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RECIPES | 17 AND BAKING Chocolate Cranberry Bran Muffins. Cream Cheese and Chive Biscuits. Cream Cheese Rippled Pumpkin Bread *. Double Banana Pancakes and Triple Berry Maple Syrup. Healthy Banana Apple Muffins. Lemon-Scented Pull-Apart Coffee Cake *. Midafternoon Crepes. Oat, Pear, and Raspberry Loaf. Orange-Cinnamon Honey Sticky Buns. ABOUT ME | 17 AND BAKING I'm Elissa. I'm a baker, photographer, writer and blogger. I'm a lucky girl. It started at 14, with a cake cookbook filled with pretty pictures. When I was 15, I got a KitchenAid stand mixer for Christmas. Four months later, for my 16th birthday, I got a KitchenAid food processor and ice cream machine. As AS SEEN ON | 17 AND BAKING As Seen On. 17 and Baking and some of my recipes have been shared and featured on other sites. AOL Food ( This article was headlined on the AOL.com main site. Check out the screenshot!) GOALS | 17 AND BAKING Goals_____ There's a lot of things I've never made but have always wanted to try here's the list! TO DO • Puff pastry (tried, wasn't perfect. Going to try again.) • Eclairs (tried twice not good enough to cross off. In fact, bad. Dad still loves me though.)17 AND BAKING BAD
17 and Baking Bad. August 11, 2013 at 12:37 am 110 comments. They call it cooking meth, but really, it’s a lot more like baking. My dad’s a cook. He’s the kind of person who makes Indian food without a recipe, who can guess every ingredient in a sauce from one taste. BLACK PEPPER PANNA COTTA & RED WINE STRAWBERRIES Makes enough to accompany the panna cottas. 1 cup (250ml) red wine. 6 tablespoons (100g) sugar. 1 to 2 small baskets of strawberries (about 8 ounces, 200g) Heat the red wine and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat until it thickly bubbles. Let the red reduce into a syrup, until only half of it remains (1/2 cup, 120 ml). LEMON BASIL OLIVE OIL CAKE Lemon Basil Olive Oil Cake. July 1, 2011 at 3:01 pm 40 comments. Ten days in LA weren’t enough. As the plane lifted, I caught my last looks at California through the gauzy clouds.COCOA MERINGUES
Whisk in the cocoa powder. Pipe small meringues, or drop by the heaped teaspoon onto a parchment lined baking sheet. Bake in the center of the oven for about 15 minutes, or until the outside is crisp and crackled, the insides marshmallowy and soft. Cool thoroughly on a PEANUT BUTTER JELLY LOAF Preheat the oven to 350 F. Butter a 9×5″ loaf pan and coat it with sugar. Sift the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a small bowl. In another bowl, stir the jam to break it up and get it loose. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream the peanut butter, butter, and sugars on medium high speed for a full five minutes. 17 AND BAKINGABOUT MEAS SEEN ONRECIPESGOALS 17 and Baking Bad. They call it cooking meth, but really, it’s a lot more like baking. My dad’s a cook. He’s the kind of person who makes Indian food without a recipe, who can guess every ingredient in a sauce from one taste. The kind of person who opens the fridge, laughs a deep belly laugh, and assures you “there’s a meal inthere
RECIPES | 17 AND BAKING Chocolate Cranberry Bran Muffins. Cream Cheese and Chive Biscuits. Cream Cheese Rippled Pumpkin Bread *. Double Banana Pancakes and Triple Berry Maple Syrup. Healthy Banana Apple Muffins. Lemon-Scented Pull-Apart Coffee Cake *. Midafternoon Crepes. Oat, Pear, and Raspberry Loaf. Orange-Cinnamon Honey Sticky Buns. ABOUT ME | 17 AND BAKING I'm Elissa. I'm a baker, photographer, writer and blogger. I'm a lucky girl. It started at 14, with a cake cookbook filled with pretty pictures. When I was 15, I got a KitchenAid stand mixer for Christmas. Four months later, for my 16th birthday, I got a KitchenAid food processor and ice cream machine. As AS SEEN ON | 17 AND BAKING As Seen On. 17 and Baking and some of my recipes have been shared and featured on other sites. AOL Food ( This article was headlined on the AOL.com main site. Check out the screenshot!) GOALS | 17 AND BAKING Goals_____ There's a lot of things I've never made but have always wanted to try here's the list! TO DO • Puff pastry (tried, wasn't perfect. Going to try again.) • Eclairs (tried twice not good enough to cross off. In fact, bad. Dad still loves me though.)17 AND BAKING BAD
17 and Baking Bad. August 11, 2013 at 12:37 am 110 comments. They call it cooking meth, but really, it’s a lot more like baking. My dad’s a cook. He’s the kind of person who makes Indian food without a recipe, who can guess every ingredient in a sauce from one taste. BLACK PEPPER PANNA COTTA & RED WINE STRAWBERRIES Makes enough to accompany the panna cottas. 1 cup (250ml) red wine. 6 tablespoons (100g) sugar. 1 to 2 small baskets of strawberries (about 8 ounces, 200g) Heat the red wine and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat until it thickly bubbles. Let the red reduce into a syrup, until only half of it remains (1/2 cup, 120 ml). LEMON BASIL OLIVE OIL CAKE Lemon Basil Olive Oil Cake. July 1, 2011 at 3:01 pm 40 comments. Ten days in LA weren’t enough. As the plane lifted, I caught my last looks at California through the gauzy clouds.COCOA MERINGUES
Whisk in the cocoa powder. Pipe small meringues, or drop by the heaped teaspoon onto a parchment lined baking sheet. Bake in the center of the oven for about 15 minutes, or until the outside is crisp and crackled, the insides marshmallowy and soft. Cool thoroughly on a PEANUT BUTTER JELLY LOAF Preheat the oven to 350 F. Butter a 9×5″ loaf pan and coat it with sugar. Sift the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a small bowl. In another bowl, stir the jam to break it up and get it loose. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream the peanut butter, butter, and sugars on medium high speed for a full five minutes.17 AND BAKING
Blueberry Cornflake Thumbprints. I just finished my junior year of college. Which seems impossible, and exciting. I’ve signed the paperwork on my first two apartments—one in New York, where I’m interning this summer, and another in Cambridge for my senior year.COCOA MERINGUES
Whisk in the cocoa powder. Pipe small meringues, or drop by the heaped teaspoon onto a parchment lined baking sheet. Bake in the center of the oven for about 15 minutes, or until the outside is crisp and crackled, the insides marshmallowy and soft. Cool thoroughly on aSOFT PRETZELS
Soft Pretzels. September 5, 2010 at 1:07 pm 115 comments. It’s hard to believe that only one week ago, I was between homes. My parents and I flew red eye. As we made our way to the airport, I kept my face turned towards the car window. SOFT WHOLE WHEAT PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES (VEGAN) Raw sugar & sea salt for sprinkling. Preheat oven to 350F degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a non-stick mat. Stir the peanut butter, maple syrup, optional olive oil, and vanilla until combined in a large mixing bowl. Sift the flour, baking PEANUT BUTTER PRETZEL BITES (DIPPED IN CHOCOLATE!) Freeze the pretzel sandwiches for half an hour. Melt the chocolate chips, using the microwave (30 second intervals) or a double boiler. Dip half of each pretzel sandwich in chocolate. Return the tray to the freezer and chill until the chocolate sets. Store the Peanut Butter Pretzel Bites in the refrigerator until serving time. PEPPERMINT | 17 AND BAKING Striped Peppermint Meringues with Chocolate Ganache. Lately it seems like I’ve had a lot of bad days. More like a lot of bad weeks. Everyone has those days where nothing goes right, where it seems like the flowers close when you walk by and the clouds begin to leak rain.GELATO WITHDRAWALS
Gelato Withdrawals. November 16, 2011 at 11:42 am 49 comments. Standing before the counter, I meant to order a double scoop of stracciatella for one simple reason – after a week in Italy, the chocolate-flecked gelato remained the only flavor I could pronouncecorrectly.
A LITTLE TASTE OF INDEPENDENCE A Little Taste of Independence. July 1, 2009 at 11:03 pm 300 comments. Hey everyone – happy 4th of July! I know most everyone has a special Independence Day tradition. Most people spend the day with their family and friends, others go to neighborhood potlucks and barbeques, and still others go to the park to watch the fireworks burst beneaththe stars.
BLUEBERRY CORNFLAKE THUMBPRINTS Blueberry Cornflake Thumbprints. June 1, 2013 at 1:00 am 47 comments. I just finished my junior year of college. Which seems impossible, and exciting. I’ve signed the paperwork on my first two apartments—one in New York, where I’m interning this summer, and another inTARO ICE CREAM
Taro Ice Cream. July 10, 2009 at 10:23 am 31 comments. Here is the ideal summer day. It would begin with waking up at 9:30 feeling refreshed and glowing. I would curl up on the couch by the window, with the Seattle Times, a warm cinnamon roll (prepared the night before, of course,) and a warm cup of jasmine tea.17 AND BAKING
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-------------------------17 AND BAKING BAD
They call it cooking meth, but really, it’s a lot more like baking. My dad’s a cook. He’s the kind of person who makes Indian food without a recipe, who can guess every ingredient in a sauce from one taste. The kind of person who opens the fridge, laughs a deep belly laugh, and assures you “there’s a meal in there somewhere.” He approaches food intuitively, which is why he’s never liked baking—it’s too precise. You can’t throw in a pinch of this, a pinch of that, eyeball a teaspoon of baking powder, and leave it in the oven until it looks done. Walter White would be an incredible baker. Baking relies on precision. Four ounces of flour is always four ounces of flour. At the right temperature, butter and sugar become light and fluffy perfection in three minutes. I can make a sheet of cookies and recreate them a year later, at a friend’s house, on the other sideof the country.
I love that different ratios of the same basic ingredients—butter, flour, sugar, eggs—result in a million different desserts. I think it’s incredible that a touch of salt makes chocolate sing, but a spoonful ruins ganache. Everything from the humidity of a kitchen to the size of the eggs to the style of whisk makes a difference. Who knew the art of pastry was such an exact science? For some cooks, the exactitude of baking stifles their creativity. I like it. The chemistry excites me, challenges me. I think it’s sortof cool.
Maybe that’s why I look forward to the meth cook montages on Breaking Bad. Walt and Jesse might be making a questionable product, but I can’t help admiring their process. Plus, the visuals are stunning: glittering aluminum strips rain like confetti, gas bubbles through clear hose, yellow smoke puffs out a vent. Even the finished drug is pretty, big and opaque as blue raspberry rock candy. Actually, it’s exactly like rock candy—that’s literally what they use for meth on the show. The first time I saw it, I thought to myself, that’d look neat incorporated into a dessert. I pictured a cake, frosted pure white and topped with lots of sparkly blue crystals, marbled navy and white inside. But it wasn’t until now, as the second half of the last season is about to start, that I went for it. My boyfriend took the first bite. I could hear the rock candy crunching between his teeth as he slowly nodded, eyes widening. He didn’t say anything, just took another bite, and I knew he washooked.
The finished cake isn’t as chemically sound as Heisenberg’s Blue Sky. Maybe because I mixed it by hand, the white cake got a few air bubbles, and in the summer heat the cream cheese frosting stayed soft. My marbling didn’t come out perfectly, more blotchy than swirled. But the cake’s still beautiful. It grabs your attention. And above all, it’s definitely addictive. Consider yourself warned.(more…)
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_August 11, 2013 at 12:37 am_ _ 110
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COCOA MERINGUES
I never thought I was the kind of person who would be fired. I’d been waitressing since my freshman year. The restaurant hired me my first month in Boston, even though I’d never taken an order or carried more than two plates across a room. I think what ultimately sold them was my interview–I walked in with a firm handshake and no doubt I’d find a job, so I did. I liked waitressing right away. My first day of training, I wanted to be the fastest learner my boss had ever seen, to earn solid 20% tips from every table and have fun doing it. Two years later, I felt pretty good. I was not only the server who’d worked there the longest, but also the server with top sales. I always planned to work at that restaurant until I finished school. I can’t pinpoint exactly where things started to go bad, or which Bad Thing was the last yanked thread that made the whole thing unravel. One by one, most of the staff had either quit or been fired. My three favorite managers left, one after another. Turnover had never been so high, business so slow, or my earnings so meager. I didn’t look forward to work, but I kept coming in. Then one morning last October, I had bad stomachaches and a forehead that could melt butter. When I called in sick for my shift that evening, the manager said I needed to find my own replacement. Determined, I called all of my co-workers, even the ones who worked at different locations, but nobody wanted to come in. Trying to stay calm, I called my manager again, and told him I honestly couldn’t do it tonight. “People don’t get sick on a Saturday night, a few hours before their shift.” He continued that if I didn’t come in, things would be “very bad for my future there.” If I’d been feeling sick before, it was nothing compared to the worry his words sent pinwheeling through my stomach. Just like that, Iknew it was over.
I’d never been fired from anything before. I prided myself in being a great employee, a great intern, a great student, a great whatever. I actually liked learning. I always wanted to be the best I could be. Now, to be unceremoniously fired from the first real job I’d ever had? After two solid years? What was wrong with me? It was around that fall I first realized something was different. Looking back I know it was depression settling in, but at the time, it was happening so slowly I hadn’treally noticed.
I was bored with my classes, which weren’t challenging enough. I was so comfortable with my friends, I never went out and looked for more. There was a time I could juggle two jobs, four classes, an internship, and all the relationships I wanted to maintain. But as I sat on my bed that afternoon, phone on my lap and tears welling in my eyes, I felt like I couldn’t do anything. I was going to be fired. _Fired_. I felt like such a failure. I didn’t know what else to do, so I called my dad. We hadn’t talked in a while, partly because I didn’t have anything positive to tell him, and I didn’t want him to know how I’d been feeling. When I heard his enthusiastic “Hey little girl!” I was ashamed to have this conversation. He heard it. “What’s wrong?” “Dad,” I said. “It’s not good.” He let me explain what had happened without saying a word. At the end, I finished with a horrible, nasally “So I think they’re going to fire me.” I stared at my toes and hoped he wouldn’t be as disheartened with me as I was with myself. The dead air rang in my ears a few moments, and then he finally spoke. “Screw them,” he said. Except he didn’t put it quite so nicely. I was so shocked and so relieved I started crying, more emotional than I would’ve been if he’d yelled. “You’re not mad? You’re notdisappointed?”
“Honey,” he said, “you work hard. You gave them all you have. And if that isn’t enough, you don’t need to take this. If you aren’t happy, by all means, get outta there.” He paused. “Mom says, ‘Tell her you’re right.’ So there you go. We’re withyou.”
We talked until my tears were dry and a reluctant smile crept in. After hanging up I drank a cup of tea, watched some TV, and went to bed early, glad I hadn’t been too scared or too proud to call. I got better. And two days later, I went into work for my next shift, head held high, ready to face whatever happened. Fragility is natural. It’s what makes porcelain and lace and new flowers so beautiful. It’s what makes a good meringue cookie so addictive. And it’s what makes us human. In the end, I wasn’t fired. But I did quit. And when I finally left that job, I learned something else—it’s okay to feel breakable sometimes. It’s okay to let other people see that vulnerability. Because the people who care will always be there to support you, to comfort you, and to believe in you, even when you can’t do those things for yourself. _Especially_ when you can’t do those thingsfor yourself.
And they’ll be there for you when you can.(more…)
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_July 18, 2013 at 6:37 pm_ _ 48 comments
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COCONUT TAKE-OUT RICE PUDDING I made this coconut rice pudding planning to eat it cold. I was warned about the heat before I moved east for the summer, but growing up in the Pacific Northwest left me helpless. I thought it’d be a little warmer than Seattle, where July is sunny with a breeze. I figured I should probably pack a tank top or two. I found out summers in New York laugh at summers in Seattle. It’s hot here, but then again, it’s hot everywhere. I’m not used to this kind of weather, where the heat firms up against your shoulders like wax, and the humidity settles heavy as wool. My apartment is a fourth floor walk-up, which means I always come home out of breath and embarrassingly sweaty. We haven’t figured out how to install the AC yet. Last weekend, I woke up before the heat crept in. I knew it wouldn’t last long, though, so I decided to cook while I could. I poked around my cabinets and found a can of coconut milk. I’m surprised by how many people don’t like coconut. I’ve always loved the stuff—so smooth, sweet, and rich. I admire its versatility, delicious whether stirred into curry or scooped straight from the husk, and the smell of toasting coconut is one of my all-time favorites. I especially like it in desserts. Usually, when it’s not too overpowering, the coconut adds an elusive balminess. It shouldn’t taste like sunscreen, but add a special oomph. I also found some white rice, leftovers from a Chinese take-out night, and that’s when I decided to transform the two into coconut ricepudding.
I like rice pudding because it’s so unfussy. This version is especially convenient. You use pre-cooked rice, which means you don’t need to make any beforehand, and you can throw in whatever you have. You can add any sized can of coconut milk, and make up the rest with skim milk (no heavy cream, half and half, or egg yolks needed!) I whipped this batch up in thirty minutes flat. But I wasn’t fast enough. As the milk simmered and the rice grew fat with coconut and sugar, the temperature rose in that little kitchen. It was scorching by the time the pudding was thick enough to give a spoon trouble. I thought I’d let it chill completely and eat some after lunch, but ultimately I couldn’t resist a taste. Wholesome, comforting, creamy, decadent. The coconut was mild—-maybe not even strong enough for a coconut fanatic-—but gorgeously buttery. It was sweet, but not sugary, and luxurious enough to make mefeel guilty.
In the end, I ate a piping hot bowl right then and there for breakfast. And that night, I tried a spoonful cold, and it was respectable. But this dessert comes alive when it’s warm. All the flavors breathe, the pudding melts into utter goodness, and your belly heats up like you might boil over with happiness, even if it couldn’t get hotter outside. Maybe it’s time to install that AC.__
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(more…)
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_July 3, 2013 at 6:09 pm_ _
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BLACK PEPPER PANNA COTTA & RED WINE STRAWBERRIES I bought a carton of strawberries. I did it against my better judgment—the berries were suspiciously big and still a little out of season, not to mention overpriced. They were so red I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. But I bought them anyway because I wanted to make panna cotta, and I thought berries would make the plate prettier. Plus, I’d found a half-cup of cheap cabernet in the fridge, forgotten by the apartment’s previous tenants, and I figured that would be enough to make mediocre berries taste good. I went home and got to work, chilling the panna cottas and reducing the wine to a slow-bubbling glaze. After all that, I popped open the box of strawberries. I was surprised—they actually looked really good. Well, I thought, I’m glad they’ll photograph nice. I scooped up a handful, ran them under water, and let them tumble onto a cutting board, which slowly pinkened with juice. Before slicing, I picked up one of the smaller berries, pinched off the green, and popped the whole thing in my mouth.Wow.
With one bite I was transported home to Seattle, to our front yard, to my mom’s strawberry patch. She planted the seeds when I was a senior in high school. They’ve grown prolifically since then, the leaves a dense carpet. The berries are tiny, thimble-sized, and redder than roses. They’re profusely floral, like perfume in your palms, so fragrant you taste them before you’ve parted your lips. Each bite melts on your tongue and the sweetness probably causes cavities. They’re the best strawberries I’ve ever had. One year, I infused some into a jar of bourbon. Another time, I made shortcakes with thick dollops of real cream. But they’re always best as-is, still warm from the sun, by the bowl-full. My dad likes to dip them in black pepper, a preference I found off-putting until I tried it. You can’t actually taste the pepper—like salt on chocolate, it simply enhances the berry itself. Once I’d settled on red wine strawberries, I added pepper to the panna cottas, without hesitation. The grocery store strawberries weren’t as good as my mom’s. Not even close. But they were outrageously better than I expected. The panna cottas were, too. I was nervous they would stick to their molds, but each panna cotta wobbled right onto the plate. The texture was perfect—-firm enough to hold a shape, yet soft and creamy as pudding. The edges were smooth as marble. I’d originally imagined the pepper sprinkled throughout, and I was disappointed they had settled down instead. But on second glance, I liked the way it looked—-pure white with black flecks crowning the top, like caviar, gently trickling down. And the berries. Glossy, sweet, and superbly robust. The color contrast was gorgeous. I didn’t regret stirring them into the red wine reduction, even though I usually like to eat delicious fruitas-is.
I’ll save that simple happiness for the next time I’m home.(more…)
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_June 21, 2013 at 3:46 pm_
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-------------------------_ELISSA BERNSTEIN_
I'm Elissa: a 17 (now 21) year old baker in Seattle Boston juggling creative nonfiction workshops, subway maps, and my passions for writing, baking, and photography. _Photo above © Michelle Moore_
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