Friday cake day

Friday was a furlough day. We have these twice a month now, and while at first I was a little concerned about the money side of it, now I'm kind of digging it. I suppose more hard-working people might consider trying to make up for lost income. But to me, it means two more days a month I get to do some of my favorite things, like swim, nap with the dog, and poke around the house by myself. Who doesn't like to do that?

Anyway, on Friday I did my swimming, napping, and shuffling around, and happily, I still had some time to while away. So I decided to make a cake. Lovely!

I figured it was time to make that cake I'd been dreaming about for a few weeks, the raspberry buttermilk one from a recent Gourmet. Apparently, this cake has been all the rage among food bloggers, and it's understandable why: most people like raspberries; anything with buttermilk sounds good; and the recipe is dead simple. A monkey could make this cake.

I pulled together all the ingredients in a heartbeat and poured them into the pan. Then the fun part: scattering the little berries over the top.


The cake emerged golden and fragrant, with a slight crunch from the sugar sprinkled over the top. It tasted of vanilla and raspberry, with a mild tang from the buttermilk and a very tender crumb.

I surprised the husband with the cake that evening. He was quite pleased, as I've been serving a lot of salads recently. That night, it was roast pork loin with a cake chaser. Something good has to come of these furlough days, I figure. Why not in the form of a sweet and buttery little cake?


If you make this cake, be wary of the baking time. It's supposed to go 25-30 minutes, but mine was perfectly done when I checked it at 23. Our oven is newish so I don't think it runs hot.

Chicken salad, with apples and chives

Sunday was roast chicken night. I'd picked up a hefty one from Drewes the day before and once it was stuffed with lemons, seasoned, and trussed, I called my sister.

"I think this chicken is going to take almost two hours," I told her.

"How big is it?" she asked.

"Six pounds!" I replied, feeling like a proud parent.

My sister cooed appreciatively. "That's almost a small turkey!" she admired.

I like roasting big chickens: they cook better and more evenly, I find, and as long as I start them on the breast side and then flip them, they don't dry out. A few hours later, the husband and I dug into the bird, with crispy potatoes and garlicky broccoli rabe on the side.

The next night we had a rerun dinner.

After that, the sides were gone, but there was still a lot of chicken left, mostly white meat, since as I explained a few weeks ago, between the two of us, the thighs, drummies, and wings are the first to go. While leftover chicken can go a thousand different ways, recently I've been on a chicken salad kick. I usually make it the same way, with measurements varying depending on how much chicken I have to use as a base. But basically it's:

• chicken (cubed, not shredded)
• mayo
• lemon juice
• apple
• celery
• salt and pepper
• a fresh herb (my favorites are tarragon, basil, or chives)

I like chicken salad with grapes, too, and have enjoyed ones with walnuts or pecans. But, I don't include either of those things in my recipe. I rarely have a bunch of grapes on hand, and nuts require toasting and cooling. The beauty of chicken salad is in its quick, satisfying assembly: chop, mix, taste, adjust, eat.

I like it best just on a bed of arugula. I have turned it into a sandwich, but it's too messy. One might wonder if this is because I greedily load up the bread with too much salad. This would be an excellent point.

I think the chicken salad sandwich might work best in a pita pocket. When I suggested this to the husband, he just started to laugh at me. He thinks it's funny, how obsessive I am about cooking and eating. On the other hand, he was very pleased the other morning when I informed him that instead of buying a lunch, he could take some of the chicken salad I'd just whipped up, chock full of sweet apples and bright green chives. Who's laughing now?

Still life, with fruit

Along with tomatoes, lots of summer fruit is turning up at the markets and in our produce box these days. Recently we've been getting yellow doll watermelons, little yellow peaches, and sweet, bright blueberries that I can eat by the handful. The husband likes fruit but isn't a maniac like me; I'm thrilled at the arrival of these lovely, fragile, time-sensitive fruits, as is Hungry Dog Jr. who sits at my feet while I pit and peel and slice, happy to lend an extra mouth.

This weekend I purchased raspberries and nectarines. I was starting to think about a cobbler, or maybe that raspberry buttermilk cake I've been dreaming of. But then, as so happens with good summer fruit, I couldn't bear to do anything with either of them except eat them alone. I did, however, take a few pictures.

I like this one because although it looks like a sink-sized colander filled with a bounty of raspberries, in actuality, it's a very small colander, probably about 2.5 inches in diameter, filled with less than a pint of berries. Why do I have a miniature colander? you ask. To go with my tiny whisk and tiny cast iron frying pan, completing my trifecta of miniature kitchen tools. I like small things. Kinda weird for a grown adult who's otherwise reasonably normal, but I know I'm not alone in my miniature fetish (I'm talking to you, JJ, PG, and SD).

The nectarines were also photo-worthy. I don't mean to be braggy, but I think my pictures are getting better. Although, it doesn't take a lot of talent to make something naturally beautiful look good. Just lots of light, a still hand, and the magical macro setting.