Monday, February 24, 2014

Lemon Olive Oil Cake

Cake with no butter in it?
Yuppie ice cream flavored like trees?

My casserole loving, meat and potatoes, $3 gallon tub of vanilla family
would probably excommunicate me if they knew
of these unthinkable acts of treason that I was engaging in. 

But from the moment I read "Oregon Fir" on the flavors list at
Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream, I knew I was in for trouble.

The hardly sweet ice cream sings a happy little song about rosemary
on your tongue and makes you want the savory/sweet parade 
to last forever. Lemon olive oil cakes, this is where you come in. 

The cakes are dense and just a touch sweet, making them the perfect
candidates to hold down this pine ice cream fort. 
Sprinkle it with some praline pistachios, drizzle it with some honey.

You're going to be so happy that you'll
almost forget that you're turning into a yuppie. 

1 c. flour
zest of 1 lemon
juice of 1/2 lemon
3/4 c. extra virgin olive oil
5 egg yolks
4 egg whites
3/4 c. white sugar
1/2 tsp. salt

-Beat egg whites, 1/4 c. sugar and salt until they form soft peaks.

-Beat egg yolks and 1/2 c. sugar in a different bowl 
until the mixture becomes a thick, pale yellow. 
-Add the lemon juice and zest and slowly add the olive oil while

-Gently fold in the flour to the egg yolk mixture, then once thoroughly mixed,
fold in the egg white mixture. 

Bake at 350 degrees in a greased pan/tins until 
a toothpick inserted comes out clean. 


Until the next, dears. 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Around the Neighborhood- Bowtruss Coffee Roasters



There once was a very unfortunately fated young lass named Hattie. 
She often found herself early to work in the morning,
 and was forced to bide her time in coffee shops that 
charged extra to put milk in your coffee. 
A kind of dystopia that was swarming with people who wore vests,
and spoke the words "hahaha" instead of actually laughing,
and probably found joy in the Dave Matthews Band. 

One grim day, young Hattie had reached her limits with such nonsense,
and was pacing down the street to surrender to the 99 cent 
coffee deal at the 711 on the corner. 

When, suddenly, out of the corner of her eye was a gleaming ray of hope. 
Let's call this gleaming ray "Bowtruss Coffee Roasters."

The air was thick with the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans,
people were happy,  and things were made out of retro 
camping equipment. 

She was greeted with a smile that said "Don't worry, it's gonna be okay now."
and left with a tummy full of warm, fresh, aromatic local coffee. 

And the milk-broke, Dave Matthews enjoying heathens in vests 
never darkened her doorway again. 

The end. 

Until the next, dears. 

Sunday, November 10, 2013


Fall is slipping through our mitten clad fingers, kittens. 

Feet have crunched leaves.
Shadows have grown longer.
There were many games of football vs. football,
 and football always won. 

Midwestern eyes are wide in fear of the impending 
months of doom and drear,
 and all the giddy chain stores are already
dripping with Christmas. 

It's all coming to an end, and I'm doing my best to 
chase it out in style. 

May your fists be full of leaves and mugs of warm things.
Until the next, boogers. 


Sunday, October 27, 2013

Citrus Sage Mimosas

This weekend brought my 22nd birthday. 

When you turn 21, you expect your belly button to morph into 
a shot glass indefinitely,
 all of your clothes to turn into
 state school memorabilia and mini skirts, 
and to somehow develop a slight new jersey accent, maybe. 

Well, now that 21 has come to a close, I can
say that the reality of it is that
you still drink out of cups, 
your accent is still vaguely Minnesotan, 
and you mostly just work and go to school 
all of the time. 

So what does 22 promise? 
Taylor Swift says that I'm going to be lonely in the "best way"
and dance, and feel 
and be miserable,
yet somehow magical. 

If that doesn't sound promising, 
I sure as hell don't know what does!

So until the promised magical misery and hipster clothing of 
being 22 rolls around, I'm going to
wrap myself in classy things and cling to my friends. 

Inspired by my birthday outing to the Violet Hour,
this mimosa-meets-cocktail teeters between savory and sweet
and pairs unusual flavors in a way that makes them
seem less unusual and more so just pink and 
bubbly and delicious.  

Since your next years prospects are looking arguably
unfortunate, you're gonna need to find some
room in your schedule for some keister shakin'.

These are the dancing-est songs of all time.
Get to groovin' folks. 


Until the next, dears. 

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Lemon Mascarpone French Toast

This week's post is brought to you by 
This past week has had its handsomely shitty moments.

Yesterday's makeup made several encore appearances. 
It was a beer-in-the-lunch-ice-cream
kind of week. 

People are the worst!
You know what's not people?
French toast. 

There is a way to hold a baby that will almost immediately
 silence their cries, 
hide their worries, 
and put them to sleep. 

This French toast is kind of like the food equivalent of that. 
It's like a really big consoling hug with no awkward back pats
that relates to your struggles and knows all the lyrics
to that one Jewel song.

Challah bread is like a big soft pillow for your mouth, when it 
has said lots of downer words 
and could use a nap.

Here is a tiny playlist that serves as an exercise in angst control.
Let it help you regain your endearing whimsy.

Until the next, kittens.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Chai Spiked Cider

Some Saturdays there is a criminal amount of buttery
sunlight coming at you from all over the place
and an un-ignorable amount of 
rum and chai tea in your cupboard. 

Some Saturdays, you hide your half-finished dog food 
campaign and stack full of midterm briefs under a 
catrtoonishly large rock in your mind
and embrace the catchphrase 
"Sounds like a problem for future Hattie!"

Because, really who can bear to sink into 
assignments when there are pillows in the world that are 
waiting to be squished against my cheek 
and boozy cider filled walks down the boulevard to be had? 

The only thing that can make apple cider better is booze.
The only booze worthy of apple cider is 
booze that honors not just any, but all of the spices
that warm our autumn souls 
and make our hearts grow 3 sizes.

Spiced rum? Well played with the name, brother. You're in.

Vodka wearing a chai tea costume? Resourceful. You're in, too. 

Honey? You're not booze, honey. But you do tend to bring the party. You may join.

Raise your mugs and rest your sleepy faces.
This is what fall is all about, after all.

Until the next, dears.


Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Roasted Vegetable Tart

These weeks have been passing by
 with alarming speed. 

I feel as if my life is turing into a low budget western film
where I am walking in front of a
rotating backdrop that changes between 
day and night painted sceneries every few seconds
to show the passing of days.

So sometimes, you need to pinch your Sunday real hard
until it winces and grunts and 
reluctantly spits out a few hours of time for you. 
Preferably in the company of some
late afternoon sun and puff pastry.

Take yourself on a walking and eating date.
Because those are two things that you excel at 
and your stunning performance is likely to send your self esteem 
sky rocketing. 

Forget bathing in the dead sea or doing yoga, children.
Cheese is the ultimate stress reliever. 
I am pretty sure I just proved that. 

Until the next, loves.