I’ve often wondered about Brown Bread Ice Cream. What was it? Who puts bread in ice cream? In my mind, it was a major disconnect. Bread + Ice Cream = Huh? During my research into Irish recipes, this one came up several times yet I’ve never tasted, much less made it. Why would you do such a thing? Cookies yes, but bread? Brown wheat bread? But you know I was intrigued. My friend Meg once made an amazing ice cream with popcorn so how different could this be? I recalled a post David Lebovitz, the ice cream king, did a few years ago so I thought I’d start there. And you know what? It was really good and what better time than around St. Patrick’s Day to try this one out?

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Around this time every year, I try to come up with a creative spin on Irish food for St. Patrick’s Day beyond the standard corned beef and cabbage or things tinted green or soaked with Bailey’s. I think the food of the Emerald Isle, like much of the UK, gets a bad rap. It’s the same situation everywhere: you get the good and you get the bad and I’ve had some phenomenal meals in Ireland. I’ve also had a few wretched ones. Whatever. In researching traditional Irish food, a few things come up repeatedly:  boxty, colcannon, soda bread. I had heard of someplace – in Southern California maybe? – that was doing boxty as a sort of potato pancake-crepe hybrid with various hearty fillings, and the thought stuck with me. Since I’ve had boxty exactly zero times, it’s been on my list to try for some time. But things are funny.  Sometimes what starts out as one thing, turns into something else as wonderful discoveries are made along the way.  And while this started out as an experiment in boxty, it was the filling that took me by surprise. Go figure.

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My heart broke a little last year when I heard Hostess was declaring bankruptcy and ceasing operation. No more Twinkies, no Snoballs … no more Cupcakes with their characteristic squiggle line. What was a girl to do? These were the treats of grade school field trips, the only time my mother would buy them and slip one into my lunch sack as a special treat. I would jealously protect that bag on the bus, making sure those bratty boys didn’t sit on it and squash my treasure. At lunch, I’d almost always go for the cupcake first, pulling off the hard chewy icing for later. I’d suck out the crème filling before devouring the cake and finish with the treasured icing. It was how things were done. C’mon, I know I wasn’t the only one who did this.

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Linzertorte was one of those things that made me immensely happy in culinary school. I was tickled to finally be making all those old-school European pastries I’d pined for as a kid pouring over my mother’s cookbooks: Dobos Torte, Marjolaine, Opera Torte, Sacher Torte and yes, the linzer. Making my own, following the exacting instructions of a classically inclined chef, made me feel good about my seemingly off-the-cuff career change, from marketing to pastry. It also cemented a particular mindset I’d started to develop regarding classic pastries. Riffs and adaptations are welcome but one must know the classic, the original, first.  You have to know history before you can rewrite it.  With many things of this nature, I am a traditionalist and when it comes to linzer, I have a very defined set of parameters.

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Oh Valentine’s Day.  So much pressure, so many expectations, often so many disappointments. Falling on a Friday this year, I think it’s heightened even more. Good luck getting a reservation and with the weather lately, who knows what will happen. Slipping through icy streets to pack into a crowded restaurant with others working hard to enjoy themselves? Doesn’t sound too appealing to me. Here’s a thought:  stay in, watch a good movie, drink champagne and eat a lot of chocolate. Preferably in liquid form. Sounds good doesn’t it?

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I have a deep undying love for the Olympic Games. Each and every sport, the more obscure and small and unfamiliar, the better. I will DVR everything, set my alarm to watch Curling at 4am and delight in the unfamiliar combination events like Nordic Combined and the Biathlon.  I’m not sure in what life situation you’ll need to jump and cross-country ski but I’m glad there are incredibly gifted people out there that can jump really far and ski really fast over great distances. They tend to be from very cold Nordic countries and just crush it but the network always decides which sports will dominate prime time coverage – figure skating usually.  They don’t hold my interest as much as someone that hurls themselves down an ice shoot headfirst at 100 miles an hour.  I’ll take a short track, moguls course or the nuance of a finger wave when you’re hurtling down a jump shoot over a triple toe loop every time.

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For the last few years, February has been my month of chocolate. All chocolate, all the time with an occasional exception for Chinese New Year, the Olympics and Super Bowl snacks. It seems appropriate that February = chocolate. They just go together. To open the Month of Chocolate this year I wanted to start with Mexican chocolate, those discs of chocolate, cinnamon, sugar and ground almonds that seem to accumulate in my cupboards. I’ve been shifting one of the stupid octogon shaped boxes around far too much lately; it was time to do something with it. The last time it fell on my head, was the last. I just left it on the counter as a reminder to use it ASAP.

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