My best friend calls Katy and me "the most sisterly sisters." I assume this means we have all the ups and all the downs to the most extreme extremes: Katy's bossy and over-protective, I'm defensive and reckless, and the next thing you know we're laughing at jokes no one understands but us. "Sisterly sisters" don't just get into screaming matches that cause the neighbors to worry (which we did), they do all the stuff of 19th century novels and mid 80's sitcoms like swap clothes and braid each other's hair, play dress up and cuddle with puppies and kittens on snowy nights. Some time after we both went through puberty, we learned all the things we have in common: we both love to drink and travel, ideally in tandem, watch seminal films like Baby Boom and Two Weeks Notice in bed, and wear pretty, but holey, vintage dresses.

And though I've received lectures from her about safe sex at crowded dinner tables, been forced to sleep in the "crack" of two twin beds pushed together at childhood sleepovers, and made to type her college application essays, she's unbelievably good to me: she gives the best, most supportive career advice, and can make a cocktail out of motor oil and dinner out of a head of cauliflower. She's got guts, and she's one of the most modest (and most successful) people I know. And lucky for those of us in her life, she's in posession of a really generous heart -- and I don't just mean the cashmere sweaters and silk pajamas she gifts.

I mean, in part, that when I moved to New York, she took me in. And when I could only afford ramen, she ordered me burritos. And sometimes, if I was lucky, she would make this guacamole. There's no real recipe here. We used three avocados, four jalapenos, a bunch of cilantro, and one lemon. The secret, Katy says, is using a mortar and pestle (or a similar makeshift version) to mash the herbs, jalapenos and lemon together to release their oils. It's a long process that involves a lot of adding and tasting, talking, drinking, adding and tasting. Knowing her guacamole is the best, I think she secretly likes to torture her dinner mates by drawing out the process as long as possible. And as helpless, hungry fools, wait we will.

Posted by sarah at 3:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

If there is one message I have hoped to impart on Pink of Perfection, it's that life is too short to fuss. I lack the patience to fiddle with precious crafts and finger foods. While this means I am usually more than ready to roll out the drink tray as soon as guests arrive (and sample as much as I shake), it also means that I am forced to offer something humble like brownies for dessert. One topic we have not yet broached on POP, however, is the art of deception. Surely, it is possible to prepare confections that dazzle your guests, but are simple enough to whip up after you've had a few manhattans. Enter my two new heroes: Clinton Kelly and the cream puff.

This recipe started like none I've ever seen before. Rather than first creaming the butter with the eggs, Clinton followed his grandmother's instructions to the letter and melted one stick of butter on the stovetop in one cup of water. Then we added the flour bit by bit over medium heat until the dough held together. I was so delighted to learn that the baking order of operations aren't etched in stone on a French mountaintop, and this was a good reminder that old family recipes can offer up new lessons. Like, for instance, that cream puffs are actually considered a pastry and if you pipe them full with chocolate - voila! - you've got an eclair.

I thought I would be embarrassed of my outfit no matter what I wore to Clinton's house (the man is a style guru on What Not to Wear, after all), but it turned out it was a kitchen appliance that left me feeling bashful. I don't communicate via carrier pigeons or cinch with a corset, why in god's name do I use an old-fashioned hand mixer? Clinton's super deluxe KitchenAid mixer effortlessly beat four eggs with a hum as low and melodious as Captain Von Trapp singing Edelweiss. I must have one.

Vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce are the classic cream puff pairing, but once you've got the recipe down, you can let your creative genius guide you. Strawberries and whipped cream would be great, and Clinton even stuffs his morning puffs with eggs scrambled with mushrooms and fresh herbs.

Are there other secrets to the universe like cream puffs? How could something that looks so glamorous and impressive be so effortless? But never one to put style before substance, Clinton's cream puffs were incredibly delicious, and deliciously deceiving: guests will think you were blessed by the French pastry gods, when really you just have a new friend with a lot of great secrets up his well-tailored sleeve.

Clinton's Cream Puffs
Serves 8
4 eggs
1 stick butter
1 cup flour
1 cup water
ice cream, chocolate sauce, and powdered sugar (or whatever your heart desires) for serving

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. In a medium saucepan, heat water and butter over medium heat. Once the butter has melted, slowly add the flour a little at a time until the dough sticks together in a ball. Then cool to room temperature.

One at a time, add the eggs, beating well after each addition. Mix until smooth and velvety. When the dough is done, drop 8 heaping tablespoons onto a rimmed cookie sheet, giving each puff a little height. Bake for 35-40 minutes. If they're still shiny they aren't done yet, and they should sound hollow when tapped.

To serve, spoon some chocolate onto each plate and top with a cream puff. Pull the tops off and fill with ice cream. Tilt the cream puff top to the side like a jaunty hat, drizzle with chocolate sauce and pepper with powdered sugar. Watch as eyes and mouths go wide with delight.

Posted by sarah at 8:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBacks (0)