Misadventures in Babiiland: The Road to Pastry Chefdom

So the Babii decided to become a pastry chef. A few years ago, she wanted to be a manicurista (manicure/pedicure girl). Then she wanted to be a parakeet trainer. After all our Masterchef Australia marathon sessions, she now wants to be a pastry chef.

The Babii with her no-cook lemon and strawberry cheesecake

It looks like a bloody expensive career that her father and I should probably start saving for, but on the bright side, she seems more serious about it than all her other previous “career options.” She actually takes the time to read cookbooks and research on the Internet. For the past year she has made her own cup cakes, cakes, tarts and pies and surprisingly, she seems to have a knack for baking.

I say “surprisingly” because I have a love-hate relationship going on with dough. Pie dough, bread dough, anything involving dough, tends to be a miss and miss thing with me. The Babii, on the other hand, took to dough like a fish to water, making her first pie ever with flying colors. Errr, sort of.

When we first got the Good Housekeeping cookbook, the Babii was so fascinated with all the explanations and the wide array of pastries she could make. One night, she decided to make apple pie.

I told her she was on her own, seeing as my history of fudging pie crusts would not work in her favor. So she made her own dough and rolled it out. With a few questions here and there, she also made her own filling and assembled the pie.

And voila!

The house was filled with the sweet smell of apples and cinnamon baking in the oven. R, who is a big fan of apple pie, could hardly contain his excitement. He was given the honor of having first dibs on the pie.

As he put the first scoop of apple pie in his mouth, we held our breaths, waiting for the inevitable approving look. Instead, he made a grimace and looked like he had a hard time swallowing.

It appeared that the Babii, instead of putting 1/8 teaspoon of salt, had put in 1/8 cup. (Oh, agony! Oh, agony!)

Needless to say, she was appalled and horrified.

We tried to convince her that it was alright to make mistakes, that other than the salt issue, the pie was perfect. We told her she could make the pie again, but since that night she has not. She has made lemon meringue pie, chocolate tart, cheesecake, cookies, and lemon custard cake, but no apple pie.

Sometimes I ask her if she would make apple pie for me and she would wrinkle her nose and say, “Maybe next time. I’m still not over my last apple pie.”

My future pastry chef has apple pie trauma.

More Muffin Adventures: Spam and cheese muffins

Earlier I talked about the bacon, cheese and pepper muffins that I made from Casa Veneracion. I’ve made it a few times for the Babii and myself, and it has been a hit with the family for the past year or so.

In my version, however, I substituted the bacon with cubes of Spam, since finding good bacon here is like searching for a needle in a haystack. Well, finding Spam is pretty much the same thing, but I get care packages from my Dad so it’s a little easier.

I also changed the grated cheese to diced cheese, mainly because I am a cheesaholic and prefer my muffins, like my ice cream, chunky.

The photo above was taken when I made Spam and cheese muffins and mushroom muffins. I realized belatedly that I should have put in cheese with the mushrooms as well, but it’s never too late! Just slather it on top.

I had this for second breakfast (Hobbit-style) together with a bottle of Nesher Malt which is technically a beer. It tastes like San Miguel Cerveza Negra, only without the alcohol. It’s supposed to be good for pregnant women.

Breastfeeding Babii

Maybe it’s because of Mother’s Day, maybe it is just the natural progression of things, but these days there is more and more talk (debate?) about parents and what constitutes good parenting.

I am not in a position to judge people. We all have our own circumstances and we deal with them the best way we can. But I would like to relate my own experience with breastfeeding.

This was ten years ago, and the campaign for breastfeeding had yet to gain steam in the Philippines. I would like to note that we, as in most countries, have a strong pharmaceutical lobby which includes baby formula.

When I had the Babii, I specifically noted in the hospital form that I filled out that I intended to breast feed. Some things being beyond our control, however, it was decided at the last minute that I needed a C-section. That meant (at least at that time, to me) that I would not be able to care for the Babii during the first twenty fours (or more) after delivery, so we decided against having her in the same room as me and opted for her to stay at the nursery. I was assured by the hospital staff that I could still breastfeed.

Fast forward to delivery and recovery. After twenty-four hours, I could already stand and walk, albeit with some difficulty. I called the nursery to ask about the Babii. She was still sleeping, they told me. They promised to call me when she woke up so I could start breast feeding.

Hours passed. I called again. Oh, they fed her already. This went on for the next few days and, if I had not put my foot down and staked out the nursery, I would never have been able to breast feed my child.

It’s difficult to speculate on people’s motives ten years after the fact, but at that time I felt truly frustrated that my preferences/requests/instructions were not being followed by the hospital staff. We stayed at the hospital for five days, and all that time I staked out the nursery. Sometimes I was able to catch the Babii’s feeding time. Most times, I could not due to nursery visiting hours.

I was thankful when we finally went home, thinking that my breastfeeding issues would soon be over. I was wrong.

I was taking antibiotics for the operation, but I was assured by my OB-Gyne that it would not affect the baby if I breastfed. At home, however, I noticed that after each feeding, the Babii would have a wet bowel movement.

People (including doctors) have told me that it was not possible for a baby to have LBM from breast milk, but how can I argue with reality? Off to the pediatrician we went.

In the end, I decided to take the Babii off breast milk and put her on baby formula. The doctor prescribed a non-lactose formula for two weeks, and the Babii’s bowels became normal.

Was it the antibiotics? Had my daughter become used to formula from the nursery? Where was the problem?

I admit, I was dealing with a lot of things at that time and probably did not handle the entire thing as well as I could have. Next time around, I intend to go to the hospital better informed about my options and, yes, more assertive about how hospital staff handle me and my daughter.

Will things be better? Will I truly breastfeed this time around? I don’t know. But I would definitely try.

Blueberry and Chocolate Chip muffins

No, I have not dived off the deep end and mixed these two things together. Today I made some some blueberry muffins, and some chocolate chip muffins. Separately. Sort of.

I am currently having a love affair with muffins. My own muffins. I used to buy muffins from bakeshops and cafes when I was still in school, but always found them dry and generally unimpressive, not to mentioned overpriced.

I took a second look at muffins when the Babii went to school and I ran out of lunch options. After snooping a bit on the Internet, I found Casa Veneracion’s bacon, cheese and pepper muffins. That opened a whole new muffin world for me.

What I like most about muffins is that they are so easy to make; no need for electric gadgets (and hence, more things to wash), quick to prepare, and easy to carry wherever you go. You can have it for breakfast, a midday snack, bring it to school, a picnic, or to the office. Best of all, once you have the basic batter down pat, you can play around with it and put in the filling of your choice! (Yes! Muffins can be sweet or savory!)

Today I wanted to make muffins but ran out of cornmeal. Fortunately, the Good Housekeeping cook book has a basic muffin recipe that didn’t use cornmeal. The recipe was good for 12 muffins, but I didn’t want to plow through a whole week with just the same muffins (it can get REALLY tiresome based on experience). Since we had a forlorn half-eaten bar of Lindt dark chocolate and an old jar of blueberry confiture that nobody seemed to like, I decided to turn half of the batter into chocolate chip muffins and the other half into blueberries.

Basic Muffin Recipe (from Good Housekeeping):

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup milk

1/2 cup melted butter

1 large egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 175 degrees Celsius. Grease twelve 2 1/2″ by 1 1/4″ muffin pan cups. (I find that using muffin liners makes it easier to eat the muffins at school or the office, so I use those instead.)

2. In large bowl, with wire whisk, stir flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. In medium bowl, with fork, beat milk, melted butter, egg and vanilla until blended. Add liquid mixture to flour mixture; stir just until flour is moistened (batter will be lumpy).

3. At this point, I halved the mixture in separate bowls. In the first bowl, I folded in about 3/4 cup of the blueberry confiture. (Overfolded is more like it—- The batter looked like Grimace had his way in the kitchen.) In the second bowl, I folded in about 1/2 cup of the chocolate, roughly chopped.

4. Spoon the batter into the muffin cups and pop them in the oven for 20-25 minutes.

At this point, I always remember that not all ovens are made equal, and something that normally takes 25 minutes to cook in a recipe takes my oven five minutes less. So I keep a watchful eye on the clock and on whatever is cooking inside in case it starts to look burnt.

 

At the end, the Babii came to me with eyes as wide as saucers. “Mama! Half of your muffins are burned! How did that happen?!?” (They are NOT burned. They are PURPLE!)

And now I have confession to make.

I found out at the last minute that our milk had spoiled, but we had some 15% fat cream in the fridge which we normally use for pasta sauce. So did I?

Oh, yes I did! And this was not the first time! (cue evil laugh)

I’ve noticed that the same amount of cream in place of milk can make a muffin really soft and fluffy. As with a little extra butter. Sigh. Food is my vice.

Five Months

It has been five months, officially. We’ve been over the moon, but it is still difficult for me to talk about it in public.

Of course, it is quite clear to everyone that there is a BABY ON BOARD. But after that traumatic fiasco last year, I have been quite selfish about sharing this happiness, our hopes, our dreams, our fears of going back to that horrible situation of having to deal not only with loss, but with THAT system.

We have a great doctor, the same one who helped us through that difficult time. Right now the focus is on being healthy, not getting stressed out (good luck with that!), and preparing ourselves for a major lifestyle change, especially now that we don’t have a nanny.

Obviously, my hormones are going crazy and everyday is a roller coaster ride.

Sometimes I think I’m crazy for thinking that we can do this in a foreign country with no family. But if the locals can manage it, why can’t we?

Kitchen Library

I promise, this blog is not turning into a food blog. It just so happens that this past few months food has played a central role in our lives. Well, food always plays a central role in any Negrense’s life. Perhaps I just managed the time to document it more.

This is our small kitchen library. Most of the books we bought from regular book stores, some from flea markets (it shows), others were gifts. Then of course, I have my trusty purple notebook where I jot down recipes when I have the patience. Otherwise, I print them off the Internet and file them in a folder (not shown here).

I haven’t cooked from all the books yet, but I must say some stand out more than others.

Step-by-step Baking has been very helpful. It has a wide array of savory and sweet goodies I can make, including pictures showing how to do things…well… step by step. With the Babii in school, it presents interesting alternatives to the regular sandwich.

My kitchen bible, though, has to be the Good Housekeeping Cook Book (125th Anniversary edition). (Confession: I already read Good Housekeeping way back when I was 11 years old– that’s how I knew that it was good.)

Each section has a backgrounder that teaches the basics: how to buy good meat, how to store it properly, the different cuts, etc.

Of course, like most good cook books these days, it also includes conversion tables. (Why can’t people just follow the metric system?)

There must be thousands of recipes in this book. The book itself is almost a thousand pages. And believe it or not, the Babii has cooked more things from this cook book than I have!

Haute Cuisine vs. Street Cuisine

Ok, maybe street cuisine is a little extreme, as I am not exactly a fan of standing on the sidewalk poking at fish balls while vehicles powder my food with exhaust fumes. But after more than thirty years on Earth, I’ve been fortunate enough to have experienced different kinds of food, in different settings, from real holes-in-the-wall joints to hoity toity affairs where I don’t quite know what to do with all the forks and knives and glasses (and people stealing my bread plate!).

I admit, I love good food. If good service and good ambiance comes with it, I am willing to splurge on such a restaurant once in a while. (Like, maybe, once a year– on my birthday) But it is really frustrating to go to a “famous” place with all the expectations from word of mouth and press releases only to come crashing down to earth and realize that the food at Aling Nene’s Carinderia tasted much, much better.

Case in point, this restaurant which was supposed to be one of the best in the country. I was fortunate enough NOT to be the one paying for the meal. Someone had invited a group of us for a celebratory dinner at this restaurant. It was a weekday and I certainly preferred to spend my evening elsewhere, but could not refuse the invitation. (Go figure.)

So we went, and true to its reputation, the restaurant ambiance screamed EXPENSIVE. So expensive that the prices are not printed on the menu. If you have to ask, you can’t afford it, eh?

Everything was well rehearsed/well-trained. We were greeted warmly, escorted to a private room, and were seated with a view of the restaurant’s vintage wine collection. Ooookay. Pressure.

We took turns ordering, engaged in a little chit chat, drank a little celebratory champagne. And then the food arrived.

I had ordered an appetizer of baby winter vegetables, and a fish main course. The vegetables were nice, but aside from the expert plating, it was nothing that I could not make at home. But never mind. Eat, eat, eat.

Then the fish arrived. It was sea bass, if I remember correctly, in what was supposed to be red wine sauce. At the first bite, the vegetables and the red wine sauce tasted like plastic and the creamy foam was just weird. And the fish needed salt and pepper.

Sigh. I knew it was going to be one of those nights.

Having been expertly trained by my parents since childhood to eat what was on the plate, however, I soldiered on and just pushed the vegetables around.

Then it was time for dessert which, in my opinion, was the best part of the meal. But only relatively so. We were served an assortment of cakes, biscuits and candies. They tasted good (how can anyone go wrong with chocolate?), but for the restaurant’s reputation, I was expecting something that I wouldn’t find in Calea or Bob’s Pastry shop.

Unfortunately, these days there seems to be an unhealthy emphasis in the culinary world on technique and presentation. Sure, the sugar globes and foams and tempered chocolates are all nice to see, but what is the point when you just end up with sugary bubbles and regular chocolate?

In comparison, there is this seedy looking joint a few blocks from our house. The place is old and the furniture is old and at the doorway is a HUGE man who doubles as the waiter and the doorman. (I also suspect he is a part-owner of the place.) At first glance, the place does not look impressive, but it never runs out of customers.

When we went there about a few days before the hoity toity restaurant affair, it was a cold night and we were so hungry we just didn’t care where we would eat.

We plopped down on the chairs, just grateful for the warmth, and the big guy gave us the menu which, incidentally, was printed on the place mats (Menu, check! Set the table, check!).

We ordered a vegetable soup, the “cow” soup, some meatballs and lamb chops. It was also that kind of restaurant that served an assortment of hummus and salads while the orders were being cooked, so we were quite happy to start dipping our pita breads.

Then we noticed one wall filled with framed news articles on the restaurant. Not bad, we thought. Then the food arrived.

Off the bat, the food was fantastic. Everything was just exploding with flavor. From the appetizers and the soups alone, we were stuffed. I did try the lamb chop and, despite not being a fan of lamb, I must say that it was pretty good.

But by this time, we had to take home the rest of the food because there was just no way we could finish it.The bill was less than NIS 200, somewhere around US $50 for three people.

Given these two restaurants, it is quite obvious which one I prefer.

These days with all these cooking shows and competitions, people seem to be overly focused on the haute (pronounced “ot,” which means “high” in French) and not enough on the cuisine. I sure as hell would not be going back to that fancy restaurant but I would not be ashamed to bring my friends to the neighborhood carinderia.

Sometimes I think this concept of fine dining, gourmet reviews and press releases is becoming a little bit like the culinary version of the Emperor’s New Clothes. No one wants to look like a barbarian, so they ooh and aah over all the culinary exhibitions and adhere strictly to what the culinary gods decree.

But for me, fine dining isn’t always so fine. Just give me some pork barbeque from that side street in Villamonte, steaming hot rice, and let’s call it a day.