Kitsch-en Kounter: A Birthday Cake for Pop

In my mind I am an expert food stylist.  So lost in this delusion, I convince myself that I am capable of translating the perfect Gourmet Magazine-worthy spread of my imagination into something so awe inspiring that the primary reaction from friends and family will be a refusal to partake for fear of destroying its breathtaking beauty.  With every new culinary endeavor, I seem to forget that the centerfold spot in my imaginary food porn is far beyond my capabilities - especially when it comes to baking.

As is evidenced by all of my Kitsch-en Kounter baking projects - Peanut Butter Maple Cookies, Maraschino Cherry Cake, et. al - my reach falls pathetically short of my grasp, and I am left alone on the path to hell, paved entirely by my good intentions.  Nevertheless, when I get a "good idea" I hop right back up on the culinary horse and charge ahead.  Friday was my dad's birthday and to honor the occasion, I decided to make him a cake.  Cake for a birthday?  Will my ingenuity know no bounds?

Chocolate ganache
See how I try to get all artsy?  Trying for a still life and ending up with a big mess.

In considering the multitude of options, I remembered that my dad's childhood favorite was Neapolitan ice cream.  I think it was just his way of getting the most out of one scoop of ice cream.

That's my dad on the left (11-12 years old) and his childhood friend, John.
There is no denying that this kid liked his ice cream!

Feeling bold after the seven-layer cake with which we helped Charles Phoenix, I set about to create a Neapolitan birthday cake; three measly layers seemed absolutely entry-level.  Nevertheless, the grim shadow of my previous Kitsch-en Kounter encounter (Kitsch-en En-Kounter?) with creating a neapolitan dessert loomed over me as I started boiling, whisking, prepping, and mixing. I think my biggest hurdle is a supreme lack of confidence when it comes to baking.  Compound that by the fact that I had never before made a ganache (my bright idea for filling and frosting the cake).  Having seen it done 1,000 times on cooking shows, I had learned that one could transform a ganache into a frosting, simply by whipping it in a mixer.  I cleverly countered the voice in my head that said, "This is never going to work," with a brilliant, "Nuh-uh," and started ganache-ing.

White chocolate ganache frosting

Yes, despite it's mashed potato-y appearance, it is frosting -

  then why did nobody want to lick the spoon?!!

So, the plan was a bottom layer of chocolate cake with a chocolate ganache filling topped by a strawberry-flavored second layer/filling and a white cake on top, all frosted in white chocolate ganache frosting (I left the decorations to the muses).  The chocolate ganache turned out beautifully.  The white chocolate ganache?  Well...it looked like canned cream of chicken soup.  While it wasn't quite as chunky as that, its decidedly-soupy appearance left me unnerved because I had made twice as much to ensure that I would have plenty to frost the entire cake.  I wasn't sure if the fats in the cream and white chocolate were separating or if I had done something to anger the kitchen gods.  Since the degree I received from my correspondence course in food chemistry was clearly failing me, I almost sent someone for what is tantamount to a four-letter word in our house - a store-bought cake!!!  In the darkest moments, I found my only solace in the fact that no matter how awful the final product looked, it was bound to be pretty tasty.  Thankfully, after giving it ample time to meditate on its crimes against gastronomy in the refrigerator, the white chocolate ganache actually came together.  Whipping itself into a fluffy, spreadable frosting, it was absolutely delicious!

Having come to the conclusion that I had already pushed the breadth of my ambition to the limit, I used the
 remainder of the chocolate ganache to top the entire cake and abandoned the idea of any further decoration.
Whatever you do, don't let me near a piping bag!
 Amateurish?  Yes.  A runner up on Cake Wrecks?  Maybe.  Delicious?  Oh, yeah.
I decided to extend the color story of the interior to the top of the cake and I used pink candles.

The interior wasn't too shabby.
As one who usually swears off frosting/icing, I must say that ganache frosting
 is probably the best cake topping I have ever tasted.  As it is just as easy as any
other kind of frosting, I think it is the only way to go.

Then it was magic time!
We sing the regular birthday song but, following it up with a special,
family birthday song, guests are always left wondering how
long the candles will last.

As a rule, I try not to burden you with too much personal information on here.  When writing about my father, however, it is impossible to be anything but personal.  Five years ago, at the age of fifty-four, my dad suffered a massive stroke that left him totally incapacitated.  We put his life, and ours in turn, into the hands of medical professionals and held vigil night and day.  After a couple of months, our biggest celebration came when he was able to reach up and scratch his nose.  Two very trying years passed, both highlighted with successes and riddled with set backs.  We were finally hitting our stride when he suffered yet another stroke that erased the progress he made and left us all wondering if there were to be more birthdays for him.  

My inclination is to avoid reliving the those tension-filled days in my mind because I can remember the physical response I had to his prognosis; unable to train my mind to focus on anything other than overwhelming sadness, I couldn't sleep and I ached night and day.  For several days, we waited to see if the emergency procedures that were being performed on his behalf would have any positive impact.  Instructed to make peace and say our goodbyes, our family came together to face the most devastating outcome possible.  Then, sustained by IVs, a feeding tube, a ventilator, an arsenal of the latest in chemical engineering, prayers, and the love of our family, he began to rally!  

Three years later, many effects of the strokes are lasting- some seem like cruel jokes.  My dad was a talker; like Will Rogers, my dad never met a man he didn't like and with whom he didn't have at least seventeen things in common over which he could engage in a lengthy discourse (much to the chagrin of our mother).  His speech is now impacted by a syndrome called aphasia and communication is a challenge.  My dad was doer; as we dragged our feet behind him, he used every minute of his "free time" to improve our family home and to help neighbors, friends, and extended family.  My dad was a Renaissance man; after replacing the brakes on my car, you would just as likely find him painting, cooking, or writing a poem as you would find him installing a dishwasher.  He is now confined to a wheelchair and unable to perform some of the simplest functions of personal care.  My dad was an adventurer; as a young man he rode motorcycles and raced cars.  As a father, he made time to take us out of school for a day of fun at museums and parks.  He had the ability to make interminably long road trips seem like Sunday joy rides.  It is now our responsibility to convey him using a specialty van. 

In the wake of his illness and recovery, the biggest surprise is how little about him has changed.  Yes, he has become a little more fragile and a little more tender, but his brilliant mind is intact.  His sense of humor still has us rolling on the floor.  His passion for his wife (our mother) is abiding.  His love for his children and grandson is abounding.  His concern for others is unwavering.  His faith is steadfast.  His desire to be of service is unyielding.  His appreciation for beauty is strengthened.  His courage is undefeated.

It is interesting to see how his life was a lesson to which I should have been taking copious notes.  Since his strokes,  I have had to learn to be of greater service to others.  I have had to try to be more loving.  I have tried to embrace adventure.  I have had to rely on faith.  I've always been hilarious so that was not a problem.  Given the impossibly big shoes to fill, I have felt utterly inept on the best of days.  Fortunately, he is still here for reference!  It is my sincere honor to be of service to him and a true joy to celebrate his birthday.  Honestly, it seems like one giant, non-stop celebration around here; on top of the usual holidays and anniversaries, we get to celebrate both his birthday and his Stroke-iversary.

With a celebration such as this,
we could never forget his favorite ice cream!

Mr. Tiny and his Pop

Happy Birthday Pop!  We love you and are grateful that you stuck around.  Here's to many, many more birthday celebrations!

Until my next excursion into baking territory,
I'm saving you a slice!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Kitsch-en Kounter: Neapolitan Treats

I love looking through old magazines.  I was fortunate enough to inherit some of my great-grandmother's collection of magazines including many McCall's and Collier's from the late forties and early fifties.  I treasure these veritable time capsules that still bear her name and address so much that they have gone with me wherever I have moved.  Endless inspiration is to be found by simply thumbing through the dog-eared pages and with every turn of the page I have taken mental notes on the fashion, the interiors and even the food!  Sometimes the recipes culled from the pages of these publications seem like a menu designed for prisoners of war, kidnappers, and especially-disruptive, early-morning landscapers.  I can see the artistry and the ingenuity behind the recipes.  I can see the endless possibilities for pimento olives.  I can see these recipes as part of the wacky tacky landscape and therefore I wanted to try my hand at making something that could be worthy of a home on the pages of these magazines.

Growing up, my dad's favorite ice cream flavor was neapolitan.  He always loved mixing flavors and the classic chocolate, vanilla, strawberry combination that neapolitan offered him was an ice cream dream come true.  When he would buy it for the family, however, the carton would invariably end up as a stripe of vanilla surrounded by two voids where the chocolate and strawberry once resided.  My brother still considers vanilla to be "plain."  Inspired by the recipes of vintage magazines and my dad's favorite flavor  story I decided to create neapolitan "marshmallow rice squares."  I would say Rice Krispie Treats, but in the interest of full disclosure, I not only used generic marshmallows, I used store-brand
"Crispie Rice Cereal" - both regular and cocoa-flavored.  I decided that the obvious finishing touch was a dunk in chocolate.

Clearly, I am no food stylist.  The way a food looks in my imagination doesn't always translate directly to the finished product.  Furthermore, the way that the photos look in my head versus the way the photos turn out is very telling about my photography skills as well.  Nevertheless, the finished product was tasty and left room for fine-tuning in the next batch.  Although I'm not sure that I would have pleased the editors of Collier's.

My next food challenge is to take a real recipe from a vintage magazine and see if my family will actually eat it!  Bon appetit!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny