• burnt cheesecake

    A couple weeks ago — back when I was in the middle of hosting the cousins, to be precise — one of my blog readers (hey, Candi Ray!) sent me an email with a link about, of all things, a burnt cheesecake.

    “I hope this piques your interest,” she wrote.

    It did (of course!) and, ignoring my sniffly nose and the hoards of children and the fact that I was already up to my eyeballs in cooking, I immediately trotted out to the kitchen to make it.

    Because see, when someone sends you a recipe for a cheesecake that 1) doesn’t call for a crust, 2) has only five ingredients (and salt is one of them), 3) skips the water bath, and 4) takes mere minutes to bake (er, burn), you move.

    At first, I couldn’t tell if I liked the cheesecake or not. It was entirely different from any cheesecake I’d ever had; plus, I’d overeaten that day, and my cold had compromised my tastebuds. So when I gave my husband a small sliver, I watched him closely. He ate it, silently, as is his custom, but a little later when I asked him what he’d thought, his face lit up. “That cake was divine.”

    Divine, dear ones, is not a word my husband uses — ever.

    The next morning, freshly hungry and semi-clear-eyed, I ate another slice.

    My thoughts: Much less sweet (though it has about the same amount, if not more, sugar) and with no crust, sour cream garnish, or fruit sauce — no vanilla, even! — to muck up the flavors and texture, this cake is strictly about the cheese. The bitterness from the burnt top (which isn’t entirely burned) pairs well with the cake’s rich creaminess, and the creaminess, oh my! Intentionally underbaked, the cake’s middle is soft (like mine!), not unlike a wheel of slightly-warmed Brie.

    In other words, it is divine.

    All the kids went nuts for it, pleading and begging for seconds and thirds.

    My mother, though, turned up her nose. “I don’t like the burned top,” she announced, stabbing it with her fork. “It gives it a weird flavor.”

    “It’s the same idea as crème brûlée—”

    “It’s nothing like crème brûlée,” she said, cutting me off. (It is.) “And actually,” she paused to shovel in another mouthful, “the whole thing has a weird flavor.”

    But then, wouldn’t you know: her piece eaten, she pushed her plate across the table to me. “Can I have another piece?”

    Which clearly means you have no choice but to make the cake for yourself so you can decide what you think.

    So trot along, now. Go burn a cheesecake.

    You know you want to.

    Burnt Cheesecake 
    Adapted from Taste, an online magazine, via blog reader Candi Ray.

    To get my cake to puff and darken according to the recipe photos, I baked it a good ten minutes longer than what was recommended; as a result, the edges seemed a little dry. Maybe, if I crank up the oven even more, I can shorten the bake time, keep the edges from drying out, and have an even creamier middle?

    1 kilogram (2.2 pounds) cream cheese, room temperature
    400 grams (approx 2 cups maybe?) sugar
    1 teaspoon salt
    7 eggs
    200 milliliters (a generous ¾ cup) heavy whipping cream

    Cream together the cream cheese, sugar, and salt until smooth. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. Add the cream and mix well.

    Pour the mixture into a parchment paper-lined 10-inch springform pan (it’s okay that the paper doesn’t sit smooth in the pan) and bake at 500 degrees for 20-30 minutes, or until the cake has puffed, the top is darkdark brown, and the center jiggles dangerously.

    Cool at room temperature and then refrigerate.

    This same time, years previous: teen club takes Puerto Rico, the quotidian (6.26.17), seven nothings, better iced coffee, weigh in, please, dark chocolate zucchini cake.

  • the quotidian (6.24.19)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    Breakfast of champions.
    With mint and lemon: how I take my water.
    Bruschetta: it disappears fast
    Improving balance while washing dishes: how a martial arts student multitasks.
    Standing wishlist.
    Summer ready.
    Karate kids.
    The guest on the left was expected; the one on the right was not  SURPRISE!
    Windy.
    Daytripping with my mom to visit my auntie.
    Converse trio.
    Dirty feet and a new dress.
    Slow down, chica!

    This same time, years previous: all before lunch, cherry picking, buttermilk brownies, Korean beef, fruit-filled coffee cake, in recovery, magic custard cake, cilantro beet salad.

  • one morning

    One morning when the cousins were here, my younger daughter suggested they do makeovers. At first the little ones were apprehensive, but eventually they got into it, sitting still while brushes were waved over their faces and then scrambling to change into their Sunday best. When my older daughter got home from work, she jumped right in, scurrying to catch up.

    They decided to go up to the neighboring farm for the photo shoot, and I went along as their photographer. But then, right before we headed out the door (directly before lunch, so not the greatest time to go on an outing with a tot), the youngest one’s flip-flop broke, triggering a rapid disintegration.

    So much for mascara.

    From then on, the poor child fluctuated between peevish calm and full-blown wails, her eyes growing progressively puffier and redder.

    The slightest thing — a few drops of water on her sandals, an accidental elbow to the head — and she’d break.

    Basically, my photostream should be titled “A Study in a Four-Year-Old’s Mood Swings.”

    The rest of us had a jolly time, though!

    The spot was idyllic; the girls hammy….

    And by the end, the littlest had mostly recuperated.

    Then we went home and had lunch.
    The end.

    This same time, years previous: family week, the quotidian (6.18.18), a new pie basket, Puff!, the quotidian (6.20.16), dobby and luna, language study, the quotidian (6.19.12), refried beans.