A Myriad of Cheesecake Tartlets.

"Write hard and clear about what hurts."

-Ernest Hemingway-

How do I explain what hurts ?

In four days, I will have worked here for five months. In a few hours, I will wake up on the only day off I have after a mad week of work and head off to the Turkish embassy to apply for a permit to work in Bodrum with the very same hotel group I am currently working with, for another five months. If it goes as intended, I begin on the 6th of July. Six days after I am done with my intern. A few days after I have packed and moved to Turkey. Too little days for me to say goodbye. No days for me to go home.

Moral of the story: try not to be too compliant to your significant other who tries to convince you it is a good idea to go job hunting for a job you don't need while you still have a job you like. It is not a smart thing to do. Especially now that said other is no longer significant.

But. Having just turned 21 - okay, I turned 21 more than a month ago - oh god has it been that long already ? - I can say that the easy thing and the right thing are never the same. And for now, I choose to do what is probably the right thing. After all, it is a big hotel group and I have a reputation to upkeep. Finger crossed. 

Was that what I wanted to tell you about ? No. Well, maybe a little, but then what I really wanted to say was that I finally understand what people mean when they say that they feel raw.

In the past few weeks, so much has happened. I've loved and lost. I've gone to work with puffy eyes and have the chef put an arm around me and give me a massage (!) and talk to me like a friend (!!). I dropped some plates and been yelled at and I've have people say the meanest things about me in a language they thought I didn't understand. I've found best friends in the most random people - an Italian who is old enough to be my dad who saves me pork sausages everyday, two beautiful girls who call me "little sushi" and have become the older sister(s) I've never had, a Spanish-Swiss boy, younger and taller than me who never makes me work more than he thinks I have to (which is not a lot) and a chef who terrified me at first but now makes random impersonations of people just to make me laugh. 

I've stayed up till 4am dancing (I cannot dance) and gone back to my room with my hair smelling like cigarette smoke. I've been in a room full of people smoking stuff besides ciggies and been the only one not to touch the little white roll. I've watched two of my friends fight, on one of their birthdays, over a girl. I've seen kisses with random strangers after a particularly good song. I've seen countless ways of love defined, whether it be something wild like a night out drinking or something as tame as a hand on one's knee. For a girl who's been brought up very very conservatively, this is new to me. It's like all my storybooks reanacted in real life. By my friends. How odd. Not surprising or bad, just odd. 

 

I've had people who scared me to bits before, bring me pieces of cake or brownies and tell me I have a lovely smile (I buried my face in cheesecake in embarrassment). I've been thrown over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes (which I probably am) and walked around with, just because. I've had people say my name just because they liked the ring of it (Viyerne with a French accent. Viyernina with an Italian one). I've eaten so much dessert in one day that I threw up (not proud). I've spent days on my feet for hours only to go for a long run after. I've burnt the skin off one finger on my right hand, literally, and rendered myself left handed for a week. I've grown to love the people here so so fiercely that I would cry, I think, if I found out that they didn't love me, too.

So do you know what's hurting now ? It's not being yelled at or insulted. It's not breaking up. It's not even having to delay seeing my family for another few months. What hurts is loving, and being loved, then having to leave. What hurts most, is loving, being loved and having to leave... And knowing that there will come a day when they'd forget me and how I loved them so. 

So for now I say, party hard, dance like nobody is watching (even thought you cannot dance and everybody is, in fact, watching) and eat dessert. And smile. And love. And always, always mean it.

These are little tartlets I made a while ago when I was on vacation from work. I was thinking of cheesecake and I had a point to prove - you didn't have to bake them and you didn't have to have an oven and they didn't have to be big... I think somewhere along the line I lost sight of the sole purpose and just went with whatever random flavours I had in my head. But there were delicious, and I got a ridiculous amount of enjoyment from how good they tasted even when I was just throwing things into bowls and stirring away. Improv, I say. 

I have to apologize. This is not a good recipe by any standards, just rough measurements and estimates. I am sure that if you do attempt it that there will be minor glitches here and there but pleas understand, I have no scale, no machines and no oven. How is a girl to bake ?

The way she cooks, of course. Throw everything into a bowl with abandon, stir with a fork and bung into the microwave. And then pray.

I hope you adapt my ideas into your own. Measure and fix them, then share them with everyone else. That's how food is supposed to be.

For the cookie crust:

Use whatever cookies you want. I used butter biscuits but you can use Oreos or graham crackers or Marie biscuits... Whatever floats your boat.

Blend up the cookies in a food processor. Or put them in a ziplock bag and bash the living day lights out of them. Either way, you want fine crumbs. If using a machine, throw in some butter (around 40g to 150g cookies) and blend till you get a sandy consistency that clumps together when you squeeze it. If you're doing this by hand, melt the butter and stir it into the crumbs till you get, yes, a sandy consistency. Add more butter if needed.

Press the mixture into your fancy silicone muffin cups (3.50 at my local supermarket for 12 of the mini ones) or muffin tins or paper liners. Bake for 5-7 minutes at 180 degrees celcius. Or in my (desperate) case, microwave at 200w for like 30 seconds until yummy smelling. Hey, girl wants her tarts, man.

Leave to cool in the liners. Pop them in the fridge while you make the filling.

Ah, the fillings. My tarts were tiny - I think you can see by the scale of tart-to-hand ratio - I have been told I have smallish hands - so all I needed to fill each tart was a meager teaspoon of cream cheese plus less than a teaspoon of whatever addition I used to flavour. Taste and adapt as desired. Remember, these are only ideas.

Strawberry: 

Cream cheese + strawberry jam (I used homemade - how awesome is it that I finally get to say that ? Back when I was at home, strawberries were a luxury. Even eating them was a rare occurrence. But I digress. Use storebought if you like.) + a little dollop of jam on top for the heart.

Nutella:

Cream cheese + Nutella. This thickens up the mixture quite a bit and it will taste like the best goddamn cheesecake you have ever put in your mouth. Garnish with sprinkles just because the best goddamn cheesecake deserves some sprinkles.

Jasmine tea:

Cream cheese + very, very strongly brewed jasmine tea + a tiny bit of honey. This makes a loose mixture so you'll want to eat it quickly. But before you do that you can also swirl in more honey on the top and sprinkle a few jasmine tea leaves as well. Makes a very zen tart.

White chocolate:

Cream cheese + melted white chocolate. Very dangerous. Garnish with nonpareils to warn others of impending doom.

Coffee:

Cream cheese + espresso + powdered sugar. Swirl in some coffee syrup if you so happen to have some.

Simplicity:

Cream cheese + lemon zest + a little honey. Garnish with a pistachio because pistachio + lemon + honey = YES. And also if you managed to nick some of the most beautiful jade green pistachios you have ever seen in your life.

I have no idea how long they will keep. They were all gone the day after I made them. And I made twelve. Granted, they were mini...

Strawberries, Strawberry Jam, Strawberry Ice Cream.

As of today, I will have been to Venice twice. My favorite place in the entire world, I would have now visited twice in the span of a year. Before this, I would never have even dared to hope that I would even get the chance to set foot in that lovely city.

Also, as of today, I would have been to Venice twice, with a broken heart. 

Is it stupid ? Maybe. Am I just being overly sensitive ? Possible. However, it was enough to reduce me to tears. Having also misplaced my bank card on the morning of my afternoon flight, I spent a good part of the day running to and fro from the bank and haphazardly packing my luggage and trying to withdraw some cash so I would have some money to spend during my impending holiday. Upon reaching the hotel and acquiring an working internet connection, I once again found myself on the verge of tears. So I did the next best thing - dump all bags on the floor of my ridiculously quaint room and run out onto the streets for three scoops of gelato.

The next morning, I dug myself out of bed, having fell into the best sleep I had in weeks. After a good run, I walked into the lobby of the little hotel I was staying in - little in a good way as it was alright, I suppose, by Venetian standards, seeing as all their hotels were compact to suit the winding streets that ran through the city - and greeted the concierge buongiorno. He was a very kindly middle aged man, with crinkly eyes and he did not speak much, just wished me a pleasant day and reminded me to remember to have a good breakfast. I thanked him and ran out into the city for more gelato.

Arms full of bags of chocolate, I returned to my room for a brief rest. I silently cursed the Internet as the reality of what I had been trying to escape came bearing down on me yet again, after a long talk with the bearer of the news, I walked out of the room again with red eyes and a sniffly nose. The man at the lobby said nothing about my face, just smiled at me and waved me onwards. I proceeded to hunt for some bananas.

The next morning, as I quietly waited in the lobby for the handyman to open the gym, staring at my feet and fiddling with the buttons on my trench coat, I felt the eyes of the concierge on me. I looked up carefully, my eyes still sore, and gave him the biggest smile I could muster at that moment. His crinkly eyes smiled back in return as he asked if I had a good night.

Oh, what the heck, I thought. 

I told him I came to Venice as an escape. It was my second time here. I loved it so much, I had to come back. And I worked with some Italians (for the record, my work wasn't the reason for my momentary sadness, it was personal life. I love love love my job. And I am not sad anymore :)) who told me that it was a beautiful city. His eyes lit up and his voice filled with warmth as he chattered away about the place and the things one could do. He handed me his card, a map and some recommendations and waved me away as I followed the man to the gym. After a long run and a good shower, I bid him a good day and promised to return before noon for my luggage, and as I left, I heard him say "what a beautiful girl."

It made my entire trip. 

I guess I've been lucky. The first time I went to Venice, I stayed on Venice Lido, a small beach island off the main island that was Venice itself. The resort was larger and calmer, being off the beaten path. It was accessible but a little out of sight, and seeing as I was a lone traveller, and being a girl lugging along a huge luggage at night, I was met with a kind man at the lobby who helped me to my room. I met another on the second and third day who helped with transportation and sent me to the boat station early, free of charge. 

This time, I got to met Sergio, wonderful wonderful Sergio, who offered to make me tea coffee a biscuit anything as I sat tying my shoelaces trying to hurry before I missed the next water taxi. He explained everything in great detail and made me promise to come back. He would be there to welcome me, he said. And the next time, I would get to see more of the city I loved so much.

Yes. I have been very, very lucky.

****

I made some strawberry ice cream a while ago. See I've been so occupied with work, I haven't had time to breathe, I work twice as long as I sleep and my meals have been various - and numerous - items of food popped into my mouth throughout the day. I am terrified of what the scale will tell me but my heart has never been so full of people and their kindness.

So when I found myself with two weeks of holiday (which has sadly come to an end, but I have a little mini vacation of which I managed to jet off to Italy for three days and then return to write this) and a beautiful punned of strawberries at the supermarket, I knew I had to have them. Whether to eat or cook with or even just look at, I wanted the whole basket. I mean, I could smell them when I walked in. Have you ever smelled fresh, sweet smelling strawberries before ? It's like spring, and after a long cold winter, I was more than happy to see the bright red fruit.

The first thing I did when I came home was to snap a few pictures of the fruit. Then I proceeded to stuff my face with them. When I couldn't eat any more, I made them into jam. When I couldn't eat any more jam, I turned the jam into ice cream. It's a circle of life.

Strawberry jam:

500g fresh strawberries

3 tablespoons of sugar (more or less depending on how sweet your berries are and how sweet you like your jam)

It's easy. Just hull the berries and cut them into halves, or quarters for the large ones. Put them in a pot with the sugar and bring to the boil. They'll start releasing their juices after awhile, just cook and stir and cook and stir until thick, lucious and the berries have broken down. Taste and add more sugar if you wish. Store in sterilized jam jars. Or, even better, use to make your own strawberry ice cream, or strawberry milk.

Strawberry ice cream:

A cup of cream

4 tbsp of strawberry jam, plus one or two more for swirling

Whip the cream, fold in 4 tbsp of jam until an even pink color. Pop into the freezer until the sides have started to freeze. Take it out, give it a good whisk, then put back into the freezer until sides start to freeze again. Repeat the whisking and freezing process until you get a beautiful, smooth and creamy ice cream. Be aware, it freezes quicker towards the end ! Swirl in the last one or two tbsp of jam for a prettier look, if you want, during the last whisking. Freeze for an hour, at least, before serving. 

Simple Fried Rice and Saying Thank You.

I am, once again, working. Only this time, I am in the kitchen 11 hours a day, five days a week. Which isn't bad, considering the fact that I get a weekend of sorts every five days. Even if my weekends turn out to be Wednesday's and Thursday's.

I am here in my little room, on the fifth floor of a building right next to the hotel. I am lying on my stomach in bed as I type this, using my mobile data because I have no internet connection. To my left is my table filled with bananas and stupid amount of chocolate - which reminds me, I need to get a jar of Nutella again soon. Finished mine this morning.

A little further away is the bathroom with a bathtub I never use - my break times consist of runs and quick showers at the gym and when I'm back from work, a long bath is the last thing on my mind. A little nearer to me is the kitchen which I've never used. Up till today, that is.

But let's backtrack a little.

I've been here before, in the kitchen. Of the place I work, I mean, not this little thing in my room. It was November last year, I think, that I literally begged for an interview with the department. I tried so hard to convince her, that pretty lady, to give me a shot. Me, of all the mad amount of people who slipped in an interview with their files full of documents like encyclopedias, was given a chance to go to the kitchen for a trial.

It was December last year that I came here for the first time. I remember being scared sick and wanting to just crawl back into bed. I went into the kitchen and met the first person who would teach me how to do the random little things that they needed here and there - pluck some herbs, chop tomatoes.. And then someone slid a black plate full of sweet smelling bread in front of me while I was concentrating on my bunch of rosemary.

"Brioche," said a voice. "You want some ?"

I looked up and saw a smiling face and an extended hand. I had met my first friend.

I met everyone else after that. They were all guys and a girl, an intern as well who had been there for months now. I clung to her like glue that day - she was very kind. As were they all. I remember that the most. I also remember shaking their hands before I left and not knowing whether I would see them again - and also asking the chef where he was from and telling him I loved the place. I think I was supposed to have done my homework and tell him where he was from but.. Oh well.

A week later, I got the job. I nearly cried.

And then I came back in January, not knowing what to expect. Would it be different now that I was not here just for a day ? No. They were as nice as I remembered. And they remembered me.

It was an odd sort of feeling, to be remembered by people you just met for a day. I liked it.

I didn't talk much at first - I barely spoke french and they barely spoke English. But we tried and there were a few who spoke to me more - the girl being one of them, having impeccable English - and she helped me translate and kept me company. Then the jokes started - and I had to be louder - yelling YES CHEF during service - and I made more friends. And I proceeded to fall in love with the people.

Which was why I found myself stirring a pot of chicken curry and pouring it over a bed of fried rice, and carrying it down to the room of my Italian friend. Italians could love rice and sushi, who would've thought ?

It was a thanks of sorts from me. For the brioche. And the kindness they showed me since I got here. It's only been two weeks, I still have a long way to go but I am definitely happy. I only hope to improve and help them more, but in the meantime, I am very content with cooking them fried rice, and snacking on cheese and watching their silly antics and listening to Italian rap.

Who would've thought someone like me could end up here ?

Thank you. For making this place like a home to me. I doubt anyone ever reads this - let alone the people I am writing about (!) but thank you. Hugs and kisses.

I cooked this on a wonky stove with a wonky pan. I had nothing else so my measurements are stupid. Forgive me. I am just happy it turned out to be edible. And that my rice-loving italian friend finished the entire bowl.

Simple fried rice:

2 fistfuls of rice

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 onion, minced

2cm knob of ginger, minced

1 small carrot, diced

1/2 cup baby peas (petit pois)

50g lardons, diced

2 eggs, beaten

Soy sauce, to taste

1. Put the rice in the pot with about 2 cups of water. Bring to the boil, cover and simmer until cooked. Spread out and leave to cool.

2. Fry the lardons until crispy and they release their lovely fats into the pan. Put the lardons on a plate and fry the onions, garlic and ginger in the fat until fragrant.

3. Add the carrots and cook for a minute or two. Add the rice on medium heat and stir to break it up a little, add a tablespoon of soy and toss to mix. 

4. Lower the heat and pour over the beaten egg. Toss the rice so it gets coated and add another tablespoon of soy. Toss in the peas and lardons and stir over medium heat until nicely browned and smelling like a chinese kitchen. Taste and add more soy if you like. 

5. Serve at once. Maybe with a drizzle of sesame oil, with some curry on the side. Or a fried egg on top. Or some soup. Whatever makes you happy.

Espresso and Praline Sandwich Cookies.

I am starting work in two days. 

Normally that wouldn't bother me, but now I have absolutely no idea of my working schedule, no idea what time to show up, no idea what to bring and also no heating element in my room. Seriously, it's cold in there. Oh, and I have no wifi. Damn.

I am back in school campus in a room that is not my own as I type this. It feels good to have wifi again - not that I don't have it at all, I just have to depend on my little mobile phone and it's mobile data. Which makes youtube surfing a pain in the ass but then again, I'm cheap. I also spent a lot of money on my recent gallant around Europe so I think I can afford to skimp for now. My wallet is bleeding.

I made oreo truffles the other day in my new room. Or home. More accurately, my room that is now my home. They turned out ok I think, other than the fact that they were held together by peanut butter instead of cream cheese. Am I going to tell you about them today ? No. But I liked them. Or maybe it's just me.

I had a special guest pop over and make arancini as well. Which technically is more of an accomplishment since it requires stock and cooking and chilling and breading and frying as opposed to my truffles which just needed to be rolled and dipped but I have an unabashed sweet tooth and way too much chocolate sitting around so I needed to do something with them before I ate them (and so I made chocolate truffles and ate them anyway. Hey, I never said I was smart). Anyhoo, am I going to tell you about the arancini then ? No. But they were good. Damn good. And they had cheese in them. Mushroom risotto ? Stuffed with cheese and fried ? Good god, need I say more ?

So what am I going to tell you about ?

Coffee cookies. With praline filling.

I made this alongside my peanut butter and jelly cookies that I posted about recently. I wasn't supposed to be making anything out of syllabus but then I was thinking of my dad and how he loved anything coffee flavoured. And then I thought of my mum and how she didn't like anything coffee flavoured. But I remembered she did like nuts and then I saw praline paste which techically was a nut sometime ago and then I decided to put them both together in yet another sandwich cookie. Because why not.

So I mixed and rolled and cut and baked.

And broke some. 

And cobbled together a filling of praline paste of which I shall attempt to give measurements of later.

And then I piped and matched.

And piped.

And matched.

Until I got tired and decided to take photos instead. Then I ate them.

Espresso Shortbreads:

Recipe adapted from here.

I basically just followed the recipe to a T. Except I didn't put in any cardamom and I used coffee extract instead of grounds. I also used a fluted cutter because I was feeling particularly flowery.

As for the filing, I creamed 80g of butter with 40g icing sugar, then I added in around 20g of praline paste. I don't remember the exact measurements so feel free to tweak this to your liking - more praline paste if you want, but know that this will make the icing really soft and difficult to pipe. You can add more icing sugar to stiffen it up but then it'll be on the sweeter side. The trick is to find a delicate balance. Not sure if I got it, but then they were some good cookies.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Cookies, with love from Brussels.

Greetings from Brussels !

I am currently on holiday as I write this. As of today, I have been to Barcelona, Madrid and now the lovely Netherlands. And it's snowing !

I don't think I like the snow very much. 

Anyhoo, I am going to tell you about these cookies I made.

But before that, let me just announce that I am going to work soon. In Switzerland. And the thought of that is pretty damn terrifying. And so to ease the fear a little, I've run off to Spain and Amsterdam and now Belgium. I have eaten chocolate and cheese and chocolate and dried pineapple until my heart ached. I've dyed my hair red and black and red again and bought dresses and more chocolate and ran until I couldn't breathe. It's not exactly helping but it is a distraction, I suppose.

Am I okay ? Am I okay ? I've not known okay for such a long time now. Some days offer a brief reprieve but then somedays the demons come howling and I curl up in a shivering ball of nerves until morning comes and my roommate's alarm wakes me out of my sleep. And now I am to go six months without her and I find myself at a loss. I don't know what to do, really. Sleep with a knife and a bar of chocolate under my pillow, perhaps.

Don't ask me what happened. It's the bloody hormones talking. With a side of teen angst. Give it a day or two and I'll be fine. We are, after all, in the Grand City of Chocolate.

Baking heals. These cookies see, they help me. We got a chance to bake whatever we wanted the other day during pastry class and I chose peanut butter cookies because I've never actually made them like this - mine always seemed to include ridiculous additions (ahem, chocolate) and are stupidly large enough to float a party of six. I told the chef I'd make some nice peanut cookies and edited the recipe beyond recognition to the extent of being asked what and how-much-of-the-what I put in the cookie, I couldn't answer, having thrown in ingredients with reckless abandon. Whatever.

Then I rolled them by weight (pigs are flying as we speak), small (send help) and cross hatched their tops with a fork and baked them sans chocolate chips. And then I made a peanut butter filling and stuffed their insides with jam and ate them.

And then the hole in my heart filled up a little.

Do I have a story about how my mom used to make me pb&j sandwiches ? Nope. I grew up with my babysitter - my mom would make me tuna sandwiches or egg banjos. My babysitter would make me cheese and jam sandwiches. The peanut butter came a little later in life. Even then I was stupid - peanut butter and tuna ? Peanut butter and egg ? Errr.. Peanut butter and ketchup ? Peanut butter and cheese ? 

Yeah.. It took me a while to get it. Now please excuse me, I've got a lot of catching up to do.

With love from Brussels.

Peanut butter cookies:

75g butter

85g peanut butter

65g sugar

70g brown sugar

40g whole eggs

110g flour

1.5g baking powder

3g baking soda

1. In a stand mixer, cream the butter, peanut butter and sugars until light and fluffy.

2. Add the eggs and beat until well mixed. 

3. Sift together the flour, baking soda and baking powder. Add this to the creamed mixture in two batches, scraping down the sides of the bowl as you go. Stop the mixture as soon as the flour is mixed in.

4. Roll balls of dough around of around 1 tbsp each. Place them on lined trays. Using a fork, mark the tops of the balls with a crosshatch pattern, pressing them down slightly. Bake the cookies at 180C for around 20 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from the oven and leave to cool.

For the peanut butter filling:

80g peanut butter

30g butter

40g icing sugar

2tbsp cream

1. Beat the peanut butter and the butter until well creamed. Add the icing sugar and beat until fluffy. Add enough cream to obtain a piping consistency.

2. To assemble the cookies, pipe some peanut butter filling around the edges of half of the cookies. Fill the centers with some jam of your choice. Top with the remaining half of the cookies, pressing them so the filling comes out to the edges.

*I like them cold. Preferably with some milk.

Belgium, please be good to me.