Banoffee Ice Cream Sandwich

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Is it hot there? It's hot here. Hotter for the fact that we have yet to haul out our air conditioning units that weigh as much as a 12-year old. Maybe we're too lazy, maybe we're taking the Pope's encyclical to heart and doing our part to forestall the swift march of climate change, and its relentless ravaging of our sister, Mother Earth?  But really, we are very lazy. 

Luckily, there are lots of ways to cool down that require little in the way of heavy-lifting OR advanced planning! An added bonus? The chance to unnecessarily carb-load smack-dab in the middle of swimsuit season! Have I got your attention yet? Good. 

This recipe is a combination of some of my very favorite things (ice cream, bread, butter, sweetened condensed milk), and also there are bananas in it. It's an ice cream sandwich, but not the fluff-filled cardboard ice cream sandwiches of our youth*, NAY! These are exponentially more delicious, more fancy, AND more sandwichy. They're ice cream sandwiches you show off to your friends, bring home to mom, and then? You marry the crap out of 'em. Why? Because they're unique, and perfect, and make you look good and smart (though, also fat). 

Before I get to the nuts and bolts of the treat that will sweeten your sweaty state, a couple of notes. First, some lesser souls might be a bit apprehensive about putting ice cream on bread. Don't be that fool.  And secondly, be very, VERY careful when making your dulce de leche. If you're not, the cans of sweetened condensed milk will explode, and your chest hair might never grow back...**

  Banoffee Ice Cream Sandwiches

1 can sweetened condensed milk or pre-made dulce de leche

2 brioche rolls

1 banana, sliced

1 pint vanilla ice cream

butter

coarse salt

Make your dulce de leche. I use this method , but there are other ways if you're feeling ambitious or scared. Slice your buns in half and butter like no one's looking. Toast the buns on a hot skillet until golden, top with generous amounts of dulce de leche, bananas and ice cream. Sprinkle with salt. Add the lid. Enjoy!

*which, if I'm being perfectly honest, I sometimes really enjoy in all their yuckiness. 

**just ask Shiloh.

***this post was done in collaboration with our friends at Il Forno Bakery in the Bronx. Their breads are impeccable, and if you're near them, do yourself a favor an make a few friends by picking up one (or five) of their superior loaves. 

Cake > Sex

Look! I made a cake! 

Here are a few things you should know about me and this cake, and also cakes in general. 

1. I'm not a huge fan of cake--I'll typically go for something chewier and/or fattier if given the choice.
2. I'm not very good at making cake--they tend to turn into "trifles."
3. This cake was crazy delicious, it was not hideous, and I ate it instead of ice cream for several meals (mostly breakfast, but also lunch...also dessert). 

Typically, the only reason I'll bake a cake is to celebrate the birth of someone I adore. This often results in my humiliation as friends and friends-of-friends offer well-meaning compliments and comments. "It really does taste good though!" "That was such a sweet idea!" "YOU are very, very thoughtful!"

This cake however, was not a token of love and celebration, but rather the debit of a lost wager. The scene was something like this:

 (Liberty's legs can be seen protruding from beneath the couples' bed as Premal quietly reads atop it.)

L: HELP! HELPhelp! Premal! I'm stuck, I can't breath!

(

Premal extracts his wife)

P: What were you doing?

L: Trying to plug in our new lamps. 

P: I can do that.

L: You are much bigger and fatter than I am, and it is therefore impossible for you to succeed in this effort where I have failed. 

P: Wanna bet?

L: Yes, I do.

P: Okay, but if I win I want something awesome.

L: Okay. 

P: Not something dumb, like sex. 

L: Okay.

P: I want cake. A carrot cake. With frosting. 

L: Deal.

(Premal reaches the cord behind the mattress, thereby completing the task and winning the wager in mere seconds. --Scene--)

Pineapple Carrot Cake with Maple Cream Cheese Frosting

note: Obviously walnuts and raisins are optional, except when they're not. Which happens to be the case with this cake. Which is to say, I refuse to endorse the results of the recipe below should you choose to omit these items. xoxo

Cake

:

2 c. sugar

1 1/3 c. vegetable oil

3 eggs

1 t. vanilla

2 1/2 c. flour

2 t. cinnamon  

2 t. baking soda

1 1/2 t. salt

1 c. raisins

1 c. walnuts

1 lb. finely grated carrots

1/2 c. fresh pineapple, cubed

1 in. finely grated fresh ginger

Preheat oven to 350 f

Prepare 3 8-inch rounds with parchment, then butter and flour. 

Beat sugar, oil and eggs with mixer fitted with a paddle for 4 minutes. Add vanilla. Sift together flour, cinnamon, baking soda and salt--add to wet ingredients. Toss raisins and nuts with a little flour, then fold into batter (it will be quite stiff at this point). Fold in carrots and pineapple. Divide among the pans and bake 50 min. 

Frosting

:

2 blocks cream cheese

1 stick butter

2 c. powdered sugar (sifted, please.)

1/4 c. maple syrup

1 pinch salt

Place all ingredients in a mixer. Beat the bejeezus out of it. Wait 'til your cake is

actually

cool before frosting. 

Peanut butter jelly time!!!!

I first discovered this recipe during my seduction of one P. Trivedi. I was sad and uninterested in my studies. What I was interested in, were baked goods and a boy. Every few days I'd whip up a batch of whatever, and share about half of them with those around me. In hindsight, I know that this obsession was unhealthy on so, so many levels. Then again, I think the end result was far more positive than not. Yes, I gained 20 pounds, yes I could have been more diligent in my school work, and yes, I was filling a void with sugar and butter. But I also gained a trove of fantastic recipes and the gratification of doing something really well. Finally, the fact that I was constantly bringing over immaculate sweets certainly didn't hurt my budding relationship with the young Dr. P, without whom I don't know if I would have ever emerged from that dark place. (Oh, and the weight? It vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.) 

There are flavors that take you back to a certain place and time. Toasted English muffins, spread with margarine and marmalade will forever remind me of my great grandmother Mamsci's glamorous flat in Vancouver. Ritz crackers are grandmother Marjorie Dick, who lived with our family until she was nearly 104. And these peanut butter blondies, take me back to the earliest days of my relationship with Premal, when we both had very little to offer each other, and yet what we had was just what the other needed.

Be warned, these babies are just about perfect. They taste like I always hope peanut butter cookies will--crisp on the outside, rich caramel-chewy within--but seldom do. The batter is really more of a dough, and needs to be patted into the corners of the pan. Finally, make sure your thumbprints aren't too deep, otherwise the blondies will swallow up the preserves (note: this is still very delicious, it just may not be what you were originally going for). 

Peanut Butter Blondies

1

½ c. flour

1 t. baking powder

½ t. salt

4 T. butter

¼ c. peanut butter (heaping)

1 c. packed brown sugar

½ c. white sugar

2 eggs

1 t. vanilla extract

fruit preserves and chocolate chips (optional)

 Preheat oven to 350. Line 8 in. square pan with parchment. Cream butter, peanut butter, sugars, eggs and vanilla. Add dry ingredients, and mix until combined. Spread dough to edges of pan. Make heart-shaped thumbprints

like so

, and fill with preserves and chocolate chips. Bake 30 min. If using chocolate chips in your hearts, you might need to swirl them a bit with a skewer after removing the blondies from the oven.  

P.S. These keep really well. Making them perfect for mailing, bake sales, or eating for an entire week.   

St. Polycarp's Day

So, Valentine's Day.

I feel like people have been super into it this year. I started hearing festive murmurs more than two weeks ago, which is keen for Christmas or Flag Day or something really important like that, but strikes me as premature for V-Day. Don't misunderstand me -- I'm not one of those people who can't stand the thought of other people having a special time to show love for each other. In fact, I actually like the idea of an entire holiday dedicated to a special warm feeling!

I'm just not sure about the choice of special warm feeling.

I mean, love is swell and all, but does it deserve a day -- practically an entire month -- when all the other feelings don't even get two moments of silence to rub together? We need a bit of diversity in our emotionally motivated feast days, by jove!

"But Glorianna," you may object "you can't make all of these excellent points and then run off without offering some sort of solution!" That is why I am officially proposing a new holiday -- one to celebrate all of those people who really don't like other people at the moment. I propose we call it Saint Polycarp's Day. Mr. Polycarp was a 1st century Smyrnish (ean? (off?)) martyr. He is also the patron saint of earaches, which inspire a dull, constant, boring pain in your head similar to that experienced around people you don't like. The holiday can be today (7 is a prime number and has always struck me as nice and moody), and we can appropriate a lot from it's fuzzier cousin a week nigh: the cutesy color scheme; the excessive amounts of chocolate; I've even mocked up a couple of Polycarp Day cards to distribute to your least favorite people.

I don't know about you, but getting a couple of these in the mail every February 7th would just about ruin my day. And that's a beautiful feeling which should be treasured and celebrated.

So I invite y'all to join with me (but, like, not really) in wishing all of those special people you really despise an extra miserable St Polycarp's Day.

(I made a card for that, too:)

Bronco Bites part deux

We TDs are not particularly athletic. In fact, as a very young child, I told my mom my coach had cancer to get out of playing soccer (she discovered my deception after sending soup, the dear lady). And yet, despite our distaste for "the game" we are a fiercely competitive bunch. We'll hoot and holler and tussle over almost any competition we can devise. Cheeks bleed after a couple rounds of chubby-bunny, and don't get me started on the horror that ensues when board games are brought into the mix.

And so, armed with this knowledge, Charity threw down the gauntlet, and challenged us to a color-coded, game-day tournament. A culinary clash, with rivals engaging in comestible warfare. A Super-

Supper-

Bowl if you will. And so, miz. Sunshine, I see your

punkin-dumplins

, and I raise you PUDDING (with balls--like footballs, but more smaller and roundish, but I still deserve points for the balls).

Peyton's Puddin Smack-down

(Coconut tapioca with apricot sauce and blueberry compote)

Peyton Puddin (sweet and smooth, just like our guy)

1/3 c. small pearl tapioca

1

½ c. coconut milk

1 c. whole milk

1 egg yolk

1/4 c. sugar

1/2 t. salt

1 t. vanilla extract (or seeds from 1 in. vanilla bean segment)

Add milks and pearls to a medium saucepan and let soak for 45 min to an hour. Stir in the remainder of the ingredients and cook over medium heat until pudding reaches thee texture of thick gravy (about 15 min). Pour into serving dishes, and chill.

Manhattan Apricot sauce (like New Jersey, but better?)

1/3 c. apricot spread or sauce (I used

this stuff 

, but trader joe's has awesome apricot sauce too

)

1 T. rye 

whiskey

1 t. sweet vermouth

1 dash rhubarb bitters

Mix well.

Sour

Grapes

 Blueberries(?) Compote (

Richard Sherman

, I'm lookin at you)*

1/2 c. frozen blueberries

1 t. lime juice

Toss and let sit on the counter for 40 min. (Alternatively, microwave it for 40 seconds.)

*I definitely deserve extra points for knowing stuff about sports. definitely.

Chain rxn

Life in Denver has been fraught with unexpected consequences. The results of these little chain-reactions aren't bad, just unforeseen (though also

totally

predictable, as long as you're noggin is on straight). Take for instance our living situation. We planned to use Momo's house as a landing zone, a place to rest our heads for a moment before finding a place to truly call our own. But here we are, four months in, happy as clams, and feeling more settled in our "temporary housing" with each passing day. Or--also related to housing--there was the time when Momo and I bought almost an entire home's worth of furniture for the place Premal and I were *thisclose* to closing on,

but you know how that story ended

. This left us with an extra oh... 20-ish pieces of furniture--large pieces--and nowhere to put them. We ended up giving Momo's sunroom a little update, and the results are dreamy. Finally, I've learned that when a recipe calls for 5 egg-yolks it's best to figure out what to do with the accompanying whites beforehand. Otherwise you'll end up with vats of unappetizing translucent gunk crowding up your fridge until you get the wise idea to transform them into magical pavlovas. Which is exactly what I did.

I based mine off of

this one

from Ina Garten, though I opted for precious individual portions, as I find full-sized pavlovas a tad intimidating. Also, I lost my nerve and jacked up the heat to an uncouth 350 degrees f when they showed no signs of setting after 2.5 hours at the prescribed 180. Perhaps they were more golden than the Contessa would have liked, but they tasted sublime (and I prefer most things a shade or two darker--this is a reference to my husband). Finally, while berry compote is a perfect accompaniment to pavlova, I opted for Charity's caramel sauce, homemade spiced dark-chocolate ice cream, and a sprinkling of fresh raspberries. This was a very, very good idea. 

P.S.

THIS

 is my unofficial soundtrack for this gif

Saffron

Ugh. So, I know I said "exciting things were in the works(!)," but it appears I spoke too soon. Premal and I have been looking for a home to call own own since moving to Denver in July, and it seemed as though we had finally found one. It was a stately town home in the city center, blocks away from the Capitol, art museum, and some of our very favorite eateries. The finishes were classic, and the kitchen had been designed by a chef. I loved it. And so, we dug in.

Contracts were drawn up, and read, and signed, and shared, and returned, and read and signed. And then we exhaled, and smiled nervously at one another. Then, lenders and owners and inspectors and neighbors were called and called and called. Then more contracts came, and I read all the small print, then we signed and returned, and wrote checks. And as I worked from our living room in the basement of my mother's home, workers broke ground outside my window digging a tremendous hole that will someday form a patio and passage into this space. We'd share smiles though the glass throughout the day, comrades in adjoined trenches boring our way through the tasks at hand. Then suddenly, both the workers and I stopped. Their reason was quite simple, the hole was dug, and it was time to move on to other tasks. I, on the other hand had come upon the dark underbelly of my dream home, and we deemed the venture too risky. In the aftermath, I felt a lot like this. What did I have to show for my weeks of work? I stood by my window, envious of the tangibility of the completed task on the other side, and the satisfaction that comes from a physical task well done. I wanted to wallow, but I did not want to stagnate. So I decided to make something--and nurse my heavy heart while I was at it.   

Premal has been hankering for some homemade ice cream for a while, and we figured nothing goes together like self pity, and a pint of frozen deliciousness. The recipe is based on this keeper from David Leboitz, reworked with a modern twist on traditional Indian flavors.

Saffron Ice Cream with Candied Pistachios (or Kesar Pista)

• 1 c.  whole milk
• pinch of salt
• 3/4 c. sugar
• 15-ish strands saffron (I bought mine at Costco)
• 2 c. heavy cream
• 5 egg yolks (it's a lot, but you won't be sorry)
• 1/2 t. vanilla extract
• 1/2 c. shelled pistachios--roughly chopped
• 1 t. butter
• 2 T. brown sugar
• pinch salt 

Heat the milk, salt, and sugar in a saucepan until sugar dissolves. Add saffron, remove from heat and let steep covered while you watch an episode of Breaking Bad. Pour cream in a bowl (DL says to put said bowl in an ice bath. I don't know why, but I still did it). Rewarm milk mixture, and temper yolks by adding a small amount of milk mixture to them while whisking. Add tempered yolks to milk mix and cook over low heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom with a heat-resistant spatula, until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula. Strain the custard into the heavy cream. Stir until cool, add the vanilla extract, then chill thoroughly (overnight if in the fridge, or approx. one more episode of Breaking Bad if you throw it in the freezer. Guess which I did?) Meanwhile, candy your pistachios by melting butter in a small saucepan, add brown sugar and 1 T. water. Bring to boil (should be quick) add nuts and salt. Stir till all nuts are coated evenly, remove from heat and spread on a non-stick surface to cool. Retrieve custard from the freezer and freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions, adding nuts towards the end of the freezing process.