Obsession, Part Two

Five-Spice Spudnuts with Prune Plum Jam

potato donut crossection

We interrupt the usual beat and flow of this blog to present another dissertation on donut-making…

I kid. I will keep it very short this time, because I’ve reread my previous donut post—the one in which I explored the ways to make light yeast-raised donuts at home—and got a bit of a headache.

I mentioned that there would be more donuts. But I’ll spare you from too many words this time. Pie is my passion, but donuts, which I’ve also said I rarely eat, are, for some reason, my fascination. Or at least my fascination du jour. I knew immediately after posting the last donut recipes what my next project would be—five-spice spudnuts with plum jam; I just needed to wait until that project was in season. The clarity was a result of having given up testing iterations 10 through 25 of the yeast-raised donuts with the fancy fillings and toppings in the recipes (browned butter glaze, butter-toasted salty almonds, cardamom-sugar, coffee pastry cream). Instead, I rolled each batch in five-spice-sugar for ease and to save money. And I came to love it. Plus, given the popularity of apple cider donuts (I might tackle cider donuts that actually taste like cider and not just like warm spices next year), donuts would be the perfect summer-fall transition dish, especially when paired with a favorite summer-fall transition fruit, sweet but just tart enough and musky prune plums.

Continue reading

Standing Up

Plum-Raspberry Crisp with Browned Butter and Hazelnut Topping

Plum Crisp
Where are people when they write their blog posts? Or, rather, where are people when they just write? I find myself asking this question whenever I read something—blog post, short story, whatever. I’m fascinated by the sights (window? willow tree? big-screen TV?) and the sounds (night crickets? humming refrigerator? upstairs neighbors’ paces? meowing kitty?) that surround human and computer screen and that either inspire thoughts or compete for attention.

And when? When do people write? Certainly time of day must control the above factors. What programs do they use? Do they type out their thoughts in Word, or in notepad to escape formatting, and then paste the spilled words into a post. Or, do they simply craft sentences right into the text field of their blogging platform? And do these things ever change, or are they constants? Is it socially acceptable to, in the comments field, ask: “Where were you when you wrote this post, and what surrounded you? I’m just curious.”?

Me, I prefer to write at the kitchen table, which is surrounded by three windows, and the room is filled with light until sundown. I start in word. I need a very blank space, because my mind is usually busy. The wordpress dashboard is too busy. I prefer to be accompanied by breakfast or lunch, because I like to break up the flow with stabs of fork and slow chewing. In that time, I can recollect my thoughts, and what better way to write about food than with food? The eating reminds me of the textures and flavors of the dish. It doesn’t have to be that particular dish (though that helps!) and it also doesn’t have to be glamorous. Right now, I’m eating a clean-out-the-fridge-of-the-almost-on-its-way-out-produce salad. There are multiseed crackers on the side and some prunes. But when the apartment is bustling, I take the laptop to my bedroom, sans food. Writing is less fun that way—I should see if the tone of posts written in various locations is different. I often make my final edits while sitting in my bed with all of the lights off. It’s the purest form of silence and tranquility I can find.

Continue reading

The Perfectionist and the Plum

Last Sunday, as I pared through these plums, sweet, pink yet barely-colored juices dribbled down my hands, under my nails, and all over my cutting board. But to my eyes, they were bloody red and left stains. I swore. I slashed harder, ripping through the smooth but relentlessly taut skin and piercing the just-ripe flesh, with vigor, down to the core. I cursed it. I took out every ounce of anger I had on that natural, living object.

I’ve been feeling off. The preceding Sunday, I had delicious plans for six black beauties that I had ripening away on the counter. My vision for them combined a recipe over which I have been lusting for a couple of years with two pastries I had eaten at two local bakeries. A trifecta of pastry perfection, you could say. I got caught up. I forgot. And then it would be too late. I forgot? There would be no plums that day.

Continue reading