The Man's Spectacular Birthday Weekend, Chapter One: "Saturday"

Dirtbunny does a lot of things very well, but most of her skills are unappreciated and/or obscure.  In particular, I've learned that if someone gets used to being fed very very well, they will at some point start to have expectations or even make demands.  I almost always make The Man a birthday cake, for example.  In past years, I've asked him what type he wants and he either pretends he hasn't heard me or shrugs and says Idunno.  One year he requested a lemon cake that he grew up with so I did that.  The ingredients featured two boxes of lemon yellow Jello and a box of cake mix and I'm pretty sure the recipe I obtained was, umm, inexact, because baking it in a springform cake pan led to a woefully undercooked and runny center.  I'm almost certain this thing was supposed to be baked in a Bundt pan. Anyway, it turned out pretty gross and he has lost his enthusiasm for cakes whose major ingredients come prefab from a box.




This year, he made a specific request.  He wanted a coconut layer cake.  Fortunately, it can be made quite conveniently in the Cuisinart, because Mr. Kitchen Aid mixer is dead.  (I saw the new bigger model in the sex food toy shop and the answer is no, my doodads and pieces parts will not fit a new, beefed up mixer.  Alas.)  Well, actually, the buttercream really wants a stand mixer and not this piece of crap

but this piece of crap is all there is.  Coconut layer cake has a half-pound of coconut, nine eggs, and pound and a half of butter, and almost a whole can of coconut cream.  The frosting is a big production, but more on that later.

So anyway, I considered my options and laid out my plan, realizing that I would be way too tired to bake a cake on Sunday so we can eat it during the Lost finale like he wants.  And this is how the day went:

Breakfast:  French toast, extra-greasy, while watching Giro D'Italia.

Next, plan menus and make shopping list.  Go over shopping list with The Man.  I want a particular type of granola bars, but even though I wrote down "Cascadian Farms Organic Crunchy Granola Bars Almond Butter flavor" he needed more information, so I got down the box and showed him and then he was off to the store.  Clarabelle was screeching about it, but I didn't mind because it got him out of my hair for a while.

Next:  Tonight's menu was mexican, so I decided to make a flan, which is really just a creme caramel, and so I had to make a caramel.  This is really not such a big deal.  I've done a dozen times before and never had a problem.  Boil sugar and water until it turns brown.  See?  But did I really need a whole batch?  One cup of sugar is kind of a lot for what amounts to a garnish on a dessert that already has plenty of sugar.  So I made half a batch and this is what happened:

Not enough to coat the bottoms of my ramekins.  Problem.  So I made more, only this time, instead of caramel, I got this:

It crystallized.  Saint Julia warned me about this but it had never happened to me before so I thought I was immune and cut corners.  Well, I had to have more caramel because the custard was going to stick and/or not have an even coating of sauce.  So I thought back to what I read in the sacred text (I remembered it without looking it up  nyah nyah nyah) and I tried again.  Full batch this time, and I boiled it down with the cover on so the steam would condense and run down the sides of the pan and help prevent crystals from forming.  And it was a resounding success because Julia never lets me down:

So the new batch didn't exactly match the old batch.  I thought it over and decided I was not going to make a fourth batch of caramel.

And then I made Madeleines, because The Man loves Madeleines.  And I made guacamole.  And I made the custard and poured it into the ramekins and put the ramekins in a water bath and slipped them into the oven.  I say slipped, but it was more or a slow motion heave.  A gigantic ceramic backing dish half full of water is pretty damn heavy.

And then The Man arrived home.  Did you know that he figured out all by himself that we were running low of dog food so he got some even though it wasn't on the list?  I was so proud. 

And so I unpacked the groceries and The Man scrubbed the potatoes and I sliced them and boiled them and made a potato salad.  And then I started trimming the green beans, but they were spotted and brown and a little mushy and about a hour away from showing mold.  Yuck, sez I, and then we have a teaching moment.  Well, how do I know if they're good or bad, asks The Man.  The answer is:  If they look delicious,m if they look like something you would happily eat, then they're good.  If they look kinda icky, then they aren't.  We tossed the offending beans and I retrieved a bag o' frozen beans and cooked 'em. 

And then I put together an enchilada sauce.  And while that was going, I put together lunch:

Salade Nicoise!  Yum.  It was, weirdly enough, one of those days where tuna was disgusting but anchovies were not.  Go figure.

And after lunch, I made filling for the enchiladas.  And meatballs.


And after that, The Man and I both got sick.  Delicacy and discretion prohibits from from telling you where he was between 2 and 4 pm, but I spent that time indisposed in my boudoir with a cool cloth on my head.

And then I woke up.  I was stiff and I was sore and I knew that if I sat down, I would not be getting up and I would not be finishing that goddamn coconut layer cake.  So I toasted coconut and I beat egg whites and sugar over hot water until they were foamy and 120 degrees and then I took the bowl out of the water and continued beating and after five minutes, it wasn't really cooling off much so I made an ice bath and recommenced to beating the egg whites until they were cooled down to about 80 degrees and then I beat in the butter ounce by ounce and then I added the coconut cream and the vanilla and coconut flavoring and what I had at that point was a big sticky mess so I scraped it out of the bowl of mess and into a smaller, cleaner bowl and got myself some clean rubber spatulas and my big serrated knife and my offset spatula and looked at the frosting and the layers and all of the paraphernalia, and I lost my nerve.

At that point, I made margaritas.  Margaritas are very very important.  Here is the recipe:

• 6 oz lime juice (6-12 limes, depending on how juicy they are)
• 6 oz triple sec
• 12 oz tequila
• enough sugar to make it barely sweet

Blend.  Serve in tall glasses with ice.  Serves one Dirtbunny and one The Man, unless Juventus is playing, in which case serves one Dirtbunny and The Man can fend for himself.

Margaritas made, I fortified myself, put the IPod in its speaker, turned it on LOUD, and attacked that birthday cake.  I sliced the two layers into four, I had a sip of M, I filled and frosted, I had a sip of M, I pressed toasted coconut into the frosting and had a sip of M, and I cleaned up the mess before the dogs could lick it all off the floor, and I surveyed my work and thought, that wasn't so bad, and then I put it in the fridge.

At this point people, it is six o'clock and time to assemble dinner.  So I roll filling in tortillas, pack them into the baking dish, pour the sauce over it, cheese it generously, and put it on the oven for 45 minutes. 


And I then I remember the Madeleines, which were supposed to be for afternoon latte (or iced americano in my case) so I announced that it was time for latte and The Man and I each had a Madeleine, and then we filled our glasses with Margarita and plopped our asses onto the sofa, and watched the Champions League final.  Inter versus Bayern.  Hell will freeze over before I make/wear an Inter scarf, but you better believe I would root for an Italian team over anyone else.  So I put on my Albicelestes scarf (cos Iner is lousy with Argies) and The Man put on my Oranje scarf (cos Wesley Sneijder is Dutch and we had faith that karma knew we were supporting that particular Dutchman and NOT the evil Bayern Dutchmen van Bommel and Robben).    Inter won, American broadcasters mispronounced things and said stupid stuff, The Man and I were both full of witty banter (none of which I can remember now), the enchiladas were fucking fantastic, the guacamole was awesome, the Margaritas were delicious, and the flan was beautiful and you couldn't tell that there were two colors of caramel on there at all.  And it started to rain finally, which was wonderful, and The Man ended up like this:

I swear on everything that is holy to me that I did not put him up to this.

I woke up early today, feeling a little stiff in the back but otherwise fine.  The Man started his morning with extra fluids, extra coffee, and a mega dose of ibuprofen.  He's much better now.