The food memories that I’ve collected of late have been all to do with friends.  The warmth and laughter and love that have filled rooms both small and large have cemented introductions to new, and now beloved, tastes.  I remember the Brooklyn apartment where I had my first Carr’s black pepper cracker; who first made me lobster; at whose house book club was hosted when I first tasted Manchego cheese; the first sweet dip into a pot of black truffle honey.  My relationship with Ayvar started much the same way; a girls' night of gossiping and Gossip Girl chatter while eating chips and cheese and olives and salsa.  The salty-carby goodness that bonds all good girlfriends.

But what was this red stuff?

 

 

 

 

 

It was Ayvar.  My new favourite condiment (with my preference leaning toward the spicy versions).

And as a condiment is how I like to use it. 

Sandwiches?  Yes.

Salad dressings?  Most definitely.

Dips?  Of course.

Yes, I know that I could probably make my own with red peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, and "spices."  But doing so would rob me of the simple pleasure of having another reason to go to Spinelli's or the joy of knowing that entertaining can be as easy as opening a jar, pulling the tab on a box of crackers, and unwrapping some cheese.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I say entertaining? I meant the joy of snacking on the couch while watching trashy daytime television and knowing that it's likely too late in the day for you to still be in your pjs.

 

 

 

After rolling and cutting over eight dozen fig rugelach, your mind tends to wander.  Away from Christmas, away from “the spirit,” away from good tidings.  The hangover starts earlier than it should.  What do I want?  What would taste good to me right now?

With a circle of dough in front of me and apparently not enough fig jam, I hatched a plan—a rugelach experiment.

Surrounded by all the sweetness, I wanted a dose of salty.

I swapped the jam for peanut butter and the sprinkled sugar with fleur de sel.

 

 

 

 

How awesome do I feel when I read that Bon Appétit has peanut butter listed as the dessert trend of the year?

 

 

 

With Friday fast approaching, and an undecided Saturday night looming, I'm dreaming of far off cities where my list of places to go is endless. This naturally leads into my chronic NYC lust, and the desire for a proper cocktail, that can best be quenched at the tiny elixir heaven called Milk and Honey. The unmarked door, secret Lower East Side address, and impossible reservation, was made possible for two lovely ladies and I to indulge in on my last visit to the glorious city, thanks to a dear friend with a London M&H membership. With the top secret address in hand, we rang the buzzer, were greeted by the understated but decidedly prohibition era vintage chic hostess, and were ushered through the velvet curtain into the tiny speak easy-esque dimly lit room, to our seats at the bar, with the sounds of Billy Holiday humming in the background. With a small, but precisely planned bar, filled with containers of fresh berries, mint leaves, fruit purees, blocks of ice waiting to be chipped at for each and every drink, and of course honey, we placed our orders. Menu free, it was a question of liquor and flavour preference. No place for fruity libations, and a good chance for instant cringing at the mention of vodka, I went straight to my standby....gin. The next ingredient request will come as no surprise...cucumber. As I watched the bartender, who quickly "hmft-ed!" at the name mixologist, make my "Lower East Side Gimlet" with the vigour of a gymnast to get that perfect froth, I was smitten with that cocktail before it hit my lips. Perfect. Simple. With house rules such as, "Gentlemen will not introduce themselves to ladies. Ladies, feel free to start a conversation or ask the bartender to introduce you. If a man you don't know speaks to you, please lift your chin slightly and ignore him.", this is a place I could spend my weekends. But since Manhattan is a little more than a hop, skip, and a jump, I am relegated to recreating the perfect gimlet chez moi. Getting closer.....

2 ounces of  Gin....Bombay Sapphire is my favorite 1 ounce of simple syrup (to make ss heat 1 cup of sugar in 1 cup of water on the stove top until dissolved and cool) 1 ounce of freshly squeezed lime juice 2 slices of fresh cucumber torn fresh mint

Place ingredients into cocktail shaker, muddle cucumber and mint using wooden spoon or pestle, add ice cubes and shake vigorously to create a froth. Serve immediately in a lovely chilled cocktail or martini glass and garnish with cucumber. But on some Blossom Dearie, dim the lights, and turn off the ringer.

My cookie tins only ever have room for three cast members.  Shortbread gets a spot without question.  The other two roles are filled on a whim and if I’m impressed enough, I might give them the role again.  Sometimes a chocolate chip base with holiday-coloured M&Ms makes the cut.  Last year, burfi stole the show.  This year, costar #1 was a soft ginger cookie from Epicurious and #2 was a cookie I have not made in a few years:  rugelach.

Rugelach made its debut that first Christmas I gave away cookies.  I think my motivation was to be ambitious, as I felt the other two cookies seemed rather easy to make.  A little elbow grease added to the love and thought-that-counts could only make things sweeter.

 

However, I am descended from women who are bakers—not pastry chefs.  I came home after school to homes that were filled with the perfume of quickbreads and muffins and easy drop cookies.  My grandmas didn’t fool around being fussy with butter temperature and overmixing.  They kneaded and stirred for hours to ensure they always had a freezer full of sweet carbohydrates for little empty stomachs who ran off their lunches during afternoon recess.

I blame my ill-preparedness when tackling my first batch of rugelach on them. 

Who needs a rolling pin when you can use a large can of tomato sauce?

Who needs a food processor or mixmaster when you’ve got fingers?

 

 

This year I bought myself a rolling pin.

 

 

While I tend to fool myself at times into believing that perfection is attainable, I have never had an issue with my awkward little rugelach that come in a variety of sizes.  I don’t know how to be fussy with food and I’m not sure if I ever want to be.  Fussy is not fun.

But, fig jam in a sweet pastry made with cream cheese and butter definitely is.

 

 

Basic rugelach (not kosher)

 

2 cups all-purpose flour

0.5 cup sifted icing sugar

0.5 teaspoon salt

1 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes

4-oz (125 g) block cream cheese, cut into cubes

Filling—I like to use fig jam.  Jam, dried fruit, nuts, chocolate chips, coconut (read: whatever you want) can be used.

1 egg

sugar

I added about half a teaspoon of cinnamon to my dough this year.  Why?  Because I can.

 

Stir first three ingredients in a large bowl or processor.

Cut in (or process or use your fingers) butter and cream cheese until dough is crumbly.  Then work until dough comes together and no crumbs remain.  Divide dough into three.  Flatten each part into a disc that is about 0.5 inch thick.  Wrap each in plastic wrap and put in fridge for at least 30 minutes.

 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Let dough soften slightly at room temperature for around 10 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface and using a floured rolling pin, roll each disc into a circle that is 12 inches in diameter—a perfect circle is not required.

Spread about 2-3 tablespoons of filling on each disc.  Cut each disc into 16 wedges using a pizza cutter.

Beginning at wide end of wedge, roll up toward the point.  Place each wedge (point side down) on parchment-lined baking sheet.

Brush tops with beaten egg and sprinkle with sugar.

Bake in oven until golden, around 13 to 16 minutes.

Store in an airtight container or the fridge for up to one week.