My dislike of onions has existed for as long as I can remember. My mother swears I used to eat them when I was very young, but I have no recollection of this. On occasion, she would accidentally add a bunch of onions to something before separating out an untainted portion for me, then try to pass it off as onion-free in the hopes that I wouldn’t notice. That never worked. I could spot them in food from 10 feet away. I could smell them from even farther. I’d smush my dinner all around the plate, pick out every onion I could find, then still refuse to eat it, igniting a dinner table standoff: Carey: Hater of Onions vs. Parents: Lords of After-Dinner TV Privileges. Even today, finding them in my food ignites a childish, fussy frustration within me. If I order a dish sans onions at a restaurant and the waiter asks if I have an allergy, my go-to response is, “I’m mentally allergic to them.” This is usually met with a somewhat bemused look, but it keeps them out of my food.

Then a year or so ago, J and I were having dinner at a local restaurant, and I ordered an entrée that came with these strange little soft-as-butter bulbs around the edge of the dish. I ate one and promptly declared it one of the most delicious things I’d ever tasted. J tried one, gave me a somewhat baffled look, then said, “Carey, that tastes just like an onion.” I paused, contemplating my next move. I decided that screaming “LIAR!” and demanding he retract his statement while I threatened him with a butter knife was not the best course of action in the middle of a crowded restaurant (though that was my first instinct). So instead, I took another bite. And wouldn’t you know it, they were still delicious. And in that moment, I found a glimmer of hope. Hope that I might actually be able to overcome my longest-standing, most-neurotic food phobia. In a world where people seem to love to define themselves by what they don’t eat, I take a somewhat-fierce pride in being an ex-vegetarian that no longer imposes labels or restrictions on herself. Instead of constantly passing up things or fearing that I’ll have a meal ruined by some sort of hidden meat product simply because I don’t eat that, I’ve learned to understand the benefits and drawbacks of the various things I eat. I’ve paid attention to the effects that different foods have on my body, and I eat what makes me feel good. And on the whole, that’s still what would qualify as a mostly-vegetarian diet. But sometimes it’s a bloody steak. Or an ungodly amount of chocolate. Point is, if I can overcome all of that, I should be able to get past this darn onion phobia too! If I could make that happen, it would kind of be like reaching Food Nirvana.

Sadly, I haven’t made too much progress on the onion front. One occasion of note, however, occurred at my favorite restaurant in town, when I asked if the risotto dish had onions in it. One of the chefs was nearby, and I (being somewhat sneaky) assumed that he’d say yes but offer to leave them out. Instead, he looked me square in the eye and said, “yes, but I’ll make them so small you won’t even notice them.” I, momentarily taken aback, had a brief staring contest with him (that was probably entirely in my head), then responded, “OK, yeah, do it.” And it was delicious. I could see the tiny little bits of onions, and I didn’t even care. So I guess that is progress. And clearly, I still love those weird little onion-like ramps. I don’t understand why they’re so amazing, but they are.

Asparagus & Caramelized Ramp Hand Pies

yield: approximately 18 pies

Dough

• 2 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
• 1 tsp salt
• 14 tbsp (1 3/4 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
• 2 oz. parmesan (around 3/4 of a cup), grated
• ½ cup of ice water

Filling

• 1 small bunch of asparagus
• 2 tbsp of olive oil
• 1 small bunch of ramps
• 2 tbsp of butter
• 1 tbsp of sugar
• 1 lemon, zest and juice
• 1 – 1 1/2 cups of ricotta (I can’t quite remember how much I used, so start with 1 cup and adjust as needed)
• 3/4 cup of parmesan, grated
• salt and pepper, to taste
• 1 egg yolk + 1 tbsp of water (for the wash)

To make the dough:

Combine flour and salt in a food processor and pulse once or twice. Add butter and pulse until crumbly, then pulse in cheese. Add the ice water a little bit at a time, pulsing in between, until dough comes together. Turn out dough and gather it together, then divide into two pieces. Wrap each piece in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least half an hour.

To roast the asparagus:

Preheat oven to 450°. Snap off unripe ends of asparagus, then chop into 1/2-inch pieces. Toss in a pan with olive oil and roast for about 20 minutes, or until asparagus has some slight browning.

To caramelize the ramps:

Wash and trim off roots. Cut off bulbs, then roughly chop greens and set aside.

Melt butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Add ramp bulbs, then stir to coat and cook over medium heat for around 1 minute. Reduce heat to low, then continue to cook bulbs, stirring occasionally, until they’ve softened a begun to brown — around 8 minutes. Add sugar and stir until everything begins to caramelize — around 2 minutes. Add in greens and stir for approximately 1 minute. Cover pan and turn off heat. Let sit for about 5 minutes, or until greens have wilted.

To make the pies:

Preheat the oven to 375° and remove dough from the fridge.

Combine the asparagus, ramps, and all of the remaining filling ingredients (except for the egg wash) together in a bowl.

Roll out both dough rounds into a large rectangles, approximately 11 x 14 inches each and 1/8″ thick. Place heaping tablespoons of filling across one rectangle, top with the other, then cut into 3 x 3 squares. Press edges of pies together with a fork to seal, trim off any excess on the ends, then combine with the rest of the dough trimmings and re-roll out into a 1/8″-thick rectangle. (Refrigerate before re-rolling if dough feels too soft.) Spoon out the remaining filling across half of the dough, cut other half and place on top, and repeat the sealing/trimming process.

Place pies on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or a silpat mat. Brush egg wash on each pie, then score with a sharp knife. Bake for 25–30 minutes, or until the edges of the pies begin to brown. Transfer to a rack and let cool.

Looking through my archives, you wouldn’t really pick up on my rhubarb obsession. That, I’m sorry to say, is due to the fact that everything gets eaten before I have a chance to photograph it. Pies, sodas, fruit leather — it’s all gone. We ate it all. But I saved you some ice cream! Wasn’t that nice of me?

As soon as I tasted this stuff, I knew I couldn’t let it vanish without being documented. I usually try to avoid the combination of strawberries and rhubarb because J is mildly allergic to the former, but it seemed essential for this ice cream (especially because I wanted to bring basil into the mix). If you’re skeptical about the use of basil in a sweet dish, I urge you to suspend your disbelief and give it a try. It adds a subtle, almost anise-like flavor, which compliments the sweet/tartness of the strawberries and rhubarb perfectly. The end result was divine. I know an ice cream is good when I want to melt it down and drink it so I can consume it more quickly, and this is one of those ice creams. Even J ate it, under my watchful and somewhat concerned gaze, promising me that it was fine because he’d taken allergy meds earlier that day. My only teeny tiny complaint was that, once frozen, it got a bit icy. Some brief reading online seems to indicate that the way to remedy this is by adding more sugar (but if anyone has any other insights, please share). I’ve made no adjustments to the recipe below, so if you’d like to try adding more sugar to avoid iciness, an additional 1/8 – 1/4 of a cup might help. (Also, the original recipe called for brown sugar, which I was out of. This may have a different effect on the final consistency, and also add a nice depth of flavor if you’d like to give it a try in place of white sugar.)

Roasted Strawberry Rhubarb Basil Ice Cream
(adapted from Not Without Salt)

yield: approximately 1 quart

• 2 cups of rhubarb, chopped into 1/2-inch chunks
• 1 1/2 – 2 cups of strawberries, stems removed and halved
• 1 lemon, zest and juice
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 4 large basil leaves, minced
• 1 cup of sugar
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 2 cups of heavy cream
• 1 of cup milk

Preheat oven to 400°. Combine rhubarb, strawberries, and lemon juice and zest in a pan. Roast for around 15–20 minutes, or until everything is nice and soft. Remove and let cool for 10–15 minutes.

Add rhubarb/strawberry/lemon mixture to your food processor. (If you aren’t neurotic about non-chunky ice cream, you can add the basil now as well and skip the straining part.) Process for several minutes, or until the mixture seems very smooth. Run mixture through a sieve, stirring until you’ve gotten everything through and separated out any remaining chunky bits. Return the mixture to the food processor, add in your basil, and process for another minute.

Transfer mixture to saucepan. Heat on medium and add the vanilla extract and sugar. Stir until sugar is dissolved, then remove from heat and let cool.

Once your mixture has cooled down a bit, add in the heavy cream and milk. Cover the mixture and refrigerate for at least an hour, or, ideally, overnight. (I also read that an overnight chilling can make a big difference in the final texture, so I will be doing that from now on.)

Process chilled mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Lately, I’ve been feeling very, very lucky that I don’t experience spring allergies. This season seems to be especially hard on everyone in the Northeast, thanks to the mild winter. The boyfriend spent the past week suffering through what I concluded was hay fever, the symptoms of which seemed invulnerable to various allergy med cocktails. (He isn’t quite so sure about my diagnosis, but it doesn’t seem possible that I wouldn’t have caught whatever he had unless it was allergy-related. So if he wants to find fault in my 5-minutes-of-googling-say-this theory, the only other possible conclusion I can reach is that I have a superhuman immune system, which totally rules.)

While I may not be dealing with allergies, I do find myself experiencing another springtime affliction: zombie hunger. Each day, I am suddenly stricken with an all-consuming need to feed (on things of the non-human flesh variety), and god help anyone or anything that gets in my way. I attribute this to a spike in my metabolism, thanks to the spring crazies, which actually leaves me with a bit of a dilemma. This metabolism boost causes my body to start shedding its winter . . . *ahem* . . . insulation. And this year I am high-fiving myself for keeping up my daily workouts through the winter, because emerging from beneath this insulation are abs. Honest to goodness abs!

(I know, so what’s the problem, right?) The problem is that zombie Carey wants bread, eggs, and cheese. LOTS OF ALL OF IT. But those damn abs, I can hear them whining at me, “Please, puhlease, don’t bury us again! Just look at us, then think about it!” Errrrrrruuugggh, FINE, I’ll make a smoothie instead. Just shut up, stupid abs.

I really do love smoothies, actually. I get to throw a bunch of stuff together then let a machine blend it up into a delicious, drinkable treat. Maybe I snack on a couple pieces of cheese while the machine does the work for me. Whatevs. Smoothies are also excellent ways to utilize healthy things you can’t really handle on their own. For me, it’s a great way to drink kombucha. Before I go any further, is everyone familiar with kombucha? I ask because my brother recently had an experience at the café where he works that was pretty much this scene, if you replaced beer with kombucha and a loveable dork with an obnoxious tourist that insisted my brother, “taste this . . . taste this,” until he was finally able to make the man understand that that was indeed how the drink was supposed to taste.

Jerky tourist or not, I understand the reaction. (Especially since he was probably expecting a delicious juice. Ha!) So when my boyfriend suggested I try one of the kombucha smoothies they make at his café, I was extremely hesitant. “Carey, trust me, you will like it. I promise.” I couldn’t really say no to that without feeling like a fussy child, so I did try it. And I did like it. A lot. It gives the smoothie a great tang, and the rest of the ingredients mask the in-your-face vinegary-ness. Zombie Carey is happy. The abs are happy. Hurray smoothies!

Kombucha Berry Oat Smoothie

I’m not 100% sure about the accuracy of these measurements, since I just know how everything should look when I add it to my food processor. Adjust as needed!

• around 1 1/2 cups of berries
• 2/3 cup of kombucha (I love elderberry)
• 1/3 cup of pomegranate juice
• 3 tbsp of vanilla honey greek yogurt
• 1 tbsp of almond butter
• a small handful of oats

I use frozen berries so I like to chop some of the bigger strawberries and blackberries up first. Then throw everything in your blender or food processor and let the thing go to town! If it seems a little thick, just add in a bit more juice. (A good rule of thumb for a proper liquid-to-solid ratio is you should be able to see the liquid nearing the top of your solid ingredients, but it shouldn’t cover them entirely.)

Tip from me: Check to see if you have straws before you make a smoothie. I didn’t before my first smoothie of the year, and that was a mistake. I tried to drink it without one, but it was utterly unenjoyable. So I improvised with a plastic thermometer sleeve.

I have some pretty strong feelings about what a grilled cheese should be.  And, at the risk of getting a bit up-on-my-soapbox-y, I’d like to share them with you. First: Butter that bread. No oils, especially if they’re “spritzed” on (good grief). BUTTER all the way! Second: Use a light, mild-flavored bread. Because the bread is just a crispy vessel that contains and delivers the delicious, melty cheese. Which brings me to my last, but most strongly-held belief: The cheese is the one and only star. I like a hot sandwich with cheese and other tasty things as much as the next person. But if you ask me if I want a “grilled cheese” and I reply, “yes!” (which I always will), I don’t want any of that extra jazz. No stringy greens smacking me in the face. No tomato chunks falling into my lap. And no, not even any delicious (but overpowering and tough-to-bite-through) slices of bacon. Just buttery bread and ooey-gooey cheese, please.

OK, now that we have my diatribe out of the way, let’s talk components and assembly! When cheese is the prime ingredient, you need a filling that will melt well, while also packing a good deal of flavor. This can be somewhat tough to achieve with just one cheese, as many melting cheeses tend to be milder in flavor, while many of the tastier cheeses don’t melt very well and tend to be a bit overpowering on their own. The simple solution: two (or more) kinds of cheese — one that will melt, and one that will pack a nice tasty punch. And grate those cheeses! This facilitates melting, and allows you to mix in your other two ingredients: the “flavor enhancers” (i.e., herbs, spices, salt, pepper, etc.) and the creamy spread. (Basically, what you’re going to do is create a “cheese salad” of sorts.) This gives you even ingredient distribution, and also keeps your grated cheeses from flying all over the place when you flip your sandwich. NO CHEESE LEFT BEHIND. NOT ON MY WATCH.

For my grilled cheese, I went with mozzarella, an aged gouda, and plain greek yogurt. One other suggestion I have regarding cheese selection is to perhaps avoid really shiny ones. Jarlsberg, while one of my all-time favorite table cheeses, takes on an almost wax-like consistency when melted, which I find rather unappealing. While I haven’t tested the theory, I think that a shiny cheese may be a waxy one as well.

To make your cheese salad, simply grate your two cheeses and set aside. Add a dollop of your creamy spread of choice to a bowl, then mix in your herbs and spices. If you’re using dried herbs, I highly recommend giving them a good “finger crushing” as you sprinkle them in. This will release more flavor, and also make them a little less gritty, since they don’t really get a chance to rehydrate. Add your grated cheeses to the bowl and mix everything until it’s well-combined, with a “bound” salad consistency. (I literally just discovered that term as I was trying to come up with an adjective other than “paste-like.” Thank you, Wikipedia.)

Evenly apply the mixture to one slice of bread (leaving just a little room around the edges to minimize cheese loss during the grilling process), then top with the other. Your filling should be about as thick as one slice of bread.

Heat up your grill pan or cast iron skillet and butter one side of your bread. Once your pan is nice and hot, add your sandwich, butter-side down. While it cooks, butter the other side of the bread. Once the first side has some nice browning, flip the sandwich and give it a good press. At this point, I like to reduce the heat on the pan to low (or turn it off completely if using a cast iron pan), then cover it and let it cook for a minute or two. This ensures that your cheese will melt, and your bread won’t burn. (I’m also very intrigued by Alton Brown’s technique [8 minutes in] of using two hot cast iron pans as a press, even if he is an oil spritzer — c’mon, AB!)

And the last important step in making a grilled cheese: Cut that baby in half! Take a moment to marvel at the ooey-gooey cheese, then dig in.

Here’s why: This Saturday, fueled by some serious can-do-will-do ambition, I decided it was time for garden prep work. This was especially exciting for me, because this year I have ALL of the garden space to myself, thanks to my new neighbors who happily told me to have at it (yay!). And as I was ripping out weeds and dried-up remnants of tomato plants, I began to notice all of the other things I could clean up. Mainly, the leaves, which were still leftover from the fall. I’m guessing that’s due to the fact that none of us own a rake, which is kind of essential. But I was determined, so I set about clearing a 3′ x 15′ patch from the front of our house. And when I finished, I felt super proud. Hurray me. Then I woke up the next day and tried to walk.

Apparently, clearing a semi-large patch of leaves by hand is the equivalent of doing squat thrusts for 45 minutes straight. It’s two days later, and I’m still in pain. And I can’t decide if I should be proud of my groundskeeping-related aches, or slightly ashamed that two hours of yard work has rendered me an insufferable baby with the mobility of an old arthritic dog. So instead, I’ll just focus on the fact that my lawn is clean, my seedlings are planted, and I got some serious exercise in the process. And now, I’m done whining (thank you for listening!). On to the bites!

Seriously, I think about that casserole at least three times a week. It’s spicy. It’s cheesy. I love it. I need it. And when Easter rolled around, I finally had an excuse to re-purpose it into an appetizer.

For the purpose of making these things mold-able, I added in polenta and quinoa. The polenta helped the bites hold their shape, and the quinoa added a nice texture (and some of that great quinoa nutrition!). I was extremely happy with the way these things turned out, especially considering that I was winging it on a very hectic food day. I will definitely be making them again. And when I get around to making the casserole version, polenta and quinoa are going in that too. Yummm!

(Speaking of winging it, I’d like to note that many of my measurements below are approximations, based on the fact that I was eyeballing everything and not paying much attention to anything but the consistency of the batter. Please adjust things as you see fit, and let me know if you find that anything is way off.)

Chile Relleno Quinoa Bites
(adapted from Winner Dinners)

yield: approximately 3 dozen bites

For the bites:

• 1/2 cup of quinoa (plus 1 – 1 1/2 cups of water, for cooking)
• 1/2 cup of polenta (plus 2 cups of water, for cooking)
• 2–3 roasted poblano peppers, peeled, de-seeded, and diced (I used 2, but I think it could have used a little more spice)
• 1 cup of cheddar cheese (smoked cheddar, if you can find it)
• 1 egg
• 1/4 cup of tomato purée
• a few dashes of salt and pepper
• breadcrumbs if necessary — just enough to make the batter mold-able

For the dipping sauce:

• 2 cups of tomato purée
• 1 roasted jalapeno pepper, peeled, de-seeded, and diced
• 3 cloves of garlic, minced
• 1 small onion, diced
• a few pinches of oregano
• salt and pepper, to taste

To roast the peppers:

Preheat the oven to 450°. Rub the outside of your jalapeno and poblanos with olive oil and place on a baking tray. Roast peppers until skin begins to blacken and blister. Turn peppers and roast until the other side does the same. Remove from oven and transfer to a paper bag. Seal bag and let the peppers sit for about 15 minutes (this helps them steam, and makes removing the skin much easier). Once they are cool enough to handle, peel off the skins, then cut open the peppers and remove the seeds. Dice peppers and set aside.

To make the bites:

Preheat the oven to 350°. Bring water for quinoa to a boil, then add quinoa, cover, and reduce to a simmer. Once all of the water has been absorbed, remove from heat and set aside. Do the same for the polenta. (Most polenta recipes recommend constant stirring, but I really don’t think that’s necessary for these purposes. Just it a few times in the beginning, then cover it and keep an eye on it.)

Combine together everything except for the breadcrumbs and mix until well combined. If your batter seems a bit wet, add breadcrumbs until it takes on a sticker, more-solid texture.

Line a baking sheet with a silpat mat or parchment paper. Form bites into 1 1/4-inch balls, and place fairly close together (they don’t need much room). Bake for 20–30 minutes, or until they begin to brown and the outside, and feel a bit crispy to the touch.

For the dipping sauce:

While the bites are baking, saute onion over medium heat in a saucepan until translucent. Add garlic and saute for a couple minutes more, then add everything else (tomato purée, jalapeno, and spices). Reduce heat to low, cover, and let simmer for around 20 minutes. Remove from heat a let cool a little bit, then purée sauce in a blender or food processor until smooth.

Serve while the bites are nice and hot!

The craziness also makes me do very ambitious things. Like deciding to prepare two kinds of homemade soda along with a giant Easter dinner, despite waking up late and lazily milling around the house for far longer than I should have. I experienced a couple moments of doubt (accompanied by an impressive variety of curse words), but in the end everything turned out great, including my ambitious soda.

I’m not much of a soda drinker (with the exception of Reed’s Extra Spicy Ginger Ale — so good!). But I’m semi-obsessed with the idea of making my own sodas — in part because it makes me feel like a bit of an alchemist, but mostly because it allows me to create beverages that are far less sweet than the store-bought varieties. And since I’ve been loving the addition of herbs to soda syrups lately, this was a great way to use up the fresh thyme leftover after I’d made my Easter ham glaze.

I’d mentioned that I’d made two sodas, and I will admit that this was the less impressive of the two. (Sadly, there was none of the better one left to photograph!) This blackberry soda is still quite good, but it’s missing something. I think that something is tartness. Extra lemon juice might help, or possibly a pinch of citric acid or a little cider/red wine vinegar. If anyone has any suggestions, I would absolutely love to hear them. This is a recipe that I will continue to make and experiment with, and I’d encourage you to do the same if you decide to give it a try. Adjusting things to your taste is part of the fun of soda-making!

(This soda would also make a great cocktail mixer. I thought it might pair well with heartier liquors, but I tried mixing it with applejack and it just didn’t stand up the way I’d expected. I’d recommend trying it with gin instead [or vodka, if you aren't big on gin].)

Blackberry, Lemon, & Thyme Soda

yield: approximately 3 cups of syrup, or enough to make 6 cups of soda

• 1 cup of blackberries, slightly muddled (or chopped, if using frozen berries)
• 1/2 cup of raspberries, slightly muddled (or chopped, if frozen)
• approximately 1 dozen sprigs of fresh thyme
• zest and juice of 2 lemons
• 2 tsp pomegranate molasses
• 1/4 cup of honey
• 1/2 cup of sugar
• 3 cups of water
• (and perhaps something to increase the tartness — another lemon, a tsp of citric acid, or a little cider/red wine vinegar)

Combine everything except for honey, sugar, and molasses in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, cover, and let simmer for 5 minutes.* Remove from heat and let sit for an hour or two, or until completely cooled.

Once cooled, strain out solids through a sieve lined with cheesecloth. Return liquid to sauce pan, place pan over medium heat, then add honey, sugar, and molasses, and stir until just dissolved. Remove from heat and let cool once again.

*I only let my syrup simmer for 5 minutes because I use a SodaStream to carbonate beverages. If you do not have a home carbonation system, you will want to reduce this syrup down a bit more so the end result is still fizzy once combined with seltzer. I would recommend allowing the syrup to simmer for around 20–30 minutes, or until it has reduced down by nearly half.

If you are using a home carbonation system, mix 1 part syrup with 1 part water and carbonate as directed . . . sort of. I’ve discovered that when you carbonate something besides just water, it has a tendency to fizz, a lot. I’ve found the best thing to do is carbonate cautiously, letting the mixture rest for a while when it becomes foamy. (If this seems like an annoying process, I’d suggest reducing the syrup down as instructed above for combining with seltzer. I simply prefer to cook things as little as possible, which is why I chose this method for my soda.)

If you go with the reduced syrup, I’m not quite sure of the proper ratio of syrup to seltzer. I’d recommend starting with an ounce of syrup, adding seltzer, then adjusting to taste. Throw in a couple fresh springs of thyme and enjoy!

(The syrup will keep for up to 2 weeks in the fridge.)

If ever there was a testament to my obsessive need to bring food ideas to fruition, this is it. I was having a tough time coming up with a St. Paddy’s Day post after discovering that the Brown Eyed Baker already made Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes last year. (I was totally stealing the idea from the head baker at Johnny’s café anyway, so I guess it serves me right!) Then on Thursday morning, I started thinking about ice cream floats. By 8:00 a.m., the KitchenAid ice cream bowl attachment was headed my way via express shipping, and recipes for Baileys ice cream, whiskey caramel sauce, and whiskey whipped cream had been hunted down and bookmarked.

If you don’t want to bother with making ice cream, I believe Häagen-Dazs also sells a Baileys ice cream. But I will just say that the homemade version is frighteningly delicious. Especially when it contains swirls of whiskey caramel. It’s even great for breakfast. Not that I would know. Just this theory I have.

This is definitely one boozy dessert. I’m not really big on Guinness, but I used it here to stay true to the drink. If you feel the same way I do about Guinness, try using Beamish or Murphy’s in its place. (It’s been a while since I had either of these beers, but I remember being partial to Beamish ages ago.)

(P.S. I realize that the ICB doesn’t exactly have the most politically correct of names. To anyone who might find my decision to retain the title in this post offensive, you have my apologies in advance.)

Baileys Ice Cream
(from Nigella Lawson)

yield: approximately 1 quart

• 575ml whole milk (just under 2 1/2 cups)
• 450ml heavy cream (just under 2 cups)
• 125ml Baileys Irish Cream (1/2 cups)
• 1 whole vanilla bean
• 3 large eggs
• 4 large egg yolks
• 225g sugar (1 cup)
• 2 tsp vanilla extract

Combine the milk and cream in a sauce pan. Split the vanilla bean, scrape out the caviar, then add the caviar and the pod to the mixture.

Bring the mixture to a slow boil over medium heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, then remove from heat. Remove the vanilla bean pod from the mixture and discard.

Combine eggs, sugar, and vanilla extra in a bowl. Beat together at medium speed for about 2 minutes, or until the mixture is thick, smooth, and pale yellow in color.

Measure out 1 cup of the milk/cream mixture. Slowly add it to the egg mixture while beating on low speed. (By doing this you are warming up [or "tempering"] the eggs, so they won’t turn into cooked grossness when you add them to the hot milk/cream.)

Slowly stir egg mixture into milk/cream. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.

Pour mixture through a sieve into a clean bowl. Cover bowl with plastic wrap, placing plastic wrap directly on the custard (to keep a skin from forming), and refrigerate until chilled completely. (This step in the process tripped me up a bit because I didn’t want the plastic wrap to come in contact with the still-hot custard. I let it cool down a bit, then did my best to skim off the little bit of skin that did form.)

Once the ice cream is completely chilled, process it according to your ice cream maker’s instructions. Let the finished ice cream soften a bit, then swirl in the whiskey caramel sauce (recipe below).

Whiskey Caramel Sauce
(from The Burp! Recipe Collection)

• 1 cup of sugar
• just enough water to cover the sugar and bottom of the pan
• 1 cup of whipping cream
• 1/4 cup of Irish whiskey

Note: If you’re just using this for the above batch of ice cream, you could definitely cut the recipe in half. I wound up with 1 cup of leftover caramel. (Not that I’m complaining!)

Add sugar to a medium saucepan and shake to evenly distribute. Add just enough water to cover the sugar.

Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, paying close attention and swirling occasionally. Once the mixture turns a dark amber color (after about 5–7 minutes), remove from heat.

Whisk in cream and whiskey. Let caramel cool a bit before adding it to your ice cream.

Whiskey Whipped Cream
(from The Pioneer Woman)

• 1 cup of heavy cream (very cold)
• 3 tbsp of sugar
• 2 tbsp of Irish whiskey

Combine all ingredients and beat on high until stiff, approximately 4 minutes.

Irish Car Bomb Ice Cream Float

Add a couple scoops of ice cream to a glass, then pour in your Irish stout of choice. (Ignore the skimpy amount of ice cream in the image below. I feared wasting any more after the first attempt at controlled foaminess got very out of hand.)

Fill glass nearly to the top, saving room for the whipped cream.

Top with a hefty dose of whipped cream, then serve. (If you’d like to make a big fun foamy mess, just pour some more stout on top of the whipped cream.)

Sláinte!

Oh hello, maple cream. I’ve missed you!

For those of you that are unfamiliar with this substance, maple cream is simply maple syrup that is heated, cooled, then stirred until the consistency changes from a syrup to a thick cream. It’s awesome on toast, in frosting, off your fingers . . . in short: it rules. Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s get down to business!

Oh but first, a little back story. In my hometown of Jefferson, NY, we were lucky enough to have a great sap house called Buck Hill Farm. In addition to turning out an endless supply of amazing maple products, they also served breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays. This is where yours truly spent her weekends waiting tables throughout high school.

To this day, my parents still eat there every weekend. When I am lucky enough to make it to a BHF breakfast, I order the most annoying meal ever — a tiny bit of almost everything, because it’s all so delicious! I still have to resist the urge to ask for sides of maple syrup whenever I go out to breakfast elsewhere. (For some reason, people look at you like you’re crazy when you pour maple syrup all over everything outside of a sap house.)

Somehow, despite my maple addiction, I had all but forgotten about maple cream. But then, I happened upon Bite My Cake’s creamed honey post. Within moments, I was obsessing over finding recipes for its maple counterpart. I was almost immediately confused, however, as some sites noted that the syrup should be heated to 235°, cooled to 40°, then brought back up to room temperature before stirring, while others simply called for it to be heated to 235°, then cooled to 125° and stirred. Lucky for me, all I had to do was ask Sharon (owner/operator of BHF) which method she recommended, and she directed me toward the former. I’m not sure what sort of difference the extra cooling makes in the final product, and I’m sure both are rather similar. But I can say with certainty that the former method yields a delicious product. Feel free to try either, depending on how much effort you’d like to put into the process. (And if anyone has any insight into the reasons for the different methods, I would love to hear it!)

Maple Cream

yield: Volume-wise, you should end up with just a little less cream than the amount of syrup you began with. (I used a quart of syrup and wound up with around 3 1/2 cups of cream.)

you will need:

• 100% pure maple syrup
• 1/4 tsp of cream (to keep the syrup from boiling over — you can substitute oil as well if you’d like to keep it dairy-free)
• candy thermometer
• heavy saucepan with high sides
• ice bath

Tip from Sharon: Water boils at different temperatures depending on elevation and other atmospheric factors (at sea level the BP is around 212°, but will be lower at higher elevations). Since even a few degrees can make a difference when working with sugar, it is a good idea to heat a few cups of water in your saucepan before you begin working with the syrup and note the temperature at which it boils. If this is around 208–210°, you will only want to heat the syrup to around 232–233°, rather than 235.

Prepare an ice bath, along with the final bowl you will be mixing everything in (i.e., the stainless steel bowl of your stand mixer).

Combine syrup and cream/oil in the heavy saucepan. Without stirring, bring to a boil over medium heat. Clip the thermometer to the side of the pan so it is submerged in the syrup but not touching the bottom of the pan. (Or use two thermometers, if you’re as crazy paranoid about thermometer accuracy and over-cooking sugar as I am.)

Without stirring, heat mixture to somewhere between 232–235°, depending on your water BP test. Once the syrup reaches the appropriate temperature, immediately remove it from the heat and pour it into the other bowl, then place it in the ice bath.

Move the ice bath to a cold location (fridge, porch, etc.). Clip a thermometer to the side of the new bowl and let cool until the mixture reaches around 40°. (I was a little impatient and didn’t let it cool past about 50°, and it turned out fine.)

Remove the bowl from the ice bath and allow it to warm back up to room temperature. Once it has reached room temperature, mix the syrup on the lowest setting of your stand mixture using the paddle attachment. (Alternatively, you can mix it using a spoon, it will just take some persistence and elbow grease!)

Mix for around 25–30 minutes, or until the syrup thickens and turns into a beautiful creamy mixture. You’ll know it’s done once it tastes more sugary than syrup-y (if that makes any sense). (If that doesn’t make sense, continue stirring it around 7–10 minutes after it begins to take on a creamy consistency.) When you’ve achieved the taste and consistency you’re looking for, pour the cream into jars. Store in the fridge for up to 6 months. Enjoy it on practically everything!

(Note: It is natural for the cream to harden a bit in the fridge, as well as for some syrup to rise to the top. Just give it a good hearty stir to return it to its original consistency.)

#1. Sewing machine. I dealt with sewing machine separation anxiety when I went off to college; it wasn’t pretty. Luckily, my mom quickly tired of the marathon sewing sessions that would happen every time I came home to visit, and thoughtfully suggested that my aunt buy me one for my birthday.

#2. Awesome knives. One serrated; one large Santoku. My days of maiming fruits and veggies with steak knives (that may or may not have been “procured” from crappy chain restaurants) are far behind me, and it’s going to stay that way.

#3. SodaStream. Part of me feels like this spot should go to a camera, or maybe a bike, but who am I kidding? I need those bubbles. Still water bores me, and I pretty much have to be on the verge of dehydration before I actually think to drink a glass. And not only does my SodaStream keep my hydrated, but it also takes care of one of my least favorite things: flat beverages.

This was my first time making tonic syrup, and I was extremely pleased with the result. Not only does it save me from pouring half-full bottles of flat tonic down the drain, it is less sweet and far tastier. In perusing tonic water recipes online, one of the things that surprised me is that most call for cinchona bark powder. Filtering powders out of liquids can be annoyingly time-consuming, and is something I’d like to avoid if at all possible. Fortunately, cinchona bark is also available in “cut” form, although it is a bit harder to come by. I wound up purchasing a 16 oz. bag from Penn Herb Company. It’s a large amount, but it’s totally worth it if you’re a big tonic drinker. And I only wound up straining the mixture twice: once through a sieve to catch the big stuff, and once more through a coffee filter to remove the small particulates. Less filtering time = more drinking time!

Homemade Tonic Water
(adapted from Jeffrey Morgenthaler)

• 4 cups of water
• 1/4 cup of cut cinchona bark
• 1 small lemongrass stalk
• zest and juice of 1 orange
• zest and juice of 1 lemon
• zest and juice of 1 lime
• 1 tsp whole allspice berries
• 1/4 cup of citric acid
• 1/4 tsp kosher salt
• 3/4 cup of agave (or a little over 1 cup of granulated sugar)

Note: Avoid direct hand-to-bark contact as much as possible. Amidst all those large chunks are zillions of teeny tiny splinters. (Forming them into a pile with my bare hands was a big mistake!)

Combine all ingredients except the agave/sugar in a large saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Remove from heat and let cool for a bit, then pour mixture through a sieve to remove the large pieces. Run remaining mixture through a coffee filter to remove the small particulates. (You may need to stir it a little bit to keep things from backing up.)

Once you’ve finished filtering, return the mixture to the stove and place over medium heat. Add agave/sugar, and stir until combined. Remove from heat and let cool, then transfer to a jar and store in the refrigerator. To make your tonic syrup last even longer, add an ounce of high-proof vodka.

To make a gin and tonic, combine 3/4 oz. syrup, 1 1/2 oz. gin, and 2 oz. of seltzer over ice. Serve and enjoy!

For the past few days, I have been racking my brain trying to think up one last Valentine’s Day post. I was finding no inspiration as far as desserts go, and since I’ve already done breakfast and dinner, I decided to focus my attention on the cocktail. I was obsessing over something red or pink, but I’d already done grenadine, blood orange cocktails have been popping up all over the place, and I don’t know . . . I wanted something CUTER. Then yesterday, it hit me: The Champagne Cocktail. But instead of a regular ol’ sugar cube, an adorable sugar cube!

These sugar cubes are ridiculously easy to make, provided you have a microwave-safe mold. I was lucky enough to find a silicone ice cube tray yesterday, which worked perfectly. If you aren’t able to find a mold, it’s possible that you might be able to make these by hand if you zap the sugar and water mixture in the microwave for around 15 seconds, then quickly mold them into a heart shape and leave them to set. This totally might not work, but I’m just brainstorming alternatives in case there are no molds to be found before Tuesday.

As far as the color of the heart goes, one of the bajillion bottles of bitters that I own happens to be dark red (Fee Brothers Old Fashion Aromatic Bitters). Peychaud’s would also work quite well, as it is a vibrant pink/red. If you don’t have either of these on hand (or another bitters that will give the sugar heart a nice color), you could dye the sugar during the molding process. (There’s always food coloring, but I love the idea of dying it with tea or juice instead.)

Homemade Sugar Hearts

• 1 cup of granulated sugar
• 1 tbsp of water (or tea/juice/dye)

Mix together sugar and water until well-combined. Press the sugar into your mold, making sure to compress it as much as possible. Microwave for around 30 seconds. Let sit until cool, then carefully remove.

Champagne Cocktail

• champagne
• sugar heart
• bitters

Place your sugar cubes in a bowl, then shake bitters onto them until well-coated.

Fill a flute with champagne. Ready your heart . . .

Release . . .

Stand back! (Or don’t drop your heart from a ridiculous height like I did . . .)

Admire how very cute and fizzy it is! The sugar cube will release a constant stream of bubbles as it dissolves, making it a very pretty drink. (I find that this makes me feel ten time more girly than I usually consider myself to be. In a good way.)

Also, if you’re looking for any other last minute Valentine’s Day idea, here are a few that I love:

Homemade Candy Necklaces from Bakingdom. I am seriously in awe of these things. Darla is a genius!

This Red Velvet Crepe Cake from Will Cook For Friends will knock your socks off. So. Freakin’. Pretty.

Candied Strawberries from V.K.Ree’s Photography. Simple and beautiful.

Blood Orange Gin Sparkler from Kitchen Konfidence. I am obsessed with herb simple syrups right now. If I had decided to go with a pink drink for this post instead, it would have been almost identical to this.

Red Wine Lollipops from Sprinkle Bakes. Uh, need I say more? Didn’t think so.

Cheers! ♥