BakeSpite.net

Much of Bakespite was borne from my attempts to bring flavors from the past to life. Like Remy’s ratatouille that brings the evil Anton Ego to tears, I first tried to replicate the divine chocolate chocolate chip cherry muffins that my mother-in-law baked this summer in Michigan’s prime cherry season. This was followed by myriad attempts to make Martha’s rolls deliciously edible rather than dead weight worthy of well, the trash. My last baking-like-mom attempt was so successful on the first try, I made them 3 times in 24 hours. Popovers! Light, airy, cream-puff like without the cream. Yum. One of the best butter-deliverance devices ever.

Today, I decided protein should be added to our diet (see Jeremy’s post on Cheesecake and our death match against the weight of the universe.) Enter my mother’s fried tofu with scallions. Over and over during my childhod, I made fried tofu for dinner. It was a weekly staple. I would make the jasmine rice and while it was cooking, fire up some oil and fry tofu. Somehow, er, 19 years have passed and the tofu I’ve made resembles the first sets of rolls: dead weight. Deceivingly crispy and golden on the outside, but so hard, they are inedible. Today, I tried a new tofu called Wild Wood; a packaged tofu loaf that boasts high protein and extra firmness. A raw taste confirmed both.

Finally the results I’ve been waiting for: dry the tofu carefully, fire up the oil on high, drop in the tofu and coat with oil before letting fry un-touched for 2-3 minutes (until golden on the bottom). Flip with chopsticks or a slotted spoon. The tofu is done when it is evenly golden and it passes the hollow tap test. This is exactly as it sounds: tap the tofu with chopsticks and listen for that beautifully hollow sound that alerts you to the tofu’s crispy outside and airy interior.  The secret is the right type of tofu and the correct frying temperature.  If you buy most of the tofu in the white plastic containers, expect disappointment.  Extra firm.  High heat.

For an extra taste of homemade Vietnamese:

Chop scallions very thinly and after the tofu has finished crisping, add the scallions into a ladle and dip into the oil so it sizzles.  Drain with the slotted spoon and drop into a dipping bowl with approximately two tablespoons of Nuoc Mam (fish sauce).  Let soak and then pour over the tofu to serve.

Perfection. Thanks moms!

Cat and I just finished watching Eat Drink Man Woman, and it was a beautiful movie. A beautiful story, filmed beautifully. But the most beautiful thing of all was the food! The glorious food. Classic Chinese cooking, prepared meticulously and elegantly by expert hands. And it reminded me, oh, hey, we have this food blog, huh? So, hey. Food blog.

Tonight, I’m getting back in the swing of things by launching a recurring feature called Kit Kat Densetsu. That’s “Kit Kat Legend” in Japanese, for those who don’t know Japanese terms that have become terribly generic through overuse in videogame parlance. The name fits, though, because this section is devoted entirely to the unique and exotic flavors of Kit Kat sold only in Japan. Yes, that’s right: The common, everyday Kit Kit, available in a pitiful three flavors here in America (plus a gross orange-colored white chocolate version at Halloween) exists in a cornocopia of flavors over in Japan. I make it a point to try every kind of Kit Kat I can find when I travel to Tokyo; some are unpleasant, like the “vegetable health drink” kind they were selling last fall. Some are utterly amazing, like the seasonal winter black tea bar I picked up two years ago at a convenience store at Inara. I’ve acquired more than a dozen different sample flavors, and at a needlessly high cost — but it’s all for the noble purpose of writing about the fascinating variants of Kit Kat sold in Japan. It’s funny, but my favorite Japanese mass-manufactured snack is actually an American candy bar.

Sour Orange Kit-Kat: Far too delicious to sell in America. (Photo: Jeremy)

To inaugurate this section, we’re starting with the classic: Orange Kit Kit. Technically, this edition is “Suppai Orange,” or sour orange, but it tastes about the same as the Orange Kit Kat I fell in love with the first time I ever went to Japan. Interestingly, they actually did offer Orange Kit Kat here in the states in select regions for a limited time, but like other great ideas of the early 21st century (see also: Diet Pepsi Twist), it was deemed unfit for this world. Except in Japan, of course. I bought like three bags of these things at TGS last year, and distributed most of them to friends. That is because I play a Paragon in real life, not just in Mass Effect.

The Orange Kit Kat is precisely as it sounds: A Kit Kat bar infused with a strong orange flavor. As we all know, chocolate and orange are one of nature’s most perfect combinations. Kit Kats aren’t exactly gourmet chocolate, but they’re one of the few candy bars I enjoy — they’re not overly sweet, and the chocolate is a great complement to the crispy wafer interior. I wouldn’t eat a bar made of just Kit Kat calibre chocolate, and I wouldn’t eat the wafers alone. Together, though, they’re pretty good! But mix in the taste of orange and you’ve officially reached “day-yum!” territory.

The orange mixes well with the chocolate, but it overpowers the flavor of the wafer. That’s OK, though, because the wafer is really more about texture. The orange flavor teeters at the precipice of being too strong, but it’s actually just right. More importantly, it doesn’t leave an unpleasant chemical aftertaste like a lot of fruit-flavored candies. The bar tastes sweet as you eat it (Cat described it as tasting “like an orange creamsicle chocolate bar”), but afterwards the lingering orange flavor becomes a little bit tart in your mouth. It’s something of a rarity in that it’s a mass-produced convenience store chocolate bar that you actually want to savor. It’s a pity this flavor never caught on in the U.S., but maybe they’ll bring it back someday. If not… well, I end up in Japan at least once a year, so I suppose it’s reason enough to suffer through those interminable trans-Pacific flights.

Witness now with your weak human eyes: The immaculate brownies which birthed BakeSpite.net!

Well, sort of. I made some friggin’ delicious brownies the day before New Year’s Eve and, in my enthusiasm, mentioned them on Twitter. I was then inundated with people talking about how awesome they sounded, and even suggestions to launch a food blog. That was such a good idea that I did! Or rather, we did. This site would not be kickin’ without Cat. Nor would I have this gorgeous photo of this succulent brownie.

Our inspiration for Bakespite.net. (Photo by Cat)

Seriously, this is why we exercise. So we can indulge in things like this. “Heaven brownies” was the appellation suggested on Twitter, and I can’t think of a better name. We made these at the same time that we made our New Year’s Eve Beef Bourguignon, and that is why my next weigh-in pummeled me with a dizzying setback. But it was worth it. I mean, look at those.

I can’t claim the credit for the basic recipe here. There’s a story behind these brownies. But isn’t that always the case for the best food?

Cat spent most of the summer traveling for work, and luckily a good portion of that time was spent in Michigan, allowing her to use my parents’ home as a base camp for a few weeks. It’s lonely work out there, and eating nothing but restaurant food gets pretty tiring in a hurry, so I was glad she was able to enjoy the occasional home-cooked meal. She’s had nothing but good to say about my mother’s baking, but aside from those nigh-impossible-to-replicate rolls, the one thing that’s most stuck with her are the muffins Mom made one night before Cat headed out for an extended drive.

So, I inquired about the muffins so that I could master the recipe myself. Turns out Mom just used a box of Ghirardelli double chocolate muffins and added some extra chocolate chips and fresh cherries. Easy enough; I headed over to the grocery store and grabbed the ingredients.

But! Once I got home, I realized I had grabbed a box of double chocolate brownie mix by mistake. I was mortified, but Cat reassured me with an important secret: She actually likes brownies a lot more than muffins. What luck, eh?

So, I went ahead and made the brownies, just like it said on the box. I mixed in a cup of frozen cherries, thawed, and half a cup of Guittard milk chocolate chips. Using milk chocolate chips was a great idea, since they added a pleasant mildness to complement the obscene richness of all the dark chocolate in the box mix. (I’m pretty much 100% in love with Guittard’s chips, by the way. They’re much, much better in baked goods than the standard Nestlé chocolate, or even Ghirardelli chips.)

For this photo, Cat wanted to make the brownies look extra beautiful, so we sprinkled them with extra cherries and milk chocolate chips. Then we realized that was kind of a brilliant idea for actually serving them, so that is how we ate the brownies themselves. The verdict: Delicious.

If you don’t want to go with the box mix on these, the recipe is available at Ghirardelli’s website. Just be sure to include the milk chocolate chips. And the cherries. Oh, the cherries.