Puffy (not P Diddy) and Delectable.

This week I embarked on an Italian pastry cooking class because nothing cures Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) quite like a sugar high with added fat content (BUTTER). I am proficient in the language of cupcakes and cookies... but pastries? In Italian no less?

I am here to tell you after my first attempt at making bigne- or what we call profiteroles or cream puffs- that they are not so darned difficult.

Voila....

Actually, these puffy little pastries are not difficult AT ALL. I made them with vanilla pastry cream- but they are super versatile. You can add ice cream and chocolate sauce or sauteed broccoli and sausage. Nutella and cream cheese or a lox, eggs and onions mini omelet. There is no sugar in the  recipe so sweet or savory stuffings both work well.

Here's the deal:
125 grams of butter
125 grams of water
125 grams of flour
2 pinches of sea salt
4 eggs

Heat the butter, water and salt in a saucepan until butter melts. Add flour and stir constantly- the consistency is rather doughy. When the dough starts to stick to the pan and you hear crackling (about three minutes) take from heat and put in a mixer. Add 1 egg at a time. Mix for 3-5 minutes.

Put the dough in a pastry bag (or a Zip-Lock and cut the corner). On a paper lined cookie sheet, begin to squeeze out small and evenly spaced pastries (try to make them all the same size for even cooking). Cook them for 15-18 minutes on 180 C or 360 F. They literally puff up and are filled with air. Once they've cooled, poke a whole in the bottom so they are ready to be filled (Or slice for a savory pastry)

For the cream:
1 liter milk
300 g sugar
10 egg yolks
100 g flour
1/4 paste and stalk from vanilla bean
*** cut  1/4 of stalk then cut long ways a scrape out seeds (paste)with knife

Bring milk, HALF the sugar 150 g and vanilla to boil.

In a bowl mix 10 yolks with 150 g sugar. Then add flour.

When milk is boiling, remove from heat and add 3/4 of contents to the bowl with the eggs. Mix.

Then, pour the 'egg' bowl back in to the saucepan and return to heat. Stir with whisk until you get the consistency of cream. Remove from heat, wrap in plastic and chill.

To assemble: Put chilled cream in a pastry bag and fill pastries one by one. Garnish with powdered sugar.
Yields about 50 impressive pastry with cream to spare.

Like the Republicans 'Family Values' schpiel only funnier.

This billboard was just put up on my corner. Now that the US is being bombarded with Berlusconi and his 'bunga bunga'... I thought some of you might get a kick out of this.

Berlusconi and one of his cronies are holding their second national political convention- the theme: 

"In the heart of Christianity you will convene with our values."

In the heart (or crotch) of the Church we can now find philandering, twice divorced johns who prefer under aged chicks? I guess that's more fun than pedophilia.

Please note the paper cut outs- That's  Berlusconi with three prostitutes. The little ones are underaged. 

meow.

http://www.theamericanmag.com/article.php?article=2701

Super Sized Parenting

http://www.theamericanmag.com/article.php?feature=living&column=30

Holiday themed Article (sort of)

Hoping your holidays aren't so harried and are oh-so-happy!
http://www.theamericanmag.com/article.php?article=2621

The Big Payback

In my travels- and with my gift for gab- I have met a ga-zillion people. Almost no one is as smart, entertaining and interesting as my friend Dan Charnas. If you love hip hop, buy his book. If you hate hip hop, buy his book. If you want to help him feed his child... well, you get it.

good days... bad days.... the roller coaster of addiction

On bad days I am a short order cook, a personal slave, a cleaning lady and a laundress.

On good days I am a chef, a concierge, an interior decorator and a fashion stylist.

Here's my most recent article for the American Mag (I've included it in the text):

Freckles Dugan was deaf, dumb and blind before she left this world. But she never lost her sixth sense for out of town travel. She could sniff out a trip the way a jonesing german shepherd  at JFK’s baggage claim discovers heroin. Maybe it was the scent of the suitcase… maybe she picked up on the travel-induced anxiety. Whatever the case, she did not like it when her family went away.

This past week, I discovered that either my oldest son is my dead springer spaniel incarnate or that they share some similar stressors. Though Oedipus (not his real name) did not chase his tail while incessantly yelping, he did bite me in protest once he saw my carry-on and discovered that I was leaving without him (something Freckles never did).

I was scheduled to go to the US for business and pleasure and REALLY looking forward to it. REALLY. Knowing that this was our first time being apart, I was certain that this week would not be easy for him. The baby would be fine, but my first-born would struggle with the invisible umbilical chord that would not reach across the Atlantic. I assured him that I would be back soon. And I bribed him.  Which seemed effective.

When the moment (and my cab) arrived, I ran out the door trying to escape the cries of my children. But I couldn’t escape the cries in my own head, “You are a terrible mother. You are scarring your children!” My eyes welled up with tears and panic crept in to my breathing. I tried to reason with myself. Women leave their kids all the time. I knew this would be hard for the boys but why was this so damned difficult for me?

And then it struck me. I was dependent on my dependents. I was addicted to being a mother.

Mothering was a drug I had been inhaling, injecting and ingesting non-stop for three and half years. It was an intoxicating potion on good days. A hallucinogenic powerhouse after days of sleep deprivation. It was like an eight ball of cocaine with a heroin bump, an all-consuming temptress….  Okay.  Stop. That last metaphor is just me trying to show my street cred (I have no street cred).

Being a mother was a 24-hour habit and now I was going cold turkey for a week. As I checked in to my flight, I was shaking, sweating and nauseous- detoxing, if you will. As I entered airport security, I stripped myself of a jacket, shoes, belt and parental responsibilities. As I boarded the plane I also embarked on a sobering solo experience. “They will be fine. They are with their father. Their father can take care of them.” I breathed and thought again, “Oh God… they are with their father! Can he take care of them?”

When I arrived in Washington, I craved a fix. So I called home using my computer and video conferencing. As soon as we were connected- I realized my grave error. The baby started screaming and crying “Mama! Mama!” And Oedi said, “Mommy I want to go with you. I want to go inside the computer with you.” Ouch. I just wanted a little something… a pick me up, a “hi Mommy!” And what I got instead was what they refer to as a relapse in a twelve –step program.

Admitting my addiction had rendered me powerless (step 1)… I arrived in Los Angeles reciting the serenity prayer. I was feeling weak. So I decided to look to step two and search for a ‘power greater than myself to restore my sanity.’ I chose Target. And Bloomingdales. And Barneys. A calm came over me. Shopping not only helped me, but it also aided the devastated California economy. I was helping myself and Governor Schwarzenegger one retailer at a time! This twelve-step thing was so effective- I only needed two of them. Slowly I stopped obsessing about my kids and started thinking about me. “What did I want to eat tonight? What film did I want to see? Did I want to hike with a friend or do yoga?” I felt like me again. Without the Mommy part.

Turns out, the week apart was great for everyone. Oedi and his brother loved being waited on by their Italian grandparents, Marco got to see how difficult a job it is raising kids full time, and after I got off my mommy jag… I had a glorious week that was all about me. The best part (aside from In-n-Out Burger), was coming home to my three men and knowing that I could leave again without suffering from withdrawal. We all survived nicely.

For the sake of recovery… where can I escape to next?

*** And yesterday my friend Jen sent me this: http://www.slate.com/id/2274721/ Great minds think alike.