individual tarte tatin

*This is another queued post, 3 more days till I’m out of exam hell*
So I was pondering the idea of setting up a separate blog with the same content but in another language, and logged into my blogger account for the first time in 2 years. I could not believe what I found.

Now, I knew I’d had a few failed attempts at blogging before, but 130 posts!? That is absolutely insane. What, were my fingers typing in my sleep or was I sucked into a time vortex and got transported into an alternate universe? I tried reading a few entries but as expected, it was much too cringe-worthy and whiny that I just… can’t. And to think it was only 2 1/2 years ago – thank goodness for the memory blank because I have zero plans to return to that phase of my teenage years.
I remember when blogging was so cool and popular in early highschool where people would actually bring a journal to school and write down the day’s proceedings and later transcribe it onto their Bebo or Myspace. Naturally I did the same, with no one to talk to – I was in homestay a lot of the time – I put the complainer in me on display so everyone would know how depressed I was.
In any case, I’m hesitant about the second blog thing for many reasons, the main ones being the time and effort to translate manually, and people who know me in real life happening upon it. Sounds silly, but I’m still uneasy about anyone other than strangers reading my pathetic but private and honest ramblings.

Back to the food. Not all desserts are created equal, but many of them by happy accident. In one variation of the origin story of the tarte Tatin (the one that I prefer), the cook overcooked the butter and sugar for what was meant to be a traditional apple pie. The genius she was, instead of saying ‘oh #&$*!’ and dumping the entire dish in the trash, she tried to rescue it by covering it with pastry – and a classic is born. Maybe one day I’ll set a rice pudding on fire or something and make a name for myself. You never know.

Apples. Caramel. Pastry. That’s all there is to this incredibly simple but extremely delectable dessert. I used Pink Lady which retained their shape beautifully without losing texture. There is some debate on the subject of which pastry to use: pastry god Pierre Hermé among some others top their tarts with pâte sucrée; while Raymond Blanc & co. are in the puff camp. I suppose the main reason for using shortcrust instead of puff is that it’s more resistant to being soaked by the caramel. But I’d feel sorry for myself if I didn’t use puff, and since these are individual servings, they’d be finished before the caramel had a chance to soggy up the pastry anyway.

Individual tarte tatin (makes 4, 10cm in diameter)

For the pastry:
1/4 batch of puff pastry or 1 store-bought sheet

For the caramelised apples:
2 large baking apples
squeeze of lemon juice (adjust according to tartness of apples)
100g sugar
1 tbsp butter
pinch of salt
optional flavourings – vanilla bean, cinnamon etc. to taste

If the pastry is frozen, take it out to thaw. Preheat the oven to 200C/390F and place a baking tray large enough to fit all 4 dishes in the middle of the oven, this helps insulate the bottom of the dishes and prevent the apples from overcooking.

Peel, core and slice the apples about 1.5cm thick. Toss in some lemon juice and set aside.

Start the caramel, for which I used the dry method. In a heavy pot/pan, sprinkle the sugar in an even layer and put it on medium heat. Leave undisturbed until the edges start to liquefy, at which point take a heat-proof spoon or spatula and move the melted sugar into the unmelted centre. Stir every once in a while until all the crystals disappear and the caramel takes on a deep amber colour. Take off the heat so it doesn’t burn, and add the butter, swirl the pan to combine. Carefully transfer the apples to the caramel and put it back on low heat. Add the flavourings now if so desired. Stir the apples to coat evenly with caramel and cook for about 5 minutes, just so they too take on the golden colour and are just a little tender.

At this point the pastry should be thawed out, so use the ramekins (or other ovenproof dishes) to cut around the bottom to produce 4 pieces slightly larger than the circumference. Generously coat the bottom and sides of the dishes with softened butter. Lay the apple slices on the bottom of the dishes evenly, attempting to fill the gaps. If there is leftover caramel, drizzle it over the apples. Take the pastry and lay it on top of the apples, tucking the excess into the dish. Prick the top a few times to make steam vents, and place the dishes on the preheated tray in the oven.

Bake for ~20 minutes or until the pastry is golden brown, you may also see the caramel bubbling around the sides. Carefully remove from the oven and leave them for 5 minutes to slightly set the caramel. With a knife, run around the the inner circumference of the ramekins to release the pastry and apples. Place a plate on top of the dish, and very carefully and swiftly invert the dish. You may want to to gloves as the ramekins are likely to still be piping hot.

Serve immediately. Amazing on its own or with a dollap of crème fraîche or scoop of ice cream.

ginger + molasses flapjacks

Sugar
Sugar
Sugar, butter
Sugar, butter, flour
Sugar, butter, flour
Sugar, butter, flour
… the echoing voices of Sara Bareilles sung in my head as I was trying to rack my brains for the merest shadows of answers during last night’s exam #3. Pretty sure my subconscious was telling me that I was suffering from a severe condition known as Baking Deficiency. Okay, I was also pretty hungry but it really has been uncomfortably long since I’ve held a whisk.
By the way, scheduling an exam between 5:45-8pm is just inhumane.

Sadly, at the time of this entry I have not indulged in my fondest hobby since last time. The flapjacks were made – and consumed – more than a month ago, way back when I started the blog. It’s been like watching a baby grow – a surprisingly steep learning curve where I’m constantly swapping tones (my first post already seems hilarious how pretentious and serious it is), blog themes, names, colours. In less than 2 months, I’ve already learned so much just by doing less of the things that make myself cringe and more of the things I particularly admire about other blogs.

So please excuse the decline in photo quality yet again. When holidays start in one week’s time I’ll have nothing better to do than to cook all day (and read and catch up on approx. 598237948 missed episodes). I’m planning to do a few series during the infinitely long holidays. Perhaps one on childhood favourites, in honour of my impending mid-life crisis; a beginner series in honour of my failing years when I first started baking; and a retrospective or two on the past year of uni.
Back to the flapjacks. Credits to the UK bloggers for introducing these into my repertoire. I wasn’t exactly sure about what texture I should be going for, but it became evident that they were basically muesli bars as I began mixing, so crunchy and chewy it was. They’re not dissimilar to Anzac biscuits, which I love, with a hint of fresh ginger. It hardly takes 20 minutes to put them together, great for when you need a boost in energy, or just, craving a spicy treat.

Ginger + molasses flapjacks (6″ square pan)

150g unsalted butter
75g molasses
75g white granulated sugar
1/2 tsp fresh grated/powdered ginger
pinch of salt
225g rolled oats Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Line a 6″ square pan or equivalent with foil or baking paper. In a pan bring everything but the oats to a simmer, stirring once in a while. Take it off the heat and mix in the oats. Tip mixture into the tin and compact into the base by pressing firmly. Bake for ~20 minutes until the edges turn golden and crispy. Let cool down a bit before slicing when the centre is no longer soft.

brown butter banana bread

I could present this without comment. And I really should, as nothing I write will ever live up to, and is bound to only undermine the perfect simplicity that is this banana bread.

But you know I’m still going to harp on and proclaim my love for the humble yet majestic banana bread. It was the first baking effort I truly nailed, way back when I was first attracted to baking. 5-6 years ago (I really thought it’d be longer than that) my mum bought me a ‘Baking for Beginners’ cookbook, one of those all-encompassing, baking for dummies instruction manuals. I no longer reach for it as my appetite has expanded beyond the basics, but it’ll always have that special place on my bookshelf. The banana bread recipe was the first of many recipes I tried from that book, and as amateurish as I was then, it satisfied me that it was so simple yet always produced a consistent result – clean, simple, fragrant banana bread.

wrong choice of bowl size.

Flash forward to now, it’s still the most requested bake as we always have bananas around. Dad simply cannot survive one day without eating one – he calls it his nerve-calming food. Sometimes it almost seems boring and ‘not enough of a challenge’ when someone mentions I should make banana bread again, but as I venture out every time to find yet another new recipe (because you can never try too many) the excitement is reignited.

As alluded to in the brown butter pear loaf post, I’m in an affair with brown butter as it adds such depth of flavour and fragrance to anything it touches. It is no exception in this recipe – it simply surpasses bread made with regular butter or oil by leaps and bounds. That said, I have no problem whatsoever with healthier versions made with oil, whole wheat flour and natural sugars (which I’m sure I’ll post about one day); but sometimes none other than the full-on, unadulterated, ultimate version will do, you know?

What makes this my absolute favourite? It’s due to the fact that every single component just comes together in a harmonious way, some of which include:

• the banana flavour: everyone knows that you have to use ripe bananas in baking. Honestly, you can get away with a little less ripeness with adjustments in sugar, but nothing will come close to a disgustingly-black, ripe-to-the-max banana in terms of fruity sweetness. Nowadays I like to store overripe bananas in the freezer – which turn coal-black – then roasting them in the oven or microwaving them if I’m in a pinch before use. Concentrated. Banana. Puree.
• the fat: brown butter, duh. It’s almost like banana fosters cake with the toffee-like character it lends.
• the sugar: as I use the absolute ripest bananas possible, this bread is just the right sweetness with less than 1/2 cup of added sugar. Experiment with different sugars, too. I used raw sugar and molasses this time but brown sugar would be wonderful as well.
• the dairy: many recipes call for milk or buttermilk. As we don’t tend to keep the latter around, I use a combination of cream/milk and Greek yogurt. The acidity and the baking soda help with rising as well as the self-raising flour.
• mix-ins? This obviously comes down to personal preference. I’m not one to shy away from adding dried fruit, nuts, chocolate chips etc. to my batter. However this time I went for a pure batter with almond and coconut topping.
• spices? Many a times have I sprinkled in a little cinnamon into my batter, even a chai-inspired mix of spices. It does add certain warmth in the same vein as comfort food. I find they go more hand-in-hand with oil-based recipes though, as they tend to overwhelm the buttery flavour. That said, I pretty much add earl grey to everything and anything.

With that rant out of the way, here’s my favourite (for now, the experimenting never ends) recipe for the purest and softest banana bread a.k.a. BBBB. It’s perfect for breakfast with tea, even a sneaky during-class snack.

The glorious BBBB (makes one large 9″ loaf)
100g unsalted butter, browned and cooled
2 eggs
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 tbsp molasses (omit if using brown sugar)
125g sugar
30g milk/cream + 30g full-fat plain yogurt / 60g buttermilk
3 medium ripe-to-death bananas or ~300g peeled, mashed
250g self-raising flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
pinch of salt
Optional:
1/4-1/2 tsp spices e.g. nutmeg, cinnamon, loose leaf tea
up to 1/2 cup mix-ins
Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Prepare a loaf tin by buttering and flouring the sides, and lining the bottom.
Whisk together the eggs, sugar, molasses and sugar until thoroughly mixed. Add in dairy and the mashed bananas and mix till combined. Add browned butter and stir to homogenise.
Sift the remaining dry ingredients together and fold into wet mixture. Pour batter into prepared tin and sprinkle on topping if so desired. Don’t pre-toast your nuts if you’re putting them on top as they’ll toast further in the oven. Bake for approx. 35 mins or until the top springs back when lightly pressed.
Best served warm.

---

Couldn’t work out a subtle way to include this disclaimer, but the new blog logo/graphic is very much inspired by Tom Hovey’s work for the GBBO. I used it as a reference and drew it myself, then – wait for it – coloured in in Paint. Paint. That is the extent of my artistic skills. Actually moderately pleased with it if I ignore that the blue strokes are obscuring the black lines.
*First exam is done! Super knackered, more from the heat than actual energy depletion. Slightly less awful photo quality this time as I got up early to make this in time for breakfast as opposed to staying up late.

rough puff pastry

Sorry in advance about the quality and quantity of the photos (or lack thereof) in this post and blog in general. In my defense, I was trying to do this in the middle of the night and am trying to save up for a decent camera.
Right then, the rough puff. It’s the less famous and glamorous brother to proper puff pastry that’s actually quite close to the real thing. There are less layers (243 instead of 729) and they come out less defined, but for the amount of time it saves, it puffs up beautifully and is great for almost everything you could use puff pastry for. It’s probably just the odd Mille-Feuille and a few others where you’d want maximum flakiness that it’s worth going through the time-consuming process. But if you haven’t got 3 hours, rough puff is every bit as buttery and versatile as its ‘official’ counterpart.
(Okay, it still takes a long time, but it eliminates the fear of butter poking through the pastry and it being too soft etc. If at any point the dough feels soft, not cold, or shrinking back I can just throw it in the fridge.)
It’s different to a laminated dough of a ‘real’ puff pastry in that instead of folding a block of butter (beurrage) into the dough proper (détrempe), you mix the butter straight into the flour and proceed with the folding. In other words, instead of thinning a single sheet of butter and folding it over itself time after time, you’re taking chunks of butter and thinning them while folding.
It starts with 4 simple ingredients: flour, butter, salt and water.

Rough puff pastry (makes enough for 4 tarts)
250g pastry flour (or plain/all-purpose, some even use bread flour to develop gluten)
250g cold but malleable unsalted butter
1/2 tsp fine salt
~100g ice cold water
With a pastry blender, fork or the tips of your fingers, rub in small chunks of the butter into the flour until starting to incorporate. You don’t want to go all the way to sandy breadcrumb-like texture, you want visible chunks of butter remaining

apple & blueberry jalousies

This is the stuff of dreams. Well, my dreams anyway, when I do dream about pleasant things like food and not running around naked and being unaware of it. The thought of apple pies has been latched onto me ever since my mum and sister brought back more apples than we could consume from the farmers’ market. I began reminiscing about, no, lusting after the best apple pies one could wish for. Not from McD, not even homemade, but the famous pie shop in North Yatala just off the motorway.

Made too much mascarpone filling so the apple jalousie got some too

It’s become a tradition of ours to stop at the pie shop on every journey home from the Gold Coast. Inside the little and always crowded shop, there’s a picture depicting something like a WW2 soldier thinking about Yatala’s pies. It’s become a household joke that when something tastes so good, not even war could distract you from it.

Unfortunately, I’m still very much neck-deep in SWOTVAC hell where I simply can’t afford to take time out of study to do normal things. To maintain my sanity, I’ve been trying to wrap up the day’s study at about 10:30pm then indulge myself in recreational activities, like baking and reading crack fanfiction.

Baking in the dead of the night is nothing new for me. It requires the near-ninja skill of keeping noise to an absolute minimum, which means no mixers, no clanging of metal against metal etc. The use of portable LED book lights is also necessary in an otherwise dark kitchen (not recommended as I had to taste jar to jar to find sugar). Naturally that greatly reduces the number of recipes one is able to carry out, but it does have the advantage of coolness in the atmosphere, perfect when one is working with butter.

Yatala’s apple pies have the signature mound of whipped cream with a pastry lid on top. But while I was searching for ways to prevent the excess juices from the apples from seeping into the pastry, I came across jalousies, and my mind was set. The name of the dessert translates to jealousy in French, and while I try to reserve judgement about things I make, I think the result would’ve inspired jealousy in the 7-year-old me who was very much in a relationship with blueberry danishes, and the blueberry version of this is very close to that.
I’ll do a separate post on the pastry, which is a quick rough puff. Despite the name, it’s really quite similar to the straight laminated puff pastry but is much faster and less technique sensitive.
The BA article talks about how poaching the juicier fruits (apples, pears) helps enhance flavour, draw the moisture out and avoid the pastry being done before the fruit is tender. The results were as promised – the bottom pastry was buttery and flaky, untouched by moisture and the poached apples had an intense fruity flavour without being mushy.
I poached the apples in apple juice instead of alcohol to accommodate for the major consumer of my goods, but feel free to use wine or apple cider instead. Experimenting with different fruits, savoury fillings and nuts would be fun as well

Apple & blueberry jalousies (makes 2 10x20cm jalousies)
(inspired by Ba Bar’s Jalousie)
For the puff pastry:
1/2 recipe of rough puff pastry
For the poached apples:
2 medium cooking apples
250g apple juice
20g sugar~10 pieces of citrus peel (optional)
1 cinnamon stick (optional)
1/2 vanilla pod, cut lengthwise (optional)
For the blueberry filling:
80g mascarpone
zest & juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 tsp vanilla
1tsp icing sugar
1tsp flour
100g blueberries (fresh or defrosted)
To poach the apples, peel, core and cut into quarters. Further cut each quarter into thirds so you end up with 24 slices in all. In a pot, put in everything but the apples and heat until the sugar’s dissolved. Add the apples and cook on medium heat until tender but not mushy, about 10-15 minutes. Drain and leave to cool. If you wish, you could reduce the liquid to a syrup and use in other desserts.
For the mascarpone filling, whisk together the mascarpone, lemon zest and juice, vanilla and icing sugar until combined, then mix in the flour.
Preheat the oven to 205C/400F. Roll and cut the (defrosted) puff pastry into 4 equal rectangles approx. 3mm thick, I cut mine 10x20cm. Place two of the rectangles on a lined baking sheet at least 2cm apart.
For the apple jalousie, arrange the poached slices closely and 1cm away from the edges. A sprinkle of chopped walnuts here would be nice. For the blueberry jalousie, spread the mascarpone filling evenly and 1cm away from the edges then place a layer of blueberries on top. Sprinkle blueberries with some demerara sugar if you like.
Egg wash the 1cm margin all around the 2 base rectangles, and gently place the other 2 top pieces on top of the fruit. Press the top and bottom pastry together and make some cuts in the top pastry for aesthetic (I don’t have a lattice roller so fugly slats will have to do) and functional (to let out the steam) reasons. Egg wash the top too, being careful not to let it drip down the sides as it may stick the layers together and hinder maximum puffage.
Bake in 205C/400F hot oven until the pastry has started to rise, about 10 minutes in. Reduce the temperature down to 190C/375F until golden on top, about 20 more minutes. Check that the bottom is crispy, not soggy. If the bottom is still soft, move the tray to the bottom of the oven and let cook in residual heat.
Best served hot with dollop of cream/crème fraîche/ice cream.

chocolate raspberry mascarpone cheesecake

It’s been raining the last few days. From the tiniest drizzle to a full-blown hail storm, subsiding to the occasional light showers today – preferable when one needs to concentrate on studying. Even amid the most frantic and chaotic revision, I am by no means immune to procrastination, this afternoon in the form of baking (what else?).

My mum requested a cheesecake. And how could I refuse? I haven’t made a baked cheesecake that’s not of the Japanese soufflé variety longer than I can remember. A light, fluffy, moist Japanese cheesecake is always the cheesecake of choice in this household. Even so, there’s a certain portion of my taste buds that’s conditioned to appreciate a good dense custardy New York style cheesecake. For me, the ideal baked cheesecake fits the following profile in order of importance:

1. Creamy smooth consistency (no flour in the batter pls)
2. Not too sweet, slightly tangy
3. Dense and substantial without sticking to the palate, yet light

I remain undecided on the necessity of a crust. Why do cheesecakes have crusts anyway? On the one hand, I like a smooth creamy mouthful without the interruption of crunch. On the other hand, introducing a second texture and/or flavour contributes to variety and a more exciting experience. On this occasion, I decided at the last minute that I would pair the raspberry swirls with a chocolate base.

A lot of recipes call for sour cream or yogurt in addition to lemon, for me that would be overdoing the tangy – subtlety is more fitting for the humble cheesecake. So instead, the creaminess in this recipe is derived largely from the mascarpone. Yes, I admit I’m going through a mascarpone craze phase at the moment, but not without reason, as thanks to it, this cake satisfied all the criteria and more. We enjoyed it with as much enthusiasm as we could garner after a particularly filling meal.
A note on preventing cracks: in my experience with water baths, I feel they’re secondary to a lowered oven temperature when it comes to a smooth top. I’ve had horrible crevices with water baths and perfectly smooth tops without, and vice versa. However I do think steam helps preserve moisture and avoid a crumbly cheesecake, as well as a low placement in the oven. It was so effective there wasn’t a single crack even with semi-intense beating.
Chocolate raspberry mascarpone cheesecake (5″ round cake or equivalent)
For the chocolate biscuit base:
100g chocolate biscuits
~2 tbsp chocolate spread*
1tsp unused coffee grounds
*or whatever you have on hand, e.g. Nutella, nut butter, melted butter, even ganache
For the cheese filling:
250g cream cheese
100g mascarpone
70g sugar
1 extra large egg or 70g whole eggs
1/2 tsp vanilla
25g heavy cream
raspberry preserves/jam/coulis, optional

To prepare the biscuit base, crush up the biscuits with the coffee grounds in a food processor. Or if you’re broke like me, a rolling pin and a ziplock bag. Mix in as much of your preferred binding agent as it takes for the mixture to stick together when pressed.
Preheat the oven to 170C/340F. Prepare your tin by lining the bottom and greasing the sides, and press the biscuit crumbs compactly and evenly onto the bottom. I didn’t bake the crust but you do whatever you’re comfortable with.
Before starting on the filling, bring all the ingredients to room temperature. Beat the cream cheese and mascarpone together until smooth, about a minute on medium speed. Beat in sugar and vanilla, then beaten eggs bit by bit until glossy and evenly incorporated. Add in the cream, scrape the bowl if necessary and whip on high speed for about 10 seconds to aerate the mixture some.
Poor the mixture from a height into the tin to eliminate air bubbles, and smooth out the top. Place the tin near the bottom of the oven. Below it, place a pan of hot water so that it steams the bottom of the cheesecake tin. Bake for ~25 minutes or until the centre wobbles slightly when you gently shake the pan.
Cool to room temp. in the pan, then move to the fridge to chill completely (at least 1-2hrs) so the filling can set up (still in the tin). Remove from tin and decorate as you wish if you wish. In case you admire my marbled cream (I blush), I just painted the inside of my pastry bag with streaks of ganache (2 parts chocolate to 1 part heavy cream) and filled it with whipped cream.

but i don’t wanna be a dentist

“You gotta,” said my parents.
A deviation from my usual posts about food. How ironic that I should have such an affinity for sugar while learning about all the horrible consequences it has on teeth – a telling sign of my hypocrisy. Funny that, because all my childhood I had pitied my friends who had dentists for parents who banned candy, and therefore fun; and now that I’m on my journey to hopefully become one, I barely fulfill my obligations to promote oral hygiene in my family.
As the title indicates, I never dreamed one day I’d be in dental school and that I won’t mind and even enjoy it. It never made the top 10, hell, top 100 of my career aspirations growing up. At first I defaulted to wanting to be a doctor due to certain paternal influences, then a pilot, a marine biologist, pastry chef (duh), a vet. When the time came to put down course preferences for uni, I secretly wanted to go into research and work for the AIBN. Whenever the topic of how I should consider dentistry instead of medicine came up, I’d resist without giving reason and refuse to give it the tiniest thought.
“Doctors have to work extremely long hours – have you not read the books I recommended about how medical interns are driven to insanity all the time?”
“Dentistry is a much better job for girls. So much cleaner, get to sit down all day. Girls don’t have the stamina to last night shifts.”
“I don’t think you have the empathy and optimism it takes. You’ll be the cause of your patients’ depression, if not death.” (I was shocked too at the brutal frankness)
All their persuasion became rather overwhelming and had the opposite effect – I wanted nothing to do with becoming a dentist and wanted to do medicine all the more desperately even if I knew in my guts I wasn’t completely up to it. Looking back, I don’t even know why I was so obsessed with studying medicine. Sure, I genuinely wanted to make a difference and I liked biology, but it was really more being infatuated with the idea of it, not the reality.
My parents are incredible, contrary to what I’ve been bitchily rambling about. They’ve gone out on a limb to make sure I had the absolute best education they could afford, moved me from school to school if there was the slightest problem with my teacher, finding me the best tutors and encouraging multi-faceted development, not just academic. Over the years I’ve had classes in Go (the board game), speech and drama, art, astronomy, computer, rollerskating, crosstalk, piano, flute, guitar, violin, extracurricular maths – most of which I enjoyed immensely and was not in the slightest pressured to be good at any of it, and was just for the sake of balanced learning. They never, ever disciplined me when I occasionally failed a test, or didn’t make top 5 in my class
So I understand why they were trying to discourage me from following in my Dad’s footsteps. They were trying to spare me the reality of life and death, the impossibly long training and ungodly work hours starting out. Even if I understood all their good intentions back then, I was adamant that I could withstand all that if I put in the effort.
That’s why when I found out I was one (ONE, 1!!) point off the UMAT threshold to be accepted into UQ med, I lost my shit. Of course, at the time I had no idea how close I was and was totally miserable about not guessing the last 5 questions (I was wrongly told there would be negative marking), seeing as an OP1 was almost guaranteed (not to be cocky – I knew bonus points would compensate up to 6 IB points).
I still didn’t give any thought to studying dentistry at all even when I put it down as a preference. In fact, I hated that it was perceived as a ‘back-up’ for those who failed to gain entry into medicine. I agonised over whether to obey my parents’ wishes and have dent as my 1st preference, or to go with my own and put down bonded medicine. I switched the top 2 countless times, eventually succumbing and put down dentistry. (I think I would’ve lied that I wasn’t able to get accepted into dent and got my 2nd preference instead, had I gone the other way) The morning results came out, and to my defeat I saw I was accepted into dentistry. It was the happiest day for my parents, and who can blame them, but I couldn’t stop being bitter about them succeeding in controlling my life. Before then I had had interviews for medicine and applied here and there, but I knew my chances were minute and it would depress me even more to confirm that I was rejected.
Being the bitter bitch I was, I was envious to tears at every one of my classmates who had been accepted into medicine and was frustrated beyond description that I had not put down bonded med first. By the way, since knowing about the dental workforce saturation crisis, it’s super ironic that such a huge deal is made out of bonded med students having to serve in a rural area now that I’ll probably have the same fate anyway in dentistry.
Long story short, I tried for UMAT again but half-heartedly and without real preparation in first year. I’m ashamed to say I had little respect for dentists before starting the course courtesy of my Dad’s mocking that all dentists ever say to patients is ‘ahh’ and that’s it. I confess I was utterly wrong and quickly gained tremendous respect for the wealth of knowledge and professionalism that my tutors and lecturers carried with them. I remember being absolutely gobsmacked at how dentists do their job every day when I couldn’t even hold a handpiece properly or use indirect vision.
Now near the end of two years studying dentistry, it’s been the most intellectually challenging and stimulating experiences I’ve had. It’s made me appreciate the depth of knowledge and critical thinking that goes into every single diagnosis. It’s exposed me to some of the best professionals in the field who are so passionate in what they teach and truly care about patients. It’s afforded me the most practical, hands-on learning experience – what other course lets you play with wax and knives and high speed drills and fake people?
Would I still apply for medicine again if my grades allowed? Maybe, but I don’t regret for a second for accidentally studying dentistry. It was never my intention to do it, I certainly didn’t expect to not hate every second of it – but hey, here I am, glad to be proved wrong for being a pre-judgemental hater.

blueberry riviera

Sometimes I feel I’m at the absolute mercy of parental authority, and sometimes I feel like a grown-up capable of making important choices. Like today when I decided to have nothing but lollies for lunch (with a few almonds thrown in, so not entirely junk food). Don’t tell my mum, she has this vision of me being some sort of super health-conscious, cringe-at-the-sight-of-fried-food, vegan wannabe, which I can be, but not when I’ve been chocolate-deprived for a week. I also picked up a bar of lemon chocolate, which is how the idea of making Pierre Hermé’s Riviera came to be.

Dat non-existent food styling… I tried.

Chocolate is awesome, obviously. And unlike some I have no problem with a dessert made entirely with chocolate and nothing else to cut through the richness, which is why I was originally intent on replicating (crudely, for sure) Hermé’s Carrement. But there’s something about the combination of chocolate with lemon that is so enticing, neither overwhelming the other but existing in a mutualistic relationship. The lemon cream deepening the dark chocolate flavour, and the almost bitter 72% chocolate bringing out the tartness of the lemon.

An unprecedented rarity – blueberries are on sale for $5 for 2 pints. So of course I did the unnecessary thing and dotted as many as I could onto the lemon cream layer – I can never resist ̶r̶u̶i̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ tweaking a tried and tested recipe, from a master no less. I also swapped the flourless chocolate cake layer for the rich chocolate cake in Carrement, just because it uses exactly one egg and not parts of several eggs. Just to echo the lemon cream, I chopped up pieces of my lemon white chocolate bar (with bonus popping candy) and threw that in, as well as almonds for crunch. As the cake layer has a fair amount of butter in it, I didn’t feel the need to douse it with simple syrup.

I used to feel dismayed at not being able to try my hand at recipes requiring pastry rings for assembling different layers, particularly entremets. My baking cupboard is already cluttered as hell and my occasional $25/wk tutoring salary is never going to afford me every piece of equipment that every recipe calls for. So at first I tried stapling cardboard together to make a framework then covered with foil, but it wasn’t really stable and had to go on top of a tray, which is hard to fit in our perpetually bursting fridge. I think the way I did it this time – building everything in the tin I baked the bottom cake layer in, lined by clingfilm of course, then freeze the whole thing till solid before lifting it out by the clingfilm – was a bit more reliable and works just as well as a pastry ring once the edges are trimmed. A lot of improvisation is involved when you’re a broke student trying to replicate professional work in a home kitchen. Heck, I don’t even have a square tin, I literally just use leftover cardboard boxes from chocolates or whatever, it even prevents the sides from browning too much.

Blueberry Riviera cake (makes one 12x20cm cake)
(adapted from Pierre Hermé)
For the rich chocolate cake:
62.5g dark chocolate (at least 60%)
62.5g unsalted butter
1 egg
55g sugar
17.5 flour
pinch of salt
For the dark chocolate mousse:
125g dark chocolate, chopped
60g heavy cream
1 egg yolk
20g sugar
1/2 tsp powdered gelatine
1/2 tbsp cold water
175g heavy cream
For the lemon cream:
55g sugar
zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 egg
75g softened unsalted butter
handful of blueberries (~1/2 cup)
~1/2 batch chocolate glaze

Preheat the oven to 170C/350F and prepare 12x20cm (or similar capacity) baking tin (line, spray or grease & flour) or tray if using pastry ring later.

Melt the chocolate with butter gently in a microwave or on a bain marie. Set aside to cool to room temperature. Beat the egg and sugar just till combined, sift in the flour and salt, whisk them in. Mix in the chocolate mixture and bake for 10 minutes then leave to cool completely.

For the mousse, sprinkle the gelatine over the cold water evenly and leave to bloom for 5 minutes. In the meantime, heat the 60g of heavy cream in a decent-sized pot till just simmering. While heating, Beat the yolk and sugar together until pale and the sugar is dissolved, then stream in the hot cream a little at a time, whisking vigorously to avoid curdling. Return the yolk-sugar-cream mixture to the pot on medium heat, whisking all the time, until thick enough to leave an open channel when you draw a finger through it on the back of a spoon. Stir in the lump of gelatine, then pour the mixture through a sieve onto the chopped chocolate. Stir to combine and leave to cool to room temp. Whip the 175g of heavy cream to soft peaks, and fold it into the cooled chocolate mixture a bit at a time till homogenous. Cover and store in fridge.

For the lemon cream, rub the zest and sugar together until moist and fragrant. Put the egg, zesty sugar and juice in a bowl atop a pot of simmering water, making sure the bowl doesn’t come into contact with the water. Whisk, whisk and whisk for about 5 minutes until pastel yellow in colour and substantially thickened (doesn’t drip when you dip your finger in to…quality control). Cool to room temperature then blend in the softened butter ideally with an emulsion blender but electric whisk is okay too (Hermé stresses the incorporation of air in this step to give the cream its light yet luscious texture). Put clingfilm directly onto the surface and store in fridge until ready for assembly.

To assemble, spread 2/3 of the mousse evenly onto the cake base. If the mousse isn’t quite thick, return to fridge to firm up or the layers will mix. Then spread on the lemon cream, and scatter over a handful of blueberries, pressing them to submerge into the cream. Flatten the top and chill if wobbly. Spread on the last of the mousse and smooth the top as much as you can as bumps and voids will show up underneath the final glaze. Freeze the whole cake until rock solid, preferably overnight before glazing. To glaze, transfer the cake onto a wire rack on top of a tray, warm up the glaze to about body temp. or 40°C and pour excessively over the top. Quickly flatten out the top with a flat spatula once or twice. Trim off the sides with a hot knife and eat.

*Oh! In case by some miracle my changing the name of the blog has gone noticed, it was because the previous name felt pervier the longer I looked at it, so I made it the tagline instead. Fine, it also made me feel clever to make the world’s most obvious pun. Whether you noticed, whether you skip my text altogether, I want to thank you for tolerating me. Every single view, like, and comment means an enormous deal to me. I’m still learning and navigating through the dark, but I’ll keep trying to put as much truth and passion into my writing as I can.

lemon blueberry poppyseed madeleines

I love using lemon in baking. Lemon tart, mousse, curd, cake, meringue pie, cheesecake… you name it, just sign me up already please. But eating it straight up unprocessed in all its sour, erosion-inducing glory, is just a no. Studying dentistry has ruined lemonades and lemon-infused drinks in general for me, even vitamin C pills. I had a major cringe by the poolside the other day seeing the lady in my lane had a healthy bottle of lemon water, wedges and all. I was compelled to educate her about the adverse effects of acidic beverages on teeth especially while dehydrated during exercise. But alas, I can’t even get my own family to brush their teeth longer than ten seconds.

check out them photoshop skills

You’ll notice there’s a fair bit of inconsistency among the final products. That’s because I baked them in 3 batches, or 3 experimental groups, if you like. Group 1’s batter was baked straight away without chilling at 220°C all the way through until done. Group 2 chilled in the fridge for ~20mins, and were baked at 220°C at the start, then reduced to 180°C once they puffed up. Group 3 chilled in the freezer and were baked at 180°C all the way through.

Yes, I realise there are 2 independent variables and no control group, but I wasn’t going to sit around 3 hours testing. Maybe I will one day once exams are done. Basically the results were as follows: group 1 puffed up the highest thanks to the high initial temperature, had the most golden exterior, if not just a tiny bit drier than the others. Group 2 was paler, the blueberries efficiently burst and kept more moist. Group 3 had less distinct grooves, still rose high but not as much as group 1 and were done before they turned golden all over.

Conclusion: they were all delicious and I’d eat any of them, however turning the temperature down halfway seems to ensure maximum puffing and moisture retainment. Chilling and freezing didn’t make much of a distinct difference IMO, but I’d like to investigate the duration in the future to see whether it helps the flavours mature.

Last time I made madeleines, they turned out delectable (how could they not? they were filled with caramel), but less so once they cooled down. To extend their best-before date, I adapted Blé Sucré’s (crowned by many as the best in Paris) method of dipping the madeleines in citrusy syrup to form a sugary crust, and it worked! (I checked) It’s everything in one bite: the tangy, sweet crust met by buttery soft cake with added texture and complexity of flavour from the poppy seeds; and best of all, a burst of blueberry balancing the tartness. I die.


Lemon blueberry poppyseed madeleines (makes 30 medium-sized)
(glaze adapted from Blé Sucré)

For the madeleine batter:
2 eggs (115g)
75g granulated sugar
zest of 1 lemon
1 tbsp lemon juice
145g self-raising flour
110g unsalted butter
1 tbsp poppy seeds
30 blueberries

For the lemon glaze:
65g sugar
20g fresh lemon juice

Prepare a madeleine pan by lightly greasing (no big chunks of butter in the grooves) and flouring it.
Rub the zest and sugar together until moist and fragrant. Add to the eggs and beat until paler in colour, about 3 minutes if using an electric whisk. Gently fold in the lemon juice, sifted flour and poppy seeds. Cover and chill in the fridge for an hour.

Close to the hour mark, start melting the butter. When it’s warm and not hot, drizzle into the chilled batter, folding at the same time to incorporate. Scoop the batter into the holes about what you imagine would fill 3/4 when spread out, but don’t spread it (or about 1 tbsp). Add a blueberry in the centre if you like, but make sure to press it down so it doesn’t pop right out after baking. If you can wait, freeze for half and hour. If not, bake in an 260C/500F oven for 5 minutes, then a further 7 minutes at 180C/350F.

For the glaze, boil the sugar and juice together until the sugar has dissolved. When both the madeleines and the glaze have cooled, place the madeleines on a wire rack with a tray underneath to catch the drips. Dip and leave to dry.

apple cinnamon layer cake w/ pear compote

I made a nice cake today.

It’s the time of year where our favourite fruit – mangoes are starting to come in, other fruits will have to make do while we impatiently await its peak when we can buy them by the tray. In fact, we’re so obsessed that one year my sister requested sliced mangoes on a plate instead of cake; and one time we used the power cut as an excuse to scarf down 5+ refrigerated mangoes before they would supposedly go bad: electricity was back in a mere hour. I imagine there’ll be plenty of opportunity to profess my love for the amazing goodness that is mangoes, but today belongs to the classic apple.

The idea of apple crisps came from the ever-inspiring Poires au Chocolat. Slow-baked apple thins sprinkled with raw sugar and cinnamon – Emma brushed hers with sugar water but I a) was too lazy and b) thought the larger crystals of raw sugar would add crunch. The sugar, of course, dissolved into the apples – the slightly more complex flavour was the consolation prize.

I wasn’t too keen on the frosting masking the brown-buttery fruitiness, but still wanted to balance the sweet compote with creaminess in the form of the last of the homemade mascarpone. Speaking of compote, the tender chunks of vanilla-infused pear add a layer of depth texture-wise, contrasted with the grated apple in the cake.

I don’t know if there’s a discernible difference in the pictures today ̶c̶o̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶ , but I did actually use a real camera today. A 10+ y.o. Olympus, but still.

More than often I’m struck with sonder – the realisation that every passerby has a life as complicated, full and real as mine, revolving around countless people and memories special to themselves. It’s the kind of deep stuff I think to myself when stuck in traffic on the bus for 40+ mins – that happened on Thursday.
One of my favourite people who I’m lucky enough to be friends with has commissioned me to make their birthday cake. I was completely ecstatic and honoured, and I still am, but still have a very hazy idea of what it’s going to be. The specifications were only: vanilla, chocolate and caramel with no frosting on the sides. Good thing I still have a month to brainstorm, but any ideas would be really appreciated.

Apple cinnamon layer cake w/ pear compote (makes a teeny 5″ 3-layer cake)

For the brown butter apple cake:
60g unsalted butter
20g coconut oil (or other lightly flavoured vegetable oil)
80g brown sugar
1/4 tsp salt
78g whole eggs
1/2 tsp vanilla
75g plain flour
35g cake flour
1/4 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
50g buttermilk (or 25g milk + 25g plain yogurt)
120g grated apple (~1 huge apple or 2 small)

For the cinnamon mascarpone frosting:
100g mascarpone
1 tsp lemon juice
10g icing sugar
1/4-1/2 tsp cinnamon, to taste

For the caramel pear compote:
1 heaped tbsp unsalted butter
1 tbsp brown sugar
1 medium/large pear, cut into small 1cm chunks
pinch of cardamom
1/2 tsp vanilla bean paste

Prepare the apple crisps so they can bake while they oven’s preheating and the batter is being mixed. Place slice of apple (no more than 3mm) on a baking tray and lightly sprinkle with raw sugar and cinnamon on top. Put in the oven at 130C/265F and bake until dry and crisp, about 30 mins. Flip the crisps halfway and sprinkle the other half with cinnamon too. Pull the tray out and turn up to 180C/350F.

As with any great cake, start by browning the butter in a pot large enough for the entire batter. Melt butter over medium heat, cover with lid and let it turn brown on medium heat. It’s ready when it’s turned a deep golden colour and stopped splattering. Add the oil, sugar and salt while still hot. Let cool down and add the eggs (to weigh partial eggs, crack and beat 2 eggs until homogenous first) and vanilla. Sift in the flour, baking powder and soda, stir just until no more flour is visible. Stir in the buttermilk, and lastly the grated apple (with most of the juice squeezed out).

Pour batter into a lined 5″ tin and bake in the preheated oven for about 25 mins or until done. Cool completely before assembling.

To make the frosting, stir the mascarpone with lemon juice until smooth, then sift in the icing sugar and cinnamon and stir until combined. Keep in the fridge until assembly.

For the compote, heat the butter on medium heat until melted and bubbly. Add the pear and let caramelise slightly, then stir and add the sugar and vanilla and cardamom. Let the pear soften (only one way to test it) until tender but not falling apart, about 8 mins. Let it cool completely.

To assemble, slice the cake into however many layers you like (2 to 4 for my pan size). Spread on 1/2, 1/3 or 1/4 of the frosting on the bottom layer, depending on the number of cake layers. Distribute the frosting so that it forms a rim on the outside so that the inside can contain the pear compote. Repeat up to the top layer, where instead of compote, arrange apple crisps prettily.

pâte sucrée (& lining tart rings)

Ever since I picked up a set of 3 tart rings (15, 17.5 and 20cm) at a ridiculous bargain of $2, I’ve been obsessed with making neat and professional looking tarts. They’re just as easy to use as other pie/tart tins, but it took a little figuring out how to minimise shrinkage after baking.

My first tart epiphany, was Pierre Hermé’s tarte au citron. I borrowed his book, Desserts by Pierre Hermé a few years ago and was captured by the elegant dessert. The lemon cream filling is undoubtedly divine, but surprisingly the sweet shortcrust pastry was a highlight itself, the almond flavour standing out and complementing the lemon perfectly. It was eye-opening; you don’t eat a tart and expect the crust to be anything but bland and almost negligible.

His pâte sucrée is one I swear by and it’s perfect with any sweet filling, even raw by itself. I think substituting the all-purpose flour for cake & pastry flour (low protein) ensures that the dough isn’t overworked, and keeps it short and crispy. Also, as always, I’ve adjusted the amount of sugar to my taste but feel free to increase the amount especially for a less sweet filling.

Pâte sucrée (sweet shortcrust pastry, makes one 9″/23cm tart shell)
(adapted from Pierre Hermé)

125g cake & pastry flour (< 10% protein)
38g icing sugar
15g almond meal
pinch of salt
75g cold butter
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 to 2 tbsp cold water

First, sift the flour, sugar, almond and salt together and mix well.

Drop in small (~1cm) cubes of cold butter. Working quickly to avoid melting the butter with body heat, use your fingertips to rub the butter into the dry ingredients. Grab chunks of butter and flour with both hands’ fingertips, run the mixture between the thumb and index finger, as if picking up sand and letting it fall back into the bowl. I love rubbing the butter in by hand, but if you so choose feel free to use a pastry cutter or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment.

It will start out with visible chunks of butter, then turning into finer and finer crumbs. By which point you can switch do a handwashing motion to catch any unmixed butter. It’s done when there are no big lumps of butter, all the flour has been coated with the butter and when you press some of the mixture together it sticks in a ball.

Add the vanilla and the cold water a little at a time. See if you can press the dough together to stick to itself with a spatula. If it falls apart, add a little more water. Avoid kneading the dough or manipulating it too much, instead press it together into one lump, turn out onto plastic wrap. Roll it flat and let chill in the fridge for at least 20 minutes.

Dust the work surface with some flour, put the dough down, and dust with more flour.

If the dough is quite cold and stiff, give it a fair beating with a rolling pin. Roll it out, turning the dough by 90 degrees to make sure it doesn’t stick. Continue until it’s larger than the tart ring by a 2-3cm margin (for the sides). It’ll be easier to transfer now onto a baking tray lined with baking paper, by carefully rolling it up onto the rolling pin first.

Cut out the shape of the inner circumference of the tart ring.

Now for the sides! Roll out long strips using the leftover dough the same thickness as the base of the tart, about 4mm. Cut to the same width as the height of the ring. (Pizza cutter’s great for this.)

Carefully roll up the strips on the rolling pin and slowly untwist the pin around the sides of the ring. Alternatively, I’ve seen people cut all the way to the plastic wrap underneath the strip and then lifting it up that way. Either will work, so long as you gently lay the pastry against the inside edge of the ring. Repeat cutting strips and placing them against the sides until the inside edge is covered with pastry.

Neat trick alert: wrap up some of the leftover dough to seal the seam between the sides and base. It’s neater and you don’t have to worry about getting dough under your nails or them piercing the pastry. Also press lightly on the sides to stick the pastry to the ring. If there are any gaps between the separate strips, just patch together with leftover dough, making sure to extend left and right (not just filling the gap) about 0.5cm.

Dock the dough, i.e. prick away your frustration. Don’t worry, the filling isn’t likely to leak through the holes as they’ll close up during baking. It just helps with the base not puffing up since we’re not using pie weights here. At this stage, you could freeze until use or refrigerate at least 20 mins to relax the pastry to make sure it doesn’t contract excessively on baking.

While it’s chilling, preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Blind bake the tart shell for ~15 mins or until lightly coloured and the bottom isn’t soggy. Keep the ring on while it cools as the sides can be flexible still (it’ll firm up once cool), and also while you bake it a second time with the filling so the sides don’t collapse. Only take it off once the entire tart is cool and the filling is set.

pumpkin mascarpone tart

Yesterday I had my first stab (get it) at carving a pumpkin. I kept the design simple, mostly because I was literally getting blisters from scooping out the flesh with a spoon that was becoming increasingly bent. Not bad for a first attempt, I think, though the lid got roasted on top of the tea candle. This is probably what happens when Australians try and celebrate Halloween.

With over 1kg of pumpkin flesh harvested from Mr Orangehead, I knew it was my calling and fate to make my first ever pumpkin pie. Like all first attempts, I wanted it to be special and made personal, thus the mascarpone. If like me, you can’t afford storebought mascarpone, I strongly recommend you make your own, especially in a recipe where its flavour takes a back seat to a more predominant pumpkin flavour. It mainly lends an amazing melt-in-your-mouth smooth texture and mellows the spices.

Right now, an hour after baking, the whole house still smells like a pumpkin spice crack den – insanely addicting. I can hardly imagine improving upon it with added alcohol, but of course I had to make it kid-friendly so I used orange sugar (sugar stored with charred orange peel – it’s even more powerful than zest) to amp up the flavour.

A post about comfort food couldn’t go without ranting about why I need to be comforted in the first place. It had been a most stressful morning. Like diarrhea-inducing, knee-shaking, pee-in-my-pants kind of anxiety, the extreme kind you get (well, I get) during and in anticipation of an oral exam. The last time I came close to feeling sick from nerves was, surprisingly enough, the English impromptu commentary in year 12. Long story short, it finished with me calling my examiners ‘guys’, as if feigning familiarity would save me. The worst part, though, was me saying I’d restore an abfraction lesion with ‘GIC or something like that’, to which one of the examiners responded ‘and what exactly would that something or other be?’ Yeah, me and spoken exams don’t go well together. At least it’s not must pass, and more importantly, it’s finally over so that I can study for the end of semester.
Eating sweets should be a mandatory de-stressor to all whose future job is to tell people off for eating sweets.

Back to Mr Orangehead, I’m so proud and pleased about his face not being blemished by huge scars/cracks. Precautions like pouring the filling from a height to eliminate air bubbles and baking at a lower temperature helped. Don’t get hung up on it though, if cracking does happen – you’ll just have a more badass-looking pumpkin head.

 
Pumpkin mascarpone tart (makes one ~9″/23cm tart)

For the tart shell/pâte sucrée:
1 recipe of pâte sucrée

For the pumpkin mascarpone filling:
2 eggs
80g brown sugar*
1/2 tsp orange zest*
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground ginger (I used freshly grated)
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/8 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp salt
268g mascarpone
300g pumpkin puree**

*Or 80g orange sugar + 1/2 tbsp molasses

**If where you live hasn’t been taken over by pumpkin revolutionists neither and no one bothers 

stocking canned puree, make your own! Roast or steam your pumpkin until puree-able, pass it through a sieve and drain excess liquid e.g. with cheesecloth.

Make the tart shell, and if you like, use any scraps to make decorative pieces. Put decorations in freezer to firm up until last 10 mins of baking the whole tart with the filling. Bake the shell by itself for about 15 mins or until crisp and lightly coloured.

Pull the tart shell out and turn the oven down to 170C/340F.

To make the filling, first rub the zest and spices in with the sugar until fragrant and well distributed (no lumps). Add the eggs and whisk briefly without incorporating too much air. Whisk in the mascarpone and salt, then the pumpkin puree until just mixed and lump-free.

Either bang the mixing bowl on the counter a few times to release bubbles or pour the filling into the tart shell from a height (~30cm). Pour right up to the top edge of the shell (with the tart ring on), and put on the bottom shelf of the oven to bake approximately 33 minutes. When the centre is jiggly and not completely liquid (refer to gif, about 23 minutes in), you can put on the decorative pieces at this stage. Then bake for a further 10 minutes until the pieces are cooked and the centre is still jiggly.

Turn the oven off but keep the tart in to cool gradually by leaving the door halfway ajar. After 5-10 minutes, take out the whole tray to cool completely, leaving the tart ring/pie mold on until completely chilled. Transfer to refrigerator to chill completely for a few hours before serving/cutting/removing from pan.

compost cookies

Let it be known that I love our lab teacher/demonstrator. He makes a 6hr lab session not only bearable but actually enjoyable. In celebration of Mental Health Week, today he let us listen to the radio while we worked on our P K Thomas wax up (which none of us remembers how to do), tiny eyefucking things that are somehow therapeutic at the same time.

As I alluded to in the last post, we had an anatomy and histology prac exam on Tuesday. It was… better than expected in the sense that only 2 minutes were spent on each station so that nothing too in-depth was tested. Surprisingly I felt better about anatomy walking out than I did histology, as I could never tell between the 9237247 nerves, veins, arteries, muscles, bones, ducts in the head and neck region when we had gross labs. The specimen labeling was mostly the usual suspects, and the questions (to my huge relief) were short and straightforward. I screwed up the big question in histology though, as we were meant to do a sketch of some salivary glands, and I made it harder on myself by magnifying the original picture, which took up so much time I couldn’t label it properly. Worse was when I glanced sideways, as you do, everyone had filled their page with tight writing vs my giant ass drawing with spare labels. Sigh.

As much as I appreciate an intricately put together dessert, I will always have a special place in my heart (and stomach) for a good, simple cookie. Here are some reasons why:

• They’re 99.9% foolproof. They’re like the Nokia of baked goods. The fat curdled when you added the eggs? No probs, the flour will bring it back. You overmixed the dough? Cool, just chill it a while. You forgot to put in the flour (cough)? Gooey cookies FTW. See, baking sins that would render many products unsatisfactory are all forgiven and forgotten by the mighty cookie.
• Mixer to mouth in <30mins
• They’re good on their own and even better incorporated into another dessert. Ice cream sandwiches, pie crusts, parfaits, cookies and cream ice cream and so on and so on.
• There are just about an infinite number of combinations of mix-ins you can throw into a cookie dough, although the favourites revolve around chocolate. The classic chocolate chip, chocolate and mint, chocolate and orange, chocolate and hazelnut, s’mores, chocolate and salted caramel, chocolate and chilli, white chocolate and macadamia…
• They are the easiest bakes. Someone who’s never baked can make as good a cookie with a spoon and bowl as a pastry chef with a stand mixer.
• From the same batch of dough, you can make chewy cookies, crunchy cookies, half-baked cookies and cookies crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.

Compost cookies wholeheartedly embrace the above principles why cookies will forever reign. Easy and quick, tick. Substitute the mix-ins for literally whatever is in the pantry, tick. Chewy in the centre and crunchy on the outside, sign me the f*ck up.

They were inspired, of course, by the esteemed Momofuku Milk Bar’s recipe. To my delight, it encourages creative freedom: “add your own favourite snacks”, and so I did. On this occasion I went for my third favourite dried fruit (after mangoes and cranberries), dates for chewiness; my favourite nut – almond for crunchiness; and chocolate, my favourite antidepressant.

Why are there no decent photos of the finished cookies you ask? Firstly, because half of them were consumed by one single mouth (not naming names) as soon as they were baked. Secondly, because my camera which isn’t even a camera, it’s my shitty phone that decided its glamour shots are not to be wasted on me and somehow went batshit grainy. By the time I found a substitute, all that was left was my test cookie and some crumbs. The definition of sad.


Compost cookies (makes 17 8cm cookies)
100g unsalted butter, room temp.
50g brown sugar*
30g granulated sugar*
1 medium egg or 50g whole eggs
100g flour
1/4 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp baking soda
pinch of salt
1T ground coffee/tea (I used earl grey, obviously)
40g rolled oats
35g toasted almonds, roughly chopped**
55g dried dates, chopped**
40g dark chocolate, chopped**

*I halved the amount of sugar to ease my own guilt and to compensate for the added sweetness from the dates. Also, I’m a lazy ass and don’t bother buying brown sugar so I added 1 tbsp molasses to 80g white sugar.
**Or any combination of mix-ins you prefer, of the same weight.

Preheat the oven to 190C/375F. Line baking trays.

Beat the softened butter and sugar(s) together until fluffy and lighter in colour. Add the egg and emulsify (batter glossy and thick) but don’t worry if it curdles. Sift in the flour, baking powder and soda and salt and stir on slow speed just until mixed in. Add the oats and mix-ins and stir briefly just so everything’s distributed and combined.

Scoop out ~1 tbsp of dough on the prepared trays, spacing them far apart (~10cm). There is no need to chill or flatten the dough, but of course that’s just my preference. Depending on the size, they take about 12-20 minutes to bake, or until your preferred doneness. Cool completely before serving (eating is an entirely different matter – I for one cannot suppress my lust for them as soon as they’re done).