavor-infused memories.

Being the great waitress that she was, Jocelyn had already done her job of selling us on dessert before we had even finished our main entree.  So, with barely enough room for two bites, much less a dozen, Chef Reiton and I agreed to indulge in two classic American desserts.

The first: hot apple pie, homemade butter pecan ice cream, and pralines

and a devil's food cupcake stuffed with Nutella, with a side of homemade vanilla ice cream.

Oh, heavens.  So so so yummy.

I seriously think we waddled out of the restaurant.  And the thought about eating dinner that night made me want to die.

But the thought about eating dinner tomorrow night??? Oh, that one made me very, very happy.

Giant Swiss Cake Roll: A Recipe for the Kid in You

I have a friend at work who loved my sugar cookies that I took in the other day, and he asked me if I would make him his very own batch, so I set aside a morning to do so.  But I find it hard to set aside a day to bake and only make one thing.  Especially when it is something that I'm giving away.  So, on a recent morning, as my buddy's sugar cookies were baking in the oven, I opened up the fridge and looked to see what needed to get used up.  The only thing I could see was whipping cream.

Hmmm.

How about...a giant Swiss cake roll?

I'd always wanted to try a cake roll.  Here was my chance to experiment.  I decided to use Hershey's trusty chocolate cake recipe, and, using a mathematical equation or two, I figured that if I halved the recipe, I would be able to make a nice thin sheet cake using a half sheet pan.

I wasn't quite sure how or when to do the rolling, so while the cake baked (only for 20 minutes) I consulted Peterson's book, Cooking, which said to cool the cake, but not too much; cracking could occur if the cake got too cool.  Using a number of flipping maneuvers, I got the cake cooling on a sheet of parchment paper sprinkled with confectioner's sugar and lightly covered with the sheet of parchment that I had lined the pan with (and then peeled off the warm cake).

While the cake had its time-out, I decided to make the filling.  After freezing the bowl and the whip, I whipped about a cup of cream until soft peaks formed, sprinkled in about 1/4 cup of sugar and vanilla to taste, whipped it again until the peaks were almost stiff, and then whipped in about 1/2 cup of sour cream until the mixture was blended and stiff.  Yes, I just said sour cream.  I knew that it would have the same consistency as the whipped cream, so it wouldn't kill it, and it would cut down on the sweet factor of the cake.  Besides, I just needed the volume—so I thought I'd try it.

As soon as the filling was done, I decided to go ahead and spread it on the cake.  I had to chill the whole roll when I was done, anyway, so I didn't see the hurt in the cake being too, too warm before I rolled it.  I flipped the cake again (so the sugar side was on the inside) and spread the filling using an offset spatula (best spreading tool EVER) to within an inch of the borders.  With baited breath I grabbed the short end of the parchment paper and gently lifted... It was rolling!!!  Quite easily, actually! I just kept lifting the paper with one hand to roll the cake and tucking the cake with the other as it rolled to keep the roll tight.

It cracked, anyway.  Not horribly.  But apparently I either could have rolled it even sooner, or I needed more filling to make the roll fuller.  Oh, well.  It didn't affect the taste!  I froze the whole thing on a baking sheet for a few hours to keep it from settling and cracking more.

When it was time to get ready to head into work, I trimmed the ends off to make them nice and neat (rinsing the knife in hot water after each slice to keep the slices clean and perfect).  I really wanted to coat the whole thing with a ganache shell to make it like one giant Swiss cake roll, but I didn't have any more cream.  Rats.  So I just dusted the whole thing with cocoa powder.

Here's a picture before it was sliced:

Ooooh, it was yummy!  It was an experiment that I really wouldn't change at all, ingredient-wise.  BUT, I will make it with the ganache shell next time!

Bittman's Brownies with Frosting: A Lunchtime Request

I felt like baking this afternoon.  I said so at lunch, and Michael said he wanted to help.  We decided on brownies, WITH FROSTING this time, so once again I pulled out Bittman.  This time we added his Chocolate Buttercream Frosting for the top.

Yummy.  A chocolatey mess.  Michael loved them.  Goal accomplished.

Sue's Ooey Gooey Brownies

I'm sitting here sipping a Between the Sheets (a fantastic little cocktail consisting of an ounce each of light rum, Cointreau, and brandy shaken with 1/2 ounce of fresh lemon juice), still reminiscing over last week.  I just went through most of the pictures taken by the three of us sisters during the trip.  (I actually am going to steal a couple to supplement and replace a few of mine in the past few blogs...)  Anyway, in going through the pictures, I recalled two more food items that I've wanted to blog about.  So, here's the first one:

My father's boss of 35 years (both men long retired) was gracious enough to meet up with my siblings and other relations for dinner at Garibaldi's the second evening of our trip to CA.  He meets with my brother on occasion, but he hadn't seen the three of us girls together since we moved to PA in '81.  My last memories of him were when I was about 12 years old and involved the National Art Gallery, a train museum, and listening to Pomp and Circumstance on his Walkman (which he apparently still has).  Well, I will soon be swinging into my late 30s, just to give you an idea of how long it's been since I've seen him...

ANYWAY.  We met at Garibaldi's and spent FOUR HOURS talking and eating and drinking and laughing.  The evening was spectacular.  Well, Mr. Fisher must have had just as much fun with us as we were having with him, because the following evening we got a message: Mr. Fisher wanted us to come over for dinner the night before we left.

I have to say that my heart leaped at that invitation.  In one evening I had grown completely fascinated with this man who knew my father probably better than all of us, who was incredibly intelligent, sensitive, witty, artistic, and just plain cool.  A feeling of deep respect and trust had come over me in those four hours I had sat beside him, and I was so excited that I was going to get to know him more.

Sunday evening came—a bittersweet evening: bitter because it was the last evening with my siblings and my uncle, who had come up from LA; sweet because we got to spend it with Mr. Fisher.  But that night was one of my favorite nights.  Again, we laughed and drank and talked and ate.  For five hours we sat around the dinner table, the dining room lit by candles, and we shared another meal together.

(You are probably wondering at this point what any of this has to do with food.  This blog entry hasn't been about food! It's been a damn story! Well, hold onto your napkin, foodie friend...)

Now, Mr. Fisher has a very good friend, Sue, who loves to cook.  She never actually said she loves to cook—but it's obvious.  She came over for dinner and made, well—dinner. 

Aaaaand dessert, being a deliriously good chocolate creation that she calls Ooey Gooey Brownies.  She cut them into huge squares, plopped a massive scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, and served them with a pitcher of hot fudge.  Real hot fudge.

The best part? She gave me the recipe. So here you go, dear readers.  And thank you, Sue!!!

Directions:

Melt:
1 cup butter
5 oz. unsweetened chocolate

Stir in:
2 cups sugar
1 cup flour
4 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla

Instructions:

Pour the batter into a 9 x 13" pan, spread 12 oz. chocolate chips and 2 cups of mini marshmallows on top, and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

A-maaaaaaaaa-zing!

Turtle Cake: Lessons on Half-Baked Cake and Caramel Sauce

Today was a day of experimentation.  And holy cow—it all worked!!!

First off, I made a roast in a big crockpot, something that I've never done before.  Top round boneless beef whatever was on sale at Pick 'N' Save, so I bought a pound and a half plus for $5.  I came home, rinsed it, patted it VERY dry (thank you, Julia), coated it in coarse sea salt, then heated a skillet to very hot and seared it on both sides with a bit of olive oil.  While it was browning on its first side, I stabbed the meat about 10 times with a paring knife and shoved slivers of a garlic clove into it.  I poured just enough water to cover the bottom of the crockpot, then placed the seared roast, four peeled whole carrots, a quartered onion, and three halved peeled garlic cloves in the pot with a heavy grinding of black pepper. I put the lid on and let it go on low.

Now, for dessert. I wanted chocolate, and, remembering the buckeye cake from Christmas, I wondered if I could make one like it—but as a turtle instead.

So...I started the chocolate cake on the Special Dark Hershey's Cocoa Powder container, but I halved the recipe since I only wanted one 9-inch layer.  While is was mixing, I pulled out the cookbook that I bought Chef Reiton for Christmas: Cooking by James Peterson—and looked up caramel.  Peterson says to forgo the water when making caramel and just melt the sugar over high heat. So I did. It turned out beautifully—until I realized that I wanted to make caramel sauce instead of caramel.  The caramel was immediately hardening, and I wanted a soft caramel to layer on top of the cake.  Amazingly, when I cranked the heat back up under the hard caramel, the sugar remelted and I stirred in cream to create a beautiful sauce.  I was a little afraid that the reheating would burn the sugar, but it didn't.

I let the caramel sauce cool on the stove while I put the cake in the oven, then ran upstairs to do some laundry. When I felt that it was almost time for the cake to be done, I ran back downstairs.  In peeking in the oven, I realized with horror that I had turned the oven OFF when I had turned off the timer for the caramel.  With a groan I pulled the cake (which had the signs of just starting to bake) from the oven, reheated the oven, and with a prayer placed the pan back in to bake.

Twenty-five minutes later, the cake was perfectly done. Phew. I cooled it on the rack then flipped it out of the pan (which took some tapping. I need to do the parchment circle from now on, just to make my life easier.).  As it cooled, I barely warmed the caramel to get rid of the skin that had formed on the top, then poured it onto the center of the cooled cake and spread it to the edges with a thin metal spatula.  I let it set, and in the meantime made the ganache: half a cup of cream boiled, then 4 oz. of Ghiradelli bittersweet chips poured in, rested for five minutes, then stirred until velvety smooth. When the ganache had semi-cooled, I poured it on top of the caramel and smoothed it across the top and down the sides with the metal spatula.  A few minutes later I circled the top with pecan halves and then placed the whole cake in the fridge to set.

Here's a slice half devoured:

Our dinner was delicious.  I made a batch of garlic-buttermilk mashed potatoes and a green salad to go with the roast and actually concocted a half-decent gravy from the pan juices using the 1 tablespoon fat/1 tablespoon flour/1 cup milk and juices ratio.

I am so amazed at how good the cake was.  It wasn't nearly as rich as the buckeye cake was.  I was especially happy that my mistakes were fixable and that each part combined so well to make such a delicious dessert.  Maybe I'll play around with more "candy" ideas...