Diet, Dessert and Dogs

One of the shared quirks of most Canadians is our propensity to focus on the weather (well, that, and our internationally-recognized, world-renowned politeness. Oh, but please do excuse me for interrupting that train of thought with a parenthesis–how very rude! I do apologize). 

We tend to talk about the weather, attempt to predict the weather, fume about the weather, complain vociferously about the weather, aim to forestall the weather, dread the weather, boast about surviving the weather, try desperately to ignore the weather, occasionally (like two days a year) rejoice at the weather, discuss and ponder and ruminate about the weather. . . basically, we are obsessed by the weather. Why? 

Well, I suppose, it has something to do with our ancestors and early settlers whose lives really were ruled by the vagaries of snow, sleet and wind, or the whims of Mother Nature–one false move in January in Peterborough, and you ended up dead.  These days, of course, we’ve got heating and insulation during the winter months, but it seems we’ve inherited the predilection to stress about the weather all year round.

This past weekend, for instance, the air was gloriously warm but maddeningly humid.  Now, why couldn’t we simply combine the temperatures with the sunshine of a crisp February morning, and call it a summer’s day?  I’m really a warm-weather gal, despite my lack of any athletic or outdoorsy skills or prowess.  I am happy to sit outside in the back yard, read a book or magazine, or simply watch The Girls wrestle on the grass when the weather is felicitous. 

When people first find out that I was born and raised in Montreal, they inevitably comment, “Oh, well, then, you MUST be a skier, right, with all that snow you get over there?”  Sadly, no.  I do not ski.  I do not skate. I do not snowmobile on a lake. I do not like the snow on ground, I do not like it where it’s found. I do not like the cold or snow–I do not like it, I wish it would GO.  (Ah, yes, once again, I must apologize for going off on a rant.  And to Dr. Seuss, too, of course.)

Now that fall has almost arrived, the climate is beginning to evoke thoughts of cosy sweaters, fuzzy blankets, knees tucked up before the fireplace. When we take The Girls for their walks along the trails, the barren trees on either side of the paths span above our heads, branches reaching across to touch each other as if holding hands. Carpets of brown, red, and orange leaves crinkle below our feet as we stroll along. There is, I must admit, something rather appealing about it all. In addition, autumn is the harbinger of Holiday Season–for some, as early as the end of the month.

The other day, my friend Eternal Optimist asked about recipes for Rosh Hashanah.  The Jewish New Year falls on September 28th this year, and she was looking for new recipes for baked goods, as her son recently became vegan and most of her current recipes contain eggs and dairy.  I thought about the traditional Rosh Hashanah recipes focusing on apples and honey, and remembered a cake my mom used to bake when we were kids. The recipe was from a Mazola Corn Oil recipe card, and (along with a hefty portion of corn oil) featured both apples and honey in a huge bundt cake embracing thinly sliced Macintoshes between layers of fragrant, moist honey cake, so that it kind of resembled a cross-section of the Canadian Shield when cut, the strata of golden, caramelized fruit nestled between tender, tawny cake.  Well, of course, once I thought of it, I simply had to re-create that cake.

I couldn’t find my mum’s recipe, so I made one up based on a vanilla cake I created a few years ago, adding brown rice syrup as a stand-in for honey, paired with cinnamon and Sucanat-dusted apples.  Here, then, is my version of the childhood favorite.  This cake is perfect for any holiday celebration, as it could easily serve a crowd. It’s not overly fancy, so if you’d like to dress it up a bit, glaze it with your favorite glaze or dust with confectioner’s sugar, if you choose.  The fruit filling is generous and bountiful, just like the harvest in autumn, and might even make you forget the cloudy, stormy, chilly air outside while you indulge. 

Since this cake was based on one my mom used to make, I’m submitting it to the “Making History” event hosted by Allan at Recovered Recipes.  The event asks you to find (and photograph) an old recipe card and post the outcome of the recipe.  My version of the old recipe is one that my mom used to make, which I found in a handwritten baking book:

[Yep, that's an old recipe, all right. . . ]

And here’s the updated version!

Holiday Apple Bundt Cake

I’ve been known to enjoy a slice of this for breakfast–add a handful of nuts and really, isn’t that a balanced meal?

4 1/2-5 cups (1 liter to 1200 ml.) very thin apple slices (from about 4 large peeled and cored apples–or leave the peel on, if you prefer; I used a combination of Gala and Granny Smith, as that’s what we had)

1/4 cup ( g.) Sucanat

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) cinnamon

1/2 cup (120 ml.) light agave nectar

1/4 cup (60 ml.) brown rice syrup

1/3 cup (80 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil, preferably organic

3/4 cup (180 ml.) plain or vanilla soymilk or almond milk

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.)  pure lemon extract

2 tsp. (10 ml.) apple cider vinegar

2 tsp. (10 ml.) finely ground chia seeds (Salba)

1-1/2 cups (215 g.) light spelt flour

3/4 cup (90 g.) whole barley flour

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) baking powder

1 tsp. (5 ml.) baking soda

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) sea salt

Preheat oven to 350F (180 C).  Grease a large bundt pan with coconut oil, or spray with nonstick spray.

In a large bowl, toss the apple slices with the sucanat and cinnamon; set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the agave, rice syrup, oil, soymilk, vanilla, lemon extract, apple cider vinegar, and chia seeds until smooth.  Ensure that there are no little lumps of chia seeds remaining.  Set aside while you measure the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In another large bowl, sift together the spelt flour, barley flour, baking powder, baking soda and sea salt.  Pour the liquid mixture over the dry ingredients and stir to combine.  Don’t worry if a few dry spots remain here or there.

Spread about 1/3 of the batter in the bottom of the pan (this doesn’t have to be exact; just estimate).  Next, take about half the apples and layer them over the batter in the pan, taking care not to touch the sides of the pan (it’s not a tragedy if they do; it will just make it a bit more difficult to get the baked cake out of the pan later on).  Using a tablespoon, dot the apples with another 1/3 of the batter.  Use a rubber spatula to spread the batter over the apples, covering them entirely if you can.  Use up the apples to top the batter with another layer of apple slices.  Finally, use the tablespoon to cover the apples with the final third of batter, and spread the batter across the apples as evenly as possible with a rubber spatula.  There should be mostly batter on top, but it’s okay if a few edges of apple stick out here or there.

Bake the cake in the preheated oven for 50 minutes to an hour, rotating the pan once about halfway through, until a tester comes out clean when placed halways between the two sides of the pan at any point.  The top of the cake should be domed and browned.

Allow the cake to cool for at least 10 minutes in the pan before inverting onto a serving plate or cooling rack.  Cool completely before slicing.  Makes about 24 small servings or 12 large servings.  May be frozen.

[This recipe will also appear in my upcoming cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 100 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the "Cookbook" button at right, or visit the cookbook blog.]

For those of you who drop by DDD regularly, you may have noticed that the frequency of my posts has slowed down considerably of late.  Well, once again, it’s that time of the semester when I’m deep into a marking blitz and consequently feel as if I’m neglecting this blog.  That, paired with an impromptu visit from the CFO this past weekend, and I’m more behind than I’d like to be (to say nothing of having more “behind” than I’d like to have). 

And while I find it frustrating to be sitting on a plethora of photos patiently waiting for blog entries to accompany them, rather than post in haste, I will instead reluctantly bid you adieu for a short while (to return post-haste) as I scramble to complete the work and write up several entries I’m dying to share with you all.  I’ll still be reading all your blogs, however (wouldn’t want to eliminate all my blog-related pleasures during this period!).

I can’t sign off without first sending out a huge “THANK YOU,” though, to both Katy and Destiny for nominating me for the “Brilliante Weblog” award! I am very honored and grateful to be chosen by these two personable and creative bloggers. Thanks so much, you two! 

I know I’m supposed to pass this along to 7 others, and will properly give it some thought during my time away. In the meantime, here are some visual nibbles until I return in a week or two.

For now, have a great end of July, all!

["You're such a spoil-sport, Mum.  Does this mean we don't get to taste-test any more??"]

( From the recent visit with my sister)–Sweet potato, quinoa and black bean bites:

Almond-rice balls:

Gluten-free berries ‘n cream flan:

Birthday cake for a customer’s winsome daughter (sugar free cake and frosting): 

Of course, The Girls will miss you all, too, while we’re all away!

["Mum, we're just so bored when we can't be in the spotlight for a while. . . "]

Recently, the HH and I spent a couple of evenings with my old friend Phil, first in Montreal and then again here in Toronto.  It was wonderful to see an old friend with whom I share so much history (we’ve known each other since we were both 15).  She’s supported me through high school angst, sweet sixteens, no date for the prom, moving away to attend university, my first real boyfriend, moving to Toronto to attend graduate school, my starter marriage, my traumatic divorce, my first house purchase, and finally, meeting the HH and “adopting” The Girls.  The list of events on her side to which I was witness is similar (minus the divorce and plus a couple of children).  And yet the strange thing is, when we get together, we rarely talk about the past.

It’s more than just deference to the two men in our lives (who weren’t around when we experienced the early Phil-and-Ricki escapades, and who only made each other’s acquaintance at the tail end of the 20th century). No, it’s just that life keeps changing, and we always seem to be facing new work dilemmas, self-identity crises, weight roadblocks, or relationship worries (the last not discussed with the guys present, of course).  So there’s no dearth of topics to keep us gabbing. 

This last visit, however, we did ease into some reminiscenses about our high school days.  I was kidding Phil about her teenaged quirks, and we replayed some of the times whiled away in her mother’s kitchen, sipping coffee and eating avocados.  And, of course, we couldn’t forget her mother’s cakes.

Mother Phil had two sweet specialties.  Well, I guess I’d characterize them as “two standards.” Actually, they were more like “two reliable standbys.” Okay; they were the only two desserts she knew how to make.  Still, they were both terrific and I never tired of tasting them.  The first was called “Pistachio Cake,” and it was, I later discovered (once she revealed the recipe after I’d moved away from home and had my own kitchen in which to bake) comprised of one box of yellow cake mix, a box of pistachio pudding mix, and some Hershey’s chocolate syrup.  The result was a bundt cake round and high and light as a drizzle in July, with a meandering brown swirl throughout.  As with most cake-mix cakes, the texture was impossibly airy and seemed so insubstantial as to require at least 3 servings before one felt even mildly appeased.  In our case, Phil and I could polish off half the cake ourselves before even having to pour a second cup of coffee. 

The other confection was a from-scratch affair that Mother Phil called, simply, “Date Cake.”  Brimming with chopped, softened dates and just a whisper of cocoa, the resulting deep brown batter transformed into a dessert that, on first impression, impersonated chocolate very nicely.  I’d always thought the cake was, indeed, a cocoa-based one until I was finally privy to the recipe and found that it contained only one tablespoon of the rich, dark powder.  The rest of the intense flavor came courtesy of moist, sweet dates.

As someone who’d never tasted a dried (or fresh, for that matter) date before this cake, I wasn’t prepared for the level of sweetness imparted by the dates.  Nowadays, I value dates for their natural sugar content (the highest in the fruit kingdom) and use date purée frequently, both for its added sweetness and moisture content.  But in those days, dates, like Mrs. Phil herself–a stunning, accented import from Belgium–were considered exotic.  I was jubilant the first time I attempted to recreate the cake on my own and it came out almost exactly as the original. 

As Phil and I reminisced, I began to wonder whether I could reproduce the cake still, given my inflexible dietary restrictions.  I dug up the recipe, which I’d scribbled hastily in pen across the faint turquoise lines of an old spiral notebook. The page is now torn along the spine and dotted with irregular, amoeba-like tea stains and little splotches of oil that render the paper transparent in spots. But the recipe appeared fairly straightforward and seemed to lend itself quite easily to adaptation.  And even with the sprinkling of chocolate chips over the top, it seemed like a fairly healthy indulgence. 

After a couple of attempts, I managed to reproduce something akin to the original.  This cake would make a perfect snack, moist but not too sweet, with the pièce de resistance in the topping: the crunch of golden toasted coconut contrasted with the crackly, caramelized Sucanat and soft, melty chocolate chips.  The HH pronounced this cake “Just like Duncan Hines!”–meant as a compliment, to be sure, but not an endorsement I’m sure I’d embrace.  As for me, the dessert transported me back to Phil’s high-school era kitchen and the original cake of my adolescence.  That memory alone is sweet enough for me.  

Mrs. K’s Date Cake–2008 Edition

This is the kind of cake you like to have on hand as an after-school snack, or when you’re feeling peckish mid-morning.  Baked in a square pan, it will keep, covered on the counter, for up to 4 days, longer if refrigerated (though bring to room temperature before indulging).

Cake:

heaping 1/2 cup (75 g.) finely chopped dried (unsweetened) dates

1 cup (250 ml.) boiling water

1/2 cup (125 ml.) Sucanat

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) finely ground flax seeds

1/4 cup (60 ml.) coconut milk, almond milk or soymilk

1/4 cup (60 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

2 tsp. (10 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1 cup + 2 Tbsp. (170 g.) light spelt flour

1 heaping Tbsp. (10 g.) dark cocoa powder

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) baking soda

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) baking powder

1/4 tsp. (1 ml.) sea salt

Topping:

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) Sucanat

1/4 cup (12 g.) unsweetened shredded coconut

1/2 cup ( g.) dairy-free dark chocolate chips

Make cake:  Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).  Lightly grease an 8-inch (about 20 cm.) square pan, or line with parchment paper.

Place the dates in a medium bowl and pour the boiling water over them; stir briefly.  Add the sucanat, flax, milk, oil, and vanilla, and whisk to blend.  Allow to sit until room temperature, about 15 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.  Pour the wet mixture over the dry and stir to blend.  Turn into the prepared pan and smooth the top.

Sprinkle the topping ingredients over the cake:  first, sprinkle the sucanat evenly over the surface of the batter.  Cover with a sprinkling of the coconut, and end with the chocolate chips.

Bake for 35-40 minutes, turning the pan once about halfway through to ensure even baking, until a tester inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean.  Allow to cool in the pan for at least 20 minutes before cutting (if you cut this while hot, the melty chips will stick to the knife and you’ll have a blob of goo instead of a piece of cake).  Makes 9 large or 12 medium-sized pieces.  May be frozen.

 [This recipe will also appear in my upcoming cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 100 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the "Cookbook" button at right, or visit the cookbook blog.]

[Red plums, white(ish) cake, blue(ish) other plums--Happy 4th of July!]

Our recent visit to Montreal last week, like most of our road trips, involved a hamper of food to stave off starvation en route.  As is my wont, the night before travelling, I basically ransack the kitchen and tote along anything that’s hardy enough to last the voyage. The list of provisions usually includes any leftovers from the previous two days, a stash of homebaked scones/muffins/bread, a container of homemade trail mix and any transportable fresh fruits or vegetables that would otherwise transform themselves into unrecognizable mush, green fuzz, or oozing fermentation if left to their own devices while we’re away.

Well, since Fridays mark our regular organic box delivery, and since we departed on a Saturday morning, there was plenty of produce to accompany us.  We returned the following Monday to a near-empty refrigerator.  I was poking around for a snack that evening when I first noticed it:  a plain brown paper bag propped on the counter, its wrinkled top curled under in a makeshift closure.  Feeling fairly certain that the HH hadn’t ordered something untoward off the Internet (or at the least, that he wouldn’t leave it on the counter in plain view if he had), I headed over to peek inside.  And then, with a pang of remorse, I remembered:  it was the bag of fresh plums from our organic box!

I’d completely forgotten the shiny, plump and purple spheres before we’d left, and they had started to wither a bit inside the paper bag (which, as you know, actually encourages fruit to ripen faster). They appeared to be nearing the end of any period of natural firmness left in them (sort of like Madonna’s face these days). What to do?

I could no longer eat them raw, but I was darned if I would toss them, either.  Our first plums of the season–I knew I just HAD to find a good use for them!  Besides, neither the HH nor I are huge plum fans, so we most likely wouldn’t have consumed them all in any case.  I figured I could make jam, but that seemed like a cop-out.  I could dehydrate them and convert them into prunes (the better for my recent diagnosis), but I’d just bought a 500-gram bag of the things the week before. 

I thought about it for a moment.  Then, as I tend to do when faced with most quandaries in my life, I opted for my usual course of action:  bake something.

I was sure I’d seen a recipe on one of the blogs I regularly frequent (the list now tops 150–must update that blogroll!), but when I did a Food Blog Search, I couldn’t find it again (though Dorie Greenspan’s version made several appearances). I had some extra cornmeal in the cupboard from another recipe I’d made (more on that in a later post), so decided to combine the two and form a hybrid of sweet cornmeal muffins and plum cake. 

I was very pleased with the final appearance of the experiment, sort of like a coffee cake studded with mounds of gorgeous, glossy purple and garnet fruit-gems.  Well, the cake looked pretty, but how did it taste?

I cut a huge hunk of the still-warm confection for the HH and trotted outside, where he sat, dogs panting at his feet on our patio, reading the outdated newspaper we’d forgotten to cancel before the trip.  

“Whoa, I can’t eat all that!” he wailed when he saw the size of the slice. “That’s way too much for me.”

“Don’t worry, that’s fine,” I acknowledged, “I’ll share it with you.  Just let me go inside and get my book.”

 I headed back inside to retrieve my latest read, Shopgirl by Steve Martin (Steve, man! There’s a reason for all those creative writing class clichés.  “Show, don’t tell. Show, don’t tell.” Did you miss the intro lecture or something?). By the time I returned to the yard, the HH’s plate was empty.   All that remained of the cake was a subtle smudge of pink juice and a few errant crumbs, the only evidence that the plate had ever held anything at all.

“Where’s the cake?”  I asked.  He shrugged a little, looking positively sheepish.

“It was so good, I just ate the whole thing,” he said.    

Now, how could I possibly balk at that?  Even as I headed back in a second time to rustle up my own slice, I was smiling. And I felt no regret whatsoever about forgetting those plums at home, after all.

Since Sia over at Monsoon Spice is asking for breakfast dishes with fruit for Weekend Breakfast Blogging (the event originated by Nandita at Saffron Trail), I’m sending this off to her.  (And I can assure you, this makes a wonderful breakfast!). 

Rustic Plum-Topped Cornmeal Breakfast Cake

Neither too sweet nor too delicate, this cake is perfect for breakfast or brunch as well as a summertime dessert.  If you prefer muffins, simply chop the plums after removing the pits and fold into the batter before spooning into muffin tins instead of the flan pan (and bake for slightly less time).

Cake:

1-3/4 cups (245 g.) light spelt flour

3/4 cup (135 g.)  cornmeal (preferably organic)

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) sea salt

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) baking powder

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) baking soda

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) finely ground flax seeds

finely grated zest of one small orange

juice of one small orange plus enough soymilk to equal 3/4 cup  (180 ml.)

1/3 cup (80 ml.) agave nectar

1/4 cup (60 ml.) organic sunflower or other light-tasting oil

10-12 small fresh, ripe purple or red plums (not the European prune variety), cut in half and pitted

Glaze:

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) extra agave nectar mixed with 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) water, optional

Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).  Lightly grease a flan pan or 9-inch (about 20 cm.) springform pan.

Cut each plum in half and remove the pit.  Place skin down on a plate or cutting board.

In a medium bowl, mix the flax, juice and soymilk mixture, zest, agave nectar and oil.  Whisk to blend and set aside while you measure the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  Pour the wet mixture over the dry and mix to combine.  Turn the mixture into the prepared pan.

Arrange the plum halves skin side down over the surface of the batter in a decorative arrangement.  Press the plums into the batter slightly.

Bake for 25 minutes, then glaze the top if desired (prepare the glaze while cake is baking).  Return the cake to the oven for another 10 minutes or so, until the top is golden and cake part tests done when a toothpick or sharp knife is inserted into it.  Serve warm or at room temperature.  Makes 10 servings.

 [This recipe will also appear in my upcoming cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 100 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the "Cookbook" button at right, or visit the cookbook blog.]

*apologies to Geneen Roth

[Well, I really hadn't meant to write about my mother for two entries in a row.  Maybe it was all of your wonderful comments about yesterday's "mom story"; maybe it was an offshoot of Mother's Day earlier in the month; maybe I'm just feeling all mushy and sentimental after watching the over-the-top , tear-filled finale of American Idol last night. 

Or, maybe, it's Sarah's fault. Over at Homemade Experiences in the Kitchen, Sarah is hosting a blog event called "Tastes to Remember," that asks us to write about "those tastes and smells that immediately bring you back to your childhood."  Of course, my mother came to mind once again, this time for her baking (which, unlike her cooking, was quite exceptional).  So forgive the bathos. And here's my own little contribution to this week's sappy ending.]  

* * * * * * * * * *

In the house in which I grew up, food often spoke louder than the people. When my mother was too hurt, too angry, too stubborn or simply too out of touch with her own internal landscape to speak, the dishes she cooked were imbued with their own telegraphic properties. Food could be either a reward or a weapon, and, like each of those, was often withheld until the situation truly warranted its use.   

On schoolday mornings, I’d sometimes wake early and stumble into the kitchen before my father left for work (he was usually gone by 6:15, off to a 12-hour day at the butcher shop to kibbitz with customers, haul sides of beef, or trim stew meat just so before wrapping it expertly, as if swaddling a baby, in waxy brown paper). Squinting and still shielding my eyes from the electric light, I’d encounter my dad hunched over his breakfast at the kitchen table. I could always sense immediately whether or not some earlier argument between my parents had been resolved overnight.

Was he enjoying two soft-boiled eggs, an orange cut into eighths and his usual cup of black tea? That meant the air had cleared with the sunlit sky; equilibrium had been restored. If, instead, the plate proffered a lone slice of blackened toast, glistening with a hasty swipe of margarine; if the kettle was left boiling unattended (it was understood he’d have to go get his own), then I knew that tension had prevailed, and it would be at least one more day before détente was re-established.    

Food also conveyed silent, unspeakable messages of sorrow.   

When I was about six or seven, my mother acquired a recipe for “Potato Boats” from one of her Mah Jong friends, and they were quickly adopted as our staple Friday night dinner. Each week, Mom would cut the potatoes in half, scoop out the nubbly, steaming flesh and mash the innards with butter and milk before packing the mixture back into the empty shells, topping each with an orange haystack of grated Kraft cheese. The “boats” were then replaced in the oven and baked until the cheese oozed and bubbled, drooping over the potato edges to form charred rounds of ash on the baking sheet. We all loved the Friday suppers, and my sisters and I waited eagerly for them.   

Then my grandfather got sick.  As the only grandparent still alive when I was born, he’d been a fairly constant presence in our lives—living, in fact, right upstairs in the upper duplex of our house, with my aunt’s family. Diagnosed with liver cancer, Zaida was given little chance of recovery. Only two weeks after the diagnosis—on a Friday–he was admitted to hospital.    

That afternoon, my mother operated in a haze, her eyes perpetually wet, leaking silent rivulets down her cheeks. She moved aimlessly through the house like a fly caught in the window frame, shifting from one spot to the next as if the counter, the table, the cupboard, were each invisible barriers blocking her path, causing her to recoil and try again, over and over. She somehow still produced the requisite potato boats and salmon patties–I couldn’t understand why we were having them for lunch instead of dinner–and we ate in tense, confused silence.  The following Friday, we were served a different menu; she never attempted the potato boats again.   

On days when I arrived home from school and was greeted by the rich, eggy aroma as it sneaked out from under our front door, I’d race up the stairs in excited anticipation, knowing my mother would be in good spirits.  My sisters and I would sample the cake as soon as it was ready—only a tiny nibble was permitted—before allowing it to cool on the kitchen counter until my dad came home.    

When my mother placed a slice of this cake in front of my father, his face, no matter how tense or furrowed from the day’s work, would soften and a smile overtook him as he brandished his fork. He’d relish his little gift of generosity, savoring every morsel along with his cup of tea.  “Just like my grandmother used to make,” he’d murmur, grinning. Then my mother would retreat to the sink; as she passed the soapy dishcloth slowly over each bowl or plate, her face was limned with satisfaction. No words were required, as we all knew what she was feeling.  

So you see why I was determined to recreate that cake. I wanted to achieve a vegan version with the same harmony of cookie crust, tart, lemony filling and light, pillowy texture. It took several attempts, but I think I finally found a suitable rendition.  And while it may not quite do the original justice, but I’m still pretty happy with the outcome.  With its irregular lattice crust and home-made appeal, this cake does approximate the Farmer’s Cheesecake of my childhood.   

Tonight after dinner, I padded over to where the HH sat and, without uttering a sound, placed a big slice of the cake in front of him. At first he cut into it tentatively, sampling a tiny bite.  Then he dug in to the rest with gusto, and in an instant had already scraped the plate clean.   

I could tell from the smile on his face that he’d understood exactly what I meant.  

 Vegan Farmer’s Cheesecake

This is a great everyday cake, one you can easily mix up for a daily treat, but so delicious you’ll want to share it with friends.

Crust:

1/3 cup (85 g.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

1/3 cup (100 g.) light agave nectar

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) plain or vanilla soymilk

1-1/4 tsp. (6.5 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1 heaping Tbsp. (15 ml.) organic cornstarch

1 scant cup (130 g.) whole spelt flour

3/4 c. (80 g.) barley flour

heaping 1/4 tsp. (2 g.) baking powder

heaping 1/4 tsp. (2 g.) baking soda

heaping 1/4 tsp. (2 g.) sea salt

Cheesecake Filling:

1 pkg. (350 g.) firm silken Japanese-style tofu packed in aseptic package  (such as Mori-Nu)

1/2 cup (125 ml.) smooth cashew butter

grated rind of 1 lemon

1/2 cup (150 g.) light agave nectar

2 tsp. (10 ml.) fresh lemon juice

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) pure lemon extract

1 tsp. (5 ml.) pure vanilla extract

pinch sea salt

Preheat oven to 350F (180C).  Grease an 8 x 8 inch pan (about 18 x 18 cm) or line with parchment.

Prepare crust: In a medium-sized bowl, whisk together the oil, agave, soymilk and vanilla to emulsify. Sift the remaining ingredients over the mixture in the bowl and stir with a wooden spoon to combine into a soft dough (it will be slightly sticky, but firm enough to hold a shape). 

Remove about 1/3 of the dough and set aside.  Press the remaining dough evenly into the bottom of the pan with wet fingers or a silicon spatula (the spatula works well to avoid sticking).  Set aside.

Make the filling:

Combine the tofu and cashew butter in a food processor until well blended, scraping down sides to blend any bits of tofu.  Add the remaining ingredients and process until perfectly smooth and velvety (there should be no bits of tofu visible).

Pour the filling evenly over the crust in the pan.  To smooth the top, grab the pan on opposite sides with your hands and, keeping the bottom of the pan against the surface it’s on, quickly rotate it once to the left and then to the right.

Divide the remaining dough in half, then divide each half into 3 equal parts (you’ll have 6 balls of dough).  Pinching about 1/2 of each ball at a time, roll it between your palms to create a thin rope about 3/8″ (just under 1 cm.) thick. 

Starting at one corner and working diagonally across to the opposite corner of the pan, place ropes of dough next to each other in a straight line from one corner to the other (the dough doesn’t necessarily have to be rolled in a single rope that spans the whole distance across the pan–you can line up shorter pieces next to each other).  Next, place ropes of dough on either side of the first rope and parallel to it, so you end up with diagonal lines across the pan.  Continue until you have 5 lines in one direction across the pan (shorter lines toward the edges).

Repeat with ropes of dough in the opposite direction, crossing over the first ropes.  You should end up with a criss-cross pattern over the surface of the cheesecake.

Bake the cake in preheated oven for 30-40 minutes, until the filling appears firm and the edges of the dough are beginning to brown.  Cool completely, then refrigerate until cold (at least 2 hours) before slicing. Makes 9 large servings.

[This recipe will also appear in my upcoming cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 100 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the "Cookbook" button at right, or visit the cookbook blog.]

*Okay, so it’s not really Polish.  But the topping reminded me of a German Chocolate Cake topping, and since (half) my ancestry is Polish, I thought I’d just use the same concept for this cake’s name. 

Did you hear the one about the (half) Polish woman who wanted to bake a cake? 

Just kidding.

All right now! ‘Nuff of those wacky raw dishes we’ve been seeing the last couple of days!! Time for some CAKE.

One of the greatest challenges of living in a long-term, committed relationship is dealing with those areas in which you and your partner don’t necessarily mesh.  In order to coexist harmoniously and still retain one’s sanity, it’s sometimes necessary to make accommodations.  (Okay, fine; not only “sometimes,” but pretty much every day.  Okay, fine; several times a day.).

Since this union is the second go-round for both the HH and me, we no longer bristle at the petty, quotidien issues that drive some newlyweds crazy (does the toilet paper roll from the top or the bottom?  Do you re-fold the newspaper in its original configuration after reading, or leave it in separate, blowzy sections once you’re done with it? Is it okay to exchange sotto voce commentary while watching Atonement in the movie theater, or not?). Nevertheless, we do make our own concessions.  The HH prefers to play music ultra loud (beyond 11, even), whereas I prefer it as a soothing backdrop to other activities.  He takes a laissez-faire attitude toward housework and disciplining The Girls; I prefer a schedule, and rules. (“And we definitely prefer Dad’s approach. . . sorry, Mum.”)

One major difference that forces the issue pretty much daily is our respective dietary habits:  as I may have mentioned (perhaps, on occasion, in passing?) the HH loves to eat meat; I do not.

So when it comes to food, we’ve both learned to adapt. Over the past 11 years, the HH has eaten more tofu, collards, rice noodles and quinoa than he ever knew existed in the world. He’s also sacrificed some of his own cherished favorites, as when I had to cut out all alcohol (plus sugar, and fermented products, and fruits. . . don’t ask) from my diet for 2 years. He cheerfully complied and went without at home, with not a peep of protest.

So, as I browsed through my bookmarked recipes this week for something to bake, I was pleased to land on a recipe for Lemon-Coconut Bundt Cake from Deb’s great blog, Altered Plates. The HH adores coconut (whereas I’m fairly indifferent to it); coconut cream pie tops his list, but he’ll embrace cookies, muffins, bars, or any other coconut confections as well. I thought this would be the perfect cake to show my appreciation for his tolerating my (fairly) unconventional dietary habits over the years.

When I discovered that the Coconut-Lemon Cake recipe originated with Veganomicon, I wasn’t at all surprised. Seems you can’t read any food blog–vegan or not–these days without stumbling on a reference to that revered tome. I’ve tried many recipes from my own copy of the book, but none of the baked goods. In general,  Moskowitz and Romero (I like using their surnames–it’s actually the correct format when referencing other authors; and besides, it makes them sound like a comedy duo that way: “Romero & Moskowitz’s Laugh-In,” or maybe a law firm: “Moskowitz and Romero, LLP“ ) often make use of baking ingredients far removed from my own kitchen cabinets:  white sugar, wheat flour, margarine, and the like. And while it’s not difficult to adapt those kinds of recipes to my own requirements, I already had plenty of other recipes lined up. 

I was definitely drawn to the concept of lemon and coconut coexisting in harmony (sort of like the HH and me!). But an entire Bundt cake seemed massive (I mean, how many extra baked goods can one bring to the office?). I decided to halve the recipe and bake it in a round cake pan.

In addition, M & R recommend serving the cake unfrosted.  Now, maybe a naked Bundt (like the Venus de Milo or Miley Cyrus’s shoulder) is sufficiently alluring on its own; but an unadorned, plain-Jane round layer, sans frosting or filling? Well, that just wouldn’t do.  Instead, I omitted the coconut from the cake itself, then added it to a a lemony, gooey topping, reminiscent of the frosting on a German Chocolate Cake, for a little more flair.

I’m happy to report that the HH was very pleased with the final result.  The cake itself revealed a cheery yellow, moist and light interior; the slightly more brash lemony topping, lush and loaded with coconut, provided a great contrast in texture and sweetness.  In fact, the HH seemed so pleased with his treat that I felt perfectly justified asking him to turn down that deafening volume on the stereo.

Since I was inspired by Deb’s adapted version, I’m submitting this entry to Ruth’s weekly Bookmarked Recipes event, over at Ruth’s Kitchen Experiments.

 [This recipe also appears in my cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 75 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the Sweet Freedom button at left, or visit this page.]

[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days.  For this second entry, I'm focusing on Quinoa. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible. This is the last entry on quinoa.]

The moment I decided to present a Lucky Comestible series about quinoa, I simultaneously decided I’d have to include at least one baked goodie.  I know what you’re thinking:  “Now, Ricki, haven’t you already included a recipe for said baked goodie?  After all, you did post about Almond-Quinoa Muffins before the involuntary GBR, didn’t you?” 

Why, yes! Yes, I did. However, technically speaking, muffins are a “baked good,” not a “baked goodie“–the latter term reserved for dessert-type treats, such as cakes, pies, cookies, tarts, or bars.  I wanted to see if I couldn’t turn quinoa into something at least quasi cake-like, despite its elevated whole grain status–something worthy of the term, “dessert”–something that even skeptics like Johanna or Wendy (who mentioned on Johanna’s blog that quinoa reminds her of worms!) could enjoy. 

So, even though personally, my favorite use of quinoa is as a base for salad (where its true essence can shine through), I let my mind wander back toward baking.  And while so doing, I remembered that, in actuality, quinoa is not really a grain–it’s a seed related to beets and leafy greens such as spinach or chard.  Well, okay, I’ve already used spinach in a previous baked goodie, so that didn’t deter me at all.  And even if my quinoa creation didn’t turn out as decadent as a molten chocolate cake, I figured I could still whip up something with both a great nutritional profile AND a sweetness rating high enough to please the kids as an after-school snack, or to serve unexpected guests, with a steaming cup of green tea.  (“And don’t forget, it’s also good enough as a special treat for your sweet and devoted Girls, Mum! We LOVE apple-quinoa cake. . .”)

Since we already had a bag of Macintosh apples withering away on the counter, I started there.  I imagined that a lightly spiced batter would work well with the sturdy taste of quinoa, which can sometimes be a bit domineering in a crowd. For some reason (perhaps because quinoa itself is gluten-free), I decided the bars should also be celiac-friendly. 

What I ended up with was a light and moist cake, studded with raisins and sunflower seeds alongside thin shreds of apple and grains of quinoa.  The cake is slightly chewy, slightly crunchy, with a tender crumb and pleasing spice.  And because it’s fashioned from leftovers of both quinoa and apple, I thought it would be a perfect submission to the Leftover Tuesdays event, hosted by Project Foodie. 

“Mum, you disappoint us.  Raisins?  You know we can’t eat raisins.  But maybe you could pick them out for us. . . ”

 Apple-Quinoa Cake

Next time you cook up some quinoa and find yourself with leftovers, try this great snack cake. Without being excessively sweet and boasting sunflower seeds, two fruits and two whole grains, the cake is nutritious enough to eat for breakfast, though still light enough for dessert.  The subtle apple and trio of spices is a tantalizing combination–you may have to stop yourself from having more than one piece!

2 whole medium apples, cored and coarsely grated (about 1 cup lightly packed or 200 g.)–I used Macintosh and left the skins on

1/2 cup (125 ml.) agave nectar

1/2 cup (125 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

2 cups (160 g.) cooked quinoa

2 tsp. (10 ml.) finely ground chia seeds*

2 tsp. (10 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1 tsp. (5 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1/4 cup (40 g.) sunflower seeds

1/4 cup (40 g. ) raisins

1-1/3 cups (160 g.) whole oat flour

1 tsp. (5 ml.) baking powder

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) baking soda

1 tsp. (5 ml.) ground ginger

2 tsp. (10 ml.) ground cinnamon

1 tsp. (10 ml.) or less, to taste, cardamom

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) sea salt

1/4 cup whole oats

Preheat oven to 350F (180C).  Grease a 9″ square pan, or line with parchment paper.

In a medium bowl, mix the grated apple, agave nectar, oil, quinoa, Salba, vanilla, vinegar, sunflower seeds and raisins.  Set aside.

In a large bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, soda, ginger, cinnamon, cardamon, and sea salt.  Add the oats. Add the wet mixture to the dry and mix well. 

Pour into prepared pan and smooth the top.  Bake for 30-40 minutes, until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean.  Allow to cool before cutting into slices.

Makes 9 breakfast servings or 12 dessert servings.  Best eaten the day it’s made.

* If you don’t have or can’t find chia, you could try substituting 2 Tbsp. ground flax seeds; but the cake will probably be denser and heavier this way.

Other Posts in this Series:

Lucky Comestible II (1): Quinoa Salad with Buckwheat and Cranberries

Lucky Comestible II (2): Almond-Quinoa Muffins

Lucky Comestible II (3): Quinoa-Oatmeal Croquettes

Lucky Comestible II (4): Tagine of Quinoa with Chickpeas, Olives and Prunes 

Other Quinoa Recipes:

(Got a quinoa recipe?  Send me the link during this Lucky Comestible week, and I’ll add it to the list!)

• Couldn’t Be Easier Quinoa Casserole courtesy of Shellyfish at Musings from the Fishbowl
• Quinoa with Sundried Tomatoes and Corn courtesy of Lisa at  Lisa’s Kitchen
• Quinoa Soup with Corn courtesy of Lisa at Lisa’s Kitchen
• Quinoa Lentil Chili courtesy of Romina at Vegan Eating for One
• Not One, But THREE Quinoa Dishes courtesy of Diann at Eat’n Veg’n (I want that breakfast bar recipe!!)
• Cheddary Tofu Quinoa Pie courtesy of Jenny Wren at Rabbit Food
• Butternut Squash Quinoa courtesy of Karen at Test Drive Kitchen
• Beetroot and Quinoa Salad courtesy of Lucy at Nourish Me
• Quinoa Italiano courtesy of Cheryl at Gluten Free Goodness

  As you may know, I was a startled and very delighted recipient of Nava Atlas’s latest cookbook, Vegan Express, as a result of Susan’s contest a while back on Fat-Free Vegan Kitchen.  A couple of weeks ago, I was thrilled to receive the book in the mail, and set about making a whack of recipes from it.  I thought I’d write a bona fide book review so you can all get your own taste of express cooking, vegan style!

Vegan Express by Nava Atlas

Vegan Express is the most recent addition to the long line of popular publications by veteran cookbook author Nava Atlas, already well known for her previous classics such as Vegetariana or The Vegetarian Family Cookbook and website, In A Vegetarian Kitchen.  A vegan herself, in this book Atlas addresses one of the foremost hurdles for vegan eaters, both established and newly inclined: prepping veggies can take up lots of time!   

Vegan Express provides an antidote for the kitchen weary by proving the truism untrue after all: turns out you can prepare fresh, healthy, vegetable-rich dishes in less time than it takes to watch the evening newscast!  Every recipe in the book, from appetizer to dessert, takes between 30 and 45 minutes from assembling the ingredients to digging your fork into that first steaming mouthful (and many take even less time).  

In order to write an objective assessment of the book, I decided it would only be fair to test as broad a range of recipes as I could manage in a week. As a result, I prepared seven of the book’s recipes, attempting to sample dishes from many different courses (though, given my natural inclination, I did lean rather heavily on the desserts). 

The book begins with Atlas’s own story of how she converted from vegetarianism to a vegan diet. She actually found the transition fairly easy, as nowadays, substitutions for eggs, cheese, and milk abound, even outside the larger  cities.

The book also discusses vegans’ nutritional needs and how to achieve them, debunking some common myths about acquiring sufficient protein or vitamin B12. And while Atlas does include some convenience foods (this is a book about cooking shortcuts, after all!), I had no problem using the recipes even though I don’t consume products such as soy cheeses or meat alternatives (as you’ll see when I discuss the pizza, below). 

The book also contains a variety of ease-of-use features to help home cooks prepare their meals in a flash. For instance, following each recipe is a “Menu Selections” sidebar that provides possible partners for the dish or other ways to serve it. Many recipes include variations for flexibility and to accommodate different tastes. There is also a fair number of “recipe-free” quick options, as well as further suggestions for some basic ingredients (such as “Speedy Ways to Prepare Tofu”). 

The book’s design is aesthetically pleasing, with clean, simple lines and two-color print (and how could we miss those luscious, color-suffused photos by Susan Voisin of Fat-Free Vegan Kitchen?).  Many of her readers may not be aware that Atlas herself is an artist with several solo and group exhibitions to her credit. Her cheery line drawings adorn the pages as backdrops that highlight individual dishes and ingredients.  

And the recipes?  They do, indeed, deliver as promised! All the dishes I attempted were quick to prepare, with straightforward, easy directions. Atlas also includes some nifty tips with certain recipes (such as cutting your pizza into slices before adding the toppings, as it’s so much easier that way). 

Finally, here’s what was cooking in the DDD kitchen last week:  

Soup and Entrees: 

Nearly Instant Thai Coconut Corn Soup

This is listed as one of Atlas’s favorite recipes, and a “must-try” for those who buy the book. As its title suggests, the soup cooks up in no time, and was truly delicious–light yet creamy, with a subtle spiciness interspersed with sweet, chewy corn kernels.  Fast, simple, easy…perfect.   

Singapore Noodles 

I’ve was a huge fan of Singapore noodles in restaurants back in the day, but could never figure out how to make them. Who knew it could be so simple?  The HH and I both love spicy foods, so if I had any suggestions for this one, it would be to add more of the spice mixture (I used the maximum amount suggested and would have liked still more kick in this dish). The original recipe called for peas, but since we didn’t have any, I subbed edamame.  Still worked beautifully. 

Rich Peanut Sauce

This sauce, suggested as an accompaniment to Golden Tofu Triangles, was ready in a snap.  Still in a noodle frame of mind, I poured it over some cooked kamut-soba noodles, tossed in an assortment of chopped and sliced veggies, and enjoyed a terrific cold noodle salad. Great the next day, too! 

Very Green Veggie Pesto Pizza

  This dish was by far the biggest hit of the savories–the HH ate half the pizza all by himself, and I must admit it was my own favorite as well.  My photo doesn’t do it justice, as the subtle variance in shades of green comes across here as rather monochromatic, but this combination of pesto underlying oven-roasted veggies is a perfect melding of flavors and textures.   

One change I made, however, was to omit the “cheese” originally called for (to be melted over the pesto, and under the veggies).  Since I avoid processed soy, I simply omitted that ingredient and  sprinkled a little nutritional yeast over the top instead.  Both the HH and I agreed that the pizza didn’t even need the cheese, which, I think, would have actually detracted  from the disarming flavors of the pesto and veggies.  For the crust, I used my own trusty spelt pizza crust recipe, and baked it about 15 minutes at 425F before adding the remaining ingredients.    

Desserts:

While Atlas’s recipes are already healthy, I did make some minor adjustments to accommodate my own dietary restrictions. In general, I used spelt flour instead of wheat, and Sucanat for sugar.  It didn’t seem to matter—everything still came out terrific. 

Dense and Fruity Banana Bread

This is a moist, not-too-sweet loaf with chopped dates and walnuts nestled in a banana-cocoa base.  As you can see from the photo, I was so anxious to try this one that I sliced it while still a bit too warm.  When I first tasted the bread, the cocoa was extremely understated. By the next day, however, the flavors had matured, yielding a lovely balance between the chocolate and fruit.  I thoroughly enjoyed this with some almond butter.  

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Cake

This cake reminded me of treats my mother used to make when my sisters and I were kids.  Baked in a 9” square pan and cut into squares, this is the perfect after-school snack (lucky for me, I’m still in school!).  Peanut butter whispers its presence rather than bellows in this surprisingly light and tender cake.  As you can see, I cut this one while still warm, too, when the chips were still melty. Cut your slices small, because you’ll want more than one. 

Butterscotch Mousse Pie

I had really, really wanted to try out the Caramel Pudding, but since I couldn’t find vegan caramel syrup and didn’t think my homemade caramel would work, I made this pie instead.  I’m so glad I did!  Although I’m not usually a “pie person,” this was truly delicious.  In fact, I’m going to post an entire entry about this one (including the recipe!!) in the next day or two—so stay tuned.  

I had enormous fun trying out the recipes from this useful and enjoyable book, and definitely look forward to sampling more. Thanks again, Nava and Susan, for this wonderful opportunity–and for adding another treasure to my cookbook collection.

Years ago, during one of my very first visits to Toronto (and long before I lived here), my best buddy Ali and I spent an evening at the famed Pickle Barrel restaurant (in fact, the last time I went there was during Ali’s most recent visit to Canada from England, last summer–when I was rather unpleasantly surprised to note that the restaurant still offered basically the exact same, unappetizing, menu that it had in 1981). 

But back then, we were hyper, we were chatty, we were callow twenty-somethings who really were more interested in catching up with each other than any food we might consume (ah!  if only I could recapture that mindset. . . ).  We scanned the menu, chose something for dinner, and ordered.  We already knew that we wanted the killer chocolate layer cake for dessert, so we ordered that, too.  With the server still standing before us, we realized that dinner might take a few minutes, at least, and what we really wanted was that chocolate cake anyway–so we asked her to bring that over first.

After she recovered her composure (very professional of her, I thought), she nodded and trotted away, soon to return with two huge hunks o’ chocolate cake, which we consumed with lip-smacking zeal and thoroughly enjoyed before starting on our main courses.  In other words, we chose to eat the best part of the meal first.   No deferred gratification. No saving the best for last. No self-denial in the name of good health.  And then, because we wanted to, we still got to eat a darned good dinner, too.

One of the things I’ve always had trouble with is “living in the moment.”  Years ago, as a way to deal wtih anxiety attacks, I took a course called “Mindfulness Meditation.”  It was terrific, really, and I’ve written about it before.  It allowed me to be present with my body for those 45 minutes or so as I meditated, and it worked wonders.  Problem was, once I returned to the “real” world and incompetent drivers; cashiers who can’t count if the register’s computer is broken; telemarketers who don’t understand “I’m not interested, thanks”; sour (soy, or any other kind of) milk, already poured over your cereal; automatic parking lot payment machines that swallow your Mastercard whole; malevolent ice patches hiding under that soft, thin patina of snow; puppies who eat kleenex and then vomit all over your hardwood floor–and about 7,352 other daily annoyances–I lost all my Eastern calm and was thrown immediately back into a welter of Western, frenetic living, anxiety and all. So how to recapture those wonderful feelings of mindfulness?

One of my goals this year, as I attempt to lose my superfluous 50 (oops, forgot: 45.5) pounds, is to gain a sense of inner peace (okay, I’d settle for a sense of inner not-freaking-out-daily) and purpose, by identifying the things that are truly important to me.  I’ve been working away at my little organic baking business and teaching holistic cooking on occasion, setting aside time to spend with my HH and beloved Girls, writing at every possible opportunity, and making a very concerted effort to pay more attention to what is going on in my life (especially during the month of Holidailies).  This latest house-move seemed the perfect catalyst to start afresh, in so many areas.

 So I’ve decided to try to adopt more of the same approach that Ali and I fell into that faraway evening at the restaurant, only this time, I’m going to make a conscious decision to “eat dessert first.”   I don’t mean this literally (well, not every time, anyway), but simply as a way to ensure I do the things that are most important to me; that will bring the greatest sense of satisfaction and gratification; that, years down the road, will make me smile when I remember them–first.  If at all possible. 

In terms of dieting, this philosophy logically extends to literal eating of dessert first as well. If what you really want is the slice of chocolate layer cake, and eating it will effectively remove the desire for anything else, why not have that cake, and eat it, too? I don’t know about you, but I’ve found the standard diet advice to “eat something else and wait 10 minutes” when you have a craving to be totally useless.  I eat something else, then go have the thing I was craving, anyway.  By eating the cake first, I omit the second course.  Is that really so bad?

As we enter the final phase of the holiday tempest of parties, buffets, dinners, open houses, brunches, cocktails and all other manner of food-related gatherings, it may be the perfect time to pay attention to what you really, truly would like, right now, in this moment, and then just go for it. 

In other words: march on over and stand proudly under that mistletoe.  Take off those heels and just boogie. Send that heartfelt card to you-know-who. Or, if it’s what you are really craving,  just dig right in and enjoy the fleeting, sweet satisfaction of a tall piece of chocolate layer cake, right this minute.