Salon: Real Meg Whitman Please Stand Up? News, January 2010

Meg Whitman

Wednesday, Feb 3, 2010 10:04 ET

Will the real Meg Whitman please stand up?

Jerry Brown needs to announce his candidacy while the Republican hopeful remains mired in ugly rumors

By Lisa Stander Horel

AP

This post originally appeared in Lisa Stander Horel's Open Salon blog.

Jerry Brown has not gotten around to announcing that he is actually running for governor. Hands down, he would win, even if he announces his intention at the very last moment. He is that popular in California.
Brown seems to be letting the Republican candidates duke it out in the forum we all have grown to love (like speed bumps), the ever-present media -- the good, the bad and the very naughty.
The very naughty media (that is, Gawker) is running a trio of news blips about Republican hopeful Meg Whitman's sons, Griff and Will, and their alleged racist behavior at Princeton.  One or both seem to have been suspended at various times and allegedly use the billionaire entitlement card as often as possible. This information is supposedly reported by those anonymous people in the know. Does the unsubstantiated behavior of a candidate's adult (sort of) children matter?
Her husband, Griff Harsh IV, a neurosurgeon at Stanford, follows in his father's footsteps.  Griff Harsh III was also a neurosurgeon in Alabama, and his bio reads like that of a true, religion-driven conservative. Nothing wrong with that, except religion usually doesn't merit a mention in a professional bio. How far do apples Harsh IV and V fall from that tree?  And does it matter?
Whitman is well known for her support of Proposition 8 and her disinclination to support gay marriage. Only recently did she disavow any relationship with a former supporter, Santa Clarita Councilman and confirmed racist Bob Kellar. That intersection between disavowed and former supporter may be harder to travel than she thinks. If her Web site comments are any indication, Whitman is attracting the same kind of supremacist type followers that support Kellar.
Whitman's new book, "The Power of Many," ghosted by guest co-author Joan O'C Hamilton, is apparently a folksy read. Some say it is similar in style to another Republican we all know and adore, Sarah Palin. Though it just dropped last week, it languishes at No. 2,800 on Amazon.  The book is full of all kinds of reminders about why Meg is great and others are not.  We could call these Whit-icisms. She critiques Craigslist CEO Jim Buckmaster, going as far as to say that "the Craigslist Killer" is how this wildly popular alternative to eBay will be known in the future.
Moving on to Google, she chastises the founders for setting up a company with wildly attractive employee perks because it is doomed to disappoint when the perks are off the table in lean times. Perhaps no one has invited Meg to a lean-time lunch at Google lately? The perks live long. She sticks to these kinds of great insights throughout the tome.
Whitman recently mentioned her very introspective and reproving disappointment in Citizen Whitman. No. Not her errant children. Her own voting record. Until 2002 she wasn't even a registered voter.   And until 2007 she was registered without claiming a party. Her voting record is spotty. She blames it on her busy life as a wife and mother and moving so frequently.  Somehow the only thing that kind of excuse will elicit is a raised eyebrow from the millions of other moms who manage to vote and take care of their kids and homes. Sorry, Meg. That sucks for you.
As the candidates beat a path to the final stages of the primaries, the dirt is flying in their wake. Are Whitman's allegedly racist children an issue for the voters? Should her lack of civic duty before 2002 matter? Is her inability to firm up a date to debate her Republican primary opponents meaningful? 
And where did the severance contracts for both Whitman (eBay) and Carly Fiorina (Hewlett Packard) say that they should take some of their parachute-millions and run for high office because they were once CEOs? Is there an MBA syllabus that instructs former CEOs to use those millions to run for office even if they’ve never seen the inside of a voting booth?
Jerry Brown is no Martha Coakley, but if he doesn't come out and show his intentions soon, some of us may be relocating to a planet other than California.

Salon: Ada's Chocolate Nut Brownies, Guest Chef January 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Jan 5, 2010 12:06 ET

Ada's chocolate and nut brownies

She was a fabulous baker -- but then again, her adman husband (and boss) didn't leave her much choice

By Lisa Stander Horel

Open Salon/LuluandPhoebe

A version of this story first appeared on Lulu and Phoebe's Blog.
My mother was married to a vapid version of a "Mad Men" character. Right decade, right self-important attitude, but wrong corporate milieu. My dad was his very own tiny ad agency. We will call him Ad Man. His office was a room in the tiny bungalow they called home for two adults, four children and a dog.
My mother was co-opted into being his assistant without ever the acknowledgment that she worked not only in the home, but in the home office for the Ad Man. He worked not 15 feet from the kitchen, but would yell for her to get him coffee a hundred times a day. He yelled out when it was time for her to make him lunch. He yelled out for her to tell the kids to be quiet when they talked too loudly. Code: anything above a whisper.
I was born into that fray and thought it all perfectly normal until I was in kindergarten. I learned that most dads left the house each day and came home for dinner. I could go over to other houses to play after school, but because of the whisper clause, no one ever came over to my house. Only if the weather was fitting for outside play in the backyard would I be able to host friends. Most of my friends thought I lived in the yard because they never got to see my room, or even believed I had a room inside. That was cemented by the fact that Mom brought us meals outside, too. All that was missing was a tent and a sleeping bag.
As an adult I realized how my mom came to be such a fabulous baker. She lived in the kitchen. She couldn't be in the living room near the Ad Man's office because the swish of the turning pages of her book would bother him. She read books in her bedroom on the other side of the tiny house, where I found her each day after coming home from school. She spent the day baking and relaxing before dinner with a book. Later, I learned that the relaxing had more to do with resting her damaged heart than just chilling.
Mom baked tons of goodies, but none more frequently than her brownies. She was the entire welcome wagon for the growing neighborhood back in the mid-1940s and would bring a plate of brownies to every new family. She baked them when requested and they became popular beyond reason. We loved when she made brownies because the crisp edges had to be carved off before being given away. The four of us fought over each edge though the pan was square. As the youngest, I got first dibs most of the time. I loved teasing my brothers and taking the imaginary largest size edge from the square.
Thankfully, the recipe made its way into print in the 1964 Syracuse Hadassah Cookbook. Otherwise, none of us would have ever known how she made them. Most of her recipes were hand-me-downs and no one ever bothered to write them out. I still wonder how she got her strudel dough so thin and delicate. And while I watched her make rugelach often when I was a tiny kid, I do not know the ingredients list.
Undoubtedly these were oversights on her part, thinking she had lots of time to share them with us. She did not. Mom died from heart failure when I was 10. It is now fast approaching the bend in the road where she will have been gone almost as long as she was alive.
Fortunately, the brownies live on. I followed in her footsteps and made them as welcoming gifts for new neighbors when we lived in places that had neighbors. I make them as gifts. I've updated the recipe to reflect changing chocolate sources, but essentially I leave it alone. Some things deserve to be historic mom-uments, including recipes that have a heritage and taste really good.
Ada's Brownies? That would be the Ad Man's witty headline. When the recipe was to be immortalized in the cookbook, it needed a catchy title. A riff on Ate a Brownie became Ada's Brownies. You cannot imagine how many people ask me about Ada and was that my mother's real name? Um, no. Just the Ad Man's moment of Zen. Which is why he never was a Mad Man.
Happy 49.5 Million Minute birthday, Mom. Your brownies live on, and now they will travel that magic highway, the giant World Wide Web, where they will live on for virtual eternity. Bon appetit.

Ada's Brownies by Anne Stander

1/4 pound of butter
2 squares baking chocolate
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chopped nuts

Melt butter and chocolate and set aside to cool. Cream sugar and eggs. Add vanilla, then flour, salt and nuts. Add butter and chocolate mixture. Bake in greased, floured 9-by-9-inch pan. 350 degrees for 10 minutes, then 300 degrees for about 25 minutes.
My Notes
This is the original recipe written as was. Translated: 1/4 pound butter is one stick of unsalted butter. Two squares baking chocolate is 4 ounces of unsweetened chocolate -- use the best you can find. Cut back on the (white) sugar slightly. Nuts are optional.
For gluten free: Use Bette's Featherlight gf flour blend from Authentic Foods and add 1/4 teaspoon xanthan gum. Under-measure the gf flour just slightly.
Mix everything as little as possible. Brownies don't benefit from overmixing. Less fussing makes them dense and chewy.

Salon: Strawberry Shortcake, Guest Chef May 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, May 18, 2010 14:50 ET

Strawberry shortcake

Driving to California with two sullen teens? Thank goodness for these roadside treats (recipe included)

By Lisa Horel

Photos from Lulu and Phoebe's Open Salon Blog.

This post originally appeared on Lulu and Phoebe's Open Salon blog.

Half a century ago my family made a cross-country sojourn in the old Ford. Six people were packed into a non-air-conditioned car for thousands of miles in the middle of summer; three of them stinky teenage boys plus one chatty little 4-year-old girl. This is the very stuff that makes warm family memories. Too bad I can’t remember any except the fuzzy-gray traumatic one where we lose my older brother somewhere on a mountain in Colorado. Fortunately there is proof we found him again, evidenced by his bar mitzvah photo the next fall.
Determined to subvert that history, 30 years later we piled our own two preteen girls into the tiny back seat of an air-conditioned Subaru station wagon and took off west. It marked the beginning of the big move to California from Vermont, leaving behind very cold winters to happily bask in the fog and sunshine of San Francisco Bay.
Road food would rule. Motels with pools were the late afternoon destination. Think Route 66, but not nearly as awesome. Also not awesome were the two sullen pre-teenagers and their battery-eating Walkmans that killed the glamour of the road trip more quickly than running out of Dunkin Donuts. We called them the Misses Bickersons not 50 miles into the trip because they argued constantly. The oldest had just declared herself a vegetarian. The youngest had yet to realize that food came in more than the Gulp versions and that 7-11 was not owned by the government nor located at every intersection no matter how many times she asked.
Miss vegetarian Bickerson was getting cranky trying to find something beyond macaroni and cheese or salad to eat. Sadly, even her veggie western omelet (in Denver) was almost sent back because it had touched ham. It probably is fodder for therapy at some point, but we made her eat it anyway. Not one of us could stand her crankiness in the confines of the car for one more day. The girl needed some protein.
In an old keepsake box is the evidence: rules ratified and signed in the very first miles of the trip between the two warring Bickersons. The list is preserved for posterity or the national archives, whichever asks first. On it are classics -- no spitting, burping or other gross bodily functions. No flapping lips unless it is your designated talking minute. No touching the other’s side of the (compact) back seat. No slurping drinks (my rule) and no singing aloud with the Walkman. The best rule? No talking until 7 a.m. Let’s just say that one child was quite cheerfully chatty from the moment her eyes opened, no matter how early. The rest of us needed shots of high-test coffee.
Starting out before dawn to beat the late afternoon triple digit heat, we’d begin driving at 5 a.m. and stop at 3 p.m. to seek the coolness of the pool and some early dessert. Aside from the gallons of really bad coffee we guzzled, almost 786 versions of tired American pie dotted the road-food landscape. Thankfully, there was an alternative. Since it was late June there was also strawberry shortcake. Lots of it.
Sometimes the shortcake was a biscuit -- other times it was pound cake gone awry. And once in a while it was a cross between a scone and a biscuit. The scones won our hearts. Not a summer goes by since then, that as soon as the berries show up at our farmers' markets we are making shortcakes until the supply is gone.
We’ve been thinking about a road trip again and it is almost strawberry season everywhere. This trip, the back seat will be filled by tiny Lulu and Phoebe who sleep when the car is moving. They will gladly eat meat and everything else offered, including strawberries.
The Walkman is long gone, replaced by the iPod -- which magically plugs into the car. Sometimes change is a good thing, just as long as no one messes with strawberry shortcake.
Road Trip Strawberry Shortcake
Ingredients

Scones
2 cups flour (for gluten-free flour, plus 1 teaspoon xanthan gum)
¼ cup sugar
Pinch Salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter very cold, cut into small pieces
1 large egg
1 tablespoon lemon or orange zest
1 cup heavy cream
½ cup currants, dried cranberries, fresh blueberries (optional)
1 tablespoon baking powder
3 tablespoons sugar
Strawberry Filling
2 pints (or more) fresh strawberries cut into quarters
2 tablespoons sugar (1 per pint)
1 tablespoon Grand Marnier
Whipped Cream Topping
1 pint heavy whipping cream
1 tablespoon sugar
Splash of vanilla

Directions
Scones

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with a silpat or parchment.
2. In a food processor, pulse together flour, baking powder, sugar and pinch of salt (and xanthan gum if using gf flour). Drop in the cold butter pieces and pulse until it looks like coarse cornmeal. Remove to a large bowl.
3. Pour one cup of cream into a small bowl. Add the egg and mix well. Add the zest and stir. Pour into the dry mix and using a fork mix just until incorporated. Add the optional dried fruit and mix. Dough will be very sticky. Using floured hands, knead the dough a few turns until it is smooth. Cut in half. Roll each half into a ball and place on floured board.
4. Flatten slightly and cut into four pieces. Place on silpat-lined baking sheet. Bake about 18 minutes until lightly brown. Cool.

Strawberries

1. Wash, dry and quarter berries. Mix in sugar and liquor.
2. Cover and refrigerate several hours or overnight. Bring to room temperature before serving.

Whipped Cream

1. Whip the heavy cream with a mixer or by hand after adding sugar and vanilla. Keep cold.

Assembly

1. Using serrated knife, cut the scones in half.
2. Spoon a generous serving of berries and juices onto bottom half of scone.
3. Top with whipped cream and place other half of scone, offset on top.

Bon appétit and happy trails.

Salon: Super Thin Crispy Chocolate Chip Cookies, Guest Chef June 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Jun 15, 2010 13:01 ET

Super-thin, crisp chocolate chip cookies

My daughter used to con her way to treats from neighbors. These brought her back from the criminal brink

By Lisa Horel

fritish / CC BY 3.0

Super-thin, crisp chocolate chip cookies

By the time she entered kindergarten, our youngest girl had brilliantly mastered con-artistry -- how to set up a mark where the score usually involved something sweet, gooey and commercially made. Perhaps we shouldn't have skipped curriculum day at her preschool?
At the seashore with their grandchild, the in-laws didn’t heed our warning to watch for the twinkle in her eye when the little con-savant came alive. Locating her mark, a family with the better picnic, she followed that other grandpa into the ocean. Before the elderly guy could blink, the child bobbed up from underwater, grabbed his hand and told him she was a very hungry girl, maybe even an orphan, and could she join their happy family picnic.
Her own grandpa fetched her back before the family could offer a cupcake or adoption papers. Taking her for ice cream, he encouraged her to order coconut. Mid-bite, he whispered that coconut ice cream was really onion ice cream made for little-girl con artists. Dropping it like a hot potato, she burst into tears, and to this day will not eat coconut anything. Payback.
Gooey junk food was mostly absent in our house. Free-range raisins, apples, celery and whole wheat bread were not the stuff that television commercials suggest the child eat, and she reminded us of that repeatedly. Popcorn was probably the most outrageous thing in the cupboard.
The con artist emerged again in mid-term of third grade. Like a country neighbor, the school principal called -- solicitous and concerned -- to ask if we had gotten the packet of information sent home with the girl. "What packet?" I asked.
Apparently the child had been getting sympathy lunch goodies from other kids for weeks. Some marks moms even packed extra to give to that poor girl whose family had no food. By now she was regularly filling up on gooey: soft white bread sandwiches, Twinkies, Hostess cupcakes, packaged cookies, and Jell-o pudding cups (thank you, Bill Cosby).
She tossed her whole wheat sandwich, apple and Fig Newton lunches in the trash before entering school. At lunchtime she'd sit there looking sad and pathetic. Soon the story got around that the family had no food in the house and we were dirt poor, and the children were about to be orphans. The latter, possibly, but the former, not as much: The packet the principal referred to was an application for food stamps and the free lunch program.
Stunned, the only response I could muster was a stifled giggle and a four-letter word. Relieved and laughing too, the principal suggested Juvenile Hall where she could teach art of the lunch con 101.
Instead, she faced the humiliation of having to write an apology note to each kid and mom who had sent extra food for the oh-so-poor waif. The lunch monitor watched her like a hawk.
When all the letters were signed, sealed and delivered and she ate from her own lunch box for the next week, we offered a nudge toward détente. Picking out a favorite cookie of the week, she and I would make a small batch. Chocolate chip. I made so many that I couldn’t stand the sight of chocolate chips for years.
But recently, wandering by Scharffenberger Chocolate at the Ferry Building in San Francisco, I saw a glass-domed plate piled high with the thinnest chocolate chip cookies I’d ever seen. They’re from Robert Scharffenberger’s Chocolate Book. The confection was created by my favorite chocolate teacher, Alice Medrich. I was smitten enough to modify the recipe to gluten-free (though both standard and gluten-free versions are in the recipe), and they are fabulous -- chewy when warm, super-crisp when cooled.
Though she is an adult with little boys of her own these days, I am guessing she would beam that adorable little smile if her mom made her a batch of these chocolate chip thins.
Super thin, crisp chocolate chunk cookies
Adapted from The Chocolate Book by Robert Scharffenberger

Ingredients

• 1 ¼ cups flour (or gluten free flour with pinch of xanthan gum)
• generous ½ teaspoon baking soda
• 10 tablespoons unsalted butter
• scant ½ cup toasted oats (Bob's Red Mill for gluten-free oats)
• heaping ½ cup white sugar
• packed ¼ cup brown sugar
• 2 ½ tablespoons light corn syrup
• 2 tablespoons cream
• pinch salt
• splash of vanilla
• 1 bag of Scharffenberger semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate chunks or 7 ounces of chocolate chunked with a knife

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Line three baking sheets with foil.
2. Mix flour, salt and baking soda together in a small bowl. Set aside.
3. Melt butter in microwave and let cool slightly. In a large bowl mix toasted oats and melted butter. Stir in sugar, corn syrup, cream, vanilla and mix well. Stir in the flour mixture until incorporated. Make sure the dough is room temperature or cooler before adding the chocolate chunks, or they will melt.
4. Use a ¼ cup scoop and no more than 5 to a cookie sheet. They spread. Using a piece of plastic wrap over the dough, flatten the cookies to about 3 inches wide.
5. Bake about 18-20 minutes until lightly brown but not shiny. Rotate the sheets halfway. Slide the foil carefully onto cooling racks without touching the cookies. Peel the cookies from the foil only when cooled completely.

Salon: Berry Mascarpone Tart, Guest Chef May 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, May 4, 2010 13:01 ET

Berry mascarpone tart from my three mothers

A dessert made from memories of the guiding women in my life, but you don't have to know them to love it

By Lisa Horel

Open Salon/LuluandPhoebe

Blame the twisted super-boondoggle called fate, but I was the first kid on the block to grow up with (my) three moms. I love them all, and there is not one I would trade for another. But the one who can always find Hostess HoHos in a blizzard might have a slight edge.
Mom 1.0 was a quintessential Brooklyn girl by way of old Romania and eventually became a stalwart '50s housewife, which included the wearing of pillbox hats on special occasions. She was already at work teaching me how to make the old Jewish family recipes when all I could manage was to toddle by her fabulous red shoes on the kitchen floor. It was never too soon to learn the heart and soul of those old recipes along with handy kitchen skills that serve me still. She could roll strudel pastry so thin you could see through it, without tearing the dough.
She baked special Valentine cupcakes and provided mom-made matching clothing for both of us that was as good as couture. She inherited the dressmaking gene from her mother and aunts. Frail and ill, she died way too young and missed out on the best years with her children and grandchildren.
But her kitchen spirit carries on in my heart every time I bake Ada's brownies, or when I roll out her strudel dough. And sometimes I swear I can see her snicker smile as I add one more giant spoonful of chocolate to her brownie recipe.
The Ad Man remarried just a year after my mother died. Enter the very young, but determined Stepmother. Mom 2.0 arrived just as I was turning into a pubescent cacophony of attitude-ness. If ever there was a poster child for wicked stepdaughter, it would have been me. I give her a standing ovation for patience and fortitude, along with a medal of valor for keeping the worst of my dirty tricks from my father. I took away more pearls of wisdom from Mom 2.0 than I've ever admitted. I learned that women could work in the outside world and be equal to men, especially in the Ad Man's world. That the art of a negotiation is nothing without charm, grace and kindness -- all attributes she taught me.
I also learned supermarket 101; shop early and there will always be HoHos. That red Jell-O mixed with Cool Whip was a dessert that never went bad, even if stored in the back of the refrigerator for weeks. And brisket has a sense of humor. She taught me the biggest lesson of all: that I could count on her to have my back. I call it a mom thing.
And then along came the lemon-loving in-laws and mom 3.0: the Granola Version. I've known my mother-in-law since I was 15 years old. Even back in the day when no one was sure that our teenage marriage would last the length of a teenage attention span, she was there. She introduced me to natural foods, co-ops, bread baking, homemade yogurt, granola and raspberries fresh from the backyard bushes.
She taught me how to warp a loom, which I promptly forgot. She tried to teach me to sew, sure that latent DNA would kick in. It did not. So she created mom-made clothes for her granddaughters so they wouldn't be embarrassed with stuff I tried to make. She taught me how to bake a pie. She showed me how both mayonnaise and lemon could partner with almost every food and make it oddly better. She gave me my first Christmas stocking with trinkets that made all my childhood Santa dreams come true. But most of all, she gave me her son -- willingly.
I honor my three moms this Mother's Day with a pastry that has something for each of them. For Mom 1.0 this contains a stellar crust similar to her old-fashioned rugelach, but with a twist. For Mom 2.0 it has a fabulous raspberry-mascarpone whip, sort of like that red Jell-O with Cool Whip, but tastier and with a shorter, more natural shelf life. And for Mom 3.0, the mascarpone is loaded with lots of her favorite condiment, lemon.
My Three Moms Mascarpone-Berry Tart
Tart Shell
Makes two 9-inch shells

8 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
4 tablespoons vegetable shortening
1 cup almond flour
1 cup flour (or gluten-free flour, plus a pinch of xanthan gum)
¼ cup ice-cold water (more if necessary)

Filling

1 cup mascarpone cheese
1/3 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon almond flavoring
zest of one large lemon
2-4 pints fresh, very ripe berries (I like raspberries)

For the tart shell:

1. In a food processor pulse together flour and almond meal. Cut shortening and butter into small pieces and add. Pulse in short bursts until it resembles cornmeal. Add ice water (not actual ice!) a little at a time. Pulse until it comes together in a ball.
2. Remove to parchment paper and gather dough until it is all incorporated. Split into two equal pieces. Flatten each ball slightly, wrap in plastic or parchment and refrigerate for at least an hour. Dough will keep for a few days in the refrigerator and longer in the freezer.
3. Remove one disk from refrigerator and rest 20 minutes at room temperature. Place in 9-inch tart pan or in several small tart pans. Press to fit. Place on cookie sheet. Freeze for 20 minutes.
4. Preheat oven to 350. Bake straight from freezer about 30 minutes or until lightly brown. Remove and cool completely.

For the filling:

1. Put all the ingredients except berries in a bowl and whisk until fluffy. Add in about 1/3 of the berries and fold with a spatula until incorporated, but some berries remain whole. Spoon a thin layer into cooled tart shell(s). Top with whole or cut berries.
2. Fill the same day you are serving. Shells can be baked a day ahead. Store in a tin.
3. Refrigerate filled tarts. Let rest at room temperature for 30 minutes before serving.

Serve plain or with whipped cream.
Note: You can also find tart shells in the freezer at the grocery. Bake and cool before filling.
Optional: Drizzle honey or spoon macerated berries over the top.
Bon appétit and Happy Mother's Day.

Salon: Rocky Road Squares, Guest Chef April 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Apr 6, 2010 11:07 ET

Rocky road squares with coconut (Gluten-free)

I was making the chocolate and marshmallow treats when one daughter decided to throw another off the second floor

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

A version of this post first appeared on LuluandPhoebe's Open Salon blog

One old house and a crumbling barn were all that remained of the original 150 year old farmstead. For all the wrong reasons we bought the place. Located on the curb of a busy intersection, there was little privacy. Windows, open all summer let in the traffic noise and odor. The plows constantly piled up the snow so that shoveling a small path to the door was an exercise in futility. With little insulation it was a freezing in the winter. No energy stars for that old house.
But even with all the quirks and general disrepair it was a whimsical little home. The front had two separate porches. One led to the front door, the other to the kitchen door. People often came soliciting to both doors thinking the house was two apartments. Weren’t they surprised when the same little girl(s) opened both doors?
Upstairs, we fixed up a tiny space with a window overlooking newly planted shrubs and turned it into a sunny dollhouse-sized playroom. The old house had a hole from the dollhouse room floor into the kitchen to migrate the heat from the single woodstove located downstairs. The hole had an old iron grate, and was big enough for the cats to drop through onto the kitchen table. While we were used to the cats jumping through the hole, it did startle visitors when a gray and white fur ball came flying through the ceiling.
Baking brownies with tiny marshmallows one fall day, I lost track of the chatter from the two little girls above. That is, until I heard a deafening screech that certainly sounded like a feline, but was not. A child ran into the kitchen from the back porch. You can’t actually get outside except through the kitchen from upstairs. My brain addled through the logic. The conclusion was heart stopping.
1. Children upstairs.
2. Children now outside.
3. Hole in ceiling only big enough for cat.
4. Did not exit, apparently, through any door (or hole).
5. Craptastic.
The story was revealed through giggles and tears. Tossing your sister out the 2nd story window was the theme of the day. And I have those lemon loving in-laws to thank for that. Since they could never remember the words to all the traditional nursery rhymes, they ended each the same way. And taught the little girls every single rhyme with this ending:

Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet eating her curds and whey.
Along came a spider, sat down beside her & threw her out the window.
The window. The 2nd story window.

Turns out one girl threw the other and then jumped after her. Landing in those most forgiving shrubs saved both from breaking their little necks. The poor shrubs took it on the chin and survived and even seemed to thrive.
Though we carefully discussed why tossing someone out a 2nd story window was not such a peachy idea, I am pretty sure they continued to jump out that window based on the condition of the shrubs throughout the fall. I can only imagine what passing motorists thought when they were treated to the flying sisters’ act. I’m grateful no one called child services.
The last Google earth picture of the house shows that the porches finally fell off and weren’t replaced. But those shrubs are still there, bigger than ever.
Any time I bake with marshmallows I think of the two small flying Wallenda peanuts, the old house that will probably still never receive any energy stars, and most of all, those wonderful little shrubs.
I’m also quite grateful that the lemon loving in-laws redacted the 2nd story window ending to all things nursery rhyme.
Rocky Road Squares with Coconut, Gluten Free
(adapted from Alice Medrich’s Cookies and Brownie Book)

1 cup of graham cracker crumbs (Gluten Free Girl Recipe here)
½ cup finely shredded unsweetened coconut
 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
 2-3 tablespoons sugar
1 cup coarsely chopped nuts
1 cup bittersweet chocolate chips
2 cups mini marshmallows (make sure they're gluten free)

1. Preheat oven to 350. In a small bowl combine the coconut, graham cracker crumbs, sugar and stir in melted butter. Pour into an 8x8 pan lined with a foil or parchment liner that comes up the sides and press firmly. Bake 15-20 minutes until lightly browned.
2. Remove from oven. Place one cup of the marshmallows on the crust. Alternate the nuts and chocolate and remaining marshmallows on top and return to the oven. Bake until chocolate is soft and marshmallows are slightly toasted and melted.
3. Cool in the pan until stone cold! Using the parchment or foil liner remove from the pan. Cut into 16 squares using a serrated knife.

Notes: Gluten Free Girl and the Chef’s website is full of wonderful recipes and information for celiacs and the gluten intolerant. For her graham cracker recipe, I use brown sugar to replace most of the honey, although you should keep some in the recipe – it adds a nice flavor. I double the recipe. I leave out the final sugar cinnamon dusting. Best gluten free graham cracker recipe out there!

Salon: Little Valentine Cupcake, Guest Chef February 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Wednesday, Feb 10, 2010 12:11 ET

Little Valentine cocoa cupcakes (gluten free)

With Mom's chocolate cupcakes, of course (recipe included)

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

A version of this story first appeared on Lulu and Phoebe.
There are few things more humbling than finding out what your kindergarten teacher really thinks of you. Even more embarrassing is finding out that she thinks one fewer cookie might be good for you. Mrs. C. was the first person in my life to point out that I was a little large for a kindergartener. Tall by more than what is reasonable, I was built like a little tank. Not zaftig exactly, but certainly not a pixie, either.
My clothes were always a hair short or a smidgeon tight because I grew so fast, and my mother, who sewed all of them, could not keep up for so many reasons. Still, I was happily oblivious until that one fateful Feb. 14, a party day in the kindergarten, where you hang decorated paper bags and each classmate (hopefully) fills the other bags with dreamy (read: stupid) little sentimental cards.
We gathered on the floor in a circle and the teacher handed each of us a single heart-shaped, frosted sugar cookie to take home in our Valentine card bags.
Mrs. C. instructed us to collect our stuff from the cubbies for dismissal then clapped her hands, startling us into a herd running from thunder. The kid next to me jumped at the sound and stomped my bag.
I could hear the cookie crumble through the noise of the herd thumping to the cubbies. These were not the kind of cookies my mother made. I had rarely seen rolled sugar cookies with frosting and this was a really special treat. One that I wouldn't have to share with three brothers. That is, until the cookie met its demise from a little boy's shoe.
I was probably crying when I went up to the teacher to show her my footprint-smeared bag and cookie crumbs. She looked at me and sighed as she shook her head. There were no more cookies and even so, it probably was good that I not eat one anyway. I really didn't need the sweets. I must have looked puzzled because she tweaked the waistband of my skirt to show me that it was a little bit small. Or I was too big.
My best friend came up to stand next to me just that moment. We walked home together. I was half again taller than her, though we were just a few months apart in age. The teacher smiled at her and frowned at me, shaking her head. For the first time ever, I looked at my friend in a new light and understood that school life would be a picnic for that adorable pixie and I might be in for a challenge. A bit of a smartass comic was born that day.
At home it was hard to hide my disappointment. My mother effortlessly coaxed it out of me. Before I could get my coat and boots off and put away, she had mysteriously delivered a single cupcake, white with a little bit of pink frosting and a tiny little red heart on top -- right into my hands. She gave me a kiss and told me I was her littlest Valentine and this was just for me.
Although I cannot thank my kindergarten teacher for many things, I can thank Mrs. C. for creating one of the best traditions ever. There isn't a Valentine's Day that goes by where a cupcake is not front and center.
This year, easy, fabulously light, and seriously rich-tasting cocoa cupcakes will make their way to our table, topped with a dash of freshly whipped cream and a sweet little cherry.
This recipe is an adaptation from "The Essence of Chocolate" by Scharffenberger/Steinberg with Stephanie Hersh.
Little Valentine Cocoa Cupcakes
Makes 8 cupcakes

2½ tablespoons Valrhona unsweetened cocoa
1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter cut in cubes
½ cup filtered water
1 scant cup white sugar
½ cup cake flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 large egg
¼ cup full fat sour cream (don't skimp)
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Heavy cream for whipping
8 cherries or raspberries

For gluten-free variation, substitute flour with:

½ cup gluten-free flour
½ teaspoon xanthan gum

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. Place the cocoa, water and butter in a saucepan and simmer on low heat just until the butter is melted. Using a whisk, combine everything thoroughly. Add the sugar off heat and stir with the whisk until fully incorporated.
3. In a small bowl, mix the flour, xanthan gum (if gluten-free), and baking soda and combine with fork. Add to the pot and blend with a whisk. Add the egg and incorporate. Add the sour cream and mix well. Add the vanilla and mix well.
4. Let the batter sit for exactly 20 minutes without stirring (skip this resting period if using regular flour). Using a regular-size cupcake tin, place paper liners in 8 cups, and fill each about ¾ full. Bake for about 15 minutes and check. Remove from oven as soon as a toothpick comes out mostly clean. Using the toothpick, loosen any edges that baked over the rims but leave them to cool in the pan for about 15 minutes.
5. Remove to a wire rack. When cool, top with whipped cream and add a cherry or raspberry on top.

Notes: Use any gluten-free flour you like, but I like the Authentic Featherlight for cakes like this. Using excellent quality cocoa makes a big difference. You can find Valrhona cocoa at Whole Foods or other specialty markets. When loosening the edges after baking, try to spin the cupcake in place to make sure it is totally loose.
Happy Valentine's Day.

Salon: Meyer Lemon Tart, Guest Chef March 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Mar 2, 2010 10:03 ET

Meyer lemon tart (gluten-free)

I learned during my honeymoon that there was one quick way into my new family's heart: Tangy lemon pie

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

A version of this post first appeared on LuluandPhoebe's Open Salon blog.
After the wedding, when I was officially the 17-year-old bride and newly installed daughter-in-law, I learned the holy grail of in-law 101.
We were being driven by my father-in-law to the bus for our destination honeymoon: Rochester, N.Y. by Greyhound. Stopped at a red light, he turned to face us in the backseat of the old Volvo. In his most serious professor voice, he warned us to never forget my mother-in-law’s birthday and that he loves lemon pie. Long after the light turned green he continued to stare until we mutely nodded.
Little did I know that day, but retaining that in-law-101-trivia would land me in the favorites column for decades to come.
But at the moment, since I was a little bit scared of him, I thought it prudent to memorize the information. And the only way I could do that over the next 30 minutes, without anything to write with, was to make up rhymes in my head that went with birthday and lemons. Not an easy task at all, and certainly not something you should be thinking about on the way to your honeymoon, even if it is Rochester by Greyhound. When we got our tickets for the bus I asked for a pen and wrote it on my hand. At 17, that was my version of a daytimer.
Our little tiny honeymoon was uneventful and not one lemon made an appearance. We took the bus back to our hometown and no mention was ever made of that brief conversation. But I am happy to report that over the next few decades we have not missed one mother-in-law birthday. The lemon pie is a different story.
I had married into a family of lemon lovers. They apply lemon to anything that seems sensible to them. To me, it seems beyond reason that one would put lemon in, let’s say, vanilla frosting, but they do.
Fortunately, their fixation is almost always limited to lemons that are visibly baked in something. I consider that fair warning. But more times than I can count, there's been some mystery ingredient in dinner that ends up being produced from a lemon. It could be lemon peel in spaghetti sauce (um, wrong), or a splash of lemon in mayonnaise (not bad) or lemon slices under the bottom layer of chicken pot pie (not all that good) or my favorite, lemon wedges baked inside an apple (a very bad surprise). Thankfully, the lemon desserts are much more appealing, though relatively scarce.
My father-in-law loves lemon pie more than anything. My mother-in-law rarely makes lemon pie. But almost daily, he will ask if she made lemon pie for dessert. Frankly, if anyone asked me that on a regular basis I would probably learn how to put a bunch of lemons in a crust and hand it to them with a knife and fork. But that would just be me. My mother in law is much more kind.
She grew up in California farm country and they had lemon trees. I am guessing that the lemon harvest was generously supplying her family with bushels of the fruit annually. Apparently this lemon pie thing is genetic. Every member of the family seems to find more uses for lemon than is reasonable. And the son thinks lemon pie is just as heavenly as chocolate pie. And I still married him.
When Meyer lemons debuted at the market I actually began to pay attention. Somehow those little Meyer gems, sweeter than their tart cousins, made lemon creations worthy. It took a little bit of work, but there a few lemon desserts that make the effort worthwhile as a change from the chocolate moments. I cannot believe I said that aloud.
When they come to visit, I will sometimes make my father-in-law lemon pie-like things. And once in a while because it might be Meyer Lemon season at the market, I will indulge in a lemon tart.
The best lemon tart filling is adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking Book. The crust is made with Fake Aunt Hope's rugelach dough. Something about the combination of cream cheese/butter dough with a lemon filling made with more butter not only sounds perfect, it is sublime. This is not the dessert to eat if you are thinking lemon light.
Gluten Free Meyer Lemon Tart
Tart Shell (Fake Aunt Hope's Rugelach Dough)

2 cups gluten free flour (or regular flour)
pinch of xanthan & guar gum (leave out if using regular flour)
8 oz. cream cheese
2 sticks (16 tablespoons) unsalted butter

1. Mix the flour and xanthan gum in the food processor. Add chunks of the chilled butter and cream cheese and pulse just until it comes together. Turn out on a board and knead once or twice to fully incorporate ingredients and cut in half. Place each in a wrapped parchment paper package and refrigerate for at least one hour. Roll into a circle slightly larger than your tart pan. Place in tart pan and refrigerate for another hour. Bake at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes or until lightly brown. About 15 minutes in, prick the bottom with a fork to keep it from bubbling up. Cool completely before filling.

Meyer Lemon Filling (adapted from Dorie Greenspan's Baking book)

3/4 to 1 cup sugar (less if you like it pucker-worthy)
Grated zest of three Meyer lemons
4 large eggs
¾ cup fresh Meyer lemon juice
10 ounces of unsalted butter, room temperature cut into pieces (about 2.5 sticks)

1. You will need a blender for this variation. I burned out my Williams Sonoma Waring, so make sure you are careful with your blender. You will need an instant read thermometer and a strainer.
2. Put the sugar in a heat proof bowl (you are going to set it over simmering water) and add the zest. Mix it thoroughly with your fingers to blend it together. It looks like coarse sand when you’ve done it well enough. Leave it to sit for 30 minutes to flavor the sugar. Whisk in the eggs and lemon juice until fully incorporated. Set over the simmering water and stir. Keep stirring until it reaches 180 degrees and is thick. It will get foamy and form some bubbles, but don’t stop stirring. The end comes quickly so keep an eye on the temperature. It does take some juggling to stir, take the temperature and make sure the bowl stays where you want it, but believe me, if I can do it, anyone can.
3. As soon as it reaches 180 degrees, remove it from the heat, and using the mesh strainer, push the cream through into the blender. Let it set for about 5 minutes and stir a couple of times. Get the temp to about 140 degrees. Start up the blender on high and as it is going, drop in the room temp butter pieces a few at a time until it is all in there. If your blender is overheating (as mine was) turn it off for a minute to cool it down and start it up again on high. Try to get three minutes of high speed blending going before you quit entirely after the butter is in there. Dorie says that is the secret of Pierre Herme's fine lemon cream – adding and blending the butter on high after cooking the cream.
4. When it is light and airy (you will see be able to see it) pour it into a container and cover it with plastic wrap on the surface before you cover the container with a lid. That keeps a skin from forming. Chill for at least 4 hours or overnight.
5. Don’t stir it up if you are putting it into the tart shell unless you have time to let it set again. I found that whisking it again before putting it in the tart shell made it too loose.

Tart Assembly

1. Spoon the chilled lemon filling into the cooled tart shell. Top with freshly whipped cream, or cream fraiche and your favorite berries. Serve immediately. Refrigerate leftovers. Like there will be any (not).

Bon Appétit.

Salon: Fletcher Fields Cornbread, Guest Chef April 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Apr 20, 2010 12:21 ET

Fletcher Fields cornbread

Our move to the country was more tumultuous than we'd expected -- but this recipe makes it all seem worthwhile

By Lisa Horel

Open Salon/Lisa Horel

A version of this post appeared on Lulu and Phoebe's Open Salon blog.
It was a charming 1800s saltbox abandoned mid-renovation. Set on acres of field and woods, the house's real age could be carbon-dated by the number of field stones missing in the foundation. The glass-half-full realtor almost convinced us that missing stones meant natural fresh air for the cellar. We imagined picnics in fields of wildflowers, hikes through the woods and acres of gardens. So what if our water supply was some stream up in the wooded hillside? Unlike our old Victorian in the city, this was a country house with two (almost functional) bathrooms and we bought it.
We wore out two entire sets of friends finishing the renovations. Too bad not one of us realized that streams freeze in the winter and therefore so would our pipes. When the first thaw occurred we made improvements to the water supply and our thoughts turned to the acres of land.
The place screamed for barnyard animals. The homestead came with two barns, not quite finished falling down. We voted. No chickens because the oldest child was a newly minted vegetarian. Our rabbits kept dying from frightful night noises from the woods. Goats were mean. Sheep were hairy and smelled. We finally decided on a horse because it would not only look awfully Ralph Lauren but chestnut would accent the new color of the house. There are dumber reasons.
Learning quantum physics would have been simpler than taking on one quarter horse named Bones (as in "Star Trek" Doctor McCoy Bones). He ate a lot more than dogs and didn't come when called. Apparently some horses are quite clever at undoing gate latches even if the fences are electrified. And they eat flowers and vegetable gardens. The horse developed quite the attitude when he realized we were neophytes in all things equestrian and took full advantage of our stupidity. Once in a while one of us would look out a window only to see a big horse face staring back at us, lips on the glass. The escapee had no shame begging for treats.
One Vermont photo-perfect fall morning I was in the kitchen making corn bread, looking out the window marveling at my young daughter slow walking in the field on her horse. They ambled behind a bump in the terrain out of view. Suddenly, out whooshes a galloping Bones with … wait. No rider? Blink, blink. I see it. There are human feet and hands. The horse turns and I see the blur of child and saddle, perpendicular to where she should be riding and parallel to the ground. The horse is galloping and she is hanging on for dear life. I manage to throw myself out the door just in time to see her flying over the top of the horse into the tall grass.
My brain is not processing this as quickly as it should. I am sidetracked by Bones. I only see the front end of the horse and it looks like he is sitting in the grass like some 1,000-pound overgrown puppy. My brain, mesmerized by a sitting horse, almost misses my girl as she pops up with a bounce from the field and yells out in one breath, "MOMMM! BONES IS SITTING AND HE WON’T LISTEN TO ME! MOMMM!" Bones turns to me and winks before gracefully getting up and snorting at the child. Totally docile, he lets her walk him back to the paddock.
Bones escaped regularly. When he wasn’t at a window begging, he would be somewhere close by eating someone’s garden. We’d be outside roaming the dirt road calling out his name. Soon enough someone would reply loudly through the woods, which echoed better than any AT&T 3G service today.
We called it crystal-clear woods-wireless. However, the traditional Vermont-speak was a little harder to decipher.
"Heh thair-uh? Yauh haawse iz't faam-uh Roy'z-uh god-en. Ahyup."
Translated? Bones is eating Farmer Roy's flower garden. Again.
Double-duty electrified, triple-duty latches were installed later that day. We found Bones the next morning, once again on the other side of the fence eating the last of our stumpy vegetable garden. The only thing still growing unharmed was zucchini, which even the horse wouldn’t eat.
Not long after, Bones went to a home far better suited to his needs. Happily, the child moved on from horses to kittens. Not only did felines eat less, they never had any interest in the flower or vegetable gardens. More my kind of barnyard critter.
Just for payback, every once in a while Farmer Roy let his cows wander into our field, right up to the back door. There is nothing quite like opening the door early in the morning only to be greeted by a herd of 1,200-pound cows chewing on the rose bushes.
Those woodsy hikes? Overrun with bramble and poison oak. Picnics in the fields? Lots of field mice and really, really big snakes.
On cold mornings we still make a batch of cornbread almost the same way we did back then, slathered with fresh butter and jam. The only thing missing is a horse named Bones staring in through the window, and a herd of Holsteins knocking at the back door.
The cornbread can be made gluten-free and is best served warm. Serve with softened butter -- European is tastiest, and a little bit of your favorite jam.
Fletcher Fields Corn Bread
(Albers Brand Cornbread Recipe, modified)

1 cup yellow corn meal (Albers is great)
1 cup flour (or gluten-free flour plus a pinch of xanthan gum)
1/3 cup brown sugar packed
1 tablespoon baking powder
Pinch of salt
1 cup milk (for gluten-free reduce milk to ¾ cup)
1/3 cup vegetable oil or melted butter
1 large egg lightly beaten (2 eggs if using gluten free method)

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place an 8-by-8 ceramic pan with a pat of butter in the oven to melt. Swish it around to coat the bottom. Don’t let the butter burn.
2. Whisk together dry ingredients in one bowl. Whisk wet ingredients together in another bowl. Pour the wet mixture into the dry mixture and whisk those together until no lumps remain. Pour into buttered and still hot baking dish. Bake until toothpick comes out clean, about 20 minutes. Cool about 5 minutes and cut into 9 pieces.

Bon appétit!

Salon: In Memory of Old Friends with Grilled Cheese, Guest Chef January 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Thursday, Jan 21, 2010 11:45 ET

In memory of old friends, with grilled cheese

Recalling young motherhood and old neighbors with the sandwiches they made (recipe included)

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

A version of this story first appeared on Lulu and Phoebe.
About two centuries back, when our children were merely tiny sprouts, we lived in Buffalo where great blizzards were de rigueur. We were young, broke college students supporting those two tiny girls on love and fumes. It seemed to work because eventually we finished college and sailed away to the first of a series of moves that eventually landed us on the left coast, where blizzards are not de rigueur.
Those Buffalo days were precious, though at the time they were endeavors in creative living. We moved to an eclectic neighborhood full of Buffalo working class, college professors, students and young families. The first day there, I discovered a tiny dancer with a curly top bouncing in the picture window across the street. She was jumping up and down on the sofa trying to get a better look at the new neighbors.
This girl became our daughter's first best friend. There was a small boy as well, the same age as our youngest daughter. Their mother became one of my closest friends. By the time the summer rolled around we spent many days outside with the kids, sitting on the giant front stoops of those old Victorians, drinking endless pots of coffee in the morning and switching to wine after a somewhat reasonable hour.
As the kids got older, their play became more entertaining. The littlest boy and girl often played "Late for Work." My daughter would yell out, "Here's your coffee, HONEY." And he would reply, in a strange little toddler baritone, "Thanks, HONEY. LATE FOR WORK," as he grabbed the Sippy cup full of robust pretend high test, zipping off on his Big Wheels down the street. She would remain in the doorway or on the porch, Sippy coffee in hand, shaking her head in endearment. This would go on for hours. I can hear their tiny toddler voices still; his more like a tiny version of Regis, and she exactly like Gwen Stefani.
Aside from the endless gallons of coffee and wine, we shared hundreds of grilled cheese sandwiches over the years. They were the foundation for every single child lunch. We would make them in my friend's kitchen while the kids played in the yard. Her kitchen was the size of a large broom closet, but we had a method that turned out piles of those sandwiches with perfectly melted, kid-friendly cheese. They would gobble them down faster than they came off the stove.
To this day, I cannot replicate them, or order a grilled cheese that comes close to the ones we made back then. But it doesn't really matter. Every time I bite into one, I see my friend's kitchen, smell the melting cheese and pan-toasted bread, and hear those four small voices. I can hear the laughter of my friend's voice as she makes yet one more sandwich. Four kids and 12 sandwiches was not unheard of back then.
The day we graduated from college, ready to move to new jobs in another state, all of us knew those years were coming to a close. We vowed to remain in touch and we did. Sporadically and on a whim we would hear from one another. It was the kind of friendship that just sweetly picks up where you last left off without missing a beat. It didn't matter if it was a month or 10 years. Or even 20.
Last month my friend died suddenly from an evil infection that swept through her, as her son said, like a perfect storm. She went into the hospital with a typical and ordinary illness and never came home again. She was buried two days before Christmas, her favorite holiday.
To celebrate our friendship, I am going to make a pot of coffee this weekend and sit on a friendly stoop and drink cup after cup with anyone who wants to join me. Then I will make a pile of grilled cheese sandwiches and share them with friends while we toast a woman who always found a way to make life seem like a miraculous privilege. It was an honor to be her friend.
Greenfield Street Grilled Cheese: The Left Coast Version

2 slices of thick sourdough bread, preferably day-old
4 slices of sharp cheddar cheese
Unsalted butter
Tomato, sliced extra thin, seeds removed
Salt and pepper

1. Lightly butter the bread. Place half the cheddar slices on one side of the bread. Add the tomato and sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper. Cover with remaining cheese slices. Place the other slice of bread on top, buttered side toward the cheese. Lightly butter the top side of the bread and flip and do the same to the other side. (Yep, your hands will be messy.)
2. Place in preheated skillet or Panini press. Keep the heat on medium. As soon as the bread begins to brown, flip to the other side. (Of course, don’t do that with the Panini press -- just leave it to finish.) Remove when the cheese is melted through and the bread is toasty brown, or before the smoke alarm goes off.
3. Remove to a cutting board and slice. Serrated knife works best.

Optional: Replace the butter with olive oil. Brush the olive oil onto the bread in place of the butter. Make sure the heat is not too high.
Note: To replicate the kids' version, use American cheese (organic cheese slices are best) and use real butter and whole grain (light color) bread. Follow the same directions and leave out the tomato unless the kid is a fan of red. It's close, but not exacty the same. Make several and serve with love.

Salon: Danny's Flourless Chocolate Nut Cookies, Guest Chef April 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Apr 13, 2010 12:30 ET

Danny's Flourless Chocolate Nut Cookies

A heart defect robbed me of my childhood friend -- but I'll always remember him through my mom's baked treats

By Lisa Horel

Open Salon/Lisa Horel

A version of this post first appeared on Lulu and Phoebe's Open Salon blog.
They were relying on the neighborhood imp to lead the expedition off the block and into the city wilderness. The imp, the one who had the most success regularly breaching the border, was me. Grasping hands, we went rogue. Stepping jauntily out of bounds, we turned the corner and never looked back.
Stuffed into our pockets were boxes of raisins, several Kleenex, paperclips, rubber bands, mom’s chocolate nut cookies and one small apple. Two 4th grade outcast girls, one geeky 2nd grade ballerina, and a developmentally delayed 14-year-old boy made up our motley crew.
Danny’s old sneaker soon started flapping as the sole separated from the canvas. MacGyver Alice secured it with rubber bands. Further along, Alice and Danny rounded up plenty of sidewalk insects, spiders and crustaceans to investigate. Alice jotted data in her little notepad. Danny was thrilled to be her science partner. My classmate, Shirley kept up the rear, loosening her tight ponytail. Unabashed, we trail blazed down one city street and then another.
Danny's uniform of dungarees, old converse high tops, and a bright white tee shirt also included his version of a Gilligan hat to block the midmorning summer sun. I snuck glances at Danny, wondering if I could magically see the actual hole in his heart through his tee shirt. Shirley’s too small, faded battleship gray school dress with long sleeves was getting damp around the middle from the heat. Petite curly red-headed Alice had on pink shorts and a sleeveless button down (white) shirt with a pocket for her pencil and notepad. I was wearing my favorite mom-made polka-dot shorts and matching top.
Two hours later, thirsty and sweaty we finally turned back onto our street from the lower end. Our parents were swarming all over the other end of the block calling out our names. My posse looked at me for a sign that we weren’t about to get sent to the stockade, but I think I let them down. I had told them at the beginning of the adventure that I was sure their parents would not mind us going on this hike. Add neighborhood hooligan-imp to my 4th grade resume.
Alice’s mom was shooting me a murderous look. Danny’s mother, out of breath from running to reach us, gave me a look that only indicated half of what she really wanted to say, but didn’t. That look was worse than any punishment I would get. Shirley’s mom was standing in her doorway with a scowl that made both of us cringe. Shirley ran right home.
My sentence was banishment to my room sans dinner and after that I was released to the prison back yard for two weeks. Mom brought me sandwiches and her wonderful chocolate nut cookies.
The second day I pulled a patio chair to the back gate just so I could see freedom. I still felt the full weight of being the neighborhood kidnapper. Engrossed in a book, I didn’t hear Danny’s mom approach the gate.
She stared at me for a moment with a much kinder look than the day before and threw a nickel at me. As she turned away she muttered something I couldn't hear. Red faced, I grabbed the nickel and stuck it in my pocket.
Every time I came across that nickel, I thought of all the lessons I learned that day. From science geek Alice I discovered more insects than I ever wanted. From Danny, I learned that brain damaged doesn’t equal stupid and having a hole in one’s heart doesn’t mean it isn’t any less full. From Shirley I learned that money-poor could still mean you were a rich family, at least in cottage cheese and milk. Her dad was a milkman. And from my two week sentence I knew that reading books was a good way to free your mind from forced solitude. Especially when accompanied by chocolate cookies.
Danny died a few years later from that hole in his heart. I think of him whenever I make this updated version of my mother's chocolate nut cookies. Danny ate every single one that day on our hike, and until my mother died she would bake extra just for him because he loved them that much. Eventually I learned why I had earned that nickel. He told his mother that it was the very best adventure he had ever had. That he got to be just like any ordinary boy that day.
This modern version of my mother's chocolate nut cookie is flourless, fudgy and crisp-chewy. I think my old friends would like it. Alice would love the chemistry of why flourless works the way it does. Shirley would have loved to eat a cookie that someone else made. And Danny would love them because they are my mother's chocolate nut cookies, redux. We call this version Danny's Cookies, in honor of one extraordinary boy.
Danny’s Flourless Chocolate Nut Cookies
Ingredients:

4 large eggs, whites only
½ tablespoon each, almond & vanilla flavoring
3 cups powdered sugar, sifted
¾ cup of Valrhona unsweetened cocoa, sifted
pinch of salt
8 oz. of chopped nuts (optional)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350. Turn oven down to 325 once the cookies go in.
2. Sift powdered sugar into a large stand-mixer bowl. Sift cocoa on top. Add salt. Whisk together gently. In a separate small bowl mix the whites with the flavorings using a small whisk. With the whisk attachment on the stand-mixer on low, add in the whites mixture until fully incorporated. Turn mixer on medium high and whisk until glossy- just a couple of minutes. Stir in the chopped nuts with a wooden spoon.
3. Drop by heaping tablespoons (or scoop) onto silpat or parchment lined baking sheet. Give them lots of space and limit to 5 per sheet. Makes about 15 large cookies. Feel free to downsize them and make a larger quantity. Flatten the dough slightly with a fork before baking – they will still spread into a thin cookie.
4. Let them sit about 30 minutes before baking.
5. Bake at 325 about 7-9 minutes for the large cookies, 6-8 minutes for smaller cookies. They will look gooey in the center. The tops will start to crack. Don’t over bake them!
6. Be sure to let them get stone cold cool before you try to remove them. Peel the silpat or the parchment from the back of the cookie. Store in a tin. They taste the best on day two, so plan ahead.

Bon appétit and here's to Danny's big heart!

Salon: Gluten Free Black & White Cookies, Guest Chef February 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Wednesday, Feb 3, 2010 12:15 ET

Gluten-free black and white cookies

All good grandparents try to pass on a piece of their history. Mine is sugary, sublime and can be made gluten-free

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

This story first appeared on Lulu and Phoebe.
Sometimes, family history is best told through the food we love. This story begins with the lines of housewives on Friday afternoon at Snowflake Pastry Shop in Syracuse, N.Y., patiently waiting to pick up a fresh loaf of challah for the Sabbath dinner. It continues with the Sunday morning lines of men who wait not so patiently in line for coffee cake, babka and danish along with a half-moon cookie for each kid in the house.
The white boxes with the little blue and white string being carried into your kitchen meant that it would be a very good day. No matter how well any mom baked, Snowflake did it better. The half-moons made all of us swoon with delight. We didn’t get them often, but when we did it was a treasured day.
We grew up, the bakery suffered as all little businesses did and closed after the big-box groceries took over the baking. And that was the end of it until many years later. Or until the next time we were visiting New York City. No one there called them half-moons. They were black and whites. The first time I asked for a half-moon in a N.Y. bakery, I was handed a powdered sugar covered crescent-shaped cookie. Delicious. But I never made that mistake again.
And if it were not for these two little boys, our childhood treat would never have been brought to life in our kitchen. All good grandparents try to impart a piece of their history to the next generation. Ours just happens to center on food. One day a few years ago we were talking about these giant black and white cookies, explaining the delight of buying and eating them. The little boys had never seen one, let alone tasted the sublime giant cakey cookie. They assumed we were making up fairy tales again.
As would any good grandmother, I quickly dispatched a dozen from the William Greenberg bakery in Brooklyn to my house in California, in time for an upcoming visit. Not only did they cost about as much as a car payment, but the condition they arrived in was entirely dependent on the whim of the shipper. And they were at least 3 days old by the time they arrived on our doorstep.
The boys were delighted to open the giant white bakery box tied with red and white string only to discover a dozen black and white cookies that were, at the time, about as big as their little heads. One cookie was all it took to fall in love.
They requested this new favorite cookie for any and all occasions. They asked, and I complied. I tried the WG Bakery again, but the price had gone up and was now close to a mortgage payment. I tried Zabars and Dean & Deluca, both of which sold mini black and whites. You’d think they’d be a reasonable price, but 18 little cookies cost over $50.
It was time to buckle down and figure out how to make them in our little kitchen. We had a variety of recipes collected from the Internet, magazines and books. Not one was the right one. Duplicating the flavor, the texture and the icing was a trial that included dozens of rejects.
But finally, one day, actually by chance, the accidental favorite emerged from the trial batch. We even got the glaze right. The cost was a fraction of what we had been paying. And the freshness was hard to beat.
I made large ones and then worked on the mini generation, which actually was harder to do than it would seem. Larger ones are more forgiving, but the little ones are more exacting. They are never truly perfectly round, nor glazed as tidy as they are in the bakeries, but they taste just like we remember.
This last batch is gluten-free, but the recipe can be made either way with small subtractions or additions, which are detailed in the notes. The little boys are happy and they will gladly carry the tradition of the Black & White cookie into the next generation or two.
Mini Black & White Cookies
Ingredients

1 cup classic blend gluten-free flour
½ cup featherlight blend gluten-free flour
½ teaspoon xanthan gum
Pinch salt
Pinch baking soda
½ cup white sugar
1.5 sticks of unsalted butter, softened
1 egg
1.5 tablespoons buttermilk
½ teaspoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon vanilla

Icing

3 cups confectioners sugar, sifted
1 tablespoon corn syrup (and maybe a pinch more)
Hot water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract (colorless variety if you can find it)
½ teaspoon almond extract
2 ounces of bittersweet chocolate melted
1 tablespoon of the best unsweetened cocoa (valrhona is great)

1. Heat oven to 325. Line two baking sheets with silpats or parchment. Whisk together flours, salt, baking soda, xanthan gum until combined and lightened (a little sift-like process). Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg, buttermilk, and vanilla and lemon juice until fully incorporated and fluffy. On slow speed, mix in the flour mixture just until blended. If you need to add more liquid add a splash of buttermilk until the dough looks like you can scoop it, but has a little cake batter quality to it.
2. Using an ice cream scoop, portion out about 16 scoops of even-size mounds, 8 to a sheet. Flatten slightly with the back of a spoon. Bake for about 12-16 minutes or just until they look lightly golden (remember, gluten-free does not brown). If you are really unsure, use a toothpick in the thickest part and as soon as it comes out clean, take them out to cool.

Icing

1. Sift the confectioners sugar into a large bowl. Add the hot water by tablespoons along with the corn syrup, almond and vanilla until it just runs off the spoon. You want it to look like a thick glaze. Put half into another bowl and add to it the melted chocolate and unsweetened cocoa. Mix thoroughly and add a touch of hot water to thin.
2. You can rescue it by adding a touch of hot water if the glaze thickens up or add more confectioners sugar if it is too thin.

Finishing

1. Glaze the flat side of the cooled cookie with a spatula -- first with the vanilla, and then the chocolate using a separate spatula. The glaze should be applied generously, but not too thick. Set on racks at room temperature to harden, which should take a couple of hours. Store in a tin with parchment paper between the layers. Keeps for a few days if they last that long!
2. Notes: Skip the xanthan gum if you use regular all purpose flour. Both gluten-free flours are available from Authentic Foods, or use your favorite gluten-free flour. Make sure the cookies are very cool before glazing or the glaze will run right off. Make sure you don’t glaze them over your bowls of glaze. I’ve done that and dripping chocolate into the vanilla is at best not fun, and sometimes enough to have to start all over again. Glaze over an empty cookie sheet.

Bon appetit, little ZZ boys.

Salon: Coconut Pecan Oatmeal Cookies, Guest Chef, February 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Tuesday, Feb 16, 2010 19:20 ET

Coconut pecan oatmeal cookies (gluten free)

In my household, we love cocoa -- but my coconut pecan oatmeal cookies are nothing to mess with

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

A version of this story first appeared on Luluandphoebe's Open Salon blog.
While it has been said that "Shokolad" might be my Hebrew name, it is not. To the best of my knowledge.
Opening the cupboard, you might think that someone here has an obsession with chocolate (shokolad). Jumbles of bars, bittersweet, dark, unsweetened, semisweet, all Scharffen Berger are stacked mile high. Tucked next to that is a pound (at least) of Valrhona unsweetened cocoa -- just in case the supplier runs dry. And keeping it company would be Green & Black's organic cocoa and more Scharffen Berger cocoa. You can't miss the shiny bags of chocolate chips, Ghirardelli bittersweet and more Scharffen Berger stuffed into the back seat behind the tower.
Some women love shoes. Some women love chocolate more.
But this time, Bob's Red Mill Gluten Free Rolled Oats gets squeezed through the narrow chocolate passage. The perfume of chocolate confectionary goodness lingers long after the cupboard is shuttered. After all, while chocolate passes for a food group and the star of entire tomes, oats ought to have at least a chapter rather than just a footnote.
Oats deserve a day in the sun.
Junior high school was the first time I encountered what passed for an oatmeal cookie. They were sticky sweet, gooey and chewy and not chocolate. It was disgust at first sight. I'd sooner pass up a cookie than eat one of those beige, gnarly things.
Then, at the impressionable age of 15, I met my future mother-in-law, an oracle of the early whole foods movement. She had begun purchasing and cooking food from the co-op. A new concept, it was a compelling way to learn about real food that didn't come in a can or box. For the next year or so the horizons of food eating expanded to include homemade Mexican -- decades before there were the ubiquitous Mexican Food choices in our neighborhoods. She managed to make Asian food that didn't come from a Chun King or La Choy can. And once in a while we ate a little Middle Eastern fare with mild curries. It was an event to eat with that family.
At 17, it was my pleasure to marry into that same family where food was a daily adventure. Newly wed, we got to participate in buying from the co-op and sharing the mail-order bulk health foods from Walnut Acres. Like any good dealer, we drove around and distributed the goods from the trunk of the car. Lots of 17-year-olds were doing something similar, but few were distributing soy beans, cashews and oats.
There were always the oats. Lots and lots of oats. Not only were we eating granola by then (hey, so many oats) but wearing Birkenstocks. Our children wore baby Birkenstocks and ate lots of oatmeal. No matter how much we ate, the bottom of the oats never materialized.
I learned to make oatmeal cookies that were sometimes edible and most times only fairly good when fresh from the oven. They were still too sweet and a bit beige and gnarly. Truth be told, chocolate still won out every single time. For every batch of oatmeal cookies, or bars, there would be a corresponding batch of hearty chocolate chip cookies or brownies.
The years rolled by. The oats rolled out of favor. The co-op went the way of Whole Foods Markets. And gluten intolerance and Celiac came knocking on the door. Oats were on the forbidden foods list. Recently, though, Bob's Red Mill became the newest reliable source for gluten-free oats.
Now it seemed time to rethink that cookie. After many hopeless batches were filed into the garbage, we were about to give up hope. Too gnarly. Too beige. And boring. But not long ago, it became clear that we may have just cracked that oat. Quite by accident, a handful of toasted coconut made its way from the food processor into the oats, along with some leftover pecans, and the rest was history.
This batch makes more than 4 dozen cookies. They will last for a long time stored in a tin, and won't lose a bit of that crispy edge. These are gluten-free all the way, but they don't have to be made that way. Since I rarely remember to write this stuff down, this seemed like a good place to immortalize these oat cookies.
Coconut Pecan Oatmeal Cookies

2.5 scant cups of Gluten Free oats, lightly toasted
1 cup plus 2 heaping tablespoons gluten-free flour
1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut, lightly toasted
1/2 teaspoon of xanthan gum
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
freshly ground nutmeg (about a quarter teaspoon)
pinch salt
1.5 sticks of unsalted butter, softened (12 tablespoons)
3/4 cup brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 large eggs
1 cup pecans, rough cut (by hand), lightly toasted
1 cup raisins (optional)
1 cup of Hershey's butterscotch chips* (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line four baking sheets with silpats or parchment.
2. Prep the oats, nuts and coconut by lightly toasting them on a cookie sheet in the oven. The nuts need about 8 minutes. The coconut about 5 minutes (or less -- keep an eye on it) and the oats, about 15 minutes.
3. Once each of these is cool, proceed with the recipe.
4. Cream the butter and sugars together until fully mixed. It doesn't have to be light and fluffy, but you want it close to that. Mix in the eggs, one a time until fully incorporated. Add the vanilla and stir.
5. Meantime, mix the flour, xanthan gum, baking soda, cinnamon/nutmeg and salt with a whisk in a separate bowl. In a food processor (small one is great) take most of the oats and give them a whirl or two- don't turn them into flour. You are going for a chopped oat. Keep about a 1/2 cup of the toasted whole rolled oats aside. Pulse all the toasted coconut just slightly. Now mix all of the oats and coconut with the flour mixture and whisk it up to fully incorporate the flour, coconut and oats together.
6. Gently add to the butter/sugar mixture and stir until incorporated. Add the pecans, raisins and butterscotch chips. Mix thoroughly.
7. Using a tablespoon or scooper, drop balls of dough onto a silpat- or parchment-lined cookie sheet. You should be able to get about a dozen cookies on each half-sheet pan. Flatten them slightly. You will probably fill all four baking sheets.
8. Let the scooped dough sit at room temperature for 45 minutes. Resting always makes them taste a little better. (A little tip from Alice Medrich -- thanks, Alice!).
9. Bake two sheets at at time and rotate about halfway. They take about 11-12 minutes total, but watch them. Each oven is different. You want them to look slightly crispy on the edge but still soft in the center. As they cool, they will crisp up. Leave them on the silpat until cool, about 10 minutes. When totally stone cold, store them in a big cookie tin, if they last that long.
10. Notes: Toasting the oats, coconut and pecans gives them a deeper flavor. Just watch them carefully so none burn. Whizzing the coconut and oats in the food processor gives them a different texture, making the finished cookie a little more cookie-like than granola-bar-like. The coconut adds some pizzazz and a hint of flavor. It isn't overpowering. You can substitute other dried fruits in place of the raisins. Don't use more than a cup; it will overpower the cookie. Rest the dough. It makes a huge difference. It works for gluten or gluten-free dough. To make these with regular flour, just omit the xanthan gum, and use all-purpose flour. Bake for less time if you like a soft cookie and more if you like them very crispy.

*Hershey's Butterscotch Chips are reported to be gluten-free. The other brand (Nestle) are not.
Bon appetit!

Salon: Chocolate Rugelach, Guest Chef, February 2010

Topic:

Guest Chef

Wednesday, Feb 24, 2010 12:01 ET

Chocolate rugelach (with gluten-free variation)

Our family friend was a lively, odd person with a secret recipe. Fitting, then, that I found it in an odd way

By Lisa Horel

Lisa Horel

A version of this story and recipe for gluten-free rugelach first appeared on Lulu and Phoebe.
When I tell people that the best rugelach I ever ate was at my father's funeral, there is always an awkward pause in conversation, until I also mention that they were filled with bittersweet chocolate.
Though, to be honest, the only thing I can recall of the funeral was that fabulous rugelach. I was in the living room, busy stuffing the perfect little rugelach into my pockets and running outside, stashing them in a paper bag, emptying the platter in a half-dozen trips. Someone blamed the dog. I owed that dog.
The rugelach had arrived with a woman I knew as Fake Aunt Hope, a family friend whom I only knew as the lady behind the pharmacy counter in the small drugstore a few blocks from our house that she and her husband, Doug, owned.
At 5, when I was appointed Chief Step & Fetch It by my father the Ad Man, it was my job to run to the drugstore whenever he needed something. "Something" was usually cigarettes and a giant box of 1960 vintage Kotex for my mother. Fake Aunt Hope handed me the items, along with my pack of Necco Wafers as payment for the job. It was always a sweet gesture, but how could she not know it was not nearly payment enough for the mortification I felt hauling that giant box of Kotex five blocks home?
Years later, after baking untold numbers of frustratingly inferior rugelach, I finally decided to write Fake Aunt Hope for the recipe. I was one postage stamp from sending it, when I got a phone call from my in-laws.
The evening before, they had hopped over to the indie theater to catch one of the new art films. In line, they ran into Fake Aunt Hope and her husband, whom they knew from my wedding. Fake Aunt Hope and Doug were thrilled to see my in-laws, saying how pleased they would be to watch the movie together, and offered to go in first and save seats. When my in-laws got close enough to see the movie poster, they couldn't run out of there fast enough. I could feel them blushing through the phone two states away. Somehow they missed the big giant marquee that had a giant red XXX running across it. Turns out the old indie was no more. Fake Aunt Hope and Doug were very disappointed when the in-laws remembered sudden prior headaches and hastily took their leave.
With that fine mental picture in my mind, I never did mail that note. I thought to do it again, decades later, only to find that Doug was gone and Fake Aunt Hope had advanced Alzheimer's.
Not long ago I took another look at what might have made her rugelach so special. I read stories, and searched for old Eastern European recipes since that is where Fake Aunt Hope's family was from, but I realized that she, like other women her age, must have learned from watching their mother or grandmother, probably with nothing written down. The secret must have been in the love in her hands.
Recently, I tried to fashion a version using common themes I'd found. By the last of many batches, I was tired and had run out of patience. The perky cream cheese and butter were still in the refrigerator and I had forgotten to take them out to soften. Annoyed, I took my frustration out on the ingredients. Instead of treating them like fragile, delicate things, I tossed and banged and smacked them around. I rushed through some steps, forget some others.
And yet, when they emerged from the oven, they looked splendid and tasted even better than I had hoped.
It's fine if my version will never be exactly like Fake Aunt Hope's beauties. But I like that the odd way I finally learned to make them will always make me remember her quirkiness with fondness and affection.
Chocolate Nut Rugelach (with gluten-free variation)
Makes 20

For dough:
2 cups of all-purpose flour OR classic blend gluten-free flour (Authentic Brands is my choice)
2 sticks of unsalted butter (chilled)
8 ounces of cream cheese (full fat and chilled)
Pinch of guar gum and xanthan gum (for gluten-free version only)
For filling:
¼ cup white or brown sugar
½ cup chopped nuts
¼ cup chopped bittersweet chocolate
½ cup dried fruit (raisins, currents, cherries) optional
½ teaspoon of cinnamon
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
For topping:
1 egg or melted butter for brushing
Pinch of brown or turbinado sugar for sprinkling
Cinnamon for sprinkling

1. Place all the filling ingredients in one bowl and mix well. Or set up several small prep bowls for each filling ingredient and add what you feel like when the dough is rolled out. Set the bowl(s) aside.
2. Place the flour, guar and xanthan gum (if using) in a food processor and whiz up with one pulse. Chunk up the cold butter, cold cream cheese and drop into the processor on top of the flour. Pulse just until it comes together, but before it turns into a ball. It will take fewer than 10 pulses. Drop it onto a floured piece of parchment paper and incorporate the remainder of the flour by kneading it just once or twice. Handle it as little as possible. Break into two even chunks, roll them into big balls, and smash into disks. Wrap in parchment and set in the refrigerator for at least an hour and up to a day.
3. Remove one disk at a time. Open the parchment and place another piece of parchment over the top of the cold disk. Smash it with a good-size rolling pin and roll it into about a 10-inch disk. You want it to be thin, but still substantial enough to roll easily. Make sure it stays cold. If you have to leave it for any reason, toss it back in the refrigerator.
4. Take a handful of the filling and scatter it around the disk, all the way to the edge. Dorie Greenspan has a great suggestion that I will use next time. Put the parchment over the filling on the rolled out disk and give it a once-over with the rolling pin to secure the filling to the pastry. Remove the top parchment. Using the bottom parchment, grab it and help the dough start rolling. Like rolling up a T-shirt for the suitcase, keep it going using the parchment as necessary to keep it tight and unbroken. You can pinch the dough together wherever it might crack.
5. Finish with the seam side down. It helps to refrigerate it before cutting. When chilled again, using a very sharp paring knife, or a serrated edge, and cut them into 1-inch pieces and place on a silpat- or parchment-lined baking sheet. Refrigerate for another hour at minimum.
6. Repeat with the second disk.
7. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
8. Quickly brush the tops of each cold batch with a beaten egg or melted butter and sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon. Bake for about 25 minutes, rotating halfway through for best browning. They are done when the pastry looks set, but remember that gluten-free dough never browns up like regular flour. Leave on the silpat or parchment to cool. Once stone cold, store in a tin separating the layers with parchment. The rugelach will keep for about 4 days, although you won't have any left by the second day.

Notes: The biggest lesson here is to not fuss with the dough and to keep it cold. The directions took longer to write than it would take to make the whole thing aside from the chilling and baking time. Once you have it down, it goes quickly. Work the dough as little as possible. Obviously bakers made rugelach long before food processors were in our kitchens, so you can mix the dough by hand. Do it as quickly as you can without handling it very much. A food processor only means that you can create the dough base in under five minutes from start to finish. Create your own fillings: Jam, nuts, chocolate, dried fruits, spices are all possibilities.