Sweet Invention

Michael Krondl

Non-Fiction

Grade: B-

Michael Krondl’s Sweet Invention: A History of Dessert, takes readers on an often fascinating journey of desserts in six “dessert superpower” regions: India, the Middle East, Italy, France, Austria, and the United States. The history of food...even of the icing on the cake as opposed to the cake itself...is as terrific a way to impart knowledge as is the history of fashion. Both are surprisingly good as they give us an accessible way to track changes over time in arenas as diverse as politics, economics, religion, transportation and other technological advances, gender issues, the culture as a whole, and how societies are organized over time.

Though copiously researched, Krondl doesn’t give each of the six “superpowers” equal time, which may satisfy historians more than the casual student of history or foodie. I learned a great many tidbits about India in particular, and I’m glad now to know that they love their sweets; that because there are so many gods/goddesses and avatars, there are lots and lots of sweet-filled holidays; that sweets are more associated with boys than girls; that the lack of Western-type ovens results in lots and lots of fried sweets and none that are baked; and that the circumcision of boys does not occur at birth but rather between the ages of seven and twelve. But I wish more word count had been devoted to the particular history I crave: European and “American.” I realize this says as much about my character deficiencies as it does the book’s, but the history I did learn about the intersection of dessert and culture, gender, economics, politics, and people in Europe and the U.S. was so fascinating I simply craved more.

For instance, I already knew the American preference for milk chocolate as opposed to the French preference for darker, less sweet chocolate, but I didn’t know how Milton Hershey’s deprived childhood played into it. Or that population density...or lack thereof...along with changes in technology, the move from feudal, rural, and aristocratic cultures to urban living and the eventual growth of the middle class tied into when we ate, who prepared our savories and sweets, and for whom they were prepared. Krondl creates linkages out of changes in social economic status, democracy, even the Baby Boom, and his thought-provoking connections deserve study.

It seems obvious that if the mode of dress for an adult male is the same as it is for a 12-year-old boy (jeans, t-shirt, baseball cap), that his palette will differ from an adult male who requires a valet to dress and groom himself. It seems equally obvious that when a culture is focused on maintaining a power structure or Keeping Up with the Rothchilds, different attitudes toward food will develop in comparison to cultures simply sustaining themselves on the frontier...or those with a focus on individuality, portability, and ease of creation. These things seem obvious but only after you begin to actually consider them.

What worked less for me were all the desserts that frankly sounded quite the same to me. Yes, the actual history of the Sacher and Linzer Tortes intrigued me; I was less fascinated with the myriad descriptions of this or that fried sweet. Sometimes a donut, after all, is just a donut. Why not, instead of only focusing on how sugar is refined and how pricing affected dessert, also delve into the varieties of caramel, who invented the creme brûlée, or indeed thought to brûlée sugar?

My only other criticism is that I felt the author gave short shrift to some of the more modern history of dessert, although his insight that today’s restaurant pastry chefs are more innovative than are those at bakeries and pâtisseries was spot on. Sweet Invention wasn’t a perfect recipe for the history of dessert, but it provides ample food for thought.

A Perfect Birthday

I mostly adhered to my daughter's "you shall not work on your birthday" edict yesterday, but after following one of Megan's tweets, I felt compelled to dash off a quick article that may go online today...and if so, may kick my article originally scheduled for today into some time next week. But I had fun writing it, it was quick and off-the-cuff, and I didn't edit myself to death.

My husband and I put ourselves on an austerity program a few years ago that precluded big celebrations and big expressions of affection, but this year we've been able to ease up. Because yesterday's birthday was a biggie, I actually looked forward to it. I knew this year would not be a repeat of last year's self-imposed pity party because...ta-da...a birthday card and check arrived from my mom last week, along with a birthday card and check for my husband, whose birthday was two weeks ago, and an anniversary card (our anniversary is in March) and check. Do I think my mom remembers just how big a birthday it was for me? Probably not, but to have had it remembered for the first time in three years is good enough for me at this point.

When I picked up Rachael after lunch yesterday, she couldn't wait to give me her gift. The card brought me to tears. After all our struggles, to be at this place in our relationship with one another is something neither of us takes for granted. As I told a close friend yesterday, in our immediate family we treat each other with respect and love, but don't allow anyone to either sit in their shit or be full of it.

Mostly, though, we laugh and talk, run errands, go to movies, and watch Bravo marathons. This morning talk was all about The Boy, who will be coming to visit late this month. Anyway, after the card came the gift, a lovely purple/blue glass bird made by a gifted glass artist who graduated from Hendrix College in 1998. Which means she bought it not over the weekend or last week...she bought it before coming home for the summer. It was thoughtful...obviously I adore purple, and I've transferred my love of glass to both Harold and Rachael...and lovely. After putting the card away, we put the bird on my bedside table. And then she took me to Starbucks for a drink. When we came home, she did my makeup, and noted that this fabulous new eye concealer from Mahya I've been using on my eyelids made a tremendous difference. (Truly, if you have discolored, dark, or red lids, this product is frigging amazing. Because my lids are so discolored, for a couple of years I've been unable to wear most of my beautiful BE shadows unless they are pretty light. This concealer makes it possible for me to pull out some of my favorite darker colors, and to wear them without looking like a raccoon.)

Later in the afternoon a beautiful display of hydrangeas and mini-calla lilies arrived from my family. More thoughtfulness as I am the Queen of the Hydrangea. When Harold got home, he gave me his gift. His card also brought me to tears. And the gift (depicted on the right)...extravagant and over-the-top on any other birthday than this one, but perfect—for me, and our lifestyle—for every day. Silly, silly man...I think he actually thought I was disappointed he didn't buy my dream bracelet (seen to the left), which would have been the perfect gift if I lived a different life. If I actually owned it, though, I think I'd probably gaze adoringly at it on a daily basis, but only wear it three or four times a year.

So ends the conspicuous consumption portion of my blog entry. <g>

Then it was time for dinner at Fearing's. Dean Fearing, along with Stephan Pyles and Robert Del Grande, invented Southwestern Cuisine, and for years Fearing ran the restaurant at The Mansion, a boutique hotel here in Dallas. A couple of years ago he opened his own restaurant in the Ritz Carleton, and though it isn't as highly acclaimed as Pyles' is, the food is more accessible, and more Texan in its exuberance and abundance. Dinner was spectacular, the birthday cake the best damn restaurant birthday cake you can fathom, and when I got home and checked my twitter feed, there was a response from @fearingsdallas about my foursquare tweet, sent in the car on the way to the restaurant.

To top it off, there was a birthday message from my mom, who called while we were at dinner, and though it's a very easy thing to post a Facebook birthday message, the number of family and friends who bothered to take the time really warmed my heart. And since I didn't know until this morning that the Mavs lost game one of the NBA Finals (our game is #3, on Sunday), the entire day went off without a sour note.

A Perfect Birthday

Top Chef Finale

To be honest, Richard Blais sometimes came off like a dick during this season of Top Chef, not giving any of the credit to Stephanie Izard for his loss to her during season four. But more often, Mike Isabella wore the mantle of asshole chef. During the last couple of episodes, though, he appeared to be more likable, while Blais' neurotic lack of confidence sometimes seemed to be a front to gain sympathy from the judges and other "cheftestants." (How ridiculous is that name, and is it worse than "celebreality?")

Last night, though, I think we saw the real thing from both chefs. Blais willingly delegated to his sous chefs (I worried that Spike wasn't at the same level as Antonia or Angelo, but wasn't he the one who suggested changing the foie gras ice cream?), while Isabella, no doubt immensely talented, wasn't interested in taking any suggestions from Carla, Tiffani, or Jamie. Was that some of the same sexism he exhibited throughout much of the competition (and poor Antonia suffered the most for it when three got cut down to two)? Actually, I don't think so. I think Isabella followed his vision, and for the most part, he succeeded admirably.

Still, I think Blais as winner was the correct call, and I hope this will give him the confidence he needs to give his nasty little "you're not good enough" inner voice a rest. I'm familiar with that voice. So is my daughter. She called Monday to say she'd gotten an A on her philosophy midterm, which surprised her because she thought she'd earned a C+. Poor thing. She's experiencing precisely what I went through after each round of tests in college. I finally stopped fucking with myself in grad school. Hopefully it won't take her four years to figure it out.

I think this was one of the best seasons of Top Chef, even though I wish Angelo had made it into the finals. He against Blais...now that would have been something to see.

Top Chef Finale

My Hour of Crazy

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary and after my daughter finished doing my makeup (she's home for spring break from college and asked if she could), I took out the jewelry I planned to wear out to dinner at Stephan Pyles (yum!) last night. I could not find my earrings and went into an hour-long bout of crazy looking for them.

The ring and bracelet I'd planned to wear were right where they should be...in a small yellow jewelry bag that sits on the crystal plate in my bathroom which houses all my nice non-safe deposit box jewelry. The earrings should have been in the same small yellow bag, but were not. My daughter and I frantically started looking in drawers, in my closet, my bedside table—anywhere they might be. Eventually I got so upset I told her to stop. Continuing to look would spoil my evening. And so I decided that my next "project" would be to reorganize my bathroom drawers and closet space, all in the service of finding the damn earrings.

I got dressed, put on a different set of earrings, then went into the den to relax until it was time to leave. About five minutes before we left, I asked, "Do either of you actually remember my wearing them after I bought the other jewelry on our cruise this past summer?" Neither had any recollection. Suddenly I remembered blogging about the jewelry I'd bought, and posting pictures of each piece, last August, and ran into my study to take a look.

Guess what? There were no earrings. I'd actually invented them in my mind, but of course, after thinking about it, realized I'd never be so matchy-matchy. This hour of insanity will undoubtedly and undeniably go down on my "most crazy" list that I mentally keep. See, I never lose things. In the past five years there have only been two instances in which I could not find something, and in both cases, they were actually where I thought they were. Problem is, the inside of my backpack is black, and the neoprene cover for my iPod is also black, as is the zipper bag in which I store my laptop plug and chargers for my phone and Kindle. Both times I went more than a little nuts trying to find one or the other, but in both instances, they were actually there...I just need to root around to find them.

Anyway, we all had a good laugh about it, and I kept thinking about the earrings that weren't lost because they didn't exist during our delicious dinner. So much that I actually designed a pair from looking at my bracelet. This is what they'd look like. If only they weren't so matchy-matchy

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Btw, dinner last night was one of the best meals I ever ate. I mention it specifically to write about the sous vide stuffed chicken. Until last night I'd never actually eaten any food prepared in this manner. If you ever have the chance—and since more and more chefs are incorporating this style of cooking into their menus, you well may—try it. It was the most moist and tender chicken I've ever eaten. Now, I like chicken well enough, and adore my husband's pan-roasted chicken, but I'd never imagined it could taste this good. Of course, my appetizer was phenomenal (really, how could seared foie gras be anything but amazing?), as was the amuse-bouche (a small bite of lobster and asparagus in a delicate sauce), but the dessert also blew me away: Mexican chocolate fondant with fleur de sel caramel and Kahlúa crema. For a few years now I've loved salted caramel and salted chocolate, so this was a real treat. My husband's dinner was equally wonderful, and after 28 years of marriage, I'm still wildly in love.

If you're ever in Dallas, have dinner at Stephan Pyles. He's among those few chefs who invented Southwestern cuisine, and I can remember in our younger days waiting six weeks for a reservation at his first restaurant, Routh Street Cafe. Not only was it the place to see and be seen, the food was brilliant. What can I say? It was the late 1980s and we were yuppies with a disposable income.

My Hour of Crazy

Meat

The following is a note I originally wrote and posted onto my Facebook page in February. Today for some reason I am waxing nostalgic on the experience; perhaps it remains close to the front of my memory after talking about it a couple of weeks ago with some of my mom's oldest friends, who are practically like parents to me, while we were in L.A. (pre-cruise).

I've lived in Texas since I was a college freshman, and being from California, had no clue what BBQ was all about. My mom always sauced her steaks prior to cooking, so the concept of eating plain meat never appealed. My husband, a Texan through and through, gave up in his efforts years ago of trying to convince me to partake of BBQ at his favorite joints whenever we drove through Central Texas, but when I took our daughter on a college road trip, I decided to give it a try. She loves the stuff, my husband loves the stuff, and as I've since come over to their side re: coffee (coffee flavored coffee) and chocolate (dark), perhaps it was time to give myself over to the meat.

While on our way from Austin to Georgetown late last month, we drove to Taylor and the wholly unprepossessing Mueller's Market, where I'd planned on simply ordering my usual sausage. That was my plan until the woman behind the counter put a morsel of glistening brisket on my tray...and I ate it. OMG, I had a foodgasm right then and there and changed my order. My daughter was so proud of me she announced to everyone that this was my first "real" bite of BBQ.

After calling my husband and yelling at him for simply not stuffing my mouth full of the stuff years ago, I went over the eating experience in my mind. For days. I love caramelized food...from onions and carrots and a nice crust on a medium rare steak to actual caramel. The brisket at Mueller's was simply sublime. Crusty, fatty, melt-in-your-mouth meat.

When I found out last week I wasn't working from Tuesday through Friday, I told my husband and he asked me to drive down to Austin with him for those days. He had some legal CLE and I could have the car during the day to do whatever I wanted. I jumped at the chance - and not only because I suspected we could work in some BBQ - and we had a nice drive down there, stopping, of course, in West at the Czech Stop.

Let me break in at this time to say that it's always baffled me that Texans are so jingoistic about their state. Part of it, I'm convinced, is almost Jungian, though instead of a collective unconscious there is a collective map. It's impossible to drive through West, for instance, without stopping at the Czech Stop...everyone I know who lives in Texas knows the place and can name their favorite kolache.

When Rachael and I drove home from Georgetown to Dallas, we, of course, stopped there, to surprise her dad with his favorite cottage cheese kolaches. We varied from our usual, which is his usual; I got blueberry cream cheese and they were unbelievable when warm. As for the collective mapism, here's mine: I far prefer the market to the bakery, even though the kitchen is shared. I dunno why.

But I digress. This collective map includes BBQ. Texans love their beef. My daughter has always loved both fruit and meat, and my husband first introduced her to BBQ prime rib years ago. Again, I'd demurred. Stoopid, stoopid me.

BBQ in Texas is a lunch-time affair. The best places sell out some time in the afternoon, so unless I drove to Lockhart while my husband was in his classes, we were probably going to have to settle for what some people believe is terrific stuff; BBQ at the Salt Lick, which my husband deems "commercial."

The first thing I noticed? That they ruined the meat, even the end piece in all its crusty glory by glopping sauce all over it. But, as my husband said, if I was going to truly try BBQ, I had to try a variety. Yes, this was better than the stuff you can buy in Dallas, but it was not foodgastic by a long shot.

By the time we'd finished our meal, our plans had changed; instead of his staying in class all day Friday, he'd omit the afternoon session and we'd drive 40 minutes out of our way to Lockhart, and two, or if necessary, three, of the BBQ markets he'd frequented for years that always seem to fall off the lips of Texans when they discuss, nay, argue, BBQ.

Meat-a-pooluza commenced at 12:30 when we hit the road. We drove up to Kreuz's Market shortly after one and ordered brisket - an end cut - and some sausage. Unlike Mueller's which supplies trays, this is totally old school; butcher paper only, and instead of the oven above-ground, a pit of fire that hits you in the face as you walk from the meat room to the "dining" room.

Kreuz Market	Kreuz firepit
Kreuz butchering order	Kreuz brisket & sausage

I took my first bite of brisket as soon as we sat down and immediately knew this was better than what we'd eaten at Salt Lick, but was disappointed that it didn't live up to Mueller's. Was this yet again a case of First as Favorites, applied to meat rather than authors? After all, Kreuz tends to rank higher up on most lists of BBQ than Mueller's, although, to be fair, it's the latter with a James Beard award.

Regardless, I enjoyed the brisket, but didn't love it. The sausage was very different than any other sausage I'd ever eaten in a BBQ joint; it wasn't smooth on the inside. It was very textured and you could see bits of spice and fat and much darker meat. It was yummy, but it was time to move on.

We then drove for the two minutes it takes to get to Smitty's, where another pit of fire hits you in the face...this time the moment you walk in the door. We order both brisket and prime rib, so much of it that I felt like a glutton. We sat down...I dug in. OMG, the mouthgasm was back with a vengeance.

Smitty's	Smitty's firepit
Smitty's butchering order	Smitty's brisket & prime rib

The brisket was thisclose in goodness to what I remembered at Mueller's, and far better than what we'd had at Kreuz's. It was all in the rub of spices. And then I took a bit of the prime rib, which I still can't quite figure out - how in hell can you smoke meat for hours and have it be medium rare in the middle?

If the brisket wasn't quite, quite, quite as good as Mueller's the fact that Mueller's doesn't serve prime rib put Smitty's over the top in my book. Both briskets were crispy, fatty pieces of deliciousness - but the prime rib was as buttery as prime rib, yet at the same time smokey. My mouth was confused but ultimately very, very happy.

It was not necessary to move on to Black's, which my husband was prepared to do had I not been satisfied with what I'd sampled. We packed up what was left, drove past the cool courthouse (at least we think it was the courthouse), then returned to Austin where we broke our nearly four-year art glass ban at Austin Art Glass, a gallery I'd spied the day before. Here are the pieces we bought as installed on a wall in our home.

As if that weren't enough, my husband decided we should walk across the street to the airstream trailer that had a revolving cupcake atop it and buy a couple of cupcakes for the road. I've never had a designer cupcake, but know that the Central Market vanilla/vanilla buttercreams are damned good, so that's what I went for. The DH chose a red velvet, and we left to come home. Of course, given the cupcakes, there was no reasonable reason to stop at West, but it did occur to me that I now have kind of have an inkling of why Texans are such Texanists.

When I told Rachael about the experience...in particular the prime rib...I got a big, fat, knowing "I told you so."

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Earlier this year, but after Meat-a-pooluza (and my note on Facebook), the Travel Channel aired a show called Food Wars, and one of the battles was between Kreuz and Smitty's. They judged on brisket and sausage, and it was tied until the very last judge, who basically flipped a coin. Kreuz won...and I lost interest in Food Wars. Clearly, they got it wrong, and clearly, after an entire adult lifetime lived in Texas, I feel as though I'm (finally) one. Well, except for that whole Rick Perry thing.

Meat

Yum!

If you're interested in a low-fat, low-calorie recipe that is filling, nutritious, quick and simple, here's one I came up with today, with a little help from my trusty Hungry Girl Egg Mug. I've made the Egg Mug for many a relative, and while they all think it's going to be rubbery and gross as they're made in the microwave, they end up hooked on them because, of course, they are neither rubbery nor gross.

Let's start with the Egg Mug recipe, which is basically an egg souffle, not rubbery but instead creamy due to the inclusion of The Laughing Cow Light, Creamy Swiss Original (for which I used a photo of the Florentine version of the Egg Mug):

Per serving (entire mug): 95 calories, 2g fat, 14.5g protein

Ingredients:
1/2 cup fat-free liquid egg substitute (like Egg Beaters Original)
One wedge The Laughing Cow Light Original Swiss cheese, cut into pieces

Directions:
Spray a large microwave-safe mug lightly with nonstick spray. Add egg substitute and cheese and stir. Microwave for about a minute. Stir gently, and then microwave for another 30 - 45 seconds, until scramble is just set. Stir and enjoy!

That's the official recipe and cooking time. With the mug I use, in my microwave, it works best with 50 seconds, then another 50. But experiment with the time, and if you're inclined to jazz it up, Hungry Girl provides add-in options, like spinach for the Florentine version.

The Egg Mug, btw, is the perfect breakfast or snack. If you get the munchies in-between lunch and dinner, they're wonderful. Oftentimes if I'm scheduled to work when I would regularly be eating a meal, I'll have one right before leaving the house.

To assemble the breakfast burrito, I start with a La Tortilla Factory Smart & Delicious Low Carb High Fiber Large Tortillas, add two slices of turkey bacon that I cook in the oven rather than nuking or cooking atop the stove, then add the egg mug, which comes out very fluffy and stays hot for quite a while. By the time you get to the end of your burrito, even if you eat slowly - as you should - it's still toasty.

I discovered these tortillas on my own, but Hungry Girl loves 'em too. They are enormous, and so filled with fiber that they fill you up. Each tortilla has just 80 calories, 8g protein, and 12g fiber. That said, you need to know up front that they don't taste like regular tortillas...at all. If you think of them as wraps rather than tortillas, you will be less surprised when you bite into one.

Depending on the brand of turkey bacon you buy, the total calorie count for this breakfast burrito is 220 - 250 calories. Hungry Girl recommends Jenny-O because at 20 calories per slice it's the lowest, but we just buy whatever Costco has, which tends to be Louis Rich, at 35 calories a slice. Regardless, the calories from the turkey come mainly from fat, but remember, you're using egg whites and low-fat cheese for the remainder of the recipe.

If you're a stickler about never going over 30% fat in any recipe, this one won't quite work, but I see it as a trade off given the low calorie count. When I eat this burrito before going in to work, I often add a bowl of strawberries or a medium-sized apple, which adds a limited number of calories and evens out the percentage of fat as a meal.

If you try my breakfast burrito, or any of the components therein, please let me know. And if you've got a great recipe to share, please do that as well.

Yum!