Behind the Cake-Pop.

The experts say that after three or four bites of a particular food, a person's taste buds technically become "bored."  I can't say that I experienced this with home-made french fries last night, but perhaps that notion is why I love eating things in miniature.  I love mini cupcakes, brownie bites, sausage balls, and other standard party fare.  But I just- I simply cannot get behind the Cake-Pop.

They are cute- even adorable at times.

But can a recipe which calls for boxed cake mix, can of frosting, and candy melts (sugar + hydrogenated palm kernel oil + color + artificial flavoring) really be that delicious?

Salon professionals (as we like to call ourselves) get to shop in a few places the public does not, and my store of choice is called "Cosmoprof."  We have one in the area, and the staff there is simply... wonderful.  I bring them all sorts of goodies- usually kitchen trials which don't make it onto the blog- and they gladly oblige.  Over a year ago, I saw the Cake-Pop for the first time, and mesmerized by their cuteness, I sprung into action.  I brought them some samples, and they LOVED them.

As I mentioned, I made them once, as in addition to their lack-lustre flavor and chemical components, they left a colossal mess in my kitchen.  It wasn't worth the effort, in my opinion, so I gave up on the notion of a local cake-pop empire (cake-pops are sooo Augusta).

All of this to say, I received a phone call from Cosmoprof, and one of the staff members wanted 30 Red Velvet Cake-Pops.  Since I a) like her and b) will do just about anything for money, I agreed.

The process went a lot more smoothly this time, and although I did indeed use a box, I used home-made cream cheese frosting as the binder.  I also combined the Candy Melts with real chocolate, and the taste was phenomenally better.

As I have had a few inquiries about Cake-Pops and balls, you will be seeing more of them from me.  I have some pumpkin and chocolate cake scraps in the freezer that will be a great experiment.

Would you like to make some yourself?

Cake-Pops a la Bakerella

one cake
frosting (about 2/3 to 3/4 of a "can")
lollipop sticks
1 bag Candy Melts or Almond Bark
Styrofoam

Bake your cake.  When it is cool, crumble it into er... uh... crumbs.  Mix in frosting, 1/4 cup at a time, until it is a workable, moldable solid.  Chill in the fridge for a few hours.

Roll substance into 1" to 1 1/2" balls.

Melt candy in a double boiler.  Dip the end of a stick in the candy, and insert into the cake balls.  Put in the freezer for 10 minutes.  Take out 10 at a time, dip and twirl the pops into the candy, and insert into a styrofoam block to dry.  Immediately sprinkle something on top, if desired.  They solidify very quickly!

Repeat until finished, and then store in the fridge.  Makes around 45 Cake-Pops.

Get your husband to clean up the kitchen.

Love mine.  Thanks for the photos, sweetness.  And the kitchen-cleaning.

Looks as if I am behind the Cake-Pop after all.

I know.  Nerd.

Have a great Monday!

Rachel Bee

Macarons and self-deprecation...

I have issues.  Or have had.

We know this.  We all know this.

And for whatever reason I don't mind throwing myself under the bus, so that maybe you will take something from it.  Maybe you will gather some sort of encouragement from my self-deprecation:

"Well, at least I am not that bad.  Rachel needs to get her stuff together."

That notion is fine with me, really, because I do need to get my stuff together.  I am very aware of said notion.  My days are full of little triumphs and failures, and for whatever reason I have a hard time focusing on the triumphs.

-or perhaps they are not as funny-

Know that I think of things in terms of cake and hair (a frightful word-pairing), but more often hair- and this morning I got to surmising.  You see, my hair is the longest it has been in some time.  There were a few isolated occasions in high school when somehow it crept down my shoulders, but in 1996 I calculated an act of rebellion when I cut it off into a pixy.  That act- that one insolent act- spawned a decade of hair "don'ts," and it was only exacerbated when I entered the industry.

I can forgive my first five years of coiffure snafus as I really didn't know how to be anything but self-destructive, but the next five years of being "behind the chair" harbored some my worst hair decisions ever.  And why?  I believe there is some sort of initiation- some branding of newness that makes you the target of everyone's experimentation when you are fresh from school.  At first, you are nervous to ask the exceptionally busy stylists for hair help (busy=good), so you ask the girl who is newer and inexperienced to do your color.  Of course this stylist has months and months of creative envy bottled up, and she has a new color or technique that she is just dying to try.

"Can I please, please try this on you? You have that face that can wear anything!"


From the back, "Oh-my-God, Rachel, you would look SO HOT with that color!"

"Really?  Do you think I should do it?"

And before I know it, I am draped, clamped, and anxious; flinging myself on the sacrificial altar of her creativity.  Four hours and 3 processes later, I am a poor reflection of the original goal, with an explanation from the stylist that sounds something like, "Well, I think if we try again in two weeks (when your hair has somewhat recovered), it will be perfect."

Right.

Two years ago in March, I had one such experience that changed my perspective forever.  Very long story short, while wet I was able to mush my hair off about an inch away from my scalp in chunks.  We had just completed my fourth bleaching process in a month, and my hair decided to quit on me.  I became angry and tearful, and I bravely received my very last pixy that day.

Along with that pixy came an epiphany: I deserve pretty hair.  My desire to express my "funkiness" through a haircut was gone.  I passed the baton of experimentation to another stylist, and went away happy and fulfilled.

Now, to the original thought:  I have issues that I publicly share.  All of my short-comings, downfalls, bitterness, and horrifying childhood experiences- I actually choose to expose?  With my honesty I make a mess of other's opinions of me?  Perhaps writing this blog is akin to getting a lavender asymmetrical and disconnected bob with baby-bangs, while everyone else sits and lives vicariously through the experience.  One day, I will walk away from expressing short-comings and downfalls, passing the baton of humiliation to another poor soul.

But for now, it works.  Someone has to embrace honesty, and I am happy to oblige.  Here are some (pictures of) cookies for your trouble.

I am really figuring out this macaron-thing.

But the statement above will surely earn me a flopped batch.

Call it kharma.

Or something more Christiany- Like Proverbs 16:18.

This is a vanilla macaron with Nutella in the middle (I am that evil).  You can find the recipe I use for macarons here.

Have a great and gorgeous day, my friends.  Thanks for reading.

Rachel Bee

Maybe, just maybe...

I just returned from vacation, and I wish I could say I am "leaner, meaner, stronger, and ready to take on the world."  Instead it is more like, "round, tired, broke, and if I must, I must."

My mother lives just outside of Cincinatti, which I am sure is a very nice place to live.  Unfortunately, while we were there we saw nothing but rain on our windshield, and frostbite on our flip-flop-clad toes.  Among my methods of combating the frigid temperatures were 1) Eat everything in sight, and 2) Walk around with a blanket around my (swelling) waist.  The latter of the two didn't get me into as much trouble, but I wonder how a girl can gain 5 pounds in as many days.  What is it, 3500 calories to gain a pound of fat?  Times five?  Surely not.  Surely it was the sodium content of the pizza, Chinese food, and basket of onion strings.

Surely.

Whatever it is or isn't, and as crappy as I feel right now, I do enjoy seeing my mother.  We have never been those girls who go into the fitting room together, and we do have our... issues, but I enjoy her company- her loudness- her acts of love toward my little family.  I like how she sounds like my grandmother more and more every time I see her, and on the way home I teased my husband by doing my best version of her voice (shockingly well).

"Patrick, do you think you got some good pictures?"
"Hmm?  Patrick?  Patrick?"

Miss her already.

While I was there, I decided to make an Oreo cake, and in true "Rachel Style," I completely ruined the first one.  I tell you, hand mixers are hard to use!  And so is counting to four, apparently, as I believe I added too much sugar the first time, leading to a spongy, gooey, sunken mess.  The second time I made it, I decided to hand-mix it, and it turned out much better.

Here it is before I put the frosting on the top.  If you check out my recipe here, you will see that I usually make an Oreo cookie crust for the bottom of this cake.  This time, I actually pulled apart the Oreos, and on top of the parchment, before I poured the batter in, I covered the bottom of the pan with cookie halves (cream-side up).  My mother's oven really caused this cake to dome, so I flipped the top cake over to get a nice, flat surface for frosting.

How cool does this look?  I would love to show you a picture of the finished product, but we ate it before we could set it up for a shoot.  We did put Oreos all around the bottom of the pan, so regarding the negative space in the cake above- I suppose there were a few cookies floating around somewhere in the cake.  Feel free to make the cake either way, but I don't need to tell you which way is easier.

As much as I love to travel, I love being home even more.  I love our old house, our puppies, my kitchen, my grocery store- all of the little things that make "home," "home."  I miss my friends, my church, my salon, and the warmth of my Southern city (both literally and figuratively).

24-hour bakeries, specialty shops, and Anthropologies have their appeal, and maybe little old Augusta will grow to accommodate more of my interests- but so much of that is selfishness.  As a girl who has lived under 23 different roofs since high school graduation, I can say with certainty that I have very, very  little desire to ever move again.  Maybe it is age, maybe it is motherhood, or perhaps a mortgage that we will never, ever get out of- but picking up and meeting a new group of people- establishing my personality and morals- or even choosing where to put my silver in a new house is increasingly less appealing to me.

Or maybe, just maybe... I like Augusta.

Missed you all.

Rachel Bee