Number one from two years ago

Better late than never.

Unable to commit to a series of four-hour night classes, (who wants to go to school for four hours after working a full day?), Pratt finally offered something more my speed. That is, a one-night only four-hour class as part of their mini-class series--Spring into Art!--that runs one week in April. (Check that out, Seattle, they have glass-blowing and metal bending and screen printing, and all kinds of coolness for such reasonable prices.)

We spent four hours drawing gourds and driftwood with charcoal on big, porous paper taped to paint-splattered easels while KEXP played in the background, and the teacher flipped through a series of sketches and drawings by the masters for reference.

Gesture drawing, contour, cross-contour--over and over and over--wiping each rendition away with a heavily-soiled chamois, clearing the canvas for more. Charcoal is a mess. But it's so forgiving, and so palpable. Don't like what you drew? Draw over it with more pressure. Or, smudge it into submission with your hand. Or, failing all of that, erase it with the chamois. 

There was wine and leftover cheese from a lecture that had taken place down the hall. My hands were black with charcoal dust; my face sported a few smudges as well. (I was not alone in the wearing of charcoal like so much hasty rouge.)

It was still a loong day. But it was worth it.

Photoshoot (or half of number 26)

These were all self-taken, with us driving around Georgetown looking for backdrops, parking (sometimes legally), setting up the tripod (in the wind, looking out for trains, avoiding the mud), and using the remote to snap the photos.

The dogs were not included, frankly, because it sounded too darn hard without having another person to photograph us.  However, this is a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon, if the sun comes out, and you feel so inclined.

luck be a lady...finger

My good friends Steve and Julie were recently engaged to be married, and in celebration Miss C threw a dinner party.  In keeping with dinner party tradition, we had a theme--Italian--and assignments. I have made myself the official dessert maker, a distinction I take seriously.

So seriously, when it was requested that I make a tiramisu, I rose to the challenge, and pulled out my Baking with Julia, for the perfect ladyfinger recipe.  Julia did not disappoint.

sorry, but this is a horrible picture. you kind of get the idea, though, right?

Her ladyfingers involve egg yolks and eggs and sugar and cake flour--all ingredients I use almost every time I bake. And yet, by virtue of pairing them in different ways, mixing them for different amount of times, and adding ingredients in differing orders, the variations of batter, dough, and desserts are endless.  This is never so true when making the genoise for the fingers.  I had no idea that you could beat egg yolks until they turned white.  You can (and should).

Also, as proof positive, I wanted to add a photo from my process, notably the parallel lines I drew upon Julia's recommendation, to ensure my fingers were all the same length and had room enough to get three dozen on a pan.  (The sticks of butter are just to hold down the parchment. FYI, butter makes a great paperweight.)  I am not one for following detailed and irritating directions, but for some reason I pulled out the T-square and indulged Julia in her OCD.  I was not disappointed. My ladyfingers were quite uniform, and I would love to show them to you all lined up on the pans both before and after baking, but I got distracted when they came out of the oven, so intent on the next step.

The next step? The tiramisu.  For the recipe I used this.  And seeing as how cranky this guy appears to be, I followed his Italian in-laws' instructions down to the Italian mascarpone. Lucky for me, we happen to have an Italian grocery in Seattle, and there I was able to find--direct from Italy--the correct cheese.

And here's where you'll have to imagine whipping egg yolks until they're white (again!) and whipping whites until they're peaked and fluffy, and adding more cognac and cheese and layering the whole thing with bravado--because I didn't take any pictures of the process. I did, however, make my husband come downstairs and look as I was doing it, so excited was I.

Look! There they are! After having been dipped in cooled espresso/cocoa/cognac and lined perfectly in my pan!  Thanks Julia! (Having uniform cookies made lining them up in the pan so simple.)

And here's the finished tiramisu, which I got a little over-excited about and upon which I dumped too much cocoa.

(Also, apropos of nothing, but something I noticed after snapping this last photo, it would appear that the color palette for our kitchen backsplash could adequately be called "tiramisu.")