The elusive red velvet.
The appeal of red velvet cake has always eluded me. Not vanilla, and not quite chocolate. A flood of red food coloring required to pull off that vibrant shade of claret. And a flavor that is, quite frankly, on the fence. What is the appeal?
I have felt so lukewarm about this particular confection that Lila usually volunteers to do the baking when we receive an order. And the orders do come. Red velvet cake is one of our more popular requests, especially for birthdays. Clearly, I stand in a very tiny minority.
On this particular evening, I decided it was time to face the red velvet cake head on. Befriend it, if possible. I dove in. A large 50th birthday cake was on the docket, so I decided to double the recipe. Sugar, butter, separated eggs, rich cocoa powder, flour and egg whites whipped into stiff peaks and gently folded in. I took care, and I was methodical in every step. I grimaced when it came time to douse the batter in red dye, but what the hell. Red velvet cake or bust.
I soon had a small audience in the kitchen. The cakes were baking, and the cream cheese frosting was in full swing. The signs were good. Cakes went from the oven to the freezer to chill in anticipation of frosting.
Operation crumb coat is the best time to be passing through the kitchen. The cake has been cut into layers, and there are invariably scraps of all shapes and sizes, perfectly sized to smear with frosting and taste-test. This is where the rubber meets the road. Where the truth wills out. When either success or failure is proclaimed.
Miraculously, my red velvet cake has been declared a victory. Mission accomplished. A new acquaintance has been made. Bon anniversaire, KG.
Support beauty.
One of the loveliest little discoveries we’ve made recently is the Backyard Blooms flower stand on Ocean Avenue in Portland. Both Lila and I are big flower lovers. We are drawn to different palettes and types, of course, but our affection for them is deep. Lila loves the history of horticulture, and I am drawn to color. You are likely to spot us at Trader Joe’s first thing on Saturday morning, sussing out the options and putting together seasonal bouquets for anywhere and everywhere.
I started following Backyard Blooms on Instagram because the vibrancy of their flowers knocked me off my feet. True, show stopping beauty was on display in every post. Blooms so abundant, with hues lively and brilliant, they beckoned me again and again. When I realized these gorgeous beauties were actually sold at a flower stand in Portland, I shared the news with Lila. It was late August.
“Want to take a drive?” I asked.
“Sure,” she replied. “Where are we going?”
“To see about some flowers.”
The first time we ventured a drive-by, the flower stand was empty. Deflated, yet undeterred, we waited a few days and tried again. This time, it was like a trip to bountiful. Dahlias so robust and vivid, how could one begin to choose?
Yet choose we did, walking on air all the way to our car, over the moon with our purchases and the joy they would bring. We enjoyed a few more trips to the flower stand before it closed for the season, and each visit was a revelation. These farmers, who produce such beauty, capturing the essence of each season here in Maine so perfectly, are a gem to be treasured, supported and revered.
Support local. Support talent. Support beauty. Wherever you can find it.
Superpowers.
Everyone has a superpower. Some are subtle. Some you can spot a mile away. But all are fundamental elements to making this world go around.
Lila has bionic auditory skills. This enables her to sit down at the piano and play Beethoven by ear. It also allows her to do the most spot-on impressions — Dr. Evil, Yoko Ono, Daphne from Frasier. It’s uncanny and hilarious every time she breaks into character.
As for me, my superpower might be my chocolate chip cookie. I also have a knack for finding just the right shade of lipstick, thanks to my laser sharp eye when it comes to color. And I do enjoy words.
Our friend and most devoted customer, E., knits. She has stop-you-in-your-tracks, where-can-I-get-that? kind of talent. Her creations garner praise and attention wherever she goes, and her one-of-a-kind pieces come from a talent and a place of pure joy. She came to one of our fall pop-ups with a charcoal gray knit hat with white ghosts on it. I spotted her hat before I saw her, that’s how amazing it was. The first words out of my mouth were not, “Hello, lovely to see you!”, but rather, “where can I buy that hat??”
Nary a week later, Lila came home from school with these adorable hats, complete with chocolate chip cookies and cup cakes, in our namesake Lila Bean Bakery blue, compliments of E.
After agreeing to wear them interchangeably, preventing us from laying claim to one or the other, we don them everywhere we go. Without fail, we turn heads and generate smiles and get lots of compliments.
Thank you, E., for exercising your superpower. You make the world a better place.
Throwing in the kitchen towel.
We are ten months in. Day jobs are intact. Recipes are finessed. Lots of wonderful encouragement and support from friends and family. Everything we could ever hope for, really. But it’s the height of summer. The days are steamy. The kitchen is menopausal hot. And everyone here in Maine is doing summer as Mainers always do - hitting the road and not looking back. The beach, the trails, the lake house beckons, without a moment to spare.
We desperately want to go along for the ride, but we have started this bakery, and it’s our job to build it. One day at a time, one cookie at a time, one customer at a time. Portland is brimming with tourists this time of year. But locals? There won’t be a sighting until sometime after Labor Day, when it’s safe to reemerge and life begins to resume some of its normalcy and routine.
Not to be deterred, sometime mid-summer, we decided to host pop-ups at our commercial kitchen in Portland. Build it and they will come, right? Turns out maybe, maybe not. Especially in the heady days of summer on a Saturday morning.
Part of the reason we bake is to bring joy to others. But what to do when you craft and you concoct and you bake, and no one comes?
Quite simply, you keep baking. Amid feelings of discouragement and the sound of crickets, you keep on. Take a weekend off to recharge. Go for a walk on the beach after work to savor the moment and the beauty that is Maine. But always, always, move forward and forge ahead. Seasons change and so do prospects. The kitchen towel will have to wait for another day.
A true friend.
A true friend is many things. A confidant. A shoulder to cry on. A keeper of secret dreams and aspirations. They are a smiling face in the crowd. Months can go by, but every time you see them, it’s that same unconditional pull.
My dear friend C. comes to visit me at the kitchen sometimes, and keeps me company while I try out new recipes or prepare an order. She brings me a big bottle full of her homemade, super healthy, nutrient-rich beverage to help neutralize my sugar intake. It’s a lovely gesture of friendship that I savor with every sip.
One day, towards the end of the school year, she mentioned that she was headed to Europe. Was there anything I needed? Her question gave me pause. Rather, her graciousness. Because who does that just before dashing off on a trip abroad? I thought for a moment. She was being so kind, and I couldn’t impose. Yet her kindness prevailed, and when she mentioned she would be stopping in Paris, I shared that there were several recipes I wanted to try from a new French cookbook, but they all called for a chestnut spread that is widely embraced in France. I asked if she would keep her eyes peeled for it.
Several weeks later, there was C., smiling in the kitchen doorway, holding up a can of chestnut spread. I couldn’t believe it. Not only did she take the time to find it, but she schlepped it along during her family holiday. It was the ultimate souvenir, of course, but more than that, it was another gesture of genuine friendship.
It can be hard to make new friends, especially as we get older. We have our routines, the dictates of family life and a long list of obligations competing for our attention. But sometimes life makes way for you to cross paths with another like-minded person. And if you’re lucky, a kindred spirit. Make way right back if you can. You might just find a much-needed smiling face in the crowd.