Pretzel S'mores

My S'mores -- Messy, Not Elegant, but Crowd Pleasers

You may be asking yourself, "Isn't she going to blog about the craft and business of writing?"  Yes. Later. I write in the mornings and, from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day, I spend a lot of time happily baking and cooking which to me is the Anti-Writing. I guess it's not really the opposite of writing but it's more of a complement to it. Still creative, but in a different way. There was a brief period in my young adult years when I considered going to culinary school.  I've been cooking and baking since I was a little kid--the same time I started writing. I share a passion for each.

So, on to Pretzel S'mores. An easy and messy recipe with a completely addictive result. I love the combination of salty and sweet.

I've obtained some of my favorite recipes from the backs of boxes and bags of sugar, flour, chocolate chips, etc. and from product ads. I saw this recipe for Pretzel S'mores in a Rold Gold Pretzel ad. I looked on the Net for the recipe and couldn't find it. It wasn't even on the Rold Gold site.  What's up, Frito-Lay marketing geniuses?  I'll help you out.  Here it is, as printed with my notes:

ROLD GOLD Pretzel S'mores

Break apart a 16 oz. semisweet chocolate bar. (I used a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips.) Set some aside for grating over finished s'mores. (Unnecessary. See my later comment.) 

Place chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl and heat until melted and smooth, stirring every 30 seconds.

Cover cookie sheet with parchment or wax paper and lay out 20 ROLD GOLD Classic Style Tiny Twists Pretzels.  (There was plenty of chocolate for more than 20 pretzels. Fill the pan.)

The Gorgeous Photo from the Ad. Mine Did Not Look Like This.

Place melted chocolate in a piping bag (what I did) or create your own by placing chocolate in a small plastic bag and snipping off one corner (Might try this next time because cleaning the chocolate from the piping bag was a mess).

Fill pretzel opening with melted chocolate and allow to cool. (I didn't completely fill holes.)

Once cool, place 2 teaspoons of marshmallow creme on each chocolate-filled pretzel and top with a pretzel, pressing gently.  (I was barely able to fit a generous teaspoon of the creme on top. It squishes out.)

Grate extra chocolate over finished Pretzel S'mores and enjoy. (Grating chocolate on top is an extra unnecessary step IMHO and rather like gilding a lily, but whatever.)

I recommend putting them together right before serving. They start to melt almost immediately, the tops sliding to one side. I put them in the fridge which helps. Don't know what freezing would do to them.  They were fine after being refrigerated overnight. Before serving, I set each one on a small piece of wax paper because they stick to the serving plate.  We had a couple of friends over and they were a big hit, especially with the guys. I put the leftovers back into the fridge and they didn't hold up after a second day.

I would make this recipe again.

Bon appetit!

Perfected: Lemon Custard Cookies

I'm going to just say it: I make the best lemon custard cookies.  Over the many years that I've been baking them, I've honed a recipe that is simple on the surface yet the devil is in the details. 

My Thanksgiving batch with a Shawnee vase from my collection.

I've become a lemon custard cookie snob.  I can eyeball a batch made by others from ten paces and determine with pretty good accuracy whether they're good or not. Pale yellow custard?  Not tart enough.  Runny custard?  Underdone. Fluffy custard or gummy custard?  I have no idea what causes that but it's just wrong.  Crumbly, thick crust?  Underdone or not packed well into the pan or... gasp... I don't even want to know if you didn't use real butter.

The perfect lemon custard cookie has a tart, smooth lemon pie layer that's gelled but not gummy atop a buttery, crisp yet tender shortbread crust. When you bite into it, your lips slightly pucker like at the beginning of a kiss. The shortbread crumbles and melts and you feel a memory of tartness at the back of your throat. There is always a moment of silence. 

Notes before proceeding: Do not be afraid of the lemon!  On the other hand, don't tip over into sour.  You need to find the delicate balance between lemon and sugar.  And only use fresh lemon juice.  Banish that bottled Real Lemon!  It tastes metallic. Go no further if you're even thinking about using it. 

Leery of tasting the raw custard for tartness?  I suppose you could go on faith, but I've been eating raw batter since I was a kid.

Ready?  Here we go.

DIANNE EMLEY'S LEMON CUSTARD COOKIES

Pre-heat oven to 350

For crust:

1/2 cup sifted powdered sugar
1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 cubes unsalted cold butter

Put powdered sugar and flour into a medium bowl.  Cut butter into the bowl.  Blend together with a pastry blender, fork, or fingers (my favorite) until evenly crumbly. Pat firmly and evenly into a 9" x 12" pan.  Bake 10 to 15 minutes until slightly brown on bottom and sides and top has brown patches and looks solid--not doughy.  Watch as it can burn quickly.  Be careful not to under cook the crust as it won't bake much more when it's filled and will be too crumbly if it's underdone. Take out pan and set on a rack.

For filling:

Freshly squeeze lemons until you get about 7 to 8 tablespoons of juice (about 3 or 4 medium lemons).
Strain the juice through a sieve to remove seeds and pulp.
3 eggs, beaten
1 1/2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons flour

Note on the sugar: you may be tempted to cut the quantity. It is a lot of sugar, but when you cut it (once I cut it to 1 cup), the custard won't have the right consistency.

In a medium bowl, mix together by hand the eggs, sugar, and flour.  Add about 6 tablespoons of lemon juice then taste for tartness. The tartness of lemons can vary. Add more lemon until you achieve the tartness you like, but be bold! Batter should be a little more tart than you want in the finished cookie because a bit of tartness is lost in cooking.

Pour filling on hot crust.  Bake 20 minutes longer or until custard is firm in the middle. Should have little bubbles here and there on the surface.

Sprinkle on powdered sugar while still hot.

Cool and cut into squares.

Serving tip: If you're bringing the cookies to share, cut and plate them ahead of time. They are sticky and hard to get out of the pan without breaking. If you bring the full pan, your masterpiece will be delicious but ugly from people jabbing and breaking the cookies.

Bon appetit!






    

The Coast, Conference, and Cuisine-- Bouchercon Part 3: Cuisine

A great meal shared or enjoyed in solitary reverie creates an enduring memory. I pretty much ate my way through the San Francisco Bay area while I was there attending Bouchercon 2010. And what a place to indulge. 

Soundtrack: KFOG

A trip to San Francisco is not complete for Charlie and me without a visit to Tadich Grill. Established in 1849, it's San Francisco's oldest restaurant. We like to sit at the long wooden bar, leaning against the wall behind it with a drink while waiting for seats to open. Seats eventually do appear and so does a white-aproned waiter who sets down sliced bread that has a thick dark brown crust that's nearly burnt. Completely addictive. I ordered cioppino.  I always order cioppino.  I must have had cioppino 20 of the 30 or so times I've been to the Tadich. I even make it at home as I have the Tadich Grill book that includes the recipe. Charlie had littleneck clams steamed in a buttery broth which he sopped up with that bread. The waiter brought us paper bibs. I dig paper bibs.

Also waiting for a seat at the bar was an older man in a well-tailored business suit. He sat beside us, didn't look at the menu, and ordered glass of cabernet and a slab of rice pudding that came with a little pitcher of bourbon sauce. He poured the sauce around the pudding and ate slowly, with focus and pleasure. Then he paid and left. Clearly his Tadich tradition.

The Random House party was held at Water Bar in their upstairs room where a patio overlooks the Bay Bridge, spectacularly lit at sunset. I was a fan girl, chit chatting with Lee Child, Laurie King, and Karin Slaughter. A friend and I blissfully polished off most of a platter of ahi tuna tartar served in porcelain spoons while raw fish-averse buddies wrinkled their noses.

One afternoon, I explored the Ferry Building near the conference hotel, my shopping bag in hand with a goal of buying goodies for our family dinner as later I was heading on BART to the East Bay to spend time with my in-laws.

The first thing I bought was a Mo's Milk Chocolate Bacon Bar. 'Nuff said.

I loaded my bag with sheep's milk feta from Cowgirl Creamery, a small bag of the crispiest, most delectable chocolate chip cookies from Miette, and a baguette, cinnamon rolls, and a round of walnut/cranberry bread from Acme Bread Company. Back at the hotel bar, friends said the baguette wouldn't survive my trip to the East Bay intact. They were right. By the time I disembarked, the crusty end was toast (bad pun... couldn't resist!).

On Sunday in the East Bay, we went to a farmer's market to shop for our family dinner that night. We bought lots of wonderful produce for a big pot of stew, but the star was grass-fed local beef from Alhambra Valley Beef. I've eaten grass-fed beef before and to me it tasted like, well, grass. This beef was so flavorful. Words that come to mind are fresh and light. 

While browning the beef, I recalled lessons learned from Julia Child. "Don't be afraid of the fire" (get that pan and oil hot) and "don't crowd the beef as you'll steam it and not brown it."  (Add Julia's trilling voice). Ah, Julia. How can there be people who don't know who you are? (Read to the middle of my Big Sur post). My farmer's market stew was a success.

We had lunch with family and friends at The Dead Fish in the bayside city of Crockett. It's a charming restaurant with a funny name, hilarious menu, and great food. It was a rainy day.  We sat by a window overlooking the Carquinez Straits (gotta love the name). I had crab cakes--crisp panko breadcrumbs on the outside and succulent inside.

The next day, we made PB & J sandwiches for the drive home. Thanks for the delicious memories, S.F.  

The Coast, Conference, and Cuisine-- Bouchercon Part 2: Conference

Bouchercon 2010 in San Francisco was already two weeks ago?  Got to get this post up.  This is the "conference" part of my three-part Bcon experience. Part 1 is: The Coast--Big Sur. The third and final part (coming soon) is Cuisine. You can't go to the Bay Area and not give props to the food. 

So here are my conference observations, in no particular order:

• Bcon is like a giant cocktail party. Make like a hummingbird--dive in, suck the nectar, move on.
• It was terrific. Well-organized, great panels and fun events.
• The best part was seeing friends, of course.  Too many to mention! 
• I saw a lot people I know only enough to say hi to, but I'd really like to sit down and have a conversation with these folks some day.
• Priceless as Daniel Woodrell drolly explained in his slow drawl that there are some places in the U.S. where you can still buy a house for fifteen thousand (speaking of his Missouri Ozarks).  "The foundation's maybe slipped or the roof might slope a little. Most of the meth labs have moved out of my neighborhood, except for the house next door."
• My panel rocked! It was "Crossfire: Putting Your Protagonist in Jeopardy" with me, Lori Armstong, Karen Olson, James Rollins, James Thane, and moderated by Randal Brandt. SRO and we had a lot of laughs.
• I can't wear high heels as long as I used to at cocktail parties.
• I love wearing high heels.
• Lee Child's remarks about researching places for his books were funny and revelatory. He set a book in Georgia. Instead of traveling there, he rented "My Cousin Vinny" to get an idea about Georgia, even though the movie was set in Alabama.  "Close enough."
• I need some of Lee Child's guts.
• Loved seeing writers I know from crime writers' organizations and other conferences who were then unpublished and are now sitting at the signing table with me. Yay! 
• Lots of cat talk in author bios. Made me think, "Whoa, those cat people are crazy into their cats." Then, "Yikes, that's me!"
• If someone points a camera at you, especially if you're sitting behind a table, straighten up.
• Smile!
• Before we left, driving from SoCal, I grabbed my husband's vintage red and navy Madras plaid jacket from the closet. Wore it Saturday, sleeves rolled up over skinny jeans with a Kangol felt hat, navy blue with rolled brim. Retro fun. Hey, it's Frisco.
• Loved the "Me too!" moments with other authors that make me feel that I'm not alone out there.  An author told me he likes media escorts and staying with family when on tour except for the endless talking.  "I just get tired of talking." Me too! Or the author who revealed he always wanted to be included with the group, chosen for the team, one of the popular kids. Hey!  Me too!
• Missed several panels because of stopping to chat with friends in the hallways and the bar.
• LOL hearing the banter between Val McDermid and Paul Levine talking about writing a sequel to Treasure Island. "John Paul Silver--The Return."
• The badges listed name and state. No city. Just state. There were many Californians.  I thought it was humorous to ignore California's geographic chauvinism and throw us into one pot. Some Californians couldn't bear it and hand wrote their city.
• There's always talk of splitting up California. Some years ago, the L.A. Times asked for suggested names for the new states. Someone suggested these names for the three states of Northern, Central, and Southern California: Super Ego, Ego, and Id.  This has nothing to do with Bouchercon. I just think it's funny.
• My first Bouchercon was in 1991 in Pasadena,CA. I'd just sold my first books to Simon and Schuster. I met my editor, Dana Isaacson there. Dana and I had a lot of fun then and we're still having fun. If this was your first Bouchercon, hope you took away something magical.

Soundtrack on the drive into San Francisco: Genius Loves Company.


Food is always at the top of my agenda any time I travel to the Bay Area. Next, I blog about the third part of the journey: Cuisine.

The Coast, Conference, and Cuisine-- Bouchercon Part 1: The Coast and Big Sur

We drove from SoCal to Bouchercon 2010 in San Fransciso, which means that we seriously overpacked. Okay, I seriously overpacked.

Fog hiding the ocean. Looking south from the deck of the Nepenthe.

Husband Charlie and I decided we'd break up the drive and spend a night in Big Sur. It had been a couple of years since we'd cruised Highway One.  When the weather is fine, driving that stretch of coast from Morro Bay to Carmel is transformative. It makes me want to write a love song to California. I hummed some instead. Yeah Cali, you're broke, you've got a lot of problems, but this native daughter loves U and your golden self.

We almost had the road to ourselves.  A light shifting fog moved through the air, making mirages of ocean and foothills that would suddenly appear out of the mist only to be just as quickly erased. White fog ran down canyons like streams from Heaven. Quicksilver ocean melted into dove-feathered fog. It was mystical.

Soundtrack into Big Sur: Jazz Round Midnight: Chanteuses and selections from Beethoven.

Big Sur is like a hippie Fantasy Island--a different place and era cut off from the rest of the world. It's not easy to get to. There's sporadic cell phone service. The physical beauty is imposing and makes everything else seem trivial. The French, German, Italian, and British visitors outnumbered the Yanks, adding to my feeling of being in a strange land.  My cell phone displayed a scary red emblem instead of the signal strength bars. Took me a little time to ignore that silent scream. Freedom from the CrackBerry.

I'm a sucker for a pretty photo of a sunset.  From the Nepenthe. 

We reached the Nepenthe in time for the sunset. Charlie trained another bartender how to make a Vesper martini.  We split a Calistoga artichoke appetizer, a Nepenthe's Ambrosia Burger, and a giant basket of fries. Behind us, a group of folks was discussing the "Julie and Julia" movie. A man at the table didn't know who Julia Child was. Others there filled him in, but agreed that she was still alive yet "elderly." Decisions... Reveal myself as an eavesdropper and inject myself into their conversation to set them straight or forever hold my peace?  I practiced silence and turned my attention to the sun setting behind twin fog banks which garnered a crowd with cameras.

When the sun made its final dip into the ocean, there was discussion of seeing the green flash. Very cool, waiting for that fleeting event.

We stayed in a simple motel along the Big Sur River. There were Adirondack chairs in the river, perfect for sitting on a hot day.  Even though the river was more like a creek after our dry year, I realized how rarely I experience a river. The cement-shrouded L.A. River doesn't count. I let the cool water run over my hands and touched the smooth pebbles on the bottom.

I awakened at some point during the night. It was strangely dark. Black dark. No display on the nightstand digital clock. No lights from outside. The power was off. I wondered if the rest of the world had disappeared like in one of those early 1960s horror movies inspired by A-Bomb paranoia in which the people seem to have evaporated, leaving their cars with full tanks of gas and the keys in the ignition. What if the world outside Big Sur was gone?  Deciding there was nothing I could do about it, I rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning, the digital clock was flashing the wrong time. The world had not disappeared.

I had plenty of company snapping this beauty.


Every time I visit Big Sur, I hear its siren call, as have many others, including Henry Miller, who rolled in and didn't leave--for a while at least. Big Sur whispers to me, "What are you doing with all this stuff?" I think, you're right. I'm gonna shed my baggage, the Samsonite in my hands and the crap in my head, and stay. Stay and make necklaces out of stones and bones and write crazy prose and not care if anyone reads it and live out the rest of my days. The next morning, just like the power outage, the moment passed.  After a lovely breakfast on a deck above the river, we pushed on to San Francisco and Bouchercon. 

Writin' is Fightin'

If you're holding down a job, caring for family, keeping a home, you're already under a lot of pressure and your attention is pulled in a zillion directions. How are you going to fulfill your dream of writing that novel?

From the outside, writing a novel seems magical and mysterious. From the inside, it is often magical and mysterious. When the eagle soars and the words flow, it's a beautiful thing.

Then there are those other times...

I've heard Michael Connelly say that writin' is fightin'.  It is a fight--to find time to write, to focus, to turn out great work, to shut down the self doubts. I've heard hugely successful novelists talk about having the same concerns. It's comforting in a way to know that they also struggle. I do have a couple of novelist friends who have said certain of their books have "written themselves." Hmm... Not me. By the time I've put a book to bed, I feel as if I've survived the Bataan Death March.

Take heart. Writing a novel is not easy for most of us.

If you want to write that book, you must treat it like a job. No time to wait for the muse. Set aside a fixed time five days a week and write. Even if it's just an hour.  Even if you don't feel like it. Even if, even if... Just do it.

Just like any job, sometimes I have terrific days and other times, not so much. On those tough days, sometimes once I sit down and get started, the ideas and words come. Other days, the work just goes nowhere.

That's when I make a bargain with the muse.  I'll tell myself to work for two hours, then I can go do something else. Or maybe just one hour...  Walking away and doing something not related to writing, like going to the gym, digging in the yard, or cooking, often will pry loose ideas.

Then come back to the computer later that day or the next day ready for a new fight.

They're Playing Our Song

Photo: Bill Youngblood

In the spring of 1999, my groom Charlie and I were planning our wedding which would take place on September 23, 2000. This was my first marriage.  I was well past my ingenue years and, even as a teenager and young adult, I'd never dreamed about getting married or having a wedding.  So I was surprised when I wanted a wedding, a traditional one with all the pomp and ceremony.

As the larger decisions--ceremony, reception, music, food, attire--came together, we began to consider the smaller details. One detail turned out to be not so small. What song did we want for our first dance as husband and wife?  We didn't have an "our song." The thought of an "our song" was so romantic and classic, so Bogie and Bacall, so Tracy and Hepburn, so Liz and Dick. How does a couple get one, make the decision that this is our song? It's not something you just pick out of the vinyl-coated, buffalo-wings-grease-smeared pages of a karoke song book. 

Vintage 1950s cake topper I bought on eBay.
Photo: Bill Youngblood.

I decided to be practical. Forget about "our song." While we loved to dance, we'd never taken those ballroom dancing lessons we'd always talked about and were too busy to start so a swing tune like "Fly Me to the Moon" was out. I began scouting around for something easy to dance to. I also wanted something classy and that hadn't been done to death.  No "Love Me Tender." No "From this Moment On." No "How Deep is Your Love." No. No. No. Love "Moon River," but cripes, too slow. And I wanted the song for our first dance to mean something. Even if it wasn't the elusive "our song," it had to be a great song.

One weekend, we went to La Jolla, California. Charlie had a business meeting nearby and we splurged on a stay at the La Valencia Hotel. Yes, it's as wonderful as it looks.  That evening, we sat in the lobby bar where there was a piano singer--a dying breed. He started playing and singing a song that made me sit straighter.  What was that tune?  I'd heard it before, but hadn't really paid attention to it. Now, I was enthralled, especially when my husband-to-be spontaneously started singing along:

"I can only give you country walks in springtime,
and a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall.

And a love whose burning light,
Will warm a winter's night..."

The lyrics expressed what we felt about each other. The melody was memorable and... easy to dance to.  I asked Charlie, "What's that song?" He turned to me and sang, "That's all.  That's all..."

I've since learned that "That's All" was written in 1952 and has been recorded by many greats including Nat "King" Cole, Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme and Bobby Darin.


Our first dance to "That's All." Photo: Bill Youngblood.

Ever since, whenever we're lucky to find a place with a great piano singer, we always request "That's All."  We listen, misty eyed. Sometimes we dance. I love it so much that when I dedicated The First Cut, the first in my Detective Nan Vining series, and Love Kills, the fourth, to Charlie, I included a homage to "That's All."

So, here's our song, for you Charlie.  Happy tenth anniversary, sweetheart.

My favorite version is by Mel Torme, but I also love this classic version sung by Edie Adams on the "I Love Lucy" series finale in 1960. 

Here's a lovely rendition by Cynthia Lin on ukulele that she performed at her sister's wedding.