Couple of Crumbs

Hi! Welcome to our little blog, run by two old friends who just want to have a place to write... anything we please. Thanks for stopping by!

Funfetti is trying to defy the evils of writer's block one project at a time.

Red Velvet is a quirky little cupcake trying to channel her inner writer.

Summer Break

I know, I know… I should have written this ages ago. Now that I’ve actually had to wear tights and a jacket to work I guess it’s really truly over. You know one of the best things about having your own blog is being able to stretch the summer season for another two weeks. (Yay!) Call it denial or you can call it luck. Luck because we had the luxury of having more guest posts for our summer series than weeks of summer. How awesome is that?

We want to take this moment to thank our wonderful, fabulous, talented guest bloggers who took the time to write a little something for our blog. (Fun fact: we had 19 writers joining Funfetti & Red Velvet this summer.) We are so proud that our entries were just as diverse as those who wrote them.

Here’s a little rundown of all the excitement:

We really cannot expect how appreciative we are to all those who contributed to our summer series! Thank you thank you thank you thank you! Thanks also to those of you who have tuned in to read every week!

While this isn’t goodbye, we cupcakes are going to take a little bit of a coffee break around these parts. Things are still pretty busy in real life, and we are looking to revamp COC entirely. We hope you will join us when we officially reopen in a few weeks!

We also want to wish a belated congratulations to our guest cupcake Lemon Drop who just welcomed a baby girl into her family. Congrats to all of you!

To keep up with us as we are creating a fun new COC, please be sure to LIKE us on Facebook & follow our Twitter account!

Talk to you soon!

Summer Lovin’: Culture Shocked

By: Red Velvet

Like many, many other people (including our very own guest bloggers), I too vacationed in London and Paris this summer (does September still count as summer?).  I could go on and on about how beautiful both cities were, particularly Paris.  How the sight of the Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky took my breath away, how I marveled at the architecture of St. Paul’s Cathedral and Notre Dame, how excited I was to see the Shakespeare and Company book store from my favorite movie, Before Sunset.  I mean the list of things to rave about when it comes to Europe is endless.  There’s just so much to see and do.  No matter how many days you spend there (in my case, it was 10 days with one of my BFFs, Giggles), it never feels like enough.  So instead, I’m going to talk about what I experienced during my first trip outside the US - which was a whole lot of culture shock.

I haven’t travelled much but even I know you’re bound to notice differences between your home town and your vacation spot.  The weather, people, atmosphere, the prices.  Everything! And going to London and Paris was no exception.  
 
London, surprisingly enough, felt a lot like New York.  It was trendy and metropolitan but it felt more cultured and artsy, cleaner and people were a lot nicer.  We had more than one person gladly offer us help without us asking (whether it was directions or dragging a suitcase up a flight of stairs).  We took “the tube” (their subway) every day and I am proud to say that I successfully navigated us around.  I really felt at home in London.  During one of our day trips to the town of Bath, we were aimlessly walking around while eating our British pasties when I told her - you know, I could see myself living here.  I wouldn’t mind taking the tube to work every day and shopping at stores like Harrod’s and Topshop.  I just needed to remember little things - that people call buses coaches, chips are french fries and the loo refers to the bathroom.  Easy enough! (This is all mindless rambling by the way, I doubt I’d ever make that drastic of a move although I like to daydream about it.)
 
 
(At the Roman Baths.  And I promise, this is not the spot where I told Giggles that I could see myself living in London.)   

Paris, on the other hand, was a whole other beast (and I do mean that nicely).  Right off the bat, I fell in love with its beauty.  The architecture, the history you see at every corner and of course, the Eiffel Tower.  The whole time I was in Paris, I loved being able to see the Eiffel Tower, whether it was during the day or lit up at night.  It’s truly a sight to behold.  But I had a lot to learn about Parisian culture.  For one thing, they don’t like when you speak to them in English (and they really are a bit grumpy).  So despite my 8+ years of studying Spanish, I attempted to speak French by learning three important phrases: bon jour (good day), merci (thank you) and parlez-vous anglais (do you speak English).  It didn’t get me far but hey, at least I tried!


(My first up-close view of the Eiffel Tower.  Imagine getting off a bus and seeing this.  So amazing!)

Like London, I successfully navigated us around the city but it wasn’t always easy (since the Paris Metro is kind of a mess).  Plus, did you know that if you want to get on or off the subway, you have to open the door yourself? It doesn’t do it automatically! If not for another passenger getting off at our same stop, we probably would’ve just stood there (in panic).  They also don’t believe in coffee-to-go.  One morning, we must have stopped at 5 different cafes and they all said no (you can imagine my shock and teeny tiny bit of heartbreak).  Everywhere I turned, I saw people sitting outside of restaurants, leisurely drinking their coffee and wine.  If only we had more time, I would’ve loved to do the same.  Just observing the culture around me and how these people lived there made me want to ride a bike or sit along the River Seine while eating a baguette.  Everyone seemed so relaxed with none of that constant on-the-go vibe you get from New Yorkers.  It was so refreshing.  


(The River Seine, near Notre Dame.  See the people along the edge? I wanted to sit there and join them.. imagine that I did this every day too.)

Now it’s back to the real world and I’m going through Europe withdrawal.  In a way, I think that’s why I’ve been having a hard time finishing this entry - I don’t want to stop talking about it yet! It was exactly the kind of experience I wanted for myself this year and while my bank account may hate me now, I’m glad I finally did this.  

I can’t wait for my next adventure!

* * *

Culture Shocked is part of our Summer Series.

Summer Lovin’: Every Decision You Make is the Right One.

Chocolate Chip is a recent recipient of her Master’s degree in Library Science. She loves to read more than anything else, but she also cooks like crazy when she has the extra income. CC is also the proud owner of two of the laziest Jack Russell terriers in existence. She promises to start her own blog someday soon!

The girls and guests of COC have dedicated their blog posts to the stories of summer. Now that Labor Day has come and gone, school is on the minds of thousands of people across the country. If you are not returning to school (or assisting someone who is), you are undoubtedly reliving the bevy of emotions that follow the start of a new school year. The slightly rubbery smell that wooshed from your new backpack as you opened it for the first time brought both anxiety and excitement. This year, you will be organized; you will keep your folders in order, placing returned tests in the left pocket and worksheets on the right. You will attend every, yes, EVERY after school meeting of the Rotary Club, no matter how badly you wanted to go home to a microwave pizza and some Maury Povich. You will save time in the morning by planning your outfits the night before, laying them out on your bed so it appeared as if Flat Stanley had stopped by for a nap. Every September, you made a conscientious decision to be better than the year before, to rule the school in your own special way.
 
Still, it took more than just a school year resolution to quell the anxieties that stirred when the bus rounded the corner to pick you up for the first day of school. From a young age, we are taught that every decision we make has consequences. How can you ever be sure that the decisions you make are the right ones?
 
I pondered this question as I crossed over the Throgs Neck Bridge on my way from my parents’ house on Long Island to graduate school in Northeast Ohio. I looked to my left and said a silent goodbye to Manhattan, the city that I always assumed would show me my life’s purpose.

For many young adults, living and working in the nearest big city is a sign of success. Being born and bred on Long Island, I always assumed that New York City would become my new home. So, when it was time to research graduate schools, my first stop was Manhattan. I was slightly familiar with the lights that lie beyond Times Square; I had completed some undergraduate coursework there while living in a dorm in the Financial District. I believed that New York had everything to offer; I would have access to the best internships and the most successful people in their fields. I was meant to be there.

Of course, after the romantic fog of trendy suits and power lunches cleared, I realized that my pocketbook would not allow me to stay. I needed to attend school in a place where I could afford to feed myself, so I began to look at life in less expensive states.

That’s why, eight hours after waving goodbye to Manhattan, I was standing amongst a pile of unpacked boxes in my studio apartment in Ohio. I didn’t understand what I was doing there; my brain felt fuzzy, like it was mired in static.

As a child, I regularly visited my mother’s brother and his family in their home about an hour east of Columbus. After we took turns saying coffee and hot dog and laughing hysterically at our different accents, we would listen to horror stories about life in their scenic little town. As one of the only Jewish families in the neighborhood, they were often disgusted by uncondemned incidents of blatant racism, sexism and anti-Semitism. In 2008, my aunt seethed as she recounted an incident where a high school teacher changed his ring tone to The Jeffersons’ theme song, then told everyone within earshot that it was going to become our new national anthem. After stories like this one, I breathed a sigh of relief upon returning to New York; I would feel safe in a town where bigotry was expressed in whispers behind closed doors instead of through raucous laughter in a high school.

And yet,  here I was, passing a church kiosk that blared, “Keep America a Christian Nation.” Here I was, listening to a magazine salesman tell me that the expensive price for a subscription was “so Jewish,” a noncommittal grin plastered on my face because I am too afraid to slam the door.

Life was not supposed to lead me to the Midwest. Had I taken enough time to really think about how much I would miss while living in the middle of nowhere? If Manhattan was where I wanted to start a career, why wasn’t I there? What had I done?

I felt tears cloud my eyes when I found a Mets game on a syndicated television channel. I called my mom to tell her about my latest recurring dream; I am back in her apartment in New York, throwing myself around the room and hysterically crying because I have to return to school. After recounting this emotional dream that left me dragging the next morning, she would respond in an infuriating tone that I would eventually make friends, find a job, and enjoy life in a new setting.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘wrong’ decision, and there’s no such thing as a ‘right’ one. You just make decisions and then keep on going.”

Like most cherished mentors, my mother is a real-life version of Dumbledore; she gives me frustrating advice that does not satiate my immediate emotional state, but its meaning becomes evident as time passes. Eventually, I settled into life in Ohio. I got a job in a small library, gaining valuable experience without having to fight to the death with other job candidates. I used my income to explore my new home. I ate at fantastic independently-owned restaurants, and during the summer, I talked to local agriculturalists and artisans at the farmer’s market every weekend. I also hiked a lot, which helped compensate for my heavy caloric intake. My college was close to a national park, so I took my dogs there at least once a week. We hiked through the hilly forest, stopping at a deep ravine to listen to the peaceful sound of silence, something that I had never experienced in the heavy noise pollution of Long Island.

I learned that the Midwest is not all white sheets and banjos. I discovered positive qualities of living outside of New York. I enjoyed how people acknowledged the presence of other sentient beings in public spaces. While working in Akron, I passed the same bus stop every day on my walk to my car, and I always greeted the woman who waited there. Even though we knew nothing about each other, we always greeted each other with a smile. One day, she even complimented my new short haircut. “Very flattering!” she exclaimed.

More importantly, I made friends with various Ohioans of different ages, races and sexual orientations. Most of them hailed from various parts of the state, and we regularly explored the empty back roads and crowded city streets to which they were accustomed. One night, as I sat on my friend’s back porch in southern Ohio, sipping a glass of wine and admiring the depth of a starry sky without light pollution, I realized that my mother had been right all along. Not only did I build a life for myself in Ohio; I thrived in my new environment. My decision to live in Ohio helped me trounce my own prejudices and gain valuable work experience. It showed me that life outside of New York could be both peaceful and enjoyable.

Two months ago, I left my life in Ohio, drove past Manhattan, and settled in Portland, Maine. In this industrialized city, I find myself missing the quiet creak of crickets outside my apartment. As fall approaches, I find myself missing the apple orchards of my former home. I want to sit outside and drink apple cider underneath a warm blanket, feeling comforted by the gentle bump of a friend’s leg against mine.

Life here feels gray and unmoving.

I called my mom and felt myself tear up. “I left my job, my friends, everything,” I sobbed. “What was I thinking? I made the wrong decision.”

Through the tears, I know that I will soon take tentative steps onto the concrete. I will organize my folder: brochures on the left, bus schedules on the right. I will lay my clothes out the night before, grab my new backpack and set off in this new city.

* * *

Every Decision You Make is the Right One is part of our Summer Series.

Summer Lovin’: A Birthday (Cheese) Cake

Eatinist Bitch hails from Queens, NY and loves food almost as much as she likes to talk. She’s been blogging since Summer 2010, and is currently interning for Robicelli’s Cupcakes in Brooklyn, NY. Check out her blog and like her on Facebook to get recipes, reviews, and other tasty nibbles. Also be sure to read her first entry in the Summer Series: Little Ghost Girl.

My good friend,Tana (aka Eatinist 2), has had a hand in making my birthday cake/dessert for the past two years (Guinness chocolate cake w/Baileys frosting and chocolate strawberry ricotta tart), so I knew that when she requested a cake from me, I had to step up my game. She has an affinity for anything key lime, so I knew a cheesecake would be perfect…but how to jazz it up? 

I did a little research online, and found a pretty basic lime cheesecake recipe. I did some tweaking, and as I was tasting the batter, I knew I had stumbled upon something extra delicious. Follow along! 

Instead of using graham crackers for the crust, I used these:

These speculoos (Belgian spice) cookies are amazing. I had them for the first time on a flight to Georgia — a pack of them were included with my in flight snack. Crispy and just a little bit spicy, they go great with coffee and tea. They’re kind of similar to gingerbread, and I knew the gingery kick would compliment the lime perfectly. The recipe called for a 1 1/2 cup of crumbs, and I upped it to 2 because I was using a rectangular pan. Didn’t want to run the risk of not having enough to cover the bottom of it… and I really like a thick crust on cheesecakes.

Pulse until you have coarse crumbs. If you don’t have a food processor, put the cookies in a large, heavy duty zip top bag, close it up, and either crush the cookies with your hands or use a rolling pin. 

Combine the crumbs with 2 tablespoons of sugar, and 3/4 of a stick of melted butter…

and press them in a greased 13 x 9 metal pan. Now we’re gonna blind bake (bake with no filling) the crust in a preheated 375 degree oven so that the crust sets and gets golden brown. If you skipped this step the crust would fall apart when you cut into the cheesecake! This takes 5-8 minutes, so don’t walk away from the oven. Set the crust aside to cool while you work on the filling. 

Since there were no more key limes at my supermarket, I was cruelly forced to use the regular kind. I zested 4 limes, which came up to a tablespoon of fragrant green zest, and the juice from them yielded about a 1/3 of a cup of liquid.

Take 3 - 8oz packages of softened cream cheese with 3/4 cup of sugar, and use either the paddle attachment on a stand mixer (like on my brand new Kitchen Aid, swoon!) or hand mixer/strong arm to whip it up til it’s fluffy. 

Instead of using sour cream, I subbed with Greek yogurt, which I adore. It’s a little less tangy than the sour cream, but it still adds a silken texture and lightness. I prefer the Fage brand, b/c it doesn’t have additives, just the milk and yogurt cultures. I used 1 cup, and also threw in 3 tablespoons of flour. More mixing ensued. 

Next up, 4 eggs, added in one a a time. Mix completely before you add the next egg, please! 

A teaspoon of vanilla extract, the lime juice, a pinch of salt, and the zest, finishes your filling. Mix until it’s blended, and when the taste of it makes your heart go pitter-pat, you know you have it right. 

Pour that voluptuous mixture into the pan and smooth it evenly over the crust. Doesn’t this look insane already?

Now, what I want you to do next may sound a little weird…maybe unorthodox. But trust in me! This is the secret to smooth, delicious cheesecake that isn’t dry and doesn’t crack on the surface. Get another pan that is the same shape that is a little larger than the cheesecake pan (a roasting pan works well). Nest the cheesecake inside. Take some hot tap water and fill up the roasting pan about half way, so the water comes up the side of the cheesecake pan. I do this on the oven’s rack or on the open oven door, so I don’t risk spilling hot water all over myself carrying the pan to the oven. 

This little technique is called a bain marie (water bath). The hot water allows the cheesecake to cook slowly and evenly, which gives you a great texture with no dry bits and no cracks! Get your cheesecake in the oven and bake it at 375 for 15 minutes, then drop the temperature to 250 and bake for another 50.

You’ll know it’s finished when the cake is only slightly jiggly, and the surface is firm. Let it cool completely on a wire rack, then throw some plastic wrap on it so you can put it in the fridge to chill overnight (or 4-6 hours works too, if you make this early enough in the day). 

Why, hello there, you smooth and creamy thing, you. 

This cheesecake has everything going for it. It’s light, fluffy, zingy and sweet: all of the tastes that remind me of how fleeting summer is. 

And Tana’s face when she took her first bite? Well, I think she definitely had a happy birthday.

* * *

A Birthday (Cheese) Cake is part of our Summer Series.

Summer Lovin’: Family Vacation – All Grown Up, Times Two, & Figuring Out What To Do

Snackcake is a young woman in the midst of a great adventure. Snackcake lives with her wonderful husband in the Middle East, where she is now attending business school, playing house, exploring her surroundings, and trying to keep from melting in her toasty environment. Her motto: “unwrap a smile!”

Mr. Snackcake and I recently returned from a 10-day getaway to London and Paris.  While I had never really seen London and had always dreamed of visiting Paris, the locations were actually entirely secondary with this vacation. The trip was born out of the serendipitously overlapping European vacation schedules of my parents and my in-laws, who had independently made plans to visit London and Paris respectively, and who very much wanted to see my husband and I. Them coming to us during the month of Ramadan wouldn’t have made sense (lots of stuff closes and no food or drink is allowed in public during the day), and we were eager to escape the humid 120-degree weather, so tagging along on our families’ vacations was the perfect solution.

Early in the morning after my last final exam of the semester, we flew to London to spend 5 days with my parents before taking the train to Paris for 5 days with my parents-in-law, sister-in-law, and her husband. Like previous blogger and London/Paris tourist Fight the Future, I saw a whirlwind of sights in both locations, keeping busy and expanding my horizons by experiencing new things.

In London we took comprehensive walking tours, bus tours, and boat tours with amazing live guides. We saw Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, went on the London Eye, explored Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, spent hours strolling around the Thames, traipsed through the markets of Notting Hill, and sat in several lovely pubs having quality family chats over delicious meat pies, fish ‘n chips, and ales.

 (London Eye… amazing views from here)

In Paris we followed maps and each other by foot around charming neighborhood after charming neighborhood, and people-watched from cute café after creperie after café. We took in the flavor of the city, seeing “the real Paris”, enjoying the yummiest treats, and soaking in the fabulous Parisian fashion and building styles. In the process we saw lots of famous sights – the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, La Conciergerie, Amelie’s café, the Moulin Rouge, etc. – and the wandering was supplemented by bus and boat tours (in the stereotypically disaffected French way rather than the enthusiastic British style, of course, but this only added to the experience!).

(Eiffel Tower!!!)

(Moulin Rouge… oohlala! We stayed nearby)

To be completely honest though, I’m not much for sightseeing in and of itself. My museum/monument/history attention span tends to be about 15 minutes! And with preparations for final exams taking over the weeks leading up to the trip, I hadn’t mapped out much of anything specific that I was dying to do in either location. Nonetheless, it worked out. Thanks to our families’ advanced planning, even I, the non-sightseer, had fun seeing sights.

But as great as London and Paris were, visiting with our families was much more the focus of the trip. Sightseeing served as the activity in the background, but sharing the experience and spending time with each other was the point of the trip. My sister-in-law is very pregnant at the moment, and getting to visit with her and her husband during that time and share the excitement was particularly special. Plus, during the course of the week we were able to celebrate my sister-in-law’s birthday, my birthday, and my dad’s 60th birthday.

However, while I’m being honest, the trip wasn’t entirely what I expected either. Asked how the trip was, my kneejerk reaction would be to say “great!” in much the same way that I’d answer “how are you?” with some variation on “good” whether I’d just won the lottery or fallen gravely ill. And in this case, “great” would be a pretty accurate description of the vacation for all the aforementioned reasons. But it also skims over all of the challenges of participating in family vacations as an adult. For whatever reason, I hadn’t stopped to consider these dynamics in any kind of depth in advance of the trip, and found myself caught off guard.

Reflecting on childhood family vacations, inevitably after a certain number of hours of togetherness, one or more people would get fed up with the sharing of close quarters, lack of control over the course of events, or just with each other. A squabble would ensue, be resolved, and everyone would calm down, apologize, and move on. Unpleasant and imperfect as this system may have been, it always allowed me as a kid to release frustration and feel better. I never thought twice about being a nudge. As far as I was concerned, that was my job. I’d pick fights with my brother and make “Are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet?” the soundtrack of long car rides, much to my parents’ chagrin, purely for my own entertainment. Looking back on it, I was mostly just being a brat! But my parents had the patience of saints and it made so many family vacations tolerable and fun for me.

s an adult, I like to think that I’m slightly less of a brat. I have less of a sense of entitlement when it comes to being selfish and making those around me miserable, even if they are family members who will love me no matter what. I still feel 100% at home with my family, no matter where we are, and am comfortable voicing preferences and displaying annoyance, but gone are the days when I could throw guilt-free temper tantrums and gripe openly about what my family is doing to embarrass me and what I’d rather be doing. This sense of responsibility to behave like a grown-up throughout the course of the trip proved to some extent to be an exercise in patience with my own family, but doubly so with my in-laws – though by no fault of their own!

o matter how wonderful they are (and they are wonderful), and no matter how much I consider them to be family (and I do), I think I’ll always walk on eggshells a bit more with them. I’ve always gotten the impression that he was a far better behaved child than I in most regards, and that the type of button-pushing I inflicted upon my parents growing up is not something he ever would have dreamed of pulling on his. So it is that, as an adult, Mr. Snackcake is still extremely accommodating – with everyone, including his family. This is a lovable quality about him, and I usually benefit from it more than anyone, but not in the case of the family vacation. After all, if he wouldn’t complain about anything to his own family, how could I? And so I felt the need to be even less imposing and became somewhat of an indecisive mute whenever any type of decision-making arose – whether I felt strongly about things or not. When it came to my own personal needs, I tried to communicate them via Mr. Snackcake through surreptitious glares or sharp elbow jabs to the ribs. Though poor Mr. Snackcake informed me time and again that try as he might he does not speak fluent mute glare, he displayed endless patience for my grown-up shenanigans.

We learned that on future family vacations, it will be worthwhile for us to play a more active role in setting agendas, booking comfortable places to stay, and making sure we’ve slept enough so as not to be exhausted upon arrival. More importantly though, I learned that grown-up family vacations are all about compromise. Everyone always wants everyone else to be happy, and while such efforts are admirable and good, sometimes the attempts to please everyone result in pleasing no one. Which is okay! In such settings I need to either find a calm voice and use it (as an alternative to the frustrated silent sulk I adopted throughout this trip or the familiar tantrums of yesteryear) or simply relinquish control, accept things as they come, and enjoy everything I can of the sights and the people.  

And now that I’m done ranting about the challenges of taking family trips without being able to whine like a child, I ought to mention that there were also plenty of perks to vacationing with our families as adults. Regardless of how little we took advantage of it, we did have a say in what we were going to do, and our opinions were weighted equally with the rest of the grown-ups. Also, having your own money goes a long way. While out and about, if we wanted a treat or souvenir, we could buy it on the spot rather than having to beg the parents. Paying our own way also meant that we could choose our accommodations. In London we sprung for a nice view in the hotel… because we could! In Paris, we ventured off into the city for several hours of alone time on my birthday… because we could! The freedom of adulthood is awesome, and while it can make the return to slow-to-evolve family dynamics a shock to the system, it also alleviates them to some extent.

While there are plenty of things I’d do differently if I could go back in time and repeat this trip, I miss both of our families already and would do it over again in a heartbeat, hands down. Above all, the opportunity to spend extended time with our loved ones was irreplaceable and is something that comes along far too infrequently these days. Someday I’m sure I’ll return to Paris on a romantic getaway with Mr. Snackcake, and I can only hope to vacation with both of our families again and again in the years to come. I’m a firm believer that in all things, practice makes perfect, and I think that learning how to travel with our families as adults is a skill we’re new to developing but which can be fine-tuned with each trip to set us up for family adventures that become smoother and smoother for us all in the future.

In the meantime, I’m pretty darn lucky in terms of the day-to-day life to which I’ve returned. With classes on break for the next several weeks, I’ve quite literally come home to a vacation from vacation. And being back home, despite finally having free reign to throw as many temper tantrums as my grown-up heart desires… I really can’t complain!

* * *

Family Vacation – All Grown Up, Times Two, & Figuring Out What To Do is part of our Summer Series.