friday feast: home sweet chocolat

March 6, 2015September 11, 2017 ~ jama ~ 86 Comments

Have you ever loved a food so much you wanted to inhabit it?

I guess there’s truth in the saying, “Home is where the cacao is.” 🙂

*L.A. Burdick’s Pavé Glacé : bricks of hazelnut, saffron, dark chocolate, cocoa butter and butter: (via NY City Woman)*

HOME SWEET HOME

by Kate Bingham

I need a chocolate bar I can live with,
nothing too big, a red-brick biscuit base, perhaps,
south-facing, on a quiet, tree-lined residential street
where parking late at night won’t be a problem.

Nothing too crumbly either. I don’t want
to be sweeping up bits of cornice all weekend
and pestering the surveyor with each new crack
in the milky bar matt emulsion shell.

It’s got to be the sort of place I can forget about,
with cocoa solids minimum 65 per cent
and nougat foundation limed with soya lecithin
cement and bourneville guttering

no matter what the cost because you can’t price
peace of mind and that means no original features,
nothing too fancy, nothing architect-designed.
There’s only me, I know exactly what I’m looking for,

not space so much as surface area, a honey-comb interior,
with wafer walls and butterscotch parquet
leading from room to room, each mouthful lighter,
sweeter than the one before and breathed, not tasted,

like a puff of icing sugar. Coming home
will be a hit, a score. I’ll drop my hand-bag in the hall,
tie back my hair, lie down and lick the floor.

~ from Cohabitation (Seren Books, 1998)

* * *

It’s always a treat to “discover” a new-to-me poet, and Kate Bingham’s winsome and witty verse was just what I needed to chase away my cabin fever and winter blues. (When in doubt, think brown, and don’t be afraid to cross over to the dark side.)

After nibbling on this poem, I began to fantasize about the choco-cabin of my dreams.

Hmmm, something warm and cozy,

all furnishings made of the finest Belgian chocolate:

*Chocolate room by sculptor Elena Climent via Daily Mail*

Some people like to wear their lampshades, I like to eat mine.

What’s a home without tasty flowers?

I must have a bottomless chocolate teapot that pours and pours all day,

and good quality flatware. Why just lick your spoons, when you can lick your knives and forks too?

*Herdmar Oslo-Chocolate Mirror via Pickard*

What else? A nice old-fashioned rotary phone in case I need to order take-out or call Mr. Firth. For any robo-calls or annoying telemarketers, I’d eat the receiver.

*Chocolate and Raspberry Telephone via Afternoon Crumbs*

Yes, a good tool kit to tinker and fix,

and a piano (I can play Schumann’s “The Happy Chocolate Farmer” by heart)!

Oh yes, this is where I’d sleep (and dream about mountains of dark sea salt caramels).

Mr. Cornelius would sleep here:

Each morning I’d hop out of bed, slip into something comfortable,

click my heels together,

turn on my laptop, then write the tastiest blog post ever, bar none.

Now, you may eat this post, if you like, along with a Mississippi Mud bar:

Tell me, where do you live?

* * *

Poet and Author Robyn Campbell is hosting today’s Roundup. Check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up in the blogosphere this week. Hope you find the chocolate bar of your dreams!

* * *

This post is also being linked to Beth Fish Read’s Weekend Cooking, where all are invited to share their food-related posts. Slip on your chocolate dress and come join the fun!

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[review + recipe + giveaway] A Fine Dessert by Emily Jenkins and Sophie Blackall

February 24, 2015August 29, 2017 ~ jama ~ 51 Comments

Once, when we were living in England, Len and I discovered some wild blackberry bushes growing in Wimbledon Common across the street from the school where I was teaching. I was excited because I’d never even seen a blackberry in person before, let alone eat one, and I remembered that famous last line from The Tale of Peter Rabbit:

Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

The ones we picked were a little sour, but good with sugar and a dollop of cream. Because of that fond memory, I’ll always associate blackberries with England. I also like to tell the story of how because we didn’t have a whisk or rotary beater in our little flat, Len whipped the cream with a fork! I knew then I had to marry that man with his power arm. 🙂

Thus enamored of blackberries, I recently devoured a gorgeous new picture book by Emily Jenkins and Sophie Blackall featuring A Fine Dessert called blackberry fool, a decadent English sweet dating back to the 16th century consisting of blackberries, cream and sugar.

In this wholly delectable story, we are treated to not one, but FOUR servings of blackberry fool prepared by four families from four different centuries. Such a tasty slice of food and social history! The families all follow the same recipe steps, but of course ingredient sourcing, methods, tools, and technology change through time. They’re united by their love of this dessert and the joy, anticipation and satisfaction that come with making it. No surprise — they all love to lick the bowl — viable proof that some things never change. 🙂

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if the shoe fits, eat it

September 29, 2014September 28, 2014 ~ jama ~ 22 Comments

Here’s the scoop:

Now you can have your cake and wear it too, thanks to the Shoe Bakery. 🙂

This Orlando-based company, founded by designer Chris Campbell, creates custom, handmade ice cream and cake shoe designs. None of them are edible, but apparently very wearable. I’ve seen shoe sculptures before which pretty much live in art galleries and are for ogling only. But these heels, flats, and wedges like to go out on the town and make unforgettable fashion statements at weddings and other special occasions. Fun!

Enjoy this little dessert tray to get your week off to a sweet start. 🙂

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Indie Artist Spotlight: Kendyll Hillegas

May 20, 2014September 6, 2017 ~ jama ~ 31 Comments

Not too long ago, I was innocently browsing online when a jar of Bonne Maman Strawberry Preserves spoke to me:

Don’t you love my beautiful lines and shading? Look at my luscious rosy watercolors, my checkered lid. Do I not stand out from the hundreds of food illustrations you see every day?

The jam was spreading it on thick, but it had a good point. There was something pure and serene about its singular beauty. Detailed and realistic, it had that charming handmade quality I always fall for.

“Bonne Maman” is by Boston-based artist, illustrator and graphic designer Kendyll Hillegas, whose work “focuses on capturing the emotional and narrative significance of food and everyday objects.” Using a combination of colored pencil, gouache, and ink, she creates a delectable world of ooey gooey cakes, cheery popsicles, tempting doughnuts, cupcakes, and reach-out-and-bite-me muffins, breads, and bagels.

She invites us to appreciate anew the pleasing design of a bottle of San Pellegrino or Heinz Ketchup, the rumpled comfort of a bag of King Arthur Unbleached Flour. A bowl of soup, a stack of pancakes, a double scoop ice cream cone — we all have emotional connections to these familiar foods and like to hear and share good stories about them.

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friday feast: the proof is in the panna cotta

November 1, 2013September 20, 2017 ~ jama ~ 70 Comments

Thanks to Diane Shipley DeCillis, we now know why the course of true love never did run smooth.

Curtain up!

* * *

OPERA BUFFA

At La Dolce Vita, in the village,
the gnocchi lifts itself off the fork,
floats like a cloud in your mouth,
the marinara so fresh,
it ripens the tomatoes, garlic
and basil right on your tongue.

Clemenza’s in the kitchen
stirring the sauce,
telling everyone he really doesn’t eat
that much, it’s the fumes
that have permeated his body,
gotten under his skin
and made him fat.

My date Antonio closes his eyes
after each bite, groans,
Marona, this is as good
as my mother’s.

Satisfied, he lays his folded napkin
on the empty plate and slumps
in the chair while I,
having saved room,
crane my neck looking for the waiter.
What, you want dessert too?
He seems surprised.

I’d like to see what they have,
though I’ve committed it
to memory.
Aren’t you full? he asks.
Am I full? I think to myself.
It’s bad enough that we have to die,
that I’m not taller, that my metabolism
is molto lento, but to dine with someone
who is indifferent

to a chilled plate
of Panna Cotta,
silky, quivering cream
adorned with fresh berries,
or Torta Strega, cake
perfumed with liqueur,
filled with pastry cream
and finished
with hazelnut meringue.

I cannot live on lasagna alone
and the fact that Antonio
doesn’t sense this threatens
our chance for a future.

The waiter smiles as he unravels
the dessert menu, handwritten
on rough brown craft paper.
Tiramisu
Umbrian Apple Tart
Selville Orange Sorbetto …
This is so beautiful, I say,
ordering the Panna Cotta.
May I keep the menu?
Of course Signora, he says.
And you sir?

No. Nothing for me,
just a cup of espresso.

Oh Antonio, Antonio what
are you thinking?
How can I trust a man
who doesn’t like sweets?
At La Dolce Vita
what could have been the start
of a beautiful romance—
snapped like a broken string
on a Stradivarius!