Hey guys!
I missed this. Furey & the Feast is back, kinda, albeit with technical difficulties and all kinds of editorial dysfunction. (Where did the time go?) The redesign still in the works, but hey, we’ll go ahead as planned. An FAQ will be posted later this week explaining some of the editorial changes. In the meantime, if you think it looks exactly the same in here as it did before, well, you’re right. But we’re working through the chaos backstage, and it’ll happen, I promise!

So without further ado, here’s this week’s recipe. The following is from my Food 101 column in The Orange County Register: a sweet take on the classic grilled cheese sandwich. For best results, serve it with ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce — or all of the above — and a tall glass of Champagne.

GRILLED CHEESE GOES SWEET

Do you remember the first time you tasted a grilled cheese sandwich? I do – and it wasn’t pretty. My childhood experience consisted of two cellophane-wrapped slices of that ubiquitous neon cheese, sandwiched between white bread, all of which was promptly nuked in the microwave for a handful of seconds until the cheese had melted. What resulted wasn’t quite a “grilled cheese” as it was a soggy, gooey mass, bordered by a rigid crust that only a superhero could munch through.

It had my mouth watering every single time.

Of course, back then, I was easier to please. Anything made with processed cheese was welcome to my hungry belly. But when I eventually tasted a real grilled cheese, there was no turning back to this microwaved monstrosity. That crisp, buttery bread; the way the warm, creamy cheddar sticks to the roof of your mouth when you take your first bite. In those lunchtime or dinner moments, there are few things in the world that are simpler and more satisfying than a classic grilled cheese sandwich. Unless, of course, you have one for dessert.

This dessert grilled cheese still has all of the typical grilled cheese components, though in different forms: Angel food cake stands in for regular bread, brie takes the place of American cheddar cheese, and balsamic strawberries are added to sweeten the sandwich up even more. If you’re not making angel food cake from scratch, you can buy it pre-made from your local supermarket. Some markets will carry “angel food bars” which are essentially loaves, and these are easier to slice into uniform pieces than the characteristic ringed cakes. Angel food cake also grills beautifully, and because of its small crumb, yields an even golden-brown crust. Flexing your creative muscles can be very, very delicious.

For this recipe, you’ll need is a nonstick frying pan, a non-metal spatula and a pastry brush, the latter to use with the melted butter. If you don’t have a pastry brush, you can always blot the butter onto the cake with a paper towel. Just be gentle, and make sure you cover the slice’s entire surface.

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As a kid, I’d spent some serious time in the cupboards spooning heaps of brown sugar into my eager mouth. I preferred brown over white, mainly because I believed its flavors were more interesting (and because I believed I got more of a sugar high).

As I got older, I slowly lost the taste for cloyingly sweet things like Big Stick popsicles, Gushers fruit snacks and Pixy Stix. The desire to fit all 6 feet of strawberry Bubble Tape in my mouth at once also went with it. But brown sugar? Not a chance. To this day, I’ll still sneak a little bit here and there. (more…)

Puff pastry has to be one of the seven wonders of the culinary world. For me at least, it’s right up there with caramelizing sugar and emulsions. I know how it works, I understand the science, but doggonit if it doesn’t make my head shake when I watch the magic happen.

In a nutshell, puff pastry is made by folding the buttery dough over and over and over onto itself so when its baked, it expands like a blowfish on steroids. Traditionally, it was time-consuming to make, but now we have all these shortcuts and even frozen versions, which I hate to admit, I LOVE to use.  When unexpected company drops by to say hello, one can take a thawed sheet of puff pastry, shove in some chocolate chips, cover with coconut flakes and bake it all in the oven for quick sweet appetizer or mini dessert.

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A few years back, The Orange County Register had one of the most horrendous advertising bloopers I’ve seen to date. There was this campaign called “Take Back the Morning,” which in itself was genius because it encouraged people to carve out some quiet morning time to read the newspaper. I can get behind that.

But then the message was paired with a whole broadsheet page dedicated to the words “GO AWAY” printed larger than any headline that’s ever run in the paper’s recent history. The idea was that a newspaper reader would be sitting in a chair with an open paper shielding him/her from view, with the back of the newspaper facing the rest of the world and telling it to “GO AWAY.” But instead of the morning distractions going away, I heard of a few cases where offended subscribers did instead. 

The idea was quickly whisked away and replaced by better and more successful ads. The “Take Back the Morning” message faded with it, but it shouldn’t have — I really think the advertisers had something there. Why don’t we take back our mornings from the rituals of rushing to work on time? Waking up a tad earlier on weekdays wouldn’t hurt, I think, especially if you filled your newfound time with some baking. Because then, not only would you be taking back your morning, but you’d also have something to take to work with you to remind you of the time you stole from the snooze button. (more…)

There once was a Le Creuset pot,
Whose insides were blackened a lot,
When a cook disregarded
To stir constantly when prompted –
Please learn from her: stir more often than not!

You and I both know that candymaking requires way more attention than say, a casserole or whatever you cook in that Set-it-and-Forget-it Ronco thing you got for Christmas. I don’t have to tell you that. But I do have to tell me that.

It’s what I like to call Recipe Performance Fatigue. After making a recipe a dozen times, you start to get a little lazy with it. Ingredients are skipped, corners are cut. The beauty of cooking is that most of the time, your dish will still be fabulous despite the RPF tendencies you gravitated toward while making it. But candymaking doesn’t have room for all that corner-cutting. This is especially true when you’re making caramels and are dealing with sugar that boils and bubbles like the contents of an active Hawaiian volcano.

RPF is how I skipped the part about “stirring constantly,” ultimately leading to the stubborn black circle of carbon lining the bottom of my beloved enameled pot.

But I will say that the Le Creuset pot’s demise wasn’t in vain. For one, I’ve been scrubbing and soaking it for a couple of weeks and it seems to be slowly helping in lifting out the blackened mess. And to my surprise, the batch of caramels set up beautifully, glistening and cracking in all the right places when you cut them. And they were lacking any foul taste that would hint at my kitchen debacle. It was a Christmas miracle, so much so that I had to sprinkle them with fleur de sel — delicate flakes and tiny cubes that would come as close to snow as Southern California would allow. RPF, eat your heart out! Now, back to scrubbing my pot.

(Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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You know what I like about Thomas Keller’s recipes (aside from everything)? His simplicity. Yeah, he’s got intricate recipes with ingredients not readily available to many home cooks, but when he gets the chance to be simple, he’s good at it. Especially when we’re talking about recipe titles.

For the most part, Keller takes a no-frills approach when naming his recipes. His brownie recipe from ad hoc at home is simply titled “brownies” — minus any capitalization and all the other things you can add to a title (i.e., “double chocolate brownies” or “best brownies in the whole freaking world”). Things many of us do to try and make our recipes stand out from the rest of the pack. He doesn’t need all that.

ad hoc at home, Keller’s latest installment, is by far my favorite.  It’s also the first Keller book that I’ve seriously cooked from, unless you count the time I made Bouchon’s onion soup. Though fantastic, it came at a steep price: Cooking the required 8 pounds of onions for 4 hours made my tiny apartment smell like I had a Funyun party the night before. With each passing day the intensity of the onion scent diminished, but the actual scent got worse. It went from smelling like sweet caramelized onions to the inside the mouth of a halitosis sufferer. But I’d spend another 4 hours of my life stirring a stock pot full of onions for that rich, buttery onion soup.

The wafting aroma of baking brownies is much easier to stomach than that of 8 pounds of slow-cooked onions. And in winter, a house smelling of chocolate and warmed by an oven is one of life’s pleasures. A simple pleasure, just like Keller’s brownies. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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(Note: Giveaway rules appear right under the recipe.)

Friends, the gods are totally smiling upon me today, for today is a double holiday. Not only is it Thanksgiving, but it’s also (Drumroll! Fanfare!) Furey & the Feast’s first birthday. Which means there’s turkey, pie AND birthday cake. I might add that it’s not just any birthday cake, but it’s a chocolate cake.

A microwave chocolate cake. (Are those crickets I hear?)

Normally I’m not too keen on using the nukebox as a cooking method, but this is a special case.

I was 9 or 10 years old when I bought my first cookbook, which I ordered from the pages of that Scholastic book club newsletter you get every month when you’re in elementary school. “Hershey’s Fabulous Desserts” had this beautiful chocolate cake on the cover, all done-up with chocolate curls and strawberry garnishes. What a cookbook was doing in an Scholastic newsletter I have no idea, but I remember thinking something along the lines of holy crap, I can make that?

Among the 140 recipes in this cookbook, there were only a handful of them that a child could make without parental know-how and knowledge. One of them was this cake. My mom had banned sweets from the house long ago, so this cake was, in my eyes, the greatest of mankind’s achievements. I could have cake every single weekday of  summer while my mom was at work, thanks to the ease of the microwave. She’d never know.

So in honor of these childhood and blog firsts, I wanted to “bake” this cake again. Back then, each forkful of cake laced with deviousness was especially delightful. Without that element, would it taste the same after all this time?

(Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe and giveaway)

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When someone yells “FIRE!!” from your walk-in closet, one of two things can happen: You’ll either respond in ways that would make a ninja press his hands together and bow, or you’ll trip, faceplant, and yell back something totally unintelligible. How do I know?

So I’m in my kitchen measuring ingredients for a friend’s wedding cake (full rundown next week), elbows deep in cake flour and with a 38-pound tub of high-ratio shortening at my feet. I had hired Robert the Repairman to hook up the stackable gas washer/dryer I bought off of Craigslist (which by the way: not recommended.)

It was a totally uneventful evening until that frantic call-to-action of “FIRE!!” was put into place. I dropped my sifter and in an effort to bypass 38-pounds of fat, I tripped over my own toes and faceplanted slow-motion style into the speckled Berber carpet, rug-burning my lips in the process.

But I got up! I got up and as slowly as I seemed to fall, I yelled a stretched “WHAAAAT?” in the general direction of where smoke was now wafting from.

Robert the Repairman came running into the kitchen and together we filled glasses of tap water and ran back to the closet, where flames and ashes were shooting out of the dryer’s drum. And all the while I’m thinking, I’ve owned this home for a week and already it’s burning down?

Luckily, it only took a few minutes to put the fire out. Then we moved the behemoth appliance outta my house and waited for the Craiglist guy to pick it up. I got my money back (thank goodness), but I’m still working on my sanity.

So how do you go back to sifting flour after something like that? Well, you don’t.

Catastrophes give me the munchies, and all I wanted to do was eat away the buzz that was coming from my nerves. After that debacle, the question wasn’t “how long are my clothes going to smell like burning lint,” but rather “what am I going to stuff my wounded lips with?”

The answer was pie. Pie heals all wounds.

One of the first things I did on the day I moved into this place was make an apple pie for the sole purpose of watching it cool on my very first pie window. At various times of the week, I would be a geek and take it out of the fridge to place it on the pie window – just so I could see it there again. The whole pie was still sitting in the fridge, so I pulled it onto the counter and ravaged most of it like it was the last time I’d ever eat pie. Crisis-driven hunger solved. Lack of sanity, however, is another story. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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