Mr. Elinoire will be your guest blogger for today

Approximately one thousand of your earth years ago...

A small neighborhood boy appeared at the door of the house where Mr. Elinoire grew up, bearing a cake tin he had been tasked by his mother to deliver. Said container contained (that being what containers do), a chocolate cake with green frosting. This cake was a present from the child's mother to Mr. Elinoire's family, the reason for which has been lost to the mists of time (along with the name of the child).

The young boy, having delivered his charge to Mr. Elinoire's mother, hung around the door for a few moments before announcing, "You know, I really like chocolate cake," adding a few moments later, "especially chocolate cake with green frosting." No doubt he is now a highly-paid marketing executive somewhere, but this early attempt to turn events in his favor met with utter failure. It is not recorded whether his campaign was met with admonishment, derisive laughter, or mere indifference, but, in any case, he went upon his way cakeless.

And then hands were waved in the air, and this event was transmogrified from a story into a meme, and thence into a family predilection for the question "what kind of cake would you like for your birthday?" to be answered "chocolate cake with green frosting (of course)." So now you know.

Just like regular cake, only, well, you know.

New York was the first place we stopped during our recent trip. I had originally thought we might do various touristy NYC things, but once we arrived and were settled into our friends' lovely Brooklyn brownstone, we quickly realized that what we really wanted to do was take it easy, hang out with our friends, and maybe go on a few walks. On our first day we visited the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

Our friend Katia, who was graciously showing us her city, took pity on us when it was clear we'd need caffeine in order to continue. (I plead jetlag, despite the mere 3-hour time difference between the West and East Coasts. I'm sure it had nothing to do with getting approximately 15 hours sleep over the four days before leaving for New York. Nothing at all.) We stopped at a coffee place across the street from the scary-strict Brooklyn Co-op (where Mr. Elinoire and I, as non-members, were NOT allowed to buy anything so you'd better believe we didn't even THINK about it) and as we were ordering, I noticed a case of cupcakes.

(Mmm, cupcakes. Just like regular cake, only you usually get more frosting and you aren't morally obligated to share with anyone, which is usually not the case with an entire cake. Not that I'd ever attempt to eat an entire cake by myself because I am far, far too virtuous.)

Mr. Elinoire chose a reasonably-sized black and white-topped cupcake but I went for the larger cappuccino cupcake with the mini milk chocolate chips on the top.



We walked a little further and then sat at the base of a statue at the edge of Prospect Park and dug in. And that was when I discovered that 1. my ginormous cupcake had extra frosting in the middle, and 2. no way was I going to be able to finish it on my own. Luckily Katia and Mr. Elinoire were willing to help. Wasn't that nice of them?



Our trip fell between my birthday, which we celebrated with Chinese food before we left, and Mr. Elinoire's, which we celebrated with Italian food about two weeks after we got home. His family has an odd* chocolate-cake-with-green-frosting tradition that I have occasionally incorporated into the birthday cakes I make for him. This year's version was my own little homage to the Brooklyn Cappuccino Cupcake. Here is a birthday cupcake from the outside:



I made the cake from a mix (shhh) but used very strong coffee instead of water for a richer taste. The frosting is pre-made (shhh again) vanilla with green food coloring, and then grated bits of (genuine Swiss!) chocolate on the top. Each cake has coffee whipped cream** in the center. They were a big hit, if I do say so myself.



Plus? Tonight? After I took the pictures of the Last of the Birthday Cupcakes? Sylvie found the just-out-of-the-dryer load in the little laundry basket and decided to do her own imitation of a New York City cupcake. Awww.



*To be fair, it's not any odder than my family's tradition of dropping lines from this fabulous work into normal conversation.

**This was the first time I'd made "stabilized" whipped cream and I was very pleased with the result. I just added about a third of an envelope of plain dry gelatin to the cream, sugar, and veryveryVERYstrong*** coffee mixture and whipped it up.

***As in "so strong it would make any child who bit into the cupcake expecting frosting and chocolate cake and instead found the equivalent of a double latte inside cry because yuck! coffee!"

Entry the thirty-seventh: Baking insanity

No, no, I'm not perfecting a recipe for insanity on a cookie sheet; I've gone insane and baking is my way of expressing it. ("Gone," you say? "What is this 'gone' Elinoire speaks of? Hasn't she already been there for as long as I've known her?") Ahem.

Proof of my mental condition:



"That," you might say to yourself, "is a whole lot of banana bread." And you'd be right. (About the quantity. I'm just pretending I didn't hear that earlier comment about how long I have or have not been crazy.) Especially if you were including the eight loaves still in the oven. It's ridiculous. And even a little bizarre because banana bread is not a traditional December goodie.

(Not that I think you wouldn't be muttering to yourself if I baked twenty-seven loaves of fruitcake.)

But I digress.

Here is the reason I bake and distribute banana bread every December:



These are bananas that were bought during the last year and then ignored for a just a little too long. I like bananas that are tinged with green and my husband likes them when they're all yellow with maybe one or two brown spots. These were left in the fruit bowl until they became spotty and unappealing (to us, anyway) and then tossed in the back of the freezer. That's why they're totally brown now and even a little frosty. When they're thawed they're perfect for baking.

Except these are the bananas I had left over after my bout of baking insanity. These are the extra bananas that ended up in my parents' composter.

We're definitely buying smaller bunches in 2007.

Entry the thirty-second: It starts...

What, you ask? What is starting, exactly?

Holiday baking, that's what.



Except very little actual baking occurred tonight. I used my wonderful KitchenAid mixer (one of the best birthday presents ever!) to put together um... hold on, I'm counting on my fingers... SEVEN batches of gingerbread cookie dough. My husband thought I was kidding when I told him to buy 5 jars of molasses -- Ha!

My husband set the cat bed up in the kitchen doorway and first Mirabelle then Sylvie obligingly smooshed into it. I feel sure they were cheering me on.



Next week I will descend upon my parents' (larger, nicer, more modern) kitchen like a gingerbread dervish and roll out and bake all this dough. My parents don't mind this because
1. It's a nice way to hang out
2. Their house ends up smelling like gingerbread
3. They get to eat all the mistakes and extra bits.

My mother really likes it when I appropriate their lovely double oven for my cookie madness. The ensuing cheer always knocks the "They-put-Christmas-stuff-up-in-the-stores-in-August-and-that's-just-wrong,-wrong,-WRONG" grouchy mood out of my dad. Once he's experienced the healing power of baking cookies, he brings the boxes of Christmas decorations in from the garage. My mom can never make any headway in this department before baking day.



Happy December!