If you are anything like me, and I really hope you aren't for your own sake, you go on these obsessive little tangents. Early in my life these were reading obsessions, all the plays of George Bernard Shaw's plays AND THEIR INTRODUCTIONS (Oh.The. Pain). The entire Grimm's Fairytales. Everything Kurt Vonnegut wrote. Now my obsessions are more varied-knitting socks, crocheting a cthulhu bathmitt, reaching level 60 at WoW, and baking. Who can say what captures my fevered brain's attention, but once the fever catches I am on, for all intensive purposes, a maniacal obsession of epic proportions to achieve my goal. For example when I came across David Lebovitz's blog, I immediately went to Kitchen Arts and Letters and bought the Sweet Life in Paris. As someone who loves French cooking, who longs to be an expatriot, AND who has the roughest possible draft of a Parisian travelogue, I justified this purchase as "research." David's style is easy so I devoured the book in hours.

Early on in the book I became obsessed with a recipe called Chouquettes Aux Pepites de Chocolate or "Cream Puffs with Chocolate Chips." Part of what immediately filled me with excitement was due to the simplicity of the recipe, I had all the ingredients save ONE. David was quite adamant that the chouquettes had to be topped with "Pearl sugar-large, white irregularly chaped chunks of sugar (roughly the size of small peas)" which he claimed was available from King Arthur Flour.

Indeed it was, but it would cost me about ten bucks to get 2 ounces of the stuff and while I was insanely obsessed, well, I was hesitant to fork over the cash. Besides, this is freakin' NYC right? I should be able to get "pearl sugar."

Sure.

Williams Sonoma-they have pink mexican crystal salt, but no pearl sugar. Neither does Eli's. Broadway Panhandler? When I called, they didn't even KNOW what I was talking about. Luckily, I discovered another blogger was just as obsessed as I was and she was NYC based! Smitten Kitchen wrote a post about Chouquettes partially inspired by David, and at the end of the post she let me know that the NY Cake and Bake store (the Sacre Couer of Cake Baking supplies to my heart) So off I went to NY Cake and Bake, and not only did I discover pearl sugar, but I discovered it in several colors so I purchased it in plain, hot pink, and rainbow. The colors themselves would make me happy.

Which is good, because as I detailed, despite my slavish attention to detail my chouquettes turned into "fluffy chocolate chip cookies"! Sure, people still thought them delish, but I was crushed. AND I had wasted some seriously high quality butter.

So I did what any brilliant person does when an utterly inexplicable failure hits them....Well after the crying and drinking of vodka. I called someone knows better than I do.

Much like Socrates, my so called intelligence rests mainly on my knowing who to call about what. I've got a great rolodex-need to know about orthopedic pediatric podiatry? a good brunch place in New Orleans? the literary term for a being who travels between different realms of existence? baudrilliard's theory on sign and simulacra? when blood oranges are in season? Give me a minute and I'll get you the answer.

So I emailed my good friend Bakerina. I described my problem in detail and asked for her help and despite the fact that she is law school, she sent me back a page and a half long detailed analysis. After reading the comments at Smitten's blog, I saw many people had similar issues with the recipe (even Smitten's dough was a bit "runny"). And let me tell you Bakerina's corrections fixed my chouquettes so that they were they HIT of my mother's asshat boyfriend's daugher's birthday. Did you get that? My mother's bf, who I hate, has a daughter, who I like. For her birthday, I made the chouquettes. This was a grand success because 1 it was one of the few dishes asshat doesn't KNOW how to make so he couldn't talk about how he would make them better (he thinks himself an expert in the kitchen even though he over salted the pesto until it was inedible this weekend) 2 as the ex husband of a Parisian he prides himself on French cooking so a second HAHA in my court. And finally, I was glad the daughter liked her "present" which were tasty indeed and every girl should have decadent Parisian fresh baked goodness on her 21st birthday. If only I had an appropriately hot garcon on hand to present them to her, it would have been the perfect present.

Unfortunately, I did not think to get pictures of the second set of chouquettes (only the failed ones) so I'll just have to make more (sigh) and post them here.

Still I thought I would share with you David's recipe with Bakerina's corrections so if you get filled with my mania you will not have to waste the quality butter that I did on the first batch. I've added Bakerina's corrections in purple. I recommend with ever fiber of my being that you pay close attention to her corrections.

Chouquettes Aux Pepits de Chocolate

Makes about 25 Puffs

1 cup water
1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt
2 teaspoons sugar
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small chunks
1 cup flour
4 large eggs at room temperature
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup pearl sugar

1. Position a rack in the upper third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone baking mat.

2. While David instructs the reader to heat the water, salt, sugar, and butter-Bakerina insists that you BOIL them. According to her, "this is a critical difference. If you cook till the butter is melted, your sugar will probably be dissolved, but it also might not be. When you cook to boiling, there's no doubt about it."

3. At this point David instructs the reader to remove the mixture from the heat and add the flour. Bakerina again adds critical information, "Remove the pan from the heat, stir in the flour to combine, AND put it *back* on the oven, and cook, stirring constantly, over medium heat for four minutes. The goal is not just to have it pull away from the sides of the pan, but also to coat the pan a little bit on the bottom. Your flour/liquid mix is now called 'panade' in French, and this step is known as roasting the panade."

4. Allow dough to cool for two minutes, then briskly beat in the eggs, one at a time, until smooth and shiny.

Again, a direction that SEEMS simple enough, but benefits from Bakerina's more exacting eye.

"David tells you to beat in the eggs, one at a time, until the dough is smooth and shiny. The thing is, dough is a funny beast, and sometimes 'smooth and shiny' isn't enough, and sometimes you need more or less egg depending on the size of the eggs you are using. So we were told that whenever we were presented with a choux recipe, to hold back one egg in the beating, then do a pinch test, pulling off a piece of dough with my thumb and forefinger, then moving my fingers apart. If the dough stretches between them, it's done. If the dough breaks into clumps, you need the other egg. Beat it in well. Do another pinch test if you want, but that should do it."

(This is precisely where my chouquettes went wrong so if you ignore ALL of the other advice, I would definitely do the pinch test.)

OK now the recipe pans out as David writes it:

"Using two spoons, scoop up a mound of dough with one spoon roughly the size of a walnut and scrape it off with the other spoon onto the baking sheet." ( I pulled this off with one spoon, but my "mounds" weren't very delicate or rounded.) "Place the mounds evenly-spaced apart on the baking sheet. Press coarse sugar crystals and chocolate chips over the top and sides of each mound. Use a lot. Once the puffs expand rise, you'll appreciate the extra effort (and sugar.)

Bake the cream puffs for 35 minutes, or until puffed and well-browned.

(If you want to make them crispier, you can poke a hole in the side with a knife after you take So them out of the oven to let the steam escape.)"

So there you have it. While I thought them a delicious dessert, the chocolate reminded me of pain au chocolat and so they might be just the things for a decadent brunch with some cafe au lait served in a big bowl!

This entire recipe and the resulting debacle and success reminded me that Julie Powell was utterly brilliant in her assertion that there is a difference between EASY and SIMPLE. Chouquettes are SIMPLE, but EASY-but they are WORTH IT.

Trust me and enjoy!

Labels: chouquettes, french pastry, pate a choux, recipes

So somehow I ended up at David Lebovitz's blog and specifically his post about Chouquettes. Being me, which is to say obsessive, I was seized with an absolutely MANIA for making these. I had already made pate a choux a few weeks ago for gougeres, so I was confident and familiar that I could master this recipe.

One of the major problems was finding pearl AKA crystal sugar-large coarse sugar crystals (not the same as "sanding sugar" which is often colored and used to decorate sugar cookies in my grandmother's house). I went to William Sonoma and Eli's with no success. After that I called Broadway Panhandler and the person who picked up the phone responded to my inquiry with an uninspiring "I guess."

Luckily Smitten of Smitten Kitchen was as obsessed as I was and discovered that NY Cake and Bake carries "pearl" sugar. Today I went there having never been. I was immediately filled with wonder and glee. Here was not only pearl sugar available in "plain" and in colors; rainbow of gel food colorings as well as edible glitter; sacks of flavored pastry fillings, tubs filled with chocolate discs for candy making, an array of candy molds, cookie cutters, and cake pans; wedding cake toppers of various ethnicities; cake and cupcake stands; ready to cut colored fondant; edible cake decorations in every type of flower; dolphin, halloween, and star and moon "jimmies" and...well anything and everything you could ever possibly want to make the dreamiest cakes, cupcakes, cookies and chouquettes.

I restrained myself somewhat. I bought 3 containers of pearl sugar(plain, hot pink, and rainbow).2 gel food colorings (electric blue and regal purple), and 2 cookie cutters (a copper Fleur de Lis and a little bunny).

I left the store smiling feeling that with such a store I could make any type of pastry I could imagine. Once home I set to work confident that soon I would be eating this pastry that had haunted me for a week.

The dough ended up runny, closer to cookie dough. So much so that when I put it on the sheet it spread out. I was nervous, but I had followed the recipe with slavish devotion to detail (unlike my first attempt at flourless chocolate cake, which I screwed up twice, but turned out perfectly). What came out of my oven were essentially big sugar topped chocolate chip cookies. I reviewed the recipe-no error. So I added more flour to the second batch till the dough was stiff. This time the puffs failed to rise at all and didn't even cook through.

So here I am feeling defeated. Sigh. I feel defeated alot lately, which is why I don't write that often. I've even stopped carrying around my writer's notebook. All the news I get these days pretty much sucks so hiding the energy to write is scarce. I direct it now into knitting, which even when I fubar results in a somewhat wearable pair of socks.

So like the chouquettes I fail to rise to the occasion. Still I'm not easily defeated. I've signed up for a class at NYU so I can have a recent recommendation from a Prof since most of my profs from grad either no longer remember me (it was a decade ago) or have retired and don't bother with such things anymore. And Thursday I'm going to try the chouquette again after reading some trouble shooting tips from Smitten.

Labels: baking, chouquettes, failure, french pastry, pate a choux

Twice this week I've been reading (The Flaneur if you must know) and been approached by strangers curious what I was reading that I made notations in the margins. They were of the opinion that if I was reading a book AND making notes it must be IMPORTANT. They confusion grew when they discovered that I was reading for pleasure. I generally read with a pencil in my hand (or a pen w/ post it notes if it's a book I truly love) regardless of whether the book is for a class I'm teaching or a novel I'm enjoying. This habit was reinforced by graduate school, but it interests me that so few people understand WHY I would write notes in a book that I am reading for pleasure.

Part of it goes to my attitude towards reading, which is that it is NOT a solitary pursuit, it's actually a conversation between the reader and the author. Reading itself is a CONSTRUCTIVE act, not passive like watching TV. While reading, even the most craptacular hackneyed romance novel ever, the reader must take the words on the page and create a mental image. These words that describe characters and action can become so influential, as a result of this collaboration, that readers will sometimes react as if the fate of the character has befallen a close friend or a real person. The clearest example of this is the Sherlock Holmes museum in London, which is supposed to be his house even though he was the fictional creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Film versions of books often fail to entertain those who have read the book first because the reader has imagined the scenarios and characters using their own biases and tastes, thus the invention is uniquely pleasing to them. A film, on the other hand, while created by hundreds of people-is a more general vision, trying to please a wide variety of tastes without the benefit of being customizable.

A movie, however, demands attention for about 2 hours, a book may require not only far more time, but also more involvement by the reader depending on the difficulty and sophistication of the text. Some books absolutely require multiple rereads or even sentences to be read again and again. A friend of mine felt this way about the work of Jacques Lacan. Thomas Mann claimed his 700 page novel about a tubercular colony, Magic Mountain, should be read twice. Once to get the general plot, and the second time to appreciate its nuances. As a professor, I often have to read the same books over and over again-thus I've read some works like the Inferno, the Iliad, the Odessey, and Antigone so many times I've lost count. Even other professors have remarked on why I would take the time to reread these works each time I taught them instead of just skimming notes. I did it, mainly, because each time I read these works I experienced them differently-gained new insights or changed previously held theories. If I simply skimmed my notes, my understanding of the texts would remain static.

So considering the personal and yet collaborative nature of reading, marginalia seems like a natural outgrowth. When people borrow my books, they often remark on the entertaining nature of the marginalia even though I never intended for others to read it. For me, there is something amusing about reading my own marginalia to see how my opinion has evolved over time. Some of my books have several sets of notes taken in different ink (most notably Lolita, which is a book that DEMANDS more than one read) which allows me to see and understand how my ability to interpret and analyze the literature has changed over time. Some of my books bear marginalia from a high school age Bunni, which is both embarassing and mildly endearing. But it seems clear that the idea of reading and writing being linked developed in me quite early.

So I'm a bit perplexed by this surprise by marginalia. Part of what shocks me is considering how interactive writing on the internet is-facebook statuses, tweets, and blog posts can all receive comments-that this passion for commenting hasn't carried over to printed texts . In fact, a book, Zero Comments , proclaims blogs are "driven by an in-crowd dynamic in which social ranking is a primary concern. The lowest rung of the new Internet hierarchy are those blogs and sites that receive no user feedback or 'zero comments'." (Making this blog lowman on the totem pole (sniffle). Since written feedback is considered so key to these social sites, why isn't reading a book considered as interactive as a facebook status?


The key difference is that while I can write what I like in a book, I do so without the expectation that anyone will read it. In fact, the intended audience of my marginalia is me-whether it's notes for a future a lecture or the title of a poem I will to research in more detail. The intended audience for comments on facebook and twitter is the whole online community. Thus the real surprise, or lack of understanding, comes from people unable to understand the effort of writing comments that aren't intended to garner praise, attention, or a response. The idea that these comments are for me (and my students often respond this way when they see me reading with a pencil in hand) is "What's the point?" Of course, to me, I can't quite wrap my head around the question well enough to answer it. On the surface there might not be a point. I may never read the book again. (I do have quite a few well annotated books that I have not reread...yet.) But I don't consider the time I took to write the comments wasted. Partially because the comments may have helped me develop my thoughts more coherently, but mainly because one of the chief joys of reading is feeling in communion with the author. The comments are the outgrowth of that collaboration.

It saddens me that so few people write marginalia. Growing up I lived by a Paperback Trader (it was literally up the hill from my house so we walked there often in the summer). I love owning previously owned books, a book with its own unique history, but it's always a delight to find something left behind by the previous owner(s)-a ticket stub, a news article, a postcard used as a bookmark. Even more interesting are their marginalia, even if it's in such abbreviated short hand that it makes no sense. I don't know why it intrigues me, but it's lovely to have some sort of connection with the previous owner. A link between the two of us who have both shared this physical book even though our experiences of it may be radically different. And, as a result, I miss the Paperback Trader and the days when I used to prowl the bins outside of the Strand for hidden treasures.

On one level, I fear the day of Paperback Traders has gone (the one by my house went out of business despite the fact that it was located ACROSS THE STREET FROM UCONN CAMPUS and had a wide selection of cheap textbooks) as has marginalia. Still, I shall continue to sit in the park, on the bus, and, of course, in bars-pencil in hand scribbling a response that no one but myself could be interested in.

Labels: marginalia, reading, writing

I was just on the phone talking to a friend of mine, and I heard myself say "I'm 34 years old with no children and no boyfriend." I was actually talking about a legal situation, but the moment I said it, the truth of the situation hit me. And all I could think of was "I started out so well."

Actually, I didn't. I started out life about to die, and then serious disabled, and then about to die a few more times. I fought my way back from that and THEN I started doing well. But now, again, I'm failing.

At moments like this I remember what the late Christina Middlebrook said about having cancer, "You want the world to make exceptions. It doesn't."

A writer like C.S. Lewis would tell me to be thankful, as every moment since I was 6 months old, no matter how painful, has been a gift.

It's hard to see it that way when I see people everyday who are far more gifted than I and have no awareness of it, no idea what it would mean to me to be able to easily walk up a flight of stairs or feel warm sand beneath my feet, nevermind what it would be to actually be able to trust someone to take care of me when I needed them.

This is what life is like without a net, I suppose.

Time for another trip to Paris.
I'm about to submit my second set of final grades. Already I've gotten emails about these grades-complaining, cajoling, even pleading-for better grades. And these emails are one of the worst parts of being a professor.

Now, let me make this clear. I've made mistake calculating grades. The general grading policy of the universities I work for stipulate that I have to submit final grades within 48 hours of giving the exam. Since I teach writing courses, it takes time to evaluate an exam. Thus, after hours and hours of reading exams, I have to sit down with a calculator and figure out what all these numbers mean. Even under the BEST of circumstances I'm not good with basic math, but when I'm tired, stressed, and rushed-well-occasionally I make mistakes.

I'm not complaining about when a student brings a legitimate issue to my attention. When students bring these errors to my attention, I apologize and correct them.

In the last 3 years, I've made 2 calculation errors and corrected both.

The majority of emails I receive are asking me to change final grades for any variety of reasons including that the grade doesn't reflect the "effort" the student put in.

If you are such a student, consider the following points before you grade grub:

1. Grades, unfortunately, do not measure effort. I make myself very available during office hours to work with students who are struggling with the material, but at the end of the day I have to grade based on the criteria I set out. Now, if you ARE struggling with the material, seek help DURING the semester. Most universities have oodles of free support, from tutors and group tutorials to writing centers, all designed to aid students achieve the grades they want.

Furthermore, most professors are required to hold office hours-USE THEM. I have to sit in my office even if not a single student shows up. Why not take advantage of the opportunity?

2. If there "family issues" during the semester (like emergencies or illnesses), keep your professors informed. Don't just spring it on them after they submit grades. If I know about your difficulties during the semester, I'm more than willing to work with you-give you extensions, cover lecture materials, etc-but suddenly informing me AFTER the semester seems, unfortunately, like you are trying to exploit your hardship in order to get a better grade.

3.Grades are not about feelings-mine or yours. The most common grade grubbing trope is "I don't FEEL like I deserve X grade." As I said before, grades measure your achievement against an objective set of criteria. I may like you as a student, but if your paper or assignment doesn't make the minimum set of requirements, I'll fail you. I may not LIKE failing you, but I'll do it. You may not LIKE failing, but that doesn't make the assessment invalid.

If you can point to specific indicators that the grade is WRONG (ie I miscalculated), then that is a valid objection. Just not liking the grade you received doesn't convince me that I made a mistake.

If you still decide to go ahead and grade grub, take the following advice:

1. PROOFREAD. This is ESPECIALLY true if you are writing an email to an English professor. I can't tell you how PAINFUL some of these emails are. From example a recent email posed this question "So can you the reason?" A large SECTION of that question is missing, which if the student hadn't taken more time to proofread, he/she would have noticed (I hope). These emails, quite honestly, are an INSULT to me and unlikely to persuade me. If you really want to convince me, show me what you have learned.

2. BE POLITE! You are asking me to do you a favor. As such, you should open your email with a greeting and a pleasantry (i.e. Hello Prof. X, How are doing?) Don't just launch into your request.

3.Be prepared to hear "No" While I am generally polite when I respond to a student's request, I'm often SERIOUSLY annoyed. Some professors, after years of coping, are no longer as kind as I am. As a result, you should be emotionally prepared to get an email like the ones my colleague pens in which he openly tells students their requests are INSULTING TO HIM.

Honestly, we DREAD getting grade grubbing emails. So just be aware of that before you decide to send that email.

Labels: grade grubbing, grading

In February, a very good friend of mine shared with me some rather dire health news. Growing up as I did in a family of health professionals, and with my own health crises, I have "the burden of knowledge." While a regular patient goes into surgery believing that the surgeon had a fabulous night of sleep, awoke feeling refreshed and happy-I knew that my father usually went into the OR hungover with pieces of toilet paper stuck to his face because he cut himself shaving. Not only do I know the truth about doctors and nurses (they are actually people, who despite their professionalism, make mistakes) I also know the truth about diseases. I know of a 34 healthy man who broke his leg playing soccer with his son and discovered that he was literally filled with cancer. He was dead within the month. I also know of someone who was told he had six months to live thanks to an aggressive terminal cancer. Six years later, he's not only alive, but writing, taking photographs, and driving his friends pleasantly crazy.

When X* told me that she had cancer, I hoped that she would come through it quickly, but I knew that even the best case scenario would be devastating and painful. And while I didn't want to think about the worst case scenario, I couldn't help fearing the worst case scenario-her death. For a young woman, I've had far too many friends die (cancer, diabetes, AIDs, suicide-a whole unfortunate range).

It turns out I feared the same thing she did, that she was dying. And during the following couple of months I sent her emails to let her know I thought of her, but not wanting to be a burden. I waited, hoping, to hear back good news.

And now the good news is here. I sat with her today, and she is just as beautiful and vibrant as she was befire, only more so, as I knew how much she had gone through to get here. We chatted about her health issues, and while it pained me to hear her describe the insensitivity of others, most egregiously some doctors, it was wonderful to just be with her and see her smile. And while it hurt me to hear her talk about how she thought she was going to die for the last 6 months, I was glad to know that period is OVER. She concluded her visit by saying soon we would take walks in the park together. I do so look forward to walking with her, enjoying the summer sun, and talking about all the wonder that still exists in the world-and all the more so because she is still so much in it.


*Out of concern for her, I will not even give her a nickname to protect her privacy.

Labels: friendship, health issues, illness