The Uglier the Better

We have a birthday cake in our family that defies all logic. It's called the Hawaiian Lady – a recipe handed

down by my maternal grandmother Irene – and using my finely tuned math skills I'd estimate that it has graced at least 250 birthday celebrations. It's chocolate, it's sweet, and it's ugly. The uglier the better is the way I look at it. Most of my other family members who bake it manage to make it look pretty good. But my version is a misshapen jewel in a bad prom dress and I couldn't be more proud.

The original recipe for Hawaiian Lady is written in Irene's signature style: no spelling out how the ingredients should be assembled, sometimes no quantities at all. A teaspoon of baking soda dissolved in milk is just that. You just use the logical amount of milk. The dry ingredients go together and then you blend them into the wet. Oh. And add a dash of vanilla. 350. How long?! Until it's done.

Works for me. Even if it doesn't look like it. 

Even in the exact science of baking, whose masters I revere, I've had some incredible success stories. Like the lemon coconut cupcakes that were in the oven before I realized I'd forgotten the coconut and was stuffing the flakes into the heating, congealing dough. Turned out just fine. Or the Peach/Raspberry scones that had been all shaped and in the oven for about five minutes when I saw the small pyrex bowl of baking powder sitting on the counter. Opened the oven, eyeballed the ratios and worked it in. They were delicious. Or the cheese souffle that I decided didn't have enough butter and cheese around the rim as it started to rise. Light, fluffy and divine.

Imperfection is a virtue. Improvisation is a joy. And I'm with Irene. You really do know how to do it. Get in there and fly.

Cooking Single-Handed: Adventures in the Kitchen

With the depressing demise of Gourmet, there's been a great deal of chatter about the plebes vs. the patricians among the cooking classes. 

I happen to be a lot of both.

There are plenty of take-out curry nights around our house, but there are also nights to be remembered: chicken cacciatore (my husband's favorite), onion frittata, lamb chops, pesto, ratatouille with spring vegetables, skirt steak, pork chops, baby potatoes roasted until they taste like candy...I could go on but there's plenty of food porn out there already.

Still, I've been thinking. As the food lovers'  world continues to shift, maybe there's an opening for me to fulfill my longtime dream of having a one-handed cooking show.

I was born with one hand and wore a prosthesis until I was 35. The thing was amazing in the kitchen. It had a hook on the end and I could use it for all sorts of cooking-related activities: plunge it in pasta water and stir; shake the roasting pan around pot-holder-free; grab hot potatoes and toss them on the counter; flip a chop on the barbecue with built-in tongs.

I do miss it sometimes, but I took it off one day and have been adapting my kitchen practices quite enthusiastically ever since. There are a lot of advantages to having one hand in the kitchen. You don't have to do the knuckle thing when you chop (what more could go wrong?!); a totally accessible elbow is perfect for pounding and rolling dough; pizza tossing is a breeze; sweeping cutting surfaces couldn't be easier.  I've never met a chicken I couldn't carve, a cake I couldn't frost (actually, that's debatable) or a lattice pie crust I couldn't thread.

It's not about the challenge. It's truly about the joy (of cooking). I'd like to share the wealth. Next up: Hawaiian Lady Chocolate Cake. The Uglier the Betty-er.