Paris-Brest

Call me impressionable.

The Iconic French Pastry You Should Bake for a New Year’s Party read the headline on the NYTimes website. 

I was intrigued, and when I got to the third paragraph, Like many other French pastries, Paris-Brest requires several steps and components, but the entire process can be broken down into manageable parts that can — and should — be done ahead of time. The finished pastry is a showpiece, so make it when you really want to show off (and feed a group), I was all in! This would be our New Year's day dessert, the perfect conclusion to our traditional meal of fried chicken, ham, black eyed peas, greens, corn, and rice.

I was undaunted by the fourteen rather involved steps (5 printed pages!) that outlined the three main components: pastry cream, homemade hazelnut and almond praline, and choux pastry. None of the techniques were new to me, and the idea of making French-style praline seemed exciting and fun. I also knew I had most of the ingredients on hand, and that I would have the time to start cooking the day before. 

What threw me a little bit was the timing. The final product was meant to be assembled right before serving, and I wanted the pastry ring to be crisp and not soggy. I also wanted the mousseline to be airy and light, and so I wasn't sure when I should bake the shell and combine the pastry cream and praline. That uncertainty did cause me a bit of anxiety, because there could be no do-overs that close to dinner.

As I worked, I had my doubts about the pastry cream (not very sweet), and I totally brain farted on my first batch of praline, processing the roasted nuts and almond butter with the sugar before I caramelized it. Once I corrected my mistake, the resulting paste seemed a little bitter in that dark caramel way, and it was hard to tell if the components would magically combined into a perfectly balanced filling, but I put my faith in Claire Saffitz and persevered.

My pate choux did not puff as high as I wished, and it was dry and crisp long before the prescribed hour in the turned-off oven was up. The chopped nuts fell off the top when I sliced it off, but I saved them to sprinkle back on later. And the mousseline did come together into a dreamy filling, light and sweet, but not too sweet. I spooned it into my pastry bag before dinner and stuck it in the fridge, ready to fill the wheel of pastry right before serving.

The result was a little more rustic looking than the photograph in the Times, and of course I have no comparison for what it should have tasted like, but ours was delicious-- crisp and creamy and nutty and sweet and caramelly. It tasted like a French pastry.

"Would you ask for it again?" is always my question for Heidi when we discuss a new dish from our kitchen. 

Tonight, Heidi turned the inquiry around. "Would you make it again?" she asked.

That? I'm not sure of. But I am glad I made it today.

Dead Again

Turns out I may have been a bit too blasé about the whole dead battery situation yesterday. Did I seem unconcerned that a six-month old battery was so dead that it took a half an hour to recharge? Perhaps I was overly quick to charge the whole incident up to user error?

In any case, when I went out this morning to reset the back lift gate I found the battery dead again. This time, I admit to some concern and certainly inconvenience: obviously if the dang thing won't hold a charge, a trip back to the dealer is a must. Figuring out how to get the car restarted and down to the shop for testing and repair, over a holiday weekend and in the dwindling days of our vacation, was definitely kind of a pain. 

But, I took a deep breath and arranged the necessaries, and then? I thanked our lucky stars that the car had made it all the way from Buffalo yesterday.

Jiggity Jig

Another eight hour road trip, and 

we
are
home
again.

We had planned to leave around 10:30, but in the final stages of loading the car the rear hatch stopped opening, offering only three short beeps when I squeezed the button, and finally just silence. It occurred to me then that it might be the battery, and sure enough when I punched the ignition, nothing happened. The automatic locks wouldn't even work when I tried to secure everything before dashing into the house to breathlessly report the misfortune.

We had been using our car for the whole time we were in Buffalo, mostly because it was already out of the garage and in the driveway, and it has all wheel drive and enough seating for the five of us. It's an unfamiliar vehicle to Heidi's folks, though, and we used the dome lights more than we ever do, plus the doors have a soft close that makes it easy to overlook an open or ajar door. I'm not pointing any fingers, but it was definitely user error that killed our battery.

So there we were, stranded, except that Heidi's dad has one of those plug-in chargers that are supposed to be able to jumpstart a dead battery. We eagerly rummaged through the garage to find the gadget, only to discover that it was pouring rain when we opened the door. The weather app predicted the precipitation would last half an hour, so we occupied ourselves with extension cords and the like, and miraculously when we were ready, the rain stopped. 

The directions said to charge the battery for three minutes before trying to start the car, and we did just that, but there was literally no reaction when I hit the ignition. Undaunted, we charged for five more minutes, but there was no more than a bit of clicking. We tried once more, and then left it plugged in and went inside to call AAA, who promised to be there in two hours.

At that point, I made us some grilled sandwiches, and kept trying the car every ten minutes or so. It seemed like a lot more lights were coming on every time, and about 15 minutes later? The car roared to life! 

Here's what didn't happen. The rear hatch never opened again. Those three plaintive beeps were all we ever got. Fortunately, we were able to load the rest of our stuff from the back seat. In fact, folding the rear seat down and pushing things back turned out to be a handy strategy that I will definitely use in the future. That rear gate complained all the way home though-- beeping constantly for one minute any time we started from a full stop.

The car's manual says there's a fix, but that's a project for tomorrow

It Would Be So Nice

In a bit of a reversal of my usual 100 day challenge, where I try to cultivate a new habit or awareness by doing something very day from March 1 to June 8, this year I'm 99% sold on trying not to do something for each month of 2023. In an effort to phrase the effort more positively, I'm calling each challenge a "holiday" from whatever it is I'm trying to avoid doing that month.

So far I have a list of options and a plan for January, which is to hop on the "Dry January" bandwagon. After that, I need to strategically schedule each of my holidays. 

Here's my tentative list for the other eleven months, in no particular order:

Shopping holiday 
Amazon holiday 
Added sugar holiday
Single-use plastic holiday
Cussing holiday
Meat and fish holiday
Gluten holiday
Google holiday
Social media holiday
Clutter holiday
Restaurant holiday

Do you dare me?

Walking on Snow

The the trees were dripping when I got up this morning. Because of the wind, the snow had drifted unevenly, and there was even grass peeking through here and there. I knew my window of opportunity was perhaps literally melting away, and so I laced up my boots and strapped on my snowshoes. My first foray was to simply tramp through the backyard, but when that went well, Heidi and I walked with the dogs down to the elementary school. There the back field was a pristine snowscape, and I got my fill of walking over the top of the 18 inch pack. My cheeks were rosy and I was warm when my watch dinged to tell me that my exercise ring was closed. Heidi and the dogs were a bit chilly, though, so I stepped out of the bindings, threaded the snowshoes onto the poles, and slung them over my shoulder, determined to find a way to do this more often.

(Step one will definitely have to be to get Heidi a pair of her own!)

Christmastime

We pulled into Heidi's parents' driveway just before five this evening. Despite all the weather-related drama that had occupied our last few days, the trip was uneventful. 

We picked her brother up from the train station at 9:30, crammed his stuff in the back of the Subaru and set off around the beltway, up 295, around 695, up 83, and then along the Susquehanna River through Pennsylvania. There was little more than a dusting of snow until we turned west from the 390 in New York. Then we began to see some drifts of a foot or more, but the roads remained clear and dry. 

In Batavia, with an hour to go, tiny flakes began to dampen the windshield, and by the time we hit the Thruway, it was snowing, but there was no accumulation. Arriving in Buffalo, the city streets were a bit slushy, and the neighborhood streets were still packed powder. The Subaru slid just a little, but the traction of the AWD made it kind of fun.

The three of us stamped the driveway snow off our boots and tramped into the house with Lucy in tow. It didn't matter at all that the calendar read December 27. For us? It was Christmas.

5 Days Left

Since we aren't driving to Buffalo until tomorrow (cross your fingers and toes), I took some time today to review my 22 for 2022 list and start working on my 23 for 2023. 

This is the first year I have tried the ritual, and I give myself a load of grace, both because it's a new experience AND because doing anything on such a list seems better to me than not making one at all. My near final tally? Is 8. I celebrated my birthday in a beautiful place with my family, threw a dinner party, solved my aunt's DNA mystery, grew Hatch chilis in my garden, read 24 books, reinstated our Oscar weekend, spent Thanksgiving at the beach, and saw my dear friend Pauly for the first time in too many years.

"What are some things you didn't get to?" my sister-in-law asked this afternoon.

"I didn't clean out the attic," I sighed, "or take a class. I also didn't go away for a spa week or weekend, but I put that back on my list for 2023. And I wanted to travel internationally, but that didn't happen; although there is a chance we might go to Canada if we ever get to Buffalo."

"Does that even count?" asked my nephew's wife. She lives in Iceland.

"Kind of?" I shrugged. "Oh, and I also wanted to go cross country skiing or snowshoeing."

"It's definitely not too late for that," noted my sister-in-law, and I realized how right she was.

As soon as we got home, I climbed to the attic and fetched my snowshoes, feeling ever more prepared for our trip north.