QUING Parties at the Palace with BEST EVER CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

HO HUM.

Yet another Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe. And this one has the audacity to be called THE BEST Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe.

It's called that because it is that.

Proof: Two years ago when I first read this recipe in the NY Times, it sounded like a great big pain. Follow the directions precisely! Plan and have patience! Run out to the grocery store and buy cake flour and bread flour to add to the batter.  Oh, and by the way, that batter has to chill in the fridge a minimum of 24 hours before your kitchen can smell like fresh baked chocolate chip cookies!

NOT.  FOR.  ME.

But the recipe title was too audacious to not prove incorrect. So I tried it. And I discovered that it truly is the Holy Grail of chocolate chip cookie recipes.  P E R F E C T I O N. 

Still skeptical? Just now, I googled the recipe to share it with you, and noted 7, 296 posts from bloggers who have also shared the recipe with friends.  Because it is the best Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe ever!

Purchase the extra flours when you next visit the grocery store. They'll last for a bunch of batches of cookies. And follow the recipe as written.  The one change I make is substituting some of the 2 1/4 cups of bittersweet chips with semi-sweet, and milk chocolate chips. The mix of three flavors of chocolate chips is delicious!  GUSTARE!

BEST EVER Chocolate Chip Cookies

                       Recipe from Jacque Torres and The New York Times

INGREDIENTS:

2 cups minus 2 tablespoons (8 1/2 ounces) cake flour

1  2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour

1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt

2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter

1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar

2  large eggs

2  teaspoons natural vanilla extract

1 1/4 pounds (20 oz.) bittersweet chocolate chips, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)

Sea salt.

DIRECTIONS:

1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.

2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.

3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.

4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.

Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.

*NOTE CHILL TIME of 24-72 hours- it WILL yield a better cookie

ADMISSION

I've always been straight with you.

Except when I exaggerate. Spew sarcasm. Or make stuff up.

Great Rulers sometimes do those sorts of things.

But they should also answer questions if the public demands answers (paying attention, politicos?!)

For the past three months, I have been asked a whole lot of questions, by a whole lot of folks interested in one particular subject.

College admissions.

Two days ago I completed a two-year journey to find two particular and perfect colleges for two perfectly amazing young ladies (not exaggerating about the ladies.)

Thousands of miles logged. Innumerable tours conducted by students who should have selected a work-study position in any department but admissions. Dozens of DOAs droning, "Your child has a better chance of being abducted by aliens than being accepted to our school. So be sure to encourage them to apply to lesser universities, too."

Wrap and tie all that up with the understanding that my beloved girls would soon be sleeping, eating, and living hundreds of miles away, and this gal spent far more time weeping than sleeping.

It's grueling.

 

And done (for three more years....yee haw!)

Being a spicy, i.e. more-than-seasoned veteran  of the college admissions process, I am now going to answer some of the questions inquired of me throughout this process.

Great Rulers sometimes do those sorts of things.

The questions have become ever more earnest - and numerous - since aliens decided to leave my kid alone, and let her attend college.

Here's my favorite one:

Q: How did your kid get into that school? 

A: Not sure.

People want numbers. Scores. Quotes from teacher recommendations. Lists of community service projects. Batting averages.

They want answers.

Pains me to say, I don't have any.  Because for two plus years, I've seen dozens of kids' hopes and dreams dashed, even though they way over-achieved grades, scores, medals, goodness.

Call me mystified.

Except for these verities:

You can' teach intellectual curiosity. But you can see it in your child, and fuel it continuously.

You can't teach passion. But you can note what it is your child most loves to watch, try, do, and make certain he has many opportunities to watch it, try it, do it.

You can't teach talent.  But you can encourage your child to pick up a trumpet, a paint brush, a basketball, then insist she give it a try.  

You can't teach success.  But you can demand effort, accountability, and a positive attitude.

Test scores and grades matter to colleges. As do personal essays and recommendations, community involvement, notable skills, and talents.

But if I had one response for "How did your kid get into that school?" I'd answer, "She read. Constantly. Every book in the house, the library, the bookstore - from Virgil to J.K. Rowling and everything in between."

And thus she learned language, vocabulary, geography, history, philosophy, poetry, and the psychology of human nature.

Reading matters. It expands the mind, heart, and soul; allowing us to experience and dream the unimaginable.

In our tweet-n-text world, we must constantly remind our kids (and ourselves) that reading makes a difference. It takes time, work, and thought, then breeds success. And joy.  

Perhaps we also need to remind our children, especially our high school seniors  (over and over and over again) that it's the choices they make - not the college or university they attend - that ultimately determines their happiness and success. 

What vocation to pursue. Talent to develop. Passion to share. Charity to help. Country to explore. Person to love.

In just a few months, Li'l Sis will be off on her own, making those choices - just like Big Sis.

Sorry, little bros. You get to stay home with your darling parents for a few more years. And read!

QUING Hereby Decrees: How to succeed? Simple answer.  READ!

TRIPPIN'

The Open Road.  

P O S S I B I L I T Y.

Dotted lines and painted lanes that lead to new places. New faces. 

Landscapes never dreamed.  Experiences never imagined. 

I am Trippin' this week; Northeast to Southeast. 

Grab your stuff. I'd love you to ride shotgun..... 

Gray skies?  Adore them.

They promote listening and thinking. Rather than squinting.

Three hundred miles cruising across slick pavement -  dodging  radar - makes a Trippin' jambalaya of AM/FM/CDs/Ipod a necessity. 

Three hundred miles of Secret Service Shenanigans, Infuriating Papal Nun-sense (sorry, I meant NONSENSE) and NFL Draft has my eyeballs and lids feeling pasty.

But forget the glue and eyeballs. Answer a question that has plagued me for years: Why does crystal clear reception always descend into a fuzz-fest during the final five minutes of really interesting, and lengthy, reports on NPR?

Hold on! Eva, Droid Navigator, speaks. Time to leave Highway for Country Road!   

Sunshine pours through clouds onto slices of mountaintop.  

Surely someone can invent a way for drivers to watch the road, and the landscape at the same time?  

Yikes!  Accidentally veering across the double yellow line, because I just caught sight of.....

THIS!

Holy WOW!  

Pulling over. Photos must be taken.

 

No, I am not trespassing.

If moms and dads don't want their ponies photographed, they shouldn't let them hang out by the road.

"Here, Pony, Pony.  Come smile for me and my blog!"

Wish I had a carrot. Or an apple.

Shouldn't have mentioned the apple.

Now he wants one.

Can he get under a fence like my puppy can?

Do his mommy and daddy have a shotgun?

Time to get back on the ROAD!

Two-way traffic.

Putting the camera down.  

There are other barns ahead to ogle.  

High on a hill there's a lonely goatherd, lady-oh-a-lady-oh-a-lay-hee-ho! 

And a rolling creek. And a purple mountaintop.

That bluebird song?  

Memorizing it.

 

Shush. Clack. Whooosh. Whistle.

That bluebird song? 

Mesmerized by it.

Pulling into town.

Sleeting. Hailing.

Still, there are locals on the horizon!

And spring!

And GOLF!

Decision made.

If Husband agrees to buy one of the old Victorians in this town, we will move here, I will take up golf, and finally use those clubs he so hopefully purchased eight years ago!

Poor local golfers. They don't know that when I swing, the ball ends up creatively veering toward any flag on the course except the one in/at my hole. (Does this sentence even make sense?)

Begin rehearsing, lyrically and in scales - so as not to annoy the bluebirds: "Four! Four! Four! Four! Four! Four! FOUR!"

Grass. Trees. Mountains. 

Sky. Sun.  Clouds. 

Air. Light. Wind. 

Spring.

Life is a gift.

Heading toward town,

OVER rolling hills.

  

 

 Steeple 

rises. 

 Beckons. 

Centuries spent greeting  visitors.

"You have arrived. Welcome home."

How many brave warriors leaned against these rails? Stepped through that door?

I'll never know their stories.

But these walls, this porch, quite proudly do. 

 

 

If plaster and wood, brick and concrete, tile and glass could talk, oh, the tales they might tell.

Of babies born, couples wed, graduates celebrated, widows distraught.

Joys and heartaches of generations. 

The life of a town.

 

Glimpsed and imagined.

Trippin' on the Open Road.
 

So hope I'll discover it again some day. Beyond memory.

Till then,

Onward.

QUING Parties at the Palace with PENNE a la VODKA

Yes.  I did ask the chef of a favorite restaurant for his Penne a la Vodka recipe. 

Because I was having a dinner party the following weekend and wanted to serve it.   

Because it is DELICIOUS.
  
Here's the best part of the story...  Chef gave me the recipe (who does that?)  Right there on the spot (lucky, lucky me!)  In measurements large enough to serve an evening's worth of diners who visited his restaurant to order the Penne a la Vodka!

Over the years, I have added to the recipe (tomatoes, garlic, onion) and subtracted, too (some of the heavy cream.) I've included both recipes below, so you can choose your favorite. Either way, it's divine, especially if you use Muir Glen Organic canned tomatoes, or fresh tomatoes.

Chef insisted that I not tell anyone that the recipe was from his restaurant. So don't ask me who he is, or where this dish is served.  A promise is a promise, after all.

Wish I would have asked for the recipe for his Calamari dipping sauce. Gustare!


Secret Penne a la Vodka         Quing's Penne a la Vodka

INGREDIENTS:                                                  INGREDIENTS:
16 oz. whole peeled plum tomatoes            28 oz. whole peeled plum tomatoes
1 quart (24 oz.) heavy cream                        1 small yellow onion, chopped
1/2 cup chopped basil                                  1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon salt                                               16 oz (1 pint) heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon pepper                                      8 oz light cream or 1/2 & 1/2
2 shots vodka                                                  1/2 cup chopped basil                           
1/2 - 3/4 cup grated parmesan                    1 teaspoon salt
1- 1 1/4 lbs penne                                          1/2 teaspoon pepper                                                   
                                                                           2 shots vodka              
                                                                           1/2 - 3/4 cup parmesan or pecorino 
                                                                           romano cheese,  grated      
                                                                           1- 1 1/4 pounds of penne or farfalle                                
                                                                                                
DIRECTIONS:
Cook pasta according to package directions.
Dice tomatoes with knife or food processor (5 or 6 one second pulses on food processor.) Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a large saute pan over medium heat and saute onion until soft.  Add garlic and saute for 1 minute. Add tomatoes/tomato puree.  Simmer 10 -15 minutes on medium-low heat, stirring occasionally. Add creams, and salt and pepper to taste. Stir to combine, then turn heat to low. Heat through to a gentle simmer, and add vodka and basil. Simmer for another five minutes. Pour the drained pasta into the sauce and toss to combine. Sprinkle on the Parmesan or Pecorino Romano cheese and serve.    

NOTE: If you use fresh tomatoes, add a bit of concentrated tomato paste. Also is delicious with added (cooked) chunks of chicken, shrimp, or bits of pancetta.
                  

REMEDAY

Nothing good happens after 1 AM.

Who told me that?

Mom? Dad? Priest? Pundit?

Can't remember.

I thought said soothsayer was referring to extracurricular 'activities' that most often happen in the wee hours of the morning.

When critical faculties like reason and self-control have hit the sack.

Literally.

Turns out that tidbit of wisdom had nothing to do with bars, booze or boys. Soothsayer was referring to writing.

Rewind to 2:30 AM. I am reading the text I have written for today's blog.

My eyes are pasty. My head is pounding. I WANT TO GO TO BED.

The cursor is hovering over the "Publish" tag. I am about to click, when Soothsayer's words come back to haunt me.

Nothing good happens after 1 AM.

"Like this blog," I think. 

It's terrible.

Disjointed.  Emotional. Philosophical meanderings trending toward bloviation (like this sentence).

Wee hours of the morning musings that Readers will:

1. Read.

2. Read between the lines.

3. Refer to as they collect spare change for a Writer who needs a shrink.

Fact. This morning's 2 AM blog began with:

You noticed.  Were oblivious.

Felt it. Didn't. 

Needed more. Wanted less.

Told the truth. Shouldn't have.

Asked the question. Changed the topic.

Worked to keep it going.  Wouldn't make the effort.

Stepped up. Moved on.

Wrong time. Right companion.  

Vice versa.

BLOG ASIDE.  Reader is now expecting a blog about Past Relationships, right? Something juicy! Fun! Just wait for the next few sentences:

The anthology of a life is defined by character. And characters.

Ours. And those we meet through decades of experience. And experiences.

Birthdays demand that we pull our collected works off memory's shelf.  

Shuffle through chapters already written. Scribble across a blank page. 

Record the surprises that outnumber candles poked into cake: An extended family gathers, on a school night.  In-laws send verse that speaks from, and to, the heart. Gal pal writes of long-ago birthdays at beaches and bars. Flowers, bold and beautiful, arrive with keepsake notes from treasured friends. Greetings from far-away relatives, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances pop-up on screens; click after click a reminder that each encounter chronicled in a life matters - in inexplicable ways.

BLOG ASIDE.  The juicy possibility of old flames has been ditched for birthday surprises. It's 2 AM, and I am immersed in two blogs (and spending way too much time deciding if candles are poked into a cake, plunged, or pushed into it. Or do they simply protrude from it?)

But wait, it gets better. My wee hour reflection continues, and I am leading Reader into the darkest of dark places: Guilt-land. The black hole that sucks up all energy, thought, and reason. Watch how I consider the actions of those who celebrated my birthday - and wonder "Have I given as much as I have received?"

Encounters.  Did I  pay attention? Listen. Care. Notice. Help. Try.

Enough?

Was I present?

Enough?

Because they mattered.  As did all the characters that time, or timing, relegated to anthology chapters long ago written and closed.

BLOG ASIDE.   Reader begins collecting dollar bills for Dr. Shrink, as I introduce yet another blog topic (and even more disturbing black hole): The Valley of What-Ifs.  The place where we tuck individuals, ambitions, hopes and dreams, once they are loved and lost, forgotten, or discarded. 

I Told You it was terrible.

Unfixable. 2:40 AM, I head to bed, accepting defeat rather than pushing 'Publish".

Fast forward. A few short hours. The light of the noonday sun has made sense of my wee hour musings.

Past Relationships, Birthdays, Guilt-land, and the Valley of What-Ifs are indeed linked. 

Because connections, once made,  remain - even if the bond is severed.

Birthdays allow us to celebrate our many connections, fixed across time and space. But they also remind us of our many connections that were somehow crossed.

Guilt-land and The Valley of What-Ifs just might disappear if we discovered a way to celebrate those connections that were crossed.

Perhaps a yearly "Make it Right" day.  "Rectify-Day."  "Remedy-day." 

Remeday.

A holiday of sorts where we Catch Up. Patch Up. Shout Out, "You made a difference in my life."

"I was an idiot. And I regret it."

"I loved you. And our time together."

Remeday. 

It has potential, don't you think? 

It's 6 pm, dear Reader. I am off to scribble a line of Remeday greeting cards.

Better get to it before the clock strikes One.

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Poor August needs a holiday. Remeday, it is!

WISH

I get to make a wish today.

I wish that you'll join me on a stroll down the Bike Path to check out Spring in my neck of the woods!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

xoxoxoxox!  Happy Spring!