Rolling Your Own With Martha!- Cigarette Russes! -259 eggs, 195 1/4 cups of sugar, 198 1/2 sticks of Butter, and 244 3/4 cups of flour used so far- 22 recipes to go!
November 23, 2011
I have a friend named Russ. If you look to the right at the Links to My Friends’ Sites, you’ll see his. Russ is my smoking buddy. We feed each others’ bad nicotine habit while complaining about our lives almost every workday morning. I knew that I’d eventually bake this recipe just for him. After all, Cigarette Russes? How deliciously ironic is that? Russ had a bit of a health scare a few weeks ago and was whisked from work in an ambulance. The poor guy had an inner-ear infection and his equilibrium was shot for a few days. It scared him. It scared a lot of us who care about him, too. Upon his return, I presented him with an antique tin filled with these cigarette-shaped treats.
Cigarette Russes are technically tuiles. If you’ve read my previous posts about tuiles, you’d know I despise baking them. They are fussy, paper-thin cookies that can only be baked in batches of three-or-four at a time. They have to be shaped while they are still warm and therefore you WILL GET BURNED. In the case of these cookies, they had to be first poured onto the baking sheet with a teaspoon, thinly spread with an offset spatula and baked into a flat oval which then had to be removed while still warm and pliable from the finger-searing baking sheet and wrapped around a chopstick to dry. They are then trimmed on each end so they are uniform in size and then dipped in melted chocolate and rolled in toasted, chopped almonds. They are a lot of work.
I have to say, though, out of all the tuiles I’ve baked, these have been the most satisfying and delicious and I’d probably bake again in the distant future when I’ve forgotten how much I hate baking tuiles.
Russ was worth it, though and he is back to his old sardonic self.
Now, here are the next seven poems based on the stories friends submitted to me about their childhood holiday wish list. If you are just joining this blog or you haven’t seen the last post, go back and read it so you know what this is all about. Thanks, as always, to the friends who sent their stories to me and look for the next seven very soon. This exercise should take me through December, which is terrific because I’m doing a lot of baking this month.
Again, these are not intended to be brilliant pieces of though-provoking art, but rather, little snippets, word candies to chew on. If you don’t like it, spit it out and move on to the next one. I’m sure there’s a funny cat video out there on the internets that will make you smile.
Anyhoo, here ya’ go!
Little Nickole wanted…
Mother Commerce wants to play.
She sneezes her little Ka-chings,
promises of future prosperity.
Deregulated child’s play,
and, for the time being, untaxed.
Little Stormy wanted…
A girl should live in a world of pink.
At least that’s what I’ve been told to think.
I wonder if those girls, when they’re dead,
wished they’d lived a day or two in red.
Little Gretchen wanted…
The wheels went zoom.
Then I went Boom!
Then spent the day
crying in my room.
It broke our hearts.
My watch, in parts.
“Go” stands for “Gone”
when it comes to karts.
Little Sara wanted…
I want that house! The one in pink
with molded plastic walls.
A place where I can store my boon
of eighteen Barbie dolls.
A fifteen year adjustable rate
at three-point-five percent
sounded good five years ago.
My dream house came and went.
Little Sarah wanted…
Before the age of MP3s,
a million years ago,
there was a spinny, scratchy thing
that set our hearts aglow.
It spun in every bedroom
the rhythm of a race
and suddenly the world was changed.
This sound soon grew a face.
Little Helen wanted…
I want to teach the world to sing
in perfect harmony.
I’d like for all the heads of State
to hug the bourgeoisie.
Together we’d sing songs of change
from Wall Street to L.A.
Have faith all those who “Occupy”
Mimi’s on her way!
Little Rebecca wanted…
In the dark cloak of evening,
past any reasonable bedtime
I tiptoed past the gentle snores in the tiny lavender room.
Mr. Ruxpin and I stood face-to-face.
A freshly recorded cassette in hand,
I worked quickly and with silent precision.
The deed was done.
One need only wait.
I awoke to a most lovely strain
of a sibling’s horrific screams.
Teddy gleefully admitted his thirst for human blood.
Totally worth it.
Check back soon for the next seven entries. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!