Vanilla Bean Scones

After 15 months away, I’m finally back in Minneapolis. In fact, I’ve settled not even two blocks from where I used to live. It’s familiar territory, to be sure. But there’s a lot going on in my life that wasn’t there before—enough, in fact, that I almost feel I’m starting fresh in a new city. I’m living with three women my age who all lead interesting lives and cook really good food. I’m getting on the bus every morning with a thermos of hot chocolate (I’m like a French child, I know) and a book in hand. I’m taking ballet when I can, writing when I can.

I like this life.

I wouldn’t be me, though, if I weren’t grappling with some degree of inner conflict. It’s nothing new, really. Part of me wants stability, comfort, a reliable paycheck and income that will allow me to live alone, or buy myself a grownup-size mattress, or, I don't know, go for some boozey brunch every now and then. I'd like to be able to say, “Hey, should we open another bottle of wine?” to an empty room on a Tuesday night. I'd like that to be an option.

And I think I could’ve had all that by now, and the reason I don’t is because of that opposing force in me that’s always wondering what’s going on over there, what would that be like. A meandering life driven by daydreams and whims doesn’t much allow for Sunday brunch and bottles of red wine that came from somewhere other than my mom’s house, but what it lacks in passing luxuries it makes up for with the feeling that I’m really squeezing the juice out of life, pulp and all.

That dissonance won’t be going away anytime soon. But right now I’m thankful that I have some freedom to explore options. I’m thankful that the first thing I see when I wake up is the winter sunrise over uptown rooftops. And I’m thankful that I can drive north for a weekend at home, split open a few vanilla beans, and mix up these incredibly light and flaky vanilla bean scones.

The recipe makes enough for a crowd, but I freeze the leftovers and take them to the office over the next several weeks. I grab a coffee on the way, settle in at my desk, and eventually unwrap the first scone as a reward for putting in a solid 15 minutes of work.

Treats like this are, for me, a way to assert ownership of my life. Those small moments when I turn away from the screen to sip the coffee, munch the scone–they belong to me completely. If you think this sounds a little too abstract and sentimental, I suggest you try it. Take a few scone moments. Take enough of them, and the day starts to feel like your own, no matter where you are.

Peach Tart with Vanilla Almond Crust

Full disclosure: I sat down to write this post the other night and I had nothing. The words just weren't coming. I believe the first thing I came up with was, "Oh, hello. I didn't see you come in."

What?

Then it was, "This is my peach tart."

Then I settled on a picture-heavy post with a feeble introduction. Finally I scrubbed the whole thing. I told myself this blog could go downhill fast if I start pulling shit like that. My goal here was to give the people something nice to look at and something nice to read with every post, and if I couldn't do that, then I should wait until I could.

But I was concerned. Why was I struggling? Was it because I was rushed and zapped of creativity? Was it because, a measly 18 posts in, I've recognized a certain futility in this blog and become disillusioned by the whole thing? Or could it be that the peach tart, photogenic as it was, didn't offer much fodder for blog talk?

I won't leave you hanging: I think it was the first one. Because really, it was an exciting venture for us. My mom bought her first food processor for the occasion, and I bought my first springform pan. And I admit, I not long ago challenged the necessity of a food processor with a certain amount of scorn ("We don't need no stinking food processor" - I think that's how it went), and I do believe one can get by just fine without a springform pan. But! Well, but nothing. Kitchen tools are fun.

And I haven't lost purpose either. I just wasn't having fun the other night. Now I'm having fun. I have a cup of hot cocoa, and I have something to say.

Vanilla wafers, almonds, and sugar: the stuff of the crust

Butter brings it together

Cream cheese, sour cream, sugar, and an egg make the filling

Bake for 15 and freeze for 15

Everyone held their breath as I unlatched the pan and slipped it off...

Tart unbound!

Do you remember that Friends episode where Monica is catering a party at her parents' house and her mom has frozen lasagnas, just in case Monica screws something up? Well, we had my grandparents over for dinner and dessert (the tart), and my mom bought and made frozen cookies. Now this is misleading, because my mom didn't doubt me or the tart. She just wasn't sure if my grandpa would eat it. She's a lovely lady.

Let the record show, though, that grandpa chose the tart. And after he finished his first piece he informed me that the remaining cut was a bit uneven, and he would be glad to straighten it up by eating the unruly protrusion. Thanks, grandpa.

Crunchy crust, creamy filling, and juicy, slightly acidic fruit: it was le piece de resistance. And it had a story after all.

Betty Crocker Sugar Cookies and Homemade Peanut Butter Cups

Valentine's Day. Probably the most polarized holiday out there, wouldn't you say? Many decide early on that this day is one to deplore for its exclusive nature, denounce as solely commercial, and demonize as the perpetrator of an express-your-love-one-day-a-year mentality. Then there are people like me, who look at Valentine's Day and see pretty colors, heart-shaped delectables and delicate confections. Why look any further than that?

This year, in addition to our deluxe sugar cut-outs, we tried out homemade peanut butter cups. My roommate had happened upon the recipe before I left for home, and it looked much too simple to pass up.

I needn't say more. Next up was our coveted sugar cut-outs, an ever-so-slightly modified version of Betty Crocker's Deluxe Sugar Cookies. These morsels come out of our kitchen three times a year at most, due in part to the (lovable) tedium of the process, but mostly out of respect: to make them too often would dilute their novelty status. Sounds a bit overblown, but we've never met a better sugar cookie. We'll accept yours if you offer - you know, to be polite - but when we do we're indulging more in our own superiority than in the taste of your mediocre cookie.

Whooa, I just got nasty! But listen: the cookies are thin, light and flaky, and still manage to tout the softest notes of almond butter. The icing achieves an artisanal consistency between frosting and glaze, finishing each cookie with almond-vanilla bliss. Once you're introduced, there's no going back.

Jewelry schmewelry.