Wake yourself up with Irish Coffee. Whiskey, coffee, sugar, and cream.

Click here for the recipe, and to read more.

“Coffee and toffee is my favorite ice cream combination.” That’s all a birthday girl needs to say and POOF. Coffee Toffee Ice Cream.

Yes, another’s birthday is really just an excuse to make ice cream. You caught me.

But look, can you blame me?

It’s a tale/flavor combination as old as time—coffee and toffee. Coffee has a complex flavor profile, and history. What complements a multi-faceted flavor assault of a magnitude to the order of coffee, that extreme nectar, better than the lightening power of cream? What better to highlight the caramel tones of a coffee liquor than a piece of brickly caramel itself, toffee? Coffee itself is such a rich and deep experience (go ahead and commit, it is a profound experience), that it begs to be immortalized in…ice cream.

Yup, this is a food blog (surprise). Instead of painting a picture, or whipping out my carving tools and a casual chunk of marble, I churn some ice cream in moments of inspiration. Which tastes better, a sculpture, or Coffee Toffee Ice Cream?

(Rhetorical question. You know the answer. Now if only there were as many birthdays to celebrate with ice cream as there were moments when I want to make ice cream…)

Recipe on the following page.

Think of the last taco you consumed. Even if it was a relatively low-end taco, (looking at you Flash Taco), the kind of tacos that come piled up high with everything vaguely Latin in flavor, it was a damn good taco. And it probably only cost $2. (If it cost more, you did something wrong.

Tacos have an air of immediacy about them; they demand to be eaten where ever (whenever!) you may be. Standing up, outside on the sidewalk, sitting down on whatever at the moment constitutes a chair, tacos cannot wait. There is really no point in taking a taco to go as it takes less than three minutes to devour. Take the time, and eat it a couple feet from whence it was given to you. Let the overflowing taco drip down your forearms and coat the sides of your mouth with a slick of taco-grease.

Maybe go back and get another.

In addition to being absolutely irresistible, tacos have the added bonus of being able to contain anything. Carnitas, carne asada, grilled pollo, poached pollo, fried fish, grilled fish, lenuga, or a simple veggie filling like papas. They work with any protein, and can sustain any number of salsas, cremas, cheeses, and condiments. As it turns out, condiments in terms of tacos are more often than not the star of tortilla-enclosed world.

Blasphemy. Not for the above statement, but for this salsa rosa. A creamy (without cream), thick salsa of roasted red peppers and Serrano chilies, salsa rosa is a substantial and spicy sauce that goes perfect with any an all tacos. Breakfast tacos, huevos rancheros (taco-adjacent), chorizo tacos, fish tacos, the list goes on. As a bonus, this salsa is easy to make. Roast, cleans, puree, done. And there you have it, three to four cups of the perfect taco condiment. (To be fair, this would be great on almost anything like sandwiches, pastas, salads, or crostinis…) The thing is, this salsa rosa is from Italian-American Michael Chiarello, not a descendent of the taco-ancestry. Oops.

Never fear. This salsa just speaks to the taco’s versatility. Tacos play well with others (and should be eaten immediately.) What a wonderful food.

Recipe on the following page.

There is always a moment of guilt when, standing in the kitchen, you’re faced with the option of adding bacon. Bacon to breakfast, bacon to that turkey club, bacon to the mashed potatoes, bacon to the salad…bacon, in its salty crispness, plays extremely well with others. Which means, sometimes the only thing keeping bacon off the plate is self-restraint.

Self-restraint in the face of bacon? Almost nonexistent. Why even bother, when the result is a guaranteed success. (Always.)

In making Alice Waters’ Cream Biscuits, there was however, a moment of doubt. Are the bacon and cheddar additions really necessary? After all, these biscuits aren’t called cream biscuits because they’re lacking in lipid goodness. But then something strange happened. The cookbook rationalized the addition of not only bacon, but cheddar too. In its own magic way, the cookbook spoke to me. Or rather, Alice Waters spoke to me, through her Brussels Sprouts gratin.

On page 295, Alice had left a map, a guide, just for these kinds of ‘should I add bacon to this’ situation. There, in the vegetable section, Alice had left clear directions to add bacon where it may otherwise have been thought inappropriate. (Obviously clear directions, my bacon-addicted brain rationalized.) It was as if she was speaking to me, guiding me to continue down the bacon-laden path. If bacon does wonders she said, to one of the most infamous of vegetables, Brussels Sprouts, if it’s acceptable to add bacon and ‘thin shavings of butter’ to vegetables, just imagine what a little bacon and cheese could do to the already lovely Cream Biscuits.

And Alice was right. So right.

Recipe on the following page.

I apologize, that was inappropriate. But these are a baked good made for punning. Sometimes, the pun just can’t stop. Won’t stop. Shouldn’t stop.

These cinnamon buns, or rather pecan cinnamon sticky buns, have been a long time coming. Six years in fact. The first tray of cinnamon buns I made were adapted from America’s Test Kitchen, of these magical muffins, and of course, everything else tested and approved that tastes good in the kitchen. At 15, I knew these buns were special, yet imperfect. They were the novice buns. A dozen or so trays and a half dozen years later, after the wholesome addition of more goo, the removal of that cream cheese white icing which is at once unnecessary and a reminder of those delectable and entirely easier Pillsbury buns, this recipe has risen from the remains. The gooey, sticky, sweet remains of the buns of holidays past.

Since these are the perfected Frankenstein of cinnamon buns, over time they’ve accrued a mish-mash of the cinnamon bun name—CinnaBunBombs. Cinna is obvious. Bun is a reference to the bun itself (duh, for the slow in the crowd) as well as a nod to the chain that brings the buns to the masses. (A worthy task if there ever was one.) Bombs is in there for a healthy dose of alliteration, but also to signify the Magnitude of the Bun. These are not buns to be taken lightly. They are so incredibly rich, so over-the-top, that only on holiday mornings does it really feel right to consume such decadence. Hence, the Bombs.

That being said, my brother ate five. So perhaps deliciousness can overcome any fear of the sugary and buttery.

Recipe on the following page.

Caramel Apple Upside-Down Cake, superior to all other cakes. Especially those frosted ones. Think rich caramel, soft apples, and a perfectly spiced, crumbly cake.

Click here fore the recipe and to read more.

Bran muffins are good, just ask Jerry Garcia.

Click here for the recipe and to read more.

I’m not sure if I’ve gone into any particular detail about this before, so bear with me while I confess: fruit is not my favorite.

A blanket statement, a write-off of an entire category of food, from a food blogger?! The shame, the audacity. Really, the hypocrisy. How ever can one be taken seriously, as a foodie, if an entire group of nature’s best produce is cast in the ‘not to be eaten’ category?

Well, I’d hope that a common love of fat, sugar, bacon, and caffeine would aid in letting my dismissal of fruit slide. Because it is the truth. Save for apples, grapes, and blueberry pie, very few fruits taste delicious. Pears, plums, nectarines, apricots, strawberries, blackberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, oranges, clementines, all of the above do not, in anyway, appeal to my palate. Yes, it makes no sense. If I love sugar like I claim to, then fruits are the easiest and healthiest way for me to take advantage of nature’s natural glucose. And, yet.

I cannot explain my aversion to fruit. Sometimes, it’s the texture that gets me, but more often than not, it’s the flavor. That floral, soapy, fruity flavor. Ugh.

This fruit-avoidance is the reason for the skewed ratio of non-fruit to fruit desserts on this blog. My family will knowingly answer, “something with fruit?” when I ask what kind of dessert they’d like to eat, only to be shot down with a look. I rarely make an exception outside of birthdays for fruit-based treats. And it is all to my detriment.

It’s more of a hindrance, an annoyance than a culinary position. There is no possible way to defend a dislike of fruit. How I wish a nectarine appealed to me, if only, my life would be make all the more easy. More times than I would like to recall have I had to forgo a delicious sounding chocolate tart because of errant raspberry sauce. Yes, please, can I have that brown butter pound cake, but please hold the compote. A trio of ice cream you say? What about just the chocolate and coffee duo, minus that horrid passion fruit crème? Espresso with an overtone of blackberry? No, thank you. Beer infused with apricot? I’ll stick to my hops.

So please, imagine my utter glee at happening upon a fruit pastry I’ll gladly eat on a menu. Such an instance occurred at Salt’s Cure in Los Angeles, with an apple, date, pecan, and cheddar crumble. I ordered without need for further explanation. And it was not a crumble in the strictest sense, it was really a tart topped with a mound of streusel, which is never a letdown. The combination of apples and dates, with the salty pecan and subtle to the point of undetectable cheddar was perfect. So perfect, it had to be replicated.

This recipe is ingenious on several levels, the first being wholly technical. The dates, when lining the bottom of a tart shell, act as a natural sponge for the juices the sliced apples will inevitably leak and the result is a date plumped and spiced beyond all hopes and dreams. The apples proved a layer of the best Thanksgiving memories and the crumble, oh, the crumble. Studded with toasted pecans, it’s marvelous. I’ll admit, I had not idea where to put the cheddar. Incorporated into the crust? What about in the streusel?

Opting for the classic ‘in the filling’ American tactic, I grated little more than a teaspoon of cheddar atop each tart before topping them off with streusel. The result? A hint of earthy saltiness at the end of each bite.

Recipe on the following page.

Here’s the thing about donuts, they’re perfect. Truly, completely, perfect bits of fried dough. That they’re fried should tip one off to their perfection. And glazed, and occasionally filled. Whether yeasted or cake, donut I love you. It’s an unhealthy feeling, yes, to love such a thing. But have you ever tried one?

It’s America after all, if you’ve reached the point in life of literacy, you probably have encountered a donut.

But here’s the thing, Krispy Kreme donuts are not the superior donut of which I speak. Neither, unfortunately, does Dunkin’ Donuts fits the bill, although their coffee is my guilty go-to in the face of dearth of cafes. Donuts from small, ma and pa shops are the way to go. If you’re in the proximity of a Happy Donuts or an All-Star Donuts, (the favored donut shop name I’ve concluded after years of research), go. Go immediately. Get a cinnamon stick, a chocolate old fashioned, a chocolate custard donut, and donut holes.

In Los Angeles, specifically in Westwood, there is a corner store name Stan’s Donuts. Oddly, Stan’s shares a storefront with a Korean rice bowl place, but don’t worry, they’ve yet to collaborate on a Kim Chi donut. Which, to be honest, if they did, I would try. Because I love Kim Chi too. But that’s a love poem for another time.

Stan’s Donuts, of peanut butter chocolate, custard filled fame. It’s an exercise in self-control to even wander down into the neighborhood. But look what happens when I restrain myself from purchasing the perfect little fried and lazed circle of bliss?

I make my own. Because, as it turns out, a decent cake donut is a bit of flour, an egg, and a chocolate dip away. Throw on some sprinkles and it’s a rainbow party. Who needs Stan’s Donuts? (When you can make your own…)

Recipe on the following page.

Adhering to cliché, some rules are meant to be broken.  After 21 years, that list includes—but is not limited to—curfew, jaywalking, whiteafterlaborday, chocolate and beer for dinner…etc.  But lawmakers and enforcers take heart, some rules are written to last.  The one that comes to mind today, and seems particularly relevant every day of summer is this: Ice Cream, Good.  If delicious in real life, made even more delicious when frozen, churned and enveloped in luscious, velvety frozen ice cream.  Sometimes, being a law-abiding citizen is hard.  Really, quite trying.

Cookie dough, and particularly cinnamony oatmeal cookie dough, is a wonderful thing.  Raw, out of a tube, out of the bowl, pieced off from scooped cookie dough balls waiting patiently on a baking sheet to transform into warm, chewy oatmeal cookies—oatmeal cookie dough is delicious.  And while cookie dough ice cream is a no brainer, been around perhaps as long as sliced bread, oatmeal cookie chunks surrounded by tangy, spiced molasses-based ice cream is something a little off-kilter.  The richness of the molasses perfectly complements the homey qualities of the oatmeal cookie dough, together creating a bowl full of happy, happy ice cream.

Recipe on the following page.