Birthday Part The Second (Part The Second)

Helloooooo again, dear reader! My initial plan was to post this yesterday, but . . . you know. Stuff.

Stuff like cats getting stuck underneath your bed because they are too . . . um . . . "sturdy" to come out again.

Stuff like not being able to wait for your new drawer pulls to come in the mail and using your dresser anyway, so that getting your clothes in the morning takes about twice as long as normal because you have to scrabble on the edges of the drawers and force them open from underneath.

Stuff like your mother moving from priming the ceiling to priming the front hall, which means all the furniture in the front hall is now in the living room and the library. Which means there is ONE carefully constructed path through the most trafficked section of the house that involves an incredibly heavy Chinese brocade armchair, a slightly broken Victorian wicker dining chair, an oil painting of a pine forest in Finland, and a large tupperware container full of Easter decorations.

Just saying.

UPSIDE-DOWN APPLE GINGER BISCUIT CAKE

Initially I wanted to make a Tarte Tatin. It seemed like such a grown up dessert to make, so pretty, so French, so sophisticated. I decided Saturday morning during spinning, however (where I do my best thinking) that attempting to make a pate brisee from scratch at the same time as rolling out cinnamon buns and carving pumpkin soup bowls was possibly a little too much, even for Beetle, and that I would prefer to be at least vaguely poised upon guest arrival, as opposed to weeping, covered in flour, and hating life.



But what to make? The one rule for Weekend Dessert was IT HAD TO BE APPLE-BASED. It's fall, you guys. IT'S TIME. There was a beautiful bowl of Macintosh, Gala, and Jonagolds sitting on the island in the kitchen, crying out to be smothered in sugar and butter and baked until golden and glossy, and who was I, who was I, dear reader, to deny them that? So. Apples. Sugar and Spice. Pretty. Autumnal. Those were the four criteria.


The solution came, as it normally does, during a hill session. APPLE UPSIDE-DOWN CAKE. Perfection! An Apple Upside-Down Cake would a) still have that gorgeous ring of apple slices round the bottom and b) allow me to maintain a shred of culinary sanity. It also had the added bonus of being a decidedly New England-y dessert. If there's one thing the Pilgrims could do apart from accusing people of witchcraft and/or adultery, it was pour a thick, cinnamon-based biscuit batter over apples.

Epicurious.com had about a billion recipes (you think I'm joking, go look it up) but there was one that stuck out like a sweet snaggletooth: Apple Ginger Upside-Down Cake. And I knew that was the one. Because what's better than a melty-buttery-spicy apple cake?

Oh yes. A melty-buttery-spicy apple cake full of crystallised ginger. Duh.

BEETLE NOTES

This is a very good cake. Not too sweet, not too tart. A perfect fall dessert that combines all the happy of the season in a cake pan. It's also (crucial) fast and easy. Honestly peeling the apples took the most time out of all the tasks. Which, as long as you don't slice your hands to ribbons, really isn't that bad. 

That being said.


THINGS I WILL DO DIFFERENTLY NEXT TIME:

• Overlap the apple slices more tightly. Although you can kind of see the ring of them on the bottom, the biscuit batter squidged its way through and obscured them somewhat. I think if the slices are closer together there will be less batter squidging. 

• Mix the crystallised ginger into the biscuit batter itself. The recipe says to coat the bottom of the pan in melted butter, brown sugar, and ginger before laying out your apple. What they fail to mention, however, is that when you bake crystallised ginger in a cake pan, even if that cake pan is ostensibly "nonstick" the sugar will nuclear-harden to the bottom, and you will spend a long time chipping away at with a knife in imminent danger of cutting your finger off. 
• Serve it with maple whipped cream. I totally meant to do this (sorry everyone!) but in the excitement of seeing people and opening presents and dancing around doing stupid things, it completely slipped my mind. NEXT TIME. 

FYI, I ended up doubling the biscuit batter because the first round I poured over the apples barely coated them. It really doesn't make that much, so be prepared to add more. I also used a springform pan even though it says 9-inch cake pan because it makes inverting it at the end really easy. 

I used Jonagolds for my apples, incidentally, because they are big and therefore easy to core and slice. I'm not an expert on cooking apples and non-cooking apples, but I'm getting better, I promise. I just found a Wikipedia entry that has every. kind. of. species. listed out, with their taste, culinary uses, and country and date of origin. 

So when I don't post  for a month, that's why.


NORWEGIAN CINNAMON BUNS

Q: Is there anything nicer than a warm kitchen that smells simultaneously of coffee and cinnamon buns?

A. Absolutely not.

This is a Nigella recipe, from her Domestic Goddess cookbook. She credits a Norwegian friend for it, which just underscores what I've known since I was born: Scandinavians, man. We KNOW our warming comfort food. This is a) because we're awesome and b) because when it's dark for 6 months of the year, SOMETHING has to get you out of bed in the morning.

These, I feel certain, do the trick.

INGREDIENTS

• 4 cups flour
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 tsp salt
• scant 3 tbs yeast
• scant 1/2 cup (one stick) butter
• 1 2/3 cups milk
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup plus 2 tbs soft butter
• 1/2 cup plus 2 tbs sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1 egg, beaten, for glaze

Combine the flour, sugar, salt, and yeast in a large bowl. Melt the butter and whisk it into milk and eggs, then stir it into the flour mixture. Mix to combine and then knead the dough either by hand or using the dough hook of a food mixer until its smooth and springy. Form into a ball, place in an oiled bowl, cover with clingfilm and leave it to rise for about 25 minutes.







Take one-third of the dough and roll it or stretch it to fit your tin; this will form the bottom of each bun when it has cooked. Roll out the rest of the dough on a lightly floured surface, aiming to get a rectangle of roughly 10 x 20 inches.

Mix the filling ingredients in a small bowl and then spread the rectangle with the buttery cinnamon mixture. Try to get even coverage on the whole of the dough. Roll it up from the longest side until you have a giant sausage. Cut the roll into 3/4 inch slices which should make about 20 rounds.

Sit the rounds in lines on top of the dough in the tin, swirly cut-side up. Don’t worry if they don’t fit snugly together as they will swell and become puffy when they prove. Brush them with egg and then let them rise again for about 15 minutes to let them get duly puffy.

Put in the hot oven and cook for 20-25 minutes, by which time the buns will have risen and will be golden-brown in colour. Don’t worry if they catch in places. Remove them from the tin and leave to cool slightly on a rack – it’s easy just to pick up the whole sheet of parchment and transfer them like that – before letting people tear them off, to eat warm.

BEETLE NOTES

You mean, Beetle Notes APART from oh my holy hell these are amazing?

Well. Yes.

Be prepared to add more flour to your dough before the initial rising period. I ended up adding between 3/4 and a cup more by hand just to get it out of the mixing bowl. Next time I'll add it at the outset and let my dough hook do the rest.

My blank dough canvas. Ready to become a masterpiece.

The recipe says to take 1/3 of the dough and stretch it out along the bottom of the pan. I did not do this. I rolled out ALL the dough and spread it with cinnamon sugar. I'm sure I'm wrong and Nigella knows best, but it just seemed like a doughy bottom would take away from the cinnamon bun itself, and that mine would end up lumpy and thick in some places and thin in others because I would inevitably mess it up.

Also, I just wrote "doughy bottom" completely un-ironically. SEE? I REALLY AM 30.


I think because of this, and because mine were definitely thicker buns than 3/4 of an inch (see above, what can I say, go big or go home) my cinnamon-sugar to dough ratio was a bit low. That is to say, the buns came out as sweet rolls with cinnamon-sugar as opposed to "cinnamon buns." Which. Not the worst thing in the world. 

I will likely double the filling next time, but according to all who tasted them, if that was all they could eat for the rest of their lives, they would die happy. Fat, but happy. 

These went down like a house on fire. Like a delicious smelling house on fire. 

Since even WE couldn't finish the entire pan in one morning (which is saying something) I will add that these keep really well in a covered pan, and that breaking one (or two. or three.) off and putting it in a low oven for a few minutes gets them all gooey and warm again, ready to be served in a civilised manner. Or, you know, inhaled standing up before the oven door even closes. Your choice. 

And so, dear reader, thus ends BIRTHDAY. Which isn't to say that the rest of this month won't be filled with celebrations (um, Halloween anyone?) and cavorting in leaf piles and carving pumpkins and generally behaving like Sarah Jessica Parker in Hocus Pocus.

Like this:

Hey, at least it will keep me warm. 

Birthday Part The Second (Part The First)

Oh my goodness so much cooking happened this weekend. So. Much. Cooking. All of it amazing and fun and delightful, and only minor burns were incurred, so overall I think we can call it a massive success.

So much cooking happened in fact that I shall break it down into two parts, because otherwise it will be the longest post in recorded history (and for me that's saying something) and also I don't want to make your brains come out your nose like they did in that one super creepy episode of Fringe. Also I need to take some more photos in good light, and I can't go in the kitchen right now because Mum is on a ladder with a paint roller listening to Philippa Gregory audiobooks and Priming the ceiling. Probably not the best time.

BIRTHDAY PART THE SECOND

DINNER

Onion, Rosemary, and Goat Cheese Tart

Sausage, Kale, and Wax Bean Stew served in Individual Pumpkins

Beetle's Finnish Oatmeal Bread (name tbd until I figure out what to call it) 

---

Upside-Down Apple Ginger Biscuit Cake

BREAKFAST

Norwegian Cinnamon Buns

From the pictures above, I bet you all can guess (being super intelligent dear readers that you are) what my Beetle Focus will be this afternoon. And so to business. 

ONION, ROSEMARY AND GOAT CHEESE TART

This is one of those Triple Threat recipes that performs three crucial culinary functions simultaneously: 1. It tastes delicious. 2. It's gorgeous and makes you look like you are insanely talented. 3. It's actually stupidly easy and gloriously cheat-tastic. 

This was GOING to be a recipe I found on epicurious.com for an Alsace Onion Tart. Basically an onion and cheese quiche. I had my million eggs, my heavy cream, I was set.

Then there was a last minute change due to spontaneous lack of pie crust and hey presto in a poof of magical kitchen fairy Beetlesparkledust it became puff-pastry instead of pie-crust and lost its deep-dish-egg-and-cream-filling-quicheness. Amazing how that happens, huh? 

The Beetle end result, in retrospect, was probably less filling and therefore a better first course to serve when the second course is an entire personal roasted pumpkin stuffed with stew. And anyway caramelized onions are so insanely good that adding a quiche base to it really gives new meaning to the term "gilding the lily."

I mean, let's face it: when you fry onions until they are golden and crispy-sweet, cover them in salt, pepper, rosemary, and goat cheese, and then pour them into a little origami-style sheet of crispy-light-flaky puff pastry, the LAST question you're going to get from your dinner guests is: "Where's the cream filling?"

I will of course be making the aforementioned Alsace Onion Tart at some point, and I'm sure it's going to be magnificent (probably a very good option for when it gets properly cold), but for the record this is a perfectly acceptable, fast-as-hell-on-wheels (we're talking 20 minutes here), oh-crap-what-am-I-going-to-do-how-about-this-sure-why-not alternative. Sometimes, dear reader, the emergency backup plan turns out to be a damn good idea. 

SAUSAGE, KALE, AND WAX BEAN STEW SERVED IN INDIVIDUAL PUMPKIN BOWLS

Ok don't freak out. I know this sounds scary. But it's seriously not. And it's seriously so. freaking. good. It's like a bread bowl that's died and gone to heaven.

The Pumpkin Bowl thing was a first for us last Thanksgiving. I saw it and said I'M SO MAKING THAT. Mum did her "wtf that's insane" face and started talking about how complicated it was going to be and how she didn't want me to spend the entire day in the kitchen cooking and screaming as I cut various fingers off. I told her to chill. And just wait.

Have you ever walked by a diorama of prehistoric cavemen sitting around a fire eating a carcass? That's kind of how Thanksgiving went. Both of us literally ripping chunks of roasted pumpkin off with our bare hands and stuffing it in our mouths as fast as possible. It was bliss. Pure, unadulterated, taste bud bliss.

And guess what . . . IT'S TOTALLY ROASTED PUMPKIN SOUP BOWL SEASON AGAIN.

It's really satisfying to scrape out pumpkins, did you know that? It really is. If you are one of THOSE people, feel free to preserve every single seed as if it were a life force unto itself, lovingly roast it, and serve it atop your quinoa-flax-buckwheat porridge in the morning as you sit next to your solar powered lamp in a fog of organic smugness. If you are me, on the other hand, dump it on some newspaper and shove it in the trash. Go ahead. The universe will forgive you.

Kale. The hipster vegetable of choice.

If you can make a jackolantern, you can do this. It's basically the same thing. The recipe is ostensibly from Gourmet and epicurious.com, but once you get the pumpkin cooking time down, I would consider yourself at liberty to stuff whatever the hell you want into that thing. Last year was tofu, beans, spinach, potatoes, onions, and fennel. This time, as evidenced by the heading, was veggie sausage, kale, wax beans, and onions.

Also wax beans are my new favourite food. 

The initial roasting gets the pumpkin nice and squidgy. Pouring the filling in and roasting it a bit longer lets the sides absorb all the flavour and taste and become even more spectacular. As you work your way down to the bottom, you start to scrape off bits of pumpkin with your spoon, until the end when you're basically eating a hot, savoury, seasoned, pumpkin-veggie-stew-puree.

I mean. 

When I made the big one last year, we finished the stew before we finished the pumpkin. If that happens (big IF here) you can slice it like a pie and heat it up in the oven. Or, if you are myself or my mother, you can rip it to shreds and devour it like you haven't eaten in months. Both are perfectly acceptable.

It comes down to this. Cooked pumpkin is one of the most comforting things you can eat. It's warm, sweet-yet-savoury, squishy, and flavourful. And it's so crazy good for you that you can FEEL yourself getting healthier with every bite. Using said pumpkin as a bowl for an equally good-for-you vegetable stew is a genius idea on the level of . . . I don't know . . . the spinning jenny? the internal combustion engine? the assembly line? sliced bread? 

It's up there. 

DON'T let yourself be intimidated by this. Seriously give it a try while we're in pumpkin season. Because in another month or so it'll be back to plain ol' china bowls. Plain, cold, inedible china bowls. 

SOB. 

BEETLE'S FINNISH OATMEAL BREAD (or something I haven't decided yet) 

Ok. I absolutely am justified in patting myself on the back for this bread. I mean, BEYOND patting myself on the back. Driving my own victory lap. Standing for my own ovation. Hiring an entire brass band to toot my own horn. 

Basically. This. 

Finnish Oatmeal Bread is one of those Scraptastical Beetle inventions that comes when I'm standing in the kitchen, wearing three sweaters, drinking my millionth cup of tea of the day, flipping through Beatrice Ojakangas' cookbook, and realising that I used up my rye flour, my molasses, AND my butter, and that I need to make bread RIGHT NOW. 

It's a mash up of my basic homemade bread recipe, three of Beatrice's recipes, and a few little "ideas" that I had along the way. And you know what? IT FLIPPING WORKED. IT FLIPPING WORKED WONDERS. 

INGREDIENTS

• 2 tbs yeast 
• 2 cups warm water 
• 3 cups whole wheat flour
• 3 cups steel cut oats
• 2 cups white flour
• 1 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tbs caraway seed
• 1 tbs anise seed
• 1/2 cup milk 
• 1/2 cup honey

Dissolve the yeast in the warm water and set it aside so it can foam. In a mixmaster fitted with the absolutely wonderful dough hook, combine the whole wheat flour, oats, salt, caraway, and anise. Stir the milk and honey together, and add to the flours. Pour in the yeast/water and let it mix for a while. Add the 2 extra cups of white flour a little bit at a time until the dough turns the corner from sticky into springy.

Turn the dough out into an oiled bowl (you can use vegetable or olive oil, or butter if you have it), cover it with a cloth, and let it rise for an hour.

After an hour, punch it down and shape it into two loaves. Place them side by side on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Cover again and let them rise for 30 - 45 minutes. 

Slash an X in them, or lines, or a self-portrait, or what have you. I chose X's this time, but below is a loaf I made last week, and I also find the lines appealing. 

This one just felt like an X, you know?

Bake at 425 degrees for 25 - 30 minutes. Let them cool on the sheet for about 15 minutes, then flip over on a rack and let the bottoms cool too. 

This X exploded. I actually kind of love it that way. 

So there you have it. Mum came home and ate a quarter of a loaf standing up in the kitchen in her coat, then another 1/4 of a loaf for dinner. This. Bread. Is. The. Sh*t. 

The oats give it a crunchy texture and a slightly nutty taste, the honey gives it just a tiny bit of sweet without going overboard (and we do NOT do sweet, let me tell you). The milk gives it a richness that plain water and flour breads don't have, and the anise and caraway give it a depth of flavour and a taste that very clearly says "this is not crappy generic bread." 

Mum says it's the best I've ever made, and that the imminent arrival of guests was the only thing keeping her from polishing it all off. She also asked me every half hour on the hour "you wrote the recipe down, right? you made sure you wrote it down? you need to be able to make it again, you know. I just want to make sure you know how to make it again. you wrote it down, right? you won't forget how to make it?" 

Don't worry, Mummy. Beetle does not forget. And now, dear reader, neither will you. 

COMING SOON TO A BEETLE NEAR YOU . . . 

UPSIDE DOWN APPLE GINGER BISCUIT CAKE! 

NORWEGIAN CINNAMON BUNS! 

So much excitement. 

I think I will need to go coordinate my new drawer pulls until I calm down. 

Happy Birthday To Me

This picture pretty much says it all. My birthday was gooey and delicious, cool and crisp, rustic and homemade, cheesy and ridiculous all at the same time. It was A VERY HAPPY DAY, dear reader, A VERY VERY HAPPY DAY. A VERY VERY HAPPY DRAMA FREE 30TH BIRTHDAY. It was, really, a BEETLE BIRTHDAY HAPPINESS EXPLOSION. 

Do I feel older? No, not really. Am I acting older and with newfound maturity? Absolutely not.

I told you last week what the birthday agenda was, and, true to OCD form, we stuck to it almost to the second. The Pumpkin Festival was indeed adorbs, and involved jam and candles and a book sale and bonus alpacas. And there WAS face painting, which made me initially quite happy. However . . .

Me: "Oh look! They have face painting!"
Mum: "You know what I think is really stupid? Face painting.

She spent the next twenty minutes telling me that if I really wanted to get a bat or a pumpkin on my cheek she thought it would be a nice idea. I spent the next twenty minutes giving my side eye a workout.

HIGHLIGHTS OF HAPPINESS EXPLOSION DAY AND WEEKEND

• Being 15 minutes late to our facials because of . . . wait for it . . . THE TRACTOR PULL. I'm not making that up. 
• Promising the girl doing my facial that that was NOT a cold sore on my lip, and conveniently omitting the fact that it was poison ivy, and hearing BFF explode in conspiratorial and highly incriminating giggles. She never could keep it together, even in 7th grade. 
• Realising that the girl at the fish counter is now MY OWN FISH GIRL YOU GUYS I HAVE A FISH GIRL THAT IS BETTER THAN ALL MY PRESENTS COMBINED. I showed up on Saturday (she promised she was getting a new delivery in) and she was all HEY WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN and I was all OMG HEY NEW BEST FRIEND WHO HAS INSIDE FISH KNOWLEDGE and she was all  WE GOT IT FROM THE GULF OF MAINE THIS MORNING I SET ASIDE SOME FOR YOU and I was all PLAY IT COOL BEETLE YOU CAN'T LET HER SEE HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES YOU SHE'LL REJECT YOU FOR LIFE. It was awesome. BFF witnessed it so IT'S OFFICIAL FOREVER END OF STORY. 
• Getting the best birthday hug from the cat EVER (which is of course how I got poison ivy on my lip in the first place but oh well). 
• Finally being able to wear the long underwear I "secretly ordered for myself" from L.L. Bean. They. Are. So. Comfy. 
• Breaking in the new running clothes I also "secretly ordered for myself" and feeling fast and fashionable and fabulous.
• Runner rule, FYI (this exists, ask anyone): it's not truly "yours" until you blow your nose on it. 
• Paying a visit to my tattoo guy and getting four of my white ones touched up for what I think (!!) is the last time. Which means a) I keep staring at my arms and b) new ones next! 
• Explaining the Danish "æ" grapheme to him as I lay on the table with a needle gun poised over my arm., seeing his truly spectacular side eye, going "that's what you get for getting a Danish funeral hymn on your arm, huh?" and getting a groundshakingly sarcastic "yeah guess so" in reply. (Incidentally: new fun fact, "æ" is a "monophthongal vowel phoneme." I love Wikipedia.)
• Stopping at the awesome farm stand on the way there to drool over their pumpkin display, and successfully NOT buying a two-foot-high stone rabbit statue for the garden. SEE HOW NEWFOUNDEDLY MATURE I AM??? 

And, duh, obviously. THE FOOD. 

HERB-ROASTED BUTTERNUT SQUASH, FENNEL, AND WAX BEANS

CORNMEAL FARM BREAD

PAN-FRIED CODFISH

DARK CHOCOLATE FUDGE CAKE WITH PEPPERMINT BUTTERCREAM

SWEDISH PANCAKES

Obviously I haven't posted until now because I just came out of my food coma this morning. 

BEETLE NOTES

There really are no notes apart from OMG EVERYTHING WAS DELICIOUS.

I will tell you the following:

1. Wax Beans are my new favourite food.

2. The excuse "It's my birthday damn it." is very effective when you want to eat roasted butternut squash directly off the sheet pan.

3. The kitchen still smells like pancakes. Which is to say. Happiness. 

Oh but what am I doing?

THE CAKE. 

This cake, you guys. THIS CAKE. 

I searched high and low for a dark chocolate cake recipe that felt "right." I went to Julia Child but she started talking about clarified butter and whisking over a double boiler and it's not that I'm AGAINST those things, they are important, but I just didn't feel like spending my birthday doing it, you know what I mean? I went to Nigella and the dear Contessa and Epicurious, and found what I am sure are truly delectable, truly chocolatey chocolate cakes. But then the morning of the cake making, I was flipping through Martha online (like you do over coffee of a morning) and found the FUDGY BROWNIE CAKE and the universe just went THIS ONE, BEETLE. MAKE THIS ONE. 

So I did. THANK YOU, UNIVERSE.



The reason this one is so good? It's got 12 COUNT 'EM 12 OUNCES of Bittersweet Chocolate in it. And 1/2 a cup of Unsweetened Cocoa Powder. This is NOT a cake for recreational chocolate users, there's none of your namby pamby Milk or Semisweet here. This cake beats up Milk Chocolate in the playground during recess and takes its lunch money. This cake gives Semisweet a wedgie and shoves it in a locker. YOU GOT IT? IT'S A SERIOUS CAKE.

That's what 12 ounces of Bittersweet looks like.

HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM STIFF GLOSSY PEAKS, HUH? 

A mere six tablespoons of flour means that "fudgy" is only the beginning. But a whopping six egg whites means it is simultaneously light and fluffy. It flakes and crunches like a brownie when you cut into it, and it's squishy and gooey in the centre. But its silky and floaty and poofy at the same time. It's a culinary paradox. It's an absolutely delicious culinary paradox.

BFF is the best spatula taster ever. She is never boring and stupid and "oh I'll try it later" or "I just brushed my teeth" or anything like that. This is probably why we are besties. She happily tastes everything I shove in her face, and not only that, offers constructive and informed opinions and suggestions. It is because of HER that the Peppermint Buttercream turned out as well as it did (she advised a bit more vanilla extract THANK YOU BFF.) 

The Peppermint Buttercream turned out so well it can be summed up in one sentence. I handed Mum a spatula at the end of the evening, and she gave it a small taste. There was a pause. Another small taste. Then, still staring serenely out the kitchen window over the north field, a quiet and completely deadpan "Well. This is the f***ing end." 

Which, if you think about it, means only one thing. Beetle Did Good. 

The best thing about using Buttercream is that once it sets you get that awesome crust on it, which means you can cover it with foil without destroying the pretty and also it's one of the greatest sounds in the world, that crunch when you slice into it. It's a crunch that says AMAZINGNESS AHOY. I hesitated originally, not wanting to push the cake over the edge with frosting overload, thinking, hmmm, perhaps I will just dust it with cocoa powder or confectioner's sugar. 

I AM SO GLAD I IGNORED MY BETTER JUDGMENT. 

It's like a Peppermint Patty in cake form. Except, you know, reversed. AND ALSO SO MUCH BETTER. 

And LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT. I was making dinner and Mum came in and handed me the phone. It was one of my Lovely Librarians. Do you know what she said, dear reader? 

WELL I'LL TELL YOU. 

She said it was the best chocolate cake she'd ever had.

YOU GUYS SHE REALLY SAID THAT. 

I played it cool on the phone. Gracious. Serene. Like a 30 year-old would.  

I was only after I hung up that I broke out the 80's-style-Molly-Ringwald-in-Breakfast-Club-Debra-Messing-in-Will-&-Grace-Bohemian-Rhapsody-head-banging-stupid-ridiculous-victory-happy-dance.

The cat saw me, but she promised she wouldn't tell anyone. 

So, dear reader, thus ends Birthday. BUT THERE IS MORE. Birthday PART THE SECOND begins this weekend. 

Stay tuned. 

Renovations draw to a close, I make a lot of cookies, and I am nearly 30

For the record, this is how I used to feel about chocolate cake:

This was, of course, before I developed the digestion of a 90 year-old woman (with feet to match) and the dietary predilections of Seabiscuit. But I wanted to include the above photo so when I say that for my 30th birthday, even though I won't be able to eat it, I'm making Dark Chocolate Cake with Peppermint Buttercream Icing, you will understand why. It's a nostalgic move. 

Yes, that's right, dear reader. You read that correctly. BEETLE IS TURNING 30. This is not as dramatic an event as the caps lock would lead you to believe, however. I have in fact been answering "30" to the age question for the last six months, because "29", in my opinion, just sounds kind of lame, immature, and awkward. 30 sounds classy. 30 sounds like you've reached your middle age with grace and style, and you have officially put all the boring crap of your 20's behind you. My 20's were pretty awesome but also had some particularly stinker moments. I'm very much looking forward to a new, fresh, decade. So I've actually been 30 since March, it's just official now. Or rather, it will be tomorrow. Yay! 

Beetle Aging Freakouts Thus Far: The clump of white hair I thought I found two weeks ago was actually paint. The liver spots I thought I found on my hands earlier this summer were actually freckles. We're doing ok. 

But going back to the YAY front, LOOK AT MY BEDROOM!

On Wednesday night I slept in my own bedroom for the first time since 2005. Did it feel weird? Yes. Did I wake up to pee and try to walk through a wall? Yes. Was it still totally awesome? YES. Obviously it's nowhere NEAR finished. I have no intention of taking "Scandinavian Country House" to a degree of "Scandinavian Ice Hut That is Home to a Banished Nun." BUT IT'S ON ITS WAY. 

NOW BACK TO BEETLE BIRTHDAY, WHICH IS OBVIOUSLY MORE IMPORTANT

So. 30. When I turned 29 I was still living in Manhattan, and so it was fairly easy to rally the troops, book a table in Union Square, and do a big, happy, screaming, obnoxious dinner. This is significantly more difficult bordering on impossible when you are living in East Bumblefart, Massachusetts, and the biggest thing happening on your birthday is a Tractor Pull on the town common. 

It starts at 1pm, incidentally, if anyone is violently interested. 

So, Barring a blowout, how to commemorate the passing of my 20's and the beginning (finally) of my 30's? 

I'll tell you how. 

BEST FRIEND FOREVER DAY OF AWESOMENESS THAT'S HOW. 

Because who better to help ring in a new decade than the woman you've spent almost the last two with? That's what makes BFFs (and my BFF in particular) so awesome. We lived through the apex of nerd-dom (and believe me, it was an apex for the record books) and came out the other side. You guys, we lived through leggings and oversize glasses and teeth we hadn't grown into yet. Those bonds last a lifetime. And if I'm going to look back on my childhood and life thus far, the really good parts and the really bad parts, I want to do it with someone who's been there too. 

HOW BFFDOA (BEST FRIEND FOREVER DAY OF AWESOMENESS) IS GOING TO GO DOWN:

1. A PUMPKIN FESTIVAL ON THE TOWN COMMON (tractor pull optional). Where we will buy things like alpaca wool scarves and pumpkin scented soaps and A LOT of honey and jam and generally thoroughly enjoy ourselves. And possibly get face painted. Just saying. Might happen. 

2. FACIALS AT AVEDA. (especially if the face painting happens) Because nothing says "take care of your now middle aged skin!" like getting a facial. The last time I got a facial at Aveda I was so relaxed I fell asleep. Facials are awesome. 

3. WATCHING A MOVIE IN OUR PAJAMAS. Because this is how the BFF and I spent the majority of our nights between the years of 12 and 18 and it seems appropriate to do it all over again. On the couch, under a blanket, dressed in embarrassing flannel pjs from L. L. Bean, watching either Pride & Prejudice or Star Trek the Next Generation. (Perhaps slightly contrasting genres but we loved them both, and if you look closely you will see that essentially it was just a love of authoritative British men that lead us there.)

HOW I WAS NOT PLANNING ON TURNING 30 AND YET FIND MYSELF DOING SO: As an early birthday present, because they love me, the cats gave me poison ivy on my lip. Two days ago I cut my forehead open on a dresser I was painting and now have a gash in the centre of my forehead. It was not my intention to turn 30 looking like a vaguely syphilitic member of Fight Club, but I suppose you can't have everything in life. 

But Beetle, I hear you ask, what about the food? WHAT ABOUT THE FOOD? 

Well. I'm glad you asked. 

The menu as it stands at the moment is as follows. Pictures obviously forthcoming next week. 

DINNER

Panfried Local Haddock

Herb-Roasted Butternut Squash with Fennel and Wax Beans

Wild Black Rice

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Cornmeal Country Bread (made up the name, go with it) 

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Birthday Cake (Dark Chocolate Cake with Peppermint Buttercream Icing)

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BREAKFAST

Swedish Pancakes 

Rye Buttermilk Biscuits

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a million and one Finnish Housewife Cookies

*subject to change as Hillbilly Beetle does her thing, but that's the general gist

Why pancakes you ask? Well. Here's the thing. Pancakes were what I always used to make with Dad for my birthday breakfasts. I've said this before, but the smell of Swedish pancakes is deeply rooted in the memory centre of my brain that holds all the happy, warm, safe bits of my childhood. 

The smell of pancakes is the smell of how awesome things used to be, and I want to remember all that awesome on my birthday. 

This is what pancakes smell like. 

MAUDLIN RAMBLE DOWN MEMORY LANE OVER, THANKS FOR COMING. 

MOVING ON NOW. 

COOKIE?

Remember CONNECT FOUR? 

I JUST WON. 

I was in severe cookie-debt to three of my girlfriends, and this week decided to pay up. One has moved to San Francisco, one has moved to Boulder, and one got married last weekend, where I was lucky enough to be. Obviously cookies are called for in these situations, and what better way to say "Happy New Home" and "Congratulations On Your Wedding" than Finnish Housewife Cookies?

Oh that's right, THERE IS NO BETTER WAY.

Beetle OCD packaging note: Germaphobia plus mortal fear of stale cookies plus neurotic attention to detail means . . . it's gonna take you a while to get in there. Sorry, guys. 

Me to Mum: I made Finnish Housewife Cookies for Meg and Jessi and Cara today.

Mum: But you didn't send them all away, right? 

Me: Now what kind of a daughter would that make me?

Now, dear reader, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to spend the last day of my 20's just like anyone else would. 

By putting Calamine lotion on my lip, moving a bookcase, and baking a cake.