Kitsch-en Kounter: Bûche de Pâques

One needn't ponder long before remembering the true meaning of Easter - renewal, rebirth, resurrection.  All of these beautiful messages come with their own springtime symbols - a blossoming flower, a hatchling bird, a world reborn after months of frigid winter (as a lifelong Southern California native, I'll just have to believe that last one to be true).

With rebirth on the brain, I wondered what I could create in the wacky tacky kitsch-en that would represent a seasonally-appropriate gastronomic resurrection.  Without sounding too irreverent, I concluded that there is no better time of year to resurrect a classic symbol of the Christmas season, born again with an Easter Holiday twist!  The Bûche de Noël or Yule Log, is a rolled cake meant to resemble a fallen, winter, woodland log found during Christmas.  Figuring that if it is good enough for the birth then it's good enough for the resurrection, I came up with the "Bûche de Pâques" or "Easter Log" (even if you have no idea what it means, it's a name that sounds much more appetizing in French).

I had all my decorations ready but I didn't take many progress shots because I had never
made a rolled cake before - nerve wracking!  Using a recipe for a coconut-almond genoise,
I found that the cake went together much more easily than I had expected.  Although our
decorations skew Easter, I'm thinking that this cake (made without leavening agents)
might qualify as a Passover offering too - maybe adorned with Passover Possums?!!!

As ever, my visions of professional, cake-decorating perfection narrowly exceeded the spindly grasp of my pitiful pastry prowess.  Nevertheless, having become well acquainted with abject kitsch-en failure (believe it or not, I only show you the "successes"), I am mostly satisfied with the outcome.  The only concession in failure (or mild satisfaction) is that an ugly cake can still be a tasty cake!

Voila!  Mon Bûche de Pâques!!!
Perhaps the English name could be "Rabbit Roulade" or "Bunny Braciole;"
but then we get into the territory of wondering whether Peter Cottontail is
simply on the cake or in the cake...

Nestled on a bed of tinted coconut, the cake (a peeling birch log) is frosted with a coconut buttercream accented by a ganache made of  coconut milk and chocolate.  The bird and "Happy Easter" banner came from the reject room of a cake supply store; I highlighted the bird's features by painting it with the same chocolate ganache.  The toadstools are meringue cookies hand-painted with food coloring.  The blue, vintage Easter bunny was removed from a thrift store wreath - and thoroughly sanitized! 

In preparation for sharing the Bûche de Pâques with you, I obviously made it several days in advance of the Easter Holiday.  Not one to let a good cake go uncelebrated,  I repurposed it as a birthday cake to commemorate Mary's 21st birthday.

HAPPY EASTER BIRTHDAY, MARY!!!
She never knew the difference....

Other than the Bûche de Pâques, the Easter preparations are essentially over around here.  With no children around, there are less eggs to dye and less handfuls of jelly beans and chocolate eggs to surreptitiously rescue from unwatched Easter baskets - the real benefit being the absence of Easter grass to find everywhere, all year long, until next Easter no matter how often we sweep, vacuum, dust, swiffer, lint roll, etc.  Truly, the break is a bit of a relief from the veritable Easter Egg factory that is usual around these parts; we'll just have to get that old Easter feeling from the "Egg Cracker Suite."

"Egg Cracker Suite"

We wish you all the best for a very Happy Easter!!!


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Losing Your Marbles

I realize that the title of this post is a terribly-insensitive way to begin a discussion of Alzheimer's Disease.  But, as I've mentioned before, I make a conscientious effort to maintain a tone of silliness above all else on this blog.  After rummaging through a box of family photos and finding this picture of a three-year-old Mr. Tiny (give or take) and his grandfather, I determined that the subject had to be broached somehow.  In my family, we definitely deal in laughter; very little is sacred, even when it comes to a devastating illness.  Plus, the marbles will become a salient point in very short order. 

Mr. Tiny & Grandpa Bob

Beyond the horror that all good looks can obviously be bred out of a family in just two generations, I was struck at how vital my grandpa was in this photo - tanned, toned, well-coiffed.  The son of Yugoslavian immigrants, who arrived in the US as indentured servants, my grandpa was raised in Canton, OH.  His mother died when he was a toddler leaving his eldest sister to raise the rest of the children.  Married to his childhood sweetheart for 47 years, he was the generous father of three loving sons and the doting grandfather to seven grandchildren.  In the days of the "Company Man," my grandfather was loyal to the United Parcel Service and retired after decades of much-commended service.  He was an impeccably-sharp dresser and had style to spare; ladies on his route referred to him as the "Silver Fox."  He loved spending time with my siblings and me and always found ways to treat us.  I never attended a school where a small carton of milk was more than fifty cents but he would often stop by our house in his big, brown, UPS truck to palm me a five dollar bill for "milk money."  

When I was still quite young, his memory began playing tricks on him and his behavior became increasingly unpredictable.  Eventually, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease.  The last few years of his life were pretty difficult, but the legacy he left of hard work, dedication, generosity, love, and a wicked sense of humor, allowed my grandmother, my dad, his brothers, and our entire family to manage our grief.  He passed when I was fifteen years old and lo, these many years later, we continue to discuss him daily. 

Leona & Bob on their wedding day, 1949.

Out from the same box which I plucked the photo, I discovered a Ziploc baggie labeled "Dad's marble championship 1st Place award when he was 11 years old."  I knew my grandfather was an Ohio State Marble Champion but I had never seen an actual medal.  

I was thrilled to see the blue ribbon holding the cast-metal medal.  I was touched because the note on the bag was written in my own father's hand (he is a poet of the highest order who doesn't have the option to write anymore).  Inspired by my father and his father before him, I decided to reflect on the legacy created by these two men.  I know it is silly and self-indulgent to write a poem but I am a silly, self-indulgent type, so I wrote a poem.  After all, what's more wacky tacky than a poem about a Depression-era, marble champion from Ohio?

In his twelfth year, he was a champ

And won the yearned for prize.

To neighbors, family, schoolyard chums,

A hero in their eyes.

Before the day of tournament

few folks knew his name,

But reputation preceded him -

Marbles was his game.

With one swift flick of steadied thumb

He let the aggie roll.

From all awaiting victors,

Indeed, the spoils he stole.

Right there upon his puff-ed chest

they pinned the ribbon blue.

No baseball star nor boxing great  

Such royal treatment knew.

The medal was a source of pride;

He had the chance to crow it.

But knowing what goeth before the fall,

Of course, he'd never show it.

And so through life he wore the badge

If not in act, then spirit.

He still knew the loud "Hurrahs!"

Even if others couldn't hear it.

Wedding bells and three young boys

muffled childhood bliss.

The marbles found a dusty shelf

On which to reminisce.

Still, the medal's grandeur shone  

throughout all his born days.

A gentle calm and dignity

characterized his humble ways.

But life is fickle, that's well known,

Not always a game-winning roll.

Still young by any measure,

Age and illness took their toll

Forgetting now the names of friends,

And times, and dates, and places,  

He'd never forget the reverent look

Upon his children's faces.

They knew the man who was inside.

They saw through present foibles.

They knew the joy of that Spring day,

Before he lost his marbles.

I treasure the jar of marbles that belonged to my award-winning grandpa (in storage, otherwise they'd be shown here).  I am honored to hold the ribbon that I know was more to him than a just a prize for playing marbles; it was validation given to young boy of modest heritage that life is good.  That little medal set the trajectory for a successful life full of victories - perhaps none so great as Ohio State Marble Champion of 1939!

Alzheimer's is one of many terrible diseases for which I hope a cure will be found - not only because of the genetic implications (it runs on both sides of our family).  For more information on prevention and care, please visit alz.org.

"Marian the Librarian" from The Music Man

Because he talks about marbles and this was

 a favorite of both my dad and grandpa.

Do you have a family heirloom that inspires you?  One that tells the wacky tacky chapter of your own family's history?  Let us know!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Bowl-O-Rama: Linbrook Bowl

Apologies for the complete radio silence - I have been BUSY!  The kid sis has gone legit and is a bonafide performer!  She will be playing the Wild Records pre-show at Viva Las Vegas 15.  In turn, I have been commissioned to make an entire wardrobe of clothes, so the only electronic device I have seen in the last week is my sewing machine.  I'm pretty excited about some of her get-ups so posts with those will be sure to follow.  Until then, I hope you enjoy yet another one of Southern California's premier bowling alleys.

I am so enamored with the glory of Linbrook Bowl's sign that I feel it alone is reason enough to stop what you're doing and wherever you are in the world, find your way to Anaheim, CA.  All the other pictures in this post are purely informational; they exist simply so you can understand that bowling is actually provided at Linbrook Bowl, but really, come on...the sign!!!  I haven't even mentioned yet that the pin spins, have I?

1958 seems to have been a magic year for bowling alleys.
You might remember that our last Bowl-O-Rama entry,
Palos Verdes Bowl, also sites 1958 as its year of birth

One of the other amazing features of Linbrook Bowl is the original coffee shop.

Apparently, the coffee shop is the "Cheers" of Anaheim.
If "sometimes you want to go where everybody knows
your name," then head to Linbrook.  I can't endorse their
 Friday fish special, but I can guarantee that it will be
packed with friendly regulars.

The coffee shop could stand some minor restoration,
 but Mary seemed to enjoy her milkshake in the
orange, vinyl booths.

According to some very reliable sources, the Kopa Room at Linbrook Bowl
hosts some of the best karaoke in Orange County!  The bar was too dimly lit
for me to get any good pictures, but don't you want to make plans to meet
at the Kopa?

Every table in the bowling alley features old pen & ink drawings about
Victorian bowling history

Strangely enough, I forgot to get a picture of the lanes, themselves.  Again, I assure you, Linbrook Bowl is a place for bowling; they have 40 lanes!  I just can't get past the sign.  Every time we drive by it, I want to stop and take more photos.  Neon, twinkle lights, a giant, spinning bowling pin - who could ask for anything more?

Linbrook Bowl

201 S Brookhurst St

Anaheim, CA

(714)772-2253

OPEN 24 HOURS!!!

linbrookbowl.com

"Ten Pins" - Sesame Street

Bowl and learn about subtraction!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny