Baked Churros

l'America era un angolo, l'America era un'ombra, nebbia sottile,
l'America era un'ernia, un gioco di quei tanti che fa la vita...

America was a corner, America was a shadow, a fine mist,
America was a hernia, a game of the many that life plays...
~ Francesco Guccini, Amerigo

He was selling churros with cinnamon from a cart on 16th Str., behind the stairs at the exit of the subway; his name was Francisco but for his friends and in the neighborhood and he was only and ever Pancho. He was as old as Jesus, black hair over the shoulders and hands stained with sugar and fatigue. He spoke slowly in a language foreign to him, masking his stubborn and unyielding southern accent against his will. His underground America was that street corner, a t-shirt Yes We Can, and a dream never faded.
He was a sinner, an innocent outlaw with his breath always on the alert: his mistake without fault was to be born beyond, in a country with no moon, torn apart by knives, white powder and misery.
He had arrived at night, clinging to the dark wind of a train still in the running. They say he had a girl, too young to still remember him, too beautiful to stop loving her. He had left behind his heart in love, closed his eyes to the sadness and left for his quest.
He ended up in the city that bore his name, greeting and hope for a better future, witness and accomplice of a present without glory. 12 hours a day, 300 churros at sunset and one Sunday for beer and freedom every month.

TWO FOR $ 1.
TWO FOR $ 1.

A hand-written sign was selling his sweetness for him, filled with memories and the warm scent of melancholy. A handshake, a smile, a buenos dias: two churros to the gluttons for a dollar of his youth.
He was always there, Pancho, smiling and generous in front of us who asked no questions. He was always there, safe and cozy, with his eyes fixed on the future.
Until one morning when we couldn't find him anymore: they say they were stationed, an unhappy call, the forced supervision of a mockery of fate.
Everybody liked him, them also, Francisco Pancho Juarez, Francisco Pancho fabricante de churros.




Baked Churros
for approx. 15 pieces

flour 140 gr
sugar 50 gr
butter 100 gr
salt 1 pinch
water 200 gr
egg 1
vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon
sugar and cinnamon to finish as needed

Heat water with salt and then dissolve in the sugar. Add butter and when it's completely melted, add flour and mix. Cook until the dough is smooth and has no lumps, and gathers into a shiny ball (it'll take about 1 minute). Remove from heat and let cool. Add the egg, at room temperature, vanilla extract and mix well.
Put the dough into a pastry bag with a star tip, form several strips about 3-4" long and place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper; bake at 350 for about 30 minutes until churros are golden.
Roll them still hot in sugar mixed with cinnamon.
Churros, traditional Mexican sweets, should be fried in hot oil; this is my so-called light version.
Light but not vegan, for the first sin of the year.

Vegan Jam Tart with Spelt Flour

Living here day by day, you think it's the center of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave: a year, two years. When you come back, everything's changed. The thread's broken. What you came to find isn't there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time... many years... before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no. It's not possible. Right now you're blinder than I am.
~ Philippe Noiret, Cinema Paradiso

Always yours is that friendship, the new one and the eternal one of the past; yours is the taste of bread and the red color of autumn. Yours are the people who get older, the solitude of the forest, the gloom and silence of the night; still yours are the stones, the trails and the comfort of the moon; yours is the soft kindness of the meadows, the sunset and the darkness of those days.
And the words, withered between the cracks of indifferent walls, the frozen phrases, tired by now, the angry and unexploded thoughts, more and more faded with time.
Coming back makes everything a bit nicer; you blow the dust away and discover how much tenderness there was in the innocent dreams of distant dawns. Mornings are still cold, but beautiful in October; things, slow and always the same, speak a familiar language yet a different one.
Coming back you wonder how long it took you to figure it out, or if it's true that we've all changed a little.




Vegan Jam Tart
with Spelt Flour
for a round baking pan of 9" diameter

spelt flour 250 gr
type O flour 210 gr
corn starch 50 gr
baking powder 12 gr
lemon 1
cane sugar 200 gr
olive oil 60 gr
rice bran oil 60 gr
rice milk 125 gr
salt 1 pinch
jam as needed
powdered sugar to serve as needed

In a bowl mix the flours with cornstarch, baking powder, salt and lemon zest. Make a well in the center and add sugar, olive oil, rice oil and milk. Start mixing the ingredients with a fork, and then knead with your hands until you get a homogeneous ball. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand in refrigerator at least 30 minutes.
Roll out 3/4 of the dough and place it in a round baking dish, greased with oil or lined with parchment paper. Prick the surface with a fork, then spread the jam over it (for me this one here, thankyouverymuch) and bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes until the tart crust gets golden brown. Allow to cool, and if you like, dust with powdered sugar before serving.
w.v.<3

Blueberry Pie

Every bad situation is a blues song waiting to happen.
~ Amy Winehouse

Soon I'd turn 30; my hair was long and smooth like silk, I had white skin and the deep, black voice of soul. At my side I had talent, youth, a bit of money and success: an ironic cocktail that would not grant me happiness; that thing called life, thrown in my hands by chance, I felt it on me as hard and heavy as a stone. To the public I was singing of love, betrayal and jealousy, but inside I was chasing a single dream of peace; and I was drowning, swept adrift by my own thoughts, choked with anguish, shame and misery of life; to remain afloat, I sought comfort in chemical clouds and emptied bottles of vodka, starting from scratch every day to defy my will and play poker with my brain.
I sensed myself that I, too, would join that cursed club of the 27's of rock: Jimi and Janis, Kurt and now me; young, angry angels, coward murderers of dreams, united by the invisible thread of our silly illusions, an irrational boredom of life that grew together with success, victims of a dark soul that asked our body for revenge. From life I could have had it all: an almost kind god had given me feline eyes and lips of a star, whispering in my ear the sweet secrets of blues; but in return I paid him with the confusion of being, a solitude without horizon, and that twisted, fragile anger.



Yet, life, I had really loved it, when, as a kid, I used to run down the street chasing my feet and the smell in the air; when Gramma used to talk about Frank, and on Sunday for lunch we'd go to Brook's, Alex and I sharing a slice of blueberry pie, my little corner of paradise not yet washed down by alcohol; and the first guitar, what a dream!, at 13 it was a fairy tale with no poison. In my life I wanted to be a woman, a wife and then a mother, I wanted to stay forever at his side, me and Blake strolling serene on any given day.
I had learned to offer emotions to people, but I couldn't look my father and mother in the eyes anymore; the darkness rising from inside devoured me every day more, leaving room only to fears and goblins of glass. To my father and mother I now ask for forgiveness, for having seen me wasted, for having found me disturbed, intoxicated with suffering, for having to bear the blame forever.
Inside me I had no labels: I was not a star, I was not a singer, a rebel, an angel or a rejection, I was neither a junkie nor an alcoholic. Inside me I was just a woman, curled up in my agony and passed away too quickly. I was just one among many. But me, the words that I wrote and sang to the clouds will forever save my face.

Amy Winehouse
9/14/1983 - 7/23/2011


Blueberry Pie*
for a round pie dish of 9" diameter

For the dough
flour 315 gr
cold butter 225 gr
sugar 1 teaspoon
salt 1 teaspoon
cold water 120-180 ml

For the filling
fresh blueberries 1 kg
lemon 1
sugar 125 gr
corn starch 35 gr
egg 1
butter as needed

*I adapted the recipe from her, the unbeatable, extra blonde, Martha Stewart. In particular, I'd like to recommend everyone the recipe of her pie crust: it's flaky as hell.
Please excuse me and M.S. if we aren't veg today.

For the dough, mix flour, sugar and salt. Add butter, cut in pieces and very cold, and work quickly with a spatula until you get big crumbs. Add cold water gradually and knead until you get a smooth ball and not too sticky. In order to get a flaky crust, there must remain visible pieces of butter in the dough: which is why you shouldn't work it very long nor warm it up too much.
Divide the dough in half, wrap each piece in plastic wrap and let stand in refrigerator at least 2 hours.



Meanwhile, rinse blueberries and mix them with the grated lemon zest, one tablespoon of lemon juice, sugar and cornstarch. Crush about 1/4 of the filling with your hands or with a fork and set aside.
Dust the work surface and the rolling pin with plenty of flour, roll out the dough into two discs and place one of them into a deep pie pan, leaving a border of about 1/2 inch. Fill the base with blueberries, piling them a little more in the middle, sprinkle a few flakes of butter on top, and then cover with the second disc of dough. Seal the edge crushing it slightly with your hands, etch the surface with 5 or 6 concentric cuts, brush with the egg, beaten, and keep in the fridge at least half an hour before baking.
Bake at 380 for 20 minutes, lower the oven to 350 and continue baking for another 40 minutes, until the surface of the pie is golden. Serve warm.

Vegan Apple Cake with Corn Flour

What's left to say about apple pie? Does it make sense to talk about it one more time, and pull out yet another version, different and always the same, when we've already used pages over pages of the blogosphere in its honor, and we've already emptied wagons full of cyber-praises in perpetual memory of it? After years of glorious dipping, do we really need to remind ourselves that not only it still exists, the stoic and fragrant Countess of the five o'clock tea, the soft Queen of breakfast latte, but it also wins the challenge against the sophistry of modern snacks thanks to its moving and unwavering simplicity?
The answer - I think - is all here, in the sincere and soft scent that has inundated my closet kitchen, while I was desperately trying to find a reason and make sense of this post.
So I realize that apple cake needs no justification, whether you like it or not it's like a scrapbook, always nice to browse and always ready to welcome an extra page. Each one has its own, with their personal stories, their grandmother and their summer afternoons; but when you look at the group photos with all the classmates, the snapshots taken at six year old, or the portraits of tanned and light faces under the August sky, as if by magic, in those looks, poses and smiles you'll find the same questions full of certainties, one big illusion flashing in those unsuspecting eyes.
Apple cake speaks a universal language, be it vegan, à la mode or American pie, with its vintage postcard's look and its cozy and pleasant scent; it gathers geographies and generations inside the same ampoule of peace, it surrounds the heart and the mind with the same warm and sincere illusion.
There will never be an end to apple cakes; as thoughts full of sense and mutually enriching, they are coming one after the other eternally separated by a semicolon. After an apple cake you can't put a period, let alone start a new paragraph; apple cake is like spring that returns always new to warm your guts, even if you leave an empty line in the middle.
And so this end of April of mine, without apology and without a reason, is just another apple cake with a semicolon at the end, different but luckily a little bit the same as before, and it adds to the list, to the end of the thought that goes on, it's another page no longer empty in the universal album of memories.




Vegan Apple Cake
with Corn Flour and Olive Oil
for a round cake pan of 9" diameter

type 0 flour 250 gr
fine ground corn flour 180 gr
corn starch 70 gr
sugar 200 gr
salt 1 pinch
soy yogurt 300 gr
olive oil 170 gr
lemon 1
baking powder 16 gr (1 small satchel)
raisins 80 gr
rice milk (or soy, or oat) approx. 1/2 glass
apple 1
cane sugar, cinnamon, powdered sugar to taste

Soak raisins in milk for a few minutes, drain and set aside. Beat yogurt with sugar, a pinch of salt and the lemon zest until there are no more lumps. Combine and sift together flours, baking powder, and cornstarch, and gradually stir them in, alternating the addition of olive oil and enough milk so that the dough gets soft but firm enough to drop heavily from the spoon. Add the raisins and mix. Peel the apple, cut it into thin slices and sprinkle them with lemon juice. Pour the batter into the baking pan, previously greased and dusted with flour, arrange the apple slices on top, and sprinkle lightly with brown sugar mixed with a little cinnamon.
Bake at 360 for about an hour, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Allow the cake to cool off, then dust the surface with powdered sugar

Vegan Coconut-Lemon Bundt Cake

Words!!!!
WORDS, omg! (mayisayit??), I love them. I bow to the words. I admire them, I dream, I listen to them. I pay respects. Words tease me and fascinate me, I honor them, they light me up, they seduce me and bang me against the wall.
Whispered in the ear on a summer night, eternal and liars like bubbles of soap; shouted to the wind, the rain and the rainbows of the world, full of anger, hope and future; words read and absorbed through the pages of others, intoxicating like opium, fierce and suffocating like a tightening noose; those created, distorted, manipulated; old-fashioned words and modern ones; those twittered, facebooked, painted or sprayed on a wall; those written in the toilets of some bars, printed onto my sick mind, signed by hand inside a greeting card, sent via regular mail or coming from the sky; the yellow and red words of a sign on the street, those sung and cried about, words swallowed by time or forgotten for years under a pillow; those chewed and then spit against me, dreamt under the August stars, wrapped in alcohol, smoke and fog, moved by a kiss or a stroke on the neck; words tattooed on the skin as a final, theathrical gesture; those pronounced in front of an altar, the ones that were deleted, re-written, put in a note or lost. Words of movies, songs, and advertising. Those carved in the stone and forever, or recorded for just one hour, the ones remaining from the memories of that time. Future words, conditional or past ones, the dark words of a foreign language, those roughed out by a growing child; words memorized from a poem or recited as a wicked mantra.
I. Love. Words. I inhale them like benign steam, drink them like a glass of chianti. I get drunk, hit, carried away in a far and distant present. And you knew, you know me well like the back of the hands of our worlds once neighbors. If it weren't for those few words entrusted to modern technology, you and I would be lost forever. You said it yourself, and you knew, what happens to me, when inside that Easter egg, between a bite of cake and an afternoon tea, you gave me this handful of verses:

when was that last time
I saw you and then maybe kissed you
tell me now girl of those days
when and where did you go
why and when did I forget about you.
You thought it would last forever
that absolute and violent love
when was it that the nothing finished
why was it that everything died out
did not see not even September.
~ Francesco Guccini, The Last Time





Vegan Bundt Cake*
with Coconut and Lemon
for 8 mini cakes or one 10-inch bundt pan

sugar 225 gr
all-purpose flour 375 gr
light vegetable oil 100 gr
coconut milk 1 can (400 ml)
soy or rice milk 50 gr
lemon juice 50 gr
grated lemon zest 3 tablespoons
pure vanilla extract 2 teaspoons
baking powder 2 teaspoons
baking soda 1 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
shredded unsweetened coconut 130 gr
confectioners' sugar for dusting as needed

* Yet another recipe stolen from the sacred text of the Orthodox veganism, that Veganomicon onto which now hangs my fate, only with a bit more of vintageness. And it won't be the last time.

In a large bowl, combine sugar, oil, coconut milk, rice milk, juice and zest of lemons, and vanilla extract. Stir well. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt, and gradually add them to the wet ingredients, mixing well after each addition. Lastly, fold in the dried coconut.
Pour the batter in one 10-inch bundt pan (or 8 smaller pans), previously greased and floured, and bake at 350 for about one hour (45 minutes for the smaller pans), until a knife inserted through the middle comes out clean.
Let the cake rest in its pan for about 10 minutes, then flip it onto a rack and let it cool completely. Sprinkle the surface with confectioners' sugar and serve.
w.v.&v.<3





When was that last time
you heard your mother sing
when at home reading the paper
you saw your father smoke
while you were going back to study
in those days now too far away
all was present and the future
something left for tomorrow
an expectation of dreams and darkness
a something uncertain and insecure.
~ Francesco Guccini, The Last Time

Vegan Pull Apart Brioche with Cocoa and Cinnamon

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound...
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me...
~ Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel, Homeward Bound

Since I saw this wonderful thing here, at his place, I had no peace. All that massive amount of warmth and sweetness could not slip away without consequences. Because it's like being hit by a bomb of cuddling, being knocked out by a punch of love in the eye, or a shot of tenderness in the chest. And I repeat it here for the twomillioneighthundredandfortyseventhousandthreehundredandfourth time, I've got a tender heart. It may not look like it, but I'm easy to conquer; two breadsticks, half a glass of wine (but red, pay attention! and if it's mulled wine or fragolino, consider myself yours...), a free smile, four freckles, or a leavened something, languid and soft as Heidi's clouds (yep, that's it, you may as well take note, just in case...).
And if you allow me a small confession, this brioche here, adapted to my kinda new vegan ego, it's also the third time that I make it in a month or so. 'Cause when it comes out of the oven, it's as if I poured over myself a bottle of affection smelling of cocoa and cinnamon; because the scent only can warm your gut like a cup of broth on a rainy night; because in front of a big bowl of tea it's like a creature that wraps you in a loving hug and takes you right back home to watch TV under the blanket.
Homeward Bound . Yes, such is the effect of this brioche. A homecoming, after many years, to find old friends, some faded photo albums, and your stoic stack of vinyl records.





Vegan Pull Apart Brioche
With Cocoa and Cinnamon
for a 9" loaf pan

For the Brioche Dough
type 0 flour 250 gr
bread flour 130 gr
fresh yeast 15 gr
warm water 40 ml
salt 1 pinch
sugar 50 gr
soy milk 100 ml
vanilla extract 1 teaspoon
silken tofu 100 gr
vegetable shortening 60 gr

For the Filling
vegetable shortening 1 tablespoon
light brown sugar 60 gr
unsweetened powdered cocoa 15 gr
cinnamon 1 teaspoon

In the bowl of a standing mixer, or for the less fortunate fellows, in the bowl period, mix flour, sugar, and salt, then add the yeast previously dissolved in warm water, and start kneading.
On the side blend tofu, or, always for Mr Less Fortunate of the last row, crush it well with a spoon so that there are no lumps.
When the mixture in the bowl is blended together, add warm milk, vanilla, and the tofu previously mashed. Keep working until the dough is smooth and round. At this point, slowly add the shortening (ok, ok, I beg your pardon for this vegetable butter otherwise known as margarine, but there is very very little of it, for once we can do it, and maybe we can do without the caramel popcorn fired by the microwave when watching TV under the blanket... parenthesis closed), and keep working with the arms or with the mixer until you get an elastic and slightly sticky ball of dough.
Cover the bowl with a cloth and let rise in a warm place for about an hour and a 15 minutes or until doubled in size. After rising time, deflate the dough on a floured surface and roll it out into a rectangle about 20x11 inches. Brush the surface with melted vegetable shortening and sprinkle with sugar, cocoa and cinnamon mixed together.
Cut the rectangle in 6 strips about 3" wide, and gently stack them one above the other. Cut the tower in 6 rectangles, and place them standing up one next to the other in the slightly greased pan, in herringbone shape. Cover and let rise for 40 minutes. Bake at 350 for 30 to 40 minutes.
Oh, I almost forgot, do yourself a favor and serve it warm.

Pistachio Olive Oil Cake

So don't be afraid to let them show
your true colors
true colors are beautiful
like a rainbow
~ Cindy Lauper, True Colors


Vegan cake, round two.
At this point I would almost say it's official, I don't even do it on purpose and I find myself coming out...
Olé! Love me the same amount, because I'm still the same girlinthekitchen with a soul a little vintage and a blog a tiny bit messed up. Don't panic, I don't bite, and I'm not bad. I'm simply differently fed, and yes, maybe even a little dreamy.
With or without tofu, I keep listening to music, arguing with artichokes, and falling in love with Robert De Niro inside a bookstore in New York. With or without tofu, I keep being moved with no shame by some orange marmalade during winter mornings. With or without tofu, I have the same tender heart, I do.
With vegan love, please accept a slice of this soft and fruitylicious cake, and peace.
And if someone wants to ask me why, I just say why not.





Pistachio Olive Oil Cake
for a 9" diameter springform pan

toasted, shelled pistachios 85 gr
soy yogurt, plain 140 gr
extra-virgin olive oil 65 gr
unrefined sugar 150 gr
silken tofu 170 gr
flour 150 gr
baking soda 1/2 teaspoon
baking powder 1/2 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
vanilla extract 1 teaspoon
For the topping
organic orange 1
organic lemon 1
unrefined sugar 100 gr
water 240 ml
Grand Marnier 60 ml
toasted, shelled pistachios, unsalted 40 gr
pomegranate seeds as needed

Pulse pistachios in a food processor until finely ground, being careful not to overdo it, or else they will release their oil. Set aside. In a large bowl, mix yogurt, tofu, sugar, oil and vanilla, and beat well until smooth and with no lumps. Sift together flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda, and add to the tofu mixture. Mix well, then add ground pistachios and incorporate to the rest.
Pour batter into the springform pan previously greased with oil and lined with parchment paper on the bottom, and bake at 325 for about 30 or 40 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Allow the cake to cool on a rack.
Meanwhile, prepare the topping. Wash the orange and the lemon ( moi? Meyer lemon, ça va sans dire... ), cut them in half and then into slices about a 1/4" thick. Remove seeds, and place them in a pot with water, sugar, and liqueur. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer gently for about an hour until the fruit is very tender. Transfer the mixture to a food processor and blend until it becomes thick. Spread it on top of the cooled cake, and finish it off with chopped pistachios and pomegranate seeds.
So delicious and I mean it!



The recipe comes from this new best friend of mine, which I bought in a tenth of a second after seeing it by accident in a window downtown (I see it, I go in, Iwant that, I pay, thank you, I go out).
And if he and I now sleep together, it is also because of this cake, I want you to know that.
w.v.<3

Vegan Guinness Chocolate Cake

He was a wise man who invented beer.
~ Plato


... to say nothing of the one who invented dark chocolate, and sunglasses, the one who gave birth to chamomile tea, summer at the seaside and facebook, that who developed hair gel - even better if it smells like cookies -, flared jeans, fragolino wine and focaccia, and even the one who created Snoopy, the bicycle, the toaster and the sky full of stars.
But we digress. Or maybe not, who knows, I like to think that everything is held together by the same thread, a shaggy cord full of knots, powered by candies, raspberries, and popcorn, that passing by Plato with his pint of beer, and through Calvin & Hobbes, Amélie Poulain and Lucio Battisti, has resisted time, the whims and storms of the mind without ever breaking at all, and has surprisingly led me in front of this cake, super chocolaty, very elegant and total black, to put it as he does.



GUINNESS?? CHOCOLATE?? CAKE?? Have I heard it right? Three of the things that make life worth living, joined together in a soft and spongy hug. Impossible not to be seduced. Impossible not to capitulate.
And therefore, when they virtually suggested me the same warm, tender, and fragrant hug in veganlove version, as a gesture of love towards myself, as a tribute to a dusty 50mm lens and a trunk full of mismatched bowls and crumpled rags, but also as an act of trust for this crazy little blog and this crazy little world, I jumped at the chance without thinking about it too much.
And just like a cochobeersugar boomerang, after adjusting, sanding and repainting it my way, I throw you the same hug full of love and hope, on top of an ideal off-white vintage tray.
Call it what you will, delusions of a romantic foodblogger, sweet paranoia of a mid-autumn night, special effects of one Guinness too many, but if that same thread, passing through some semi-secret door, managed to get to you, I recommend you capitulate with me, grab this boomerang and share a slice, before re-launching it through space as it should be.
Because it was certainly a wise man or woman who invented beer, but even more so the one who dared mixing it with chocolate.
To say nothing of the one who one day tried adding some tofu...
w.v.<3





Vegan Guinness Chocolate Cake
for a 9" diameter springform pan

flour 250 gr
unsweetened cocoa powder 100 gr
sugar 300 gr
baking soda 2 teaspoons
baking powder 1/2 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
guinness extra stout 450ml
sunflower seed oil 100 gr
vanilla extract 2 teaspoons
silken tofu 125 gr

For the chocolate frosting
semisweet chocolate 170 gr
coconut milk 120 ml

In a large bowl, sift flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add sugar, stir and set aside. In another bowl whisk together oil, vanilla extract, beer and tofu (yesyesyes, you've read that right, oil+Guinness+tofu, it sounds like Star Trek disguised as Grandma Duck, but trust me, it'll all work out that way...) until the mixture is smooth and without any lump. Gradually add the flour&cocoa mixture and stir until well blended. Pour batter into a springform pan previously greased with oil, and bake at 350 for about an hour. Let the cake cool on a rack.
Meanwhile, prepare the frosting. Finely chop the chocolate and place it in a bowl. Heat coconut milk over medium-high heat and bring it to a boil, stirring occasionally to prevent it from sticking. Pour boiling milk over the chocolate, so that it completely covers it. Allow to sit for about 5 minutes before mixing it to yield a smooth glaze. Let it cool down for about 30 or 40 minutes until it thickens and becomes spreadable (if it's not thick enough, add one teaspoon of corn starch and stir well). At this point, beat the frosting with an electric mixer so that it incorporates air and feels lighter. Gently spread it on top of the cooled cake and serve.
Cheers!

Fudgy Wudgy Raspberry Brownies

Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.
~ Joanne Harris, Chocolat


It happens sometimes, that you run into a special encounter. You're standing there looking up in the air, lost through the tortuous streets of your heart, busy imagining the sky, to the extent that at times you almost feel as if you've lost the thread of your skein. Then one day, one day like any other, with the sun, the fog and perhaps a hint of rain, you find yourself in the middle of an intersection, and still gazing into the clouds, you unconsciously make a left turn. And it's right there, at the end of the curve, half by chance and half for fun, that it hits you.
It's someone like you, half a soul mate with his own tangled skein, wwandering and looking up in the air, and clinging to your same ghosts, trying not to lose the thread. In that moment, under the tenderness of a random encounter in the rain, you understand why you had to make a turn at that intersection, why right that path, why those reflections in the mirrors have led you up to that point. Suddenly, exchanging umbrellas, your wandering starts making sense, and indeed the reason why for a long time you've ran around in a circle seems quite obvious, and so do all those curves, and those distractions, and the hills with no top, and the ways down into the night. The map of the labyrinth inside you starts getting a little clearer, and the countless times you've argued with whoever it was who drew it in you, slip away from memory.
Without thinking too much, and with eyes still at the clouds, you feel that the only thing you're required to do is stretch your heart, hide your clutter a little bit, and make room for those like you who sometimes get tangled under the rain. It's at the end of the curve, and thanks to that unexpected encounter, that you decide to sit down for a moment, take a breath, and put off for a day the checklist of things. It's an afternoon like any other, with the sun, the fog and perhaps a hint of rain, the day when you exchange your threads, and organize an unlikely picnic by swapping a slice of cake and some toasted bread with jam.
And then, when you start your ride again, you feel lighter, as if by magic, because you know that the skein is now a little less tangled.

These bittersweet brownies, full of cracks but guilt-free, these soft, red and graciously imperfect brownies are the result of an encounter in the rain. I dedicate them to all those special people who suddenly happen to fall into your hands, and who unwittingly light your way.





Fudgy Wudgy Raspberry Brownies*
for a 9x13" baking pan

semisweet chocolate chips 120 gr + 65 gr
raspberry fruit spread 280 gr
soy milk 50 gr
unrefined sugar 150 gr
vegetable oil 75 gr
flour 250 gr
unsweetened cocoa powder 25 gr
almond extract 1/2 teaspoon
pure vanilla extract 2 teaspoons
baking powder 1/4 teaspoon
baking soda 1/2 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
fresh raspberries 150 gr

In a double boiler melt 120 grams of chocolate chips, and let cool. In a large bowl, combine the raspberry fruit spread with soy milk, sugar, oil and extracts. Beat with the mixer for few minutes until the mixture is smooth and without any lump. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt, and add them by hand to the previous mixture. Stir well and then add the melted chocolate, the remaining chocolate chips and the fresh raspberries. The batter will be quite thick.
Spread it in the pan previously greased with oil and dusted with flour, and level it with a spatula. You don't need to spread it to the very corners of the pan, because the batter will expand while baking and everything will be OK. No worries.
Bake at 325 for 45 minutes. For once forget the toothpick test, because brownies are moist and the toothpick would betray you. Just trust the smell coming out of the oven...
Let them cool off, then cut the brownies into squares, have a bite and scream out loud:

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT IS VEGAN!


*I adapted the recipe from Veganomicon, slightly adjusting the amount of chocolate and flour. This is my latest craze, which - I fear - one day I'll have to explain. But for now, just take them as they are, these crazy, reddish, guilt-free brownies.
With vegan love.


All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.
~ Charles M. Schulz

Lemon Olive-Oil Cake

...I'm back to my world
And we're back to being friends
Wait and see me,
Tonight let's do this thing...
(Dave Matthews Band, Say Goodbye)

Yes I'm back to my world. For one day, for one night, or who knows. Because there's nothing to do, despite the laziness, the hot weather, the cold weather, the tiny kitchen, the empty fridge, despite vacations, work, the ticking of time, the sleepless nights, love that comes and go, removals, birthdays, Christmas and mid-summer holidays, despite the road trips - with an RV or a sidecar -, new boots and vintage shopping, licorice candies, sunglasses, bathing suits and cowboy hats, that happy moment always comes, when you decide to bake yet another cake. And maybe it's one of those simple and reasonable cakes, those who ask nothing but surprise you with their supersoft deliciousness. And they make you think you are inside a slice of peace.
So tonight let's do this thing, and tomorrow... who knows.

Lemon Olive-Oil Cake
for a springform pan of 9" diameter

flour 250 gr
sugar 150 gr
eggs 4
lemons 2
extra virgin olive oil 180 ml
baking powder 7 gr
buttermilk 100 gr
salt a pinch

Grate the zest of the lemons and mix it with flour and baking powder. Whisk the egg yolks with 100 grams of sugar until the mixture is thick and pale, then add juice of one lemon, olive oil and buttermilk, and beat. Gradually add the flour mixture and stir until the batter is combined.
In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites with a pinch of salt, then add 50 grams of sugar and keep beating until stiff. Gently mix the egg whites into the rest of the batter, folding them in from top to bottom, taking care not to deflate them.
Transfer batter into a springform pan greased with oil and lined with parchment paper at the bottom. Sprinkle the surface with a tablespoon of sugar and bake at 350 for about 45 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let the cake cool off in the pan, then remove the parchment paper and transfer it to a serving plate.