Baking speaks louder than words

When my friend’s father passed away unexpectedly last week, I didn’t know what to do. Even though I currently make my living with words, they fail me when called upon for clarity and sobriety. I’m not much of a philosopher and writing a sympathy card becomes a tall order, even though my sentiments are true. So, instead of attempting to express my sympathy through sullen words, I decided to bake.

When I was younger and a relative, friend or neighbor passed away, my mother would make a long heavy tray of eggplant parmesan to take over to the immediate family of the deceased. Everyone else in our neighborhood made lasagna, which is the classic selection, though it tends to grow tiresome midway through the third tray and excludes the rare but real Italian vegetarian, who must then scavenge for breadsticks and salad. I liked how my mother put in extra effort to prepare an inclusive dish.

The early example of food as a conveyance of sympathy and support stuck with me. I considered making eggplant parmesan for my friend at first, but logistics vetoed the impulse. I had to take public transportation down to Staten Island and thought a large disposable aluminum tray might be a little unwieldy for the long voyage. By comparison, breads, loaf cakes, muffins and other hearty baked goods could weather the Oregon Trail. Dessert foods also appeal to a broad spectrum, especially during times when there are more important things to worry about than caloric content.

I settled on a recent family favorite adapted from a traditional recipe: Mexican Chocolate Cake. The dense, dark confection has a complex taste that transcends traditional chocolaty sweetness with hints of cinnamon and orange. It contains coffee, a natural chocolate flavor enhancer, which may be used in lieu of vanilla extract in chocolate chip cookies, with palpable results.

Thinking of my friend, I began to bake with ritualistic concentration, preheating the oven to 350, evenly greasing the loaf pan and dusting it with rich brown cocoa powder, fine talc which felt silky on the pads of my fingers when I pressed them together. For the double recipe batch, I placed an obscene amount of butter in a warm saucepan, stirring gently until the most stubborn chunks had melted into submission. I combined the wet ingredients, then the dry. When both were united, a bag’s worth of dark chocolate chips rained down and was swiftly incorporated. The batter was extremely fragrant, the heady note of orange extract sustained over a symphony of butter, flour and chocolate.

While the cake baked, I packed my bag for the long weekend. While it cooled, I had dinner with my parents, which was a special privilege in light of my friend’s sad news. Though I try to be grateful for what I have each day, tragedy always enhances my appreciation. I wrapped the cake in wax paper, foil and three layers of plastic before placing it in my bag and heading for the train.

I trundled the cake down to Manhattan, to spend the night with another friend. We awoke at six o’clock the next morning in order to make it to the funeral on time. My host friend, the cake and I took the A train, the J train and a shuttle to the Staten Island Ferry, where we stood on the bow as we slowly made our way south, past the Statue of Liberty, the bay breeze whipping our long hair across our faces. We took the Staten Island Railroad ten stops south, to where our friend was waiting for us.

The cake did not make its appearance for a long time. The family met at the funeral home; a brave sister gave a well-composed and moving speech; the priest said Catholic mass in a thick Hispanic accent; I watched my friend, his pinstripe-suited back to us, the last one to linger at his father’s grave. Everyone met at an Italian restaurant afterward; my other friend, vegetarian, ordered eggplant parmesan. After a car ride down to the Jersey Shore, we were hungry once more. I made you a cake, I told my friend and his mother, who had invited us to her summer home to unwind. We had it later with tall glasses of cold milk, a brief reprieve from the long weekend.


Mexican Chocolate Cake

1 c. unsalted butter
1/2 c. Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 c. water
1/4 c. strong brewed coffee
2 c. sugar
2 eggs
1/2 c. buttermilk
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. orange extract
6 oz. Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease loaf pan and dust with cocoa powder.

Melt the butter completely in a saucepan and transfer it to a large mixing bowl. Add cocoa powder and whisk until smooth. Add water and coffee, sugar (I recommend going scant.), eggs, buttermilk, vanilla extract and orange extract, whisking thoroughly after each ingredient is introduced.

In a separate mixing bowl, blend flour, baking soda, cinnamon and salt. Dry ingredients may be sifted, but I prefer mixing with a spoon for a denser cake. Gradually add dry ingredients to wet ingredients, stirring until smooth. Add chocolate chips and blend gently. Once all ingredients are united, pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan, filling approximately halfway. Bake for approximately 55-60 minutes, until the cake’s top springs back when touched or a toothpick comes out clean or with minimal crumbs when inserted into the cake’s middle.

Any additional batter can be poured into cupcake liners placed in muffin tins and baked for approximately 20 minutes.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: June 20, 2007)

Chorizo is my co-pilot

At a mention of the phrase “comfort food,” people tend to draw from their roots. I imagine the standard image conjured in mid-America to be blue-plate-special fare: thick slabs of homemade meatloaf, buttered mixed vegetables and a mashed potato volcano overflowing with gravy lava. For me, it’s my mother’s chicken parmesan, breaded cutlets smothered in marinara and perfectly melted mozzarella cheese. For my college roommate who grew up in Jersey, it’s a Big Mac and fries. Her mother never cooked.

Last Wednesday, I was in need of some comfort food. I was assigned a first-person article on a perilous activity—and frankly, it scared the heck out of me. Before I took the plunge, both literally and figuratively, I was told to have a solid meal of something that wouldn’t upset my stomach when in motion. Since I feared that it might be my last meal, I decided to go all-out.

The chefs at Mole Mole at 805 Main Street in Poughkeepsie make what I assume to be Mexican comfort food—and they make it well. Chef/owner Eleazar Ortiz’s small restaurant serves “fresh light Mexican food” to take-out and dine-in customers, though the steady in-and-out foot traffic suggests more of the former than the latter. Nevertheless, there are four small booths surrounded by prints by Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo and two stools beneath a string of red chili pepper lights overlooking the grill. A parade of various hot sauces is located by the door, below a yellow star-shaped piñata; small framed artwork and cultural blurbs pepper walls near beverage coolers. For newcomers to Mole Mole, one such message explains its name: “The word ‘mole’ comes from the Aztec word ‘molli’ meaning ‘concoction,’ ‘stew’ or ‘sauce.’ To the unenlightened, mole is a Mexican chocolate sauce. In Mexico, mole is a hundred dishes in a hundred homes.” Green mole with tomatillos, spicy Guajillo pepper mole and red Oaxacan mole are just a few flavors in the Mole Mole repertoire.

The dine-in meal begins with a basket of salted yellow tortilla chips with salsa fresca, chunks of tomato, onion and jalepeno with cilantro, mixed in perfect proportion. For an appetizer, try the empanadas ($3.99/two), fried pockets containing chorizo, potato and Monterrey jack cheese, on a bed of fresh lettuce with sour cream and smoky chipotle dipping sauce. Chorizo is a pork sausage, seasoned with chili and paprika. Mole Mole’s chorizo, specifically, is the key to my repeat business. The savory, peppery ground meat is delicious in tacos and burritos alike, though superlative in empanadas.

Soup selections ($2.99/bowl) include black bean, tortilla soup and a sopa del dia (soup of the day), all excellent choices for a first course. My favorite, however, is the chicken lime soup, served in a generous bowl garnished with a big slice of lime. A twist on traditional chicken soup, this version adds chopped cilantro to a heady gold-hued broth. The citrus adds a satisfying note to an already full bouquet of flavors.

An authentic burrito grande ($6.99/ea.) is more than an enough for a main course. To the flour tortilla stuffed with refried beans, salsa fresca and Monterrey cheese with Ranchera sauce you may add: quesillo (Oaxacan cheese), chicken or ground beef, chipotle chicken, grilled steak, chorizo, al pastor (pineapple-marinated pork loin) or spicy pork (marinated loin in Guajillo pepper sauce). Al pastor is a sweet, tangy alternative to straight-up chicken or ground beef that I would certainly recommend.

Tortas ($5.99/ea.) are basically burrito sandwiches, with the tubular tortilla replaced by two thick slices of Mexican bread. The traditional beans, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, avocados and jalapenos still apply. Asteca, with jamon (sliced ham), chorizo and pollo (chicken), is a not-too-spicy, flavorful choice. Nortena, grilled steak, onions and mushrooms, tastes like the Mexican equivalent of a Philly cheesesteak.

There are also platters to be had, including the excellent “Monterrey” ($9.50), a heap of tender grilled rib eye topped with tomatoes, jalapenos, mustrooms, onion and Monterrey cheese. Served with rice and refried or black beans, corn or flour tortillas, lettuce and salsa fresca, I have yet to see a single person polish one off.

I could not finish my burrito on Wednesday, though it was solely on account of nerves. However, what I did ingest gave me the nutrition and fortitude needed to confront my fearsome assignment later that afternoon. And, wouldn’t you know, it all worked out in the end. I can’t help but think chorizo had something to do with it.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: June 6, 2007)

A cup of hot coffee

My mother’s best friend, Ottelie K. Nicklin, typified Old World elegance. Born in 1906, she was old enough to be my grandmother; my brother and I called her “Omi,” a German variation of “grandmother,” a term of great affection. From 1990, when we first met, to 1997, when she passed away, Omi colored my appreciation of the finer things in life and imbued me with a sense of traditional propriety — especially in regards to food. She was the one who taught me the proper way to set the table at age 10. (A practice I referred to as “tablestitious” because the unyielding order seemed like superstition to me.) She gave me my first taste of homemade raspberry thumbprints and the recipe for them at age 12.

Aside from technical matters, Omi also instructed me in how to describe food (and life) succinctly and accurately. She corrected my use of the phrase “a hot cup of coffee,” arguing that it was the coffee, not the vessel, that should receive the designated heat of the adjective, as in “a cup of hot coffee.”

Her humor, too, stuck with me. Upon seeing the overpriced menu at a restaurant accessible only by a long walk up a steep hill, she astutely commented: “We staggered here, and now we’re staggered by the prices.”

And so it is with Omi in mind that I shall tell you about The Daily Bean, my favorite place to get a cup of hot coffee.

The Daily Bean Café is a stately brown house with a long porch located at 11 Union St. in the heart of Montgomery. Inside, subdued pink walls sporting local art for sale surround wooden tables bathed in natural light. At the most coveted spot in the house — the table closest to the door, with an arched window seat — window decals cast coffee bean-shaped shadows on the forest green bench cover. You can smell the coffee being prepared behind a wooden bar with stools for those who like to sip and go; in such a relaxing atmosphere, I prefer to take my time.

The Bean boasts no fewer than three daily fresh-brewed specials ($1.50/cup + refill in house; sm. $1.30, lg. $1.50 for carry out), usually their House Blend, Colombian Decaf and a wildcard flavor for the adventurous, such as Crème Brulee or Banana Crème Pie (All of which you can buy by the pound.). The house blend is my favorite: not terribly acidic; goes down smooth; not qualifying as bold but, in its way, a robust flavor. It is a perfect complement to meals and desserts. You can have it with cream or sugar, and the usual rainbow of assorted sweeteners in pastel packets — I have it black. To quote Agent Cooper from the television show Twin Peaks, the house blend is a “damn fine cup of coffee.”

For those who crave something fancier than their straight-up joe, the list of variations on a theme and non-coffee drinks is comprehensive. For something sweet, I recommend the mint mocha latte ($3.50), creamy and well-balanced; always, crème de menthe, chocolate and coffee making a tasty trio. Chai ($3.50), a strong black brewed with spices including cardamom, cinnamon, ginger and clove. When married with milk and warmed just right, its pleasing aroma reminds me of Christmas.

A light lunch menu, updated daily, contains standard sandwich and salad fare at above-average inventiveness. Their seemingly traditional chicken salad is punched up with tarragon, apples and walnuts. This concoction is most delicious on a sliced croissant, though you may choose whole wheat, rye or French bread instead. Bright yellow curry chicken salad with apples and raisins is so creamy and pleasingly tart that I swore it must be thickened with yogurt (Surprisingly, it’s mayo-based, too.). All sandwiches ($6.50/ea.) are served with a pile of pasta salad (lighty oiled, tangy rotini and flecks of carrot sprinkled liberally with dill) and a neat scoop of delicious potato salad (red potatoes, mayonnaise and a touch of yellow mustard). Wraps ($7.50/ea.) are also served with the salad duo, and each one comes with melted cheese (mozzarella or cheddar) and dressing (usually ranch or house vinaigrette). Number on my list is the stellar grilled veggies with feta and balsamic wrap, a pesto tortilla brimming with zucchini, yellow squash, eggplant, onions, red peppers, red leaf lettuce and tomatoes.

For dessert ($5/ea.), the fruit cobblers cannot be beat. During my last visit, a friend and I shared a delectable heap of warm peach cobbler with a generous scoop of vanilla bean-flecked ice cream, a dollop of whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce. The cobbler’s fruit was succulent and fresh, with the sweet peach skin still on every slice. Its golden biscuit topping ran the gamut from crusty on top to a cakey middle, downright doughy in parts touching the fruit filling. Needless to say, it was sheer dessert perfection when coupled with a solid cup of hot black coffee.

With dreamy desserts, friendly service and a calming atmosphere, The Daily Bean Café is a true jewel in downtown Montgomery. I think Omi would approve.

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: May 23, 2007)

A vacation from my vacation

This is my last night on the West Coast before hitting the highway for the next four days. My friend Rachael’s wedding went off without a hitch — literally, as she and her husband forgot to have the predetermined witnesses sign her marriage certificate — but it required a lot of legwork on the part of her out-of-town friends to get the ceremony and the reception together. The days before the marriage consisted of a never-ending string of necessary errands that had somehow gone unperformed — like getting a wedding cake and pastries for the at-home reception, cleaning and decorating and ordering a bridal bouquet. Little things like that. Rachael has never really been much for planning. Needless to say, by the time everyone was enjoying their petit fours and toasting the bride and groom with Veuve Cliquot, I was passed out in a spare bedroom, exhausted.

Though it was an honor and a pleasure to see my friend so happy on her wedding day, the whole ordeal was extremely draining. I found myself wishing for a vacation from my vacation. I was missing the comforts of home and, more specifically, the comfort foods. Thus, after returning home, unpacking, and settling in, I’ll be making the 45-minute trip to Marcus Dairy Bar in Danbury, Conn., as a reward for a job well done.
Marcus Dairy is visible from the short I-84 exit 3 overpass that heads toward the Danbury Fair Mall. When I was in high school, my mother would take us there on our annual back-to-school shopping trip because of the expanded selection of stores and the fact that the great state of Connecticut had no tax on clothes. They now tax to the tune of 6 percent; however, they also have a Sephora. Trade-offs. Regardless of the nearby shopping perks, Marcus Dairy is a worthwhile destination unto itself, $3-a-gallon gas notwithstanding.

Like Pete’s Hot Dogs in Newburgh, Marcus Dairy Bar remains an ageless oasis in a desert of bigger, louder and faster. Inside, it is decorated in all shades of brown. Stools and booths line two connected U-shaped bars, forming lanes for waitresses to walk alongside tables without ever emerging from behind the counter. Rolling silver stacks of trays hold piles of Wonder bread and Thomas’ English muffins; fresh creamy Stewart’s root beer flows freely from an old-fashioned dispenser. BLTs appear in minutes from line cooks hidden behind boards boasting specials of the day. You can watch as waitresses lovingly ladle hot chocolate onto perfectly constructed sundaes. It embodies every kind connotation of “cafeteria.” It is familiar, friendly and fast — but unhurried. It is authentic all-American food presented in an atmosphere devoid of gimmickry. (You won’t find any glitzy jukeboxes playing hits of the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, for instance, and the company is so old-school that you can actually arrange to have someone bring milk and other goodies directly to your domicile.)

Lactose intolerant? Stop reading now
First things first: You can never go wrong with anything that has milk, cheese, butter, sour cream, whipped cream or ice cream in it. Marcus is a fully functional dairy that ships its products all over the Northeast; their dairy’s bounty is the key ingredients that raise the Dairy Bar fare from commonplace to transcendental. Chili with bread and butter (cup $2.95/ bowl $4.75) is my favorite starter due to the equal success of both components. The chili, with ground beef and beans, is almost thick enough to stand a spoon in and greasy in a good way; the whipped creamy butter is spread thick on plain white Wonder bread, and you can feel it lingering on the roof of your mouth while you chew. Its decadence reminds me of childhood, when I didn’t have to worry about fat, cholesterol or maintaining my girlish figure.

Due to the fact that I don’t eat like this often, I have no qualms with following up a cup of chili with a 5 oz. Deluxe Super Cheeseburger ($6.60), which comes with French fries, cole slaw, lettuce and tomato on a soft white bun. The patty is modest compared to the mammoth burgers we’ve come to expect from chains such as Red Robin or Applebee’s, but I think the portion is perfect. If you’re sharing with a friend, an order of onion rings ($3.05) is an excellent investment. They’re thin and crisp and heaped on an oval plate. The surprisingly comprehensive four-page menu also has a long list of sandwiches ranging from fried egg ($1.90) to hot pastrami Reubens ($5.75), including hot open-faced sandwiches and triple-decker clubs.

Though I’ve never been for breakfast, Marcus Dairy has the classics covered. I’ve seen their two eggs with toast and home fries ($3.05/$4.60 with ham, sausage or bacon), a full plate of chow for an appropriate price. No matter what time of day, the favorite of children seated near me always seems to be the fluffy and colossal chocolate chip pancakes ($4.25/$3.95 for a short stack), that the young ones smother in syrup, much to their parents’ consternation. One of the very few things in life that manages to tempt to both the adventurous and the traditionalist, a tall cool glass of buttermilk ($1.45 lg./$1.15/sm.) complements any breakfast.

And of course, there’s the ice cream — smooth, thick and sweet and better than any brand you can buy at the store. Flavors range from the traditional Neapolitan flavors to maple walnut, banana and “white thunder,” a vanilla ice cream with white chocolate chunks and a berry ribbon throughout. My favorite is coconut almond fudge, which is especially delicious when smothered in hot fudge with dairy-made whipped cream and a cherry on top ($4.35 two-scoop/$3.25 sundae jr.); other types of sundaes include: chocolate, coffee, pineapple, butterscotch, strawberry, marshmallow and raspberry. There’s also the Marcus Diary Famous Gung-Ho Sundae ($10.95). Packing seven scoops of ice cream and topped with hot fudge, banana, fruit topping and “more,” if you dare, it’s enough to feed a platoon of Marines. They’ll make any ice cream into a thick milkshake ($4.35) if a syrup can be found to match; usually vanilla or chocolate syrups sweeten (!) the milkshakes, and some berry syrups are available, but for something exotic like a maple walnut shake, maple syrup may be used (Marcus Dairy’s staff will try anything to please the customer, said my cashier, though he may discourage concoctions that may not work in practice.).

Between the straightforward menu items and daily specials, you can’t go wrong. So, if you do find yourself in Danbury, for shopping or otherwise, there’s really no reason for tired fast food or the mall food court. I’m already looking forward to my next trip there, though I’ve got miles to go before I eat …

Megan Labrise

(Orig. pub. date: May 9, 2007)