Coffee Stout Gingerbread

Well, the gingerbread isn't stout. But it's made with stout.

I made this last week to take to my book group. Yep, I lead a book discussion group at the library in the town next to ours. It's a gorgeous, old-school library. And a gorgeous group, to boot. I've led book groups many times in my life (in Madison, in Austin)--and I believe this is the smartest, most convivial group I've seen in many a year. If you want to know about us, check it all out here.

Be that as it may, I always bring a treat to our discussions. This past week, I wanted to come up with the ultimate gingerbread. As you know, Bruce is the cook and I, the writer. But as you may also know, every once in a while I roll up my sleeves and come up with an original recipe.

Which always scares me. I'm not the one who went to chef school. I'm the keyboard guy. Anyway, I thought out this gingerbread recipe, made it, took it out of the oven only 30 minutes or so before the book group, brought it warm--and everyone fell upon it. No, I didn't have any sweetened whipped cream on the side (a hint, perhaps); but I brought my own thermos of coffee. Just because.

So here's the recipe, as well as some testing notes:

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Coconut Shellfish Curry

I know: we've already done a coconut curry fish dish on the blog. Listen, don't be a food whore, just in for a series of one-night stands with your recipes. You gotta settle in for some relationships. Because they change over time. And morph. And grow. That's the very essence of life. Cooking, too.

So today's from-the-sea curry is a different take, a twist on the last one on the blog: a different curry paste, shellfish, some green beans. This one's also more aromatic--and more luxurious. It's just the thing as winter morphs into spring.

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Chocolate Bark

Ours is a mixed marriage. In so many ways. For one thing, I get one of these:

And he gets this:

It's what's known in our house as a deconstructed menorah. Every year, we put up eight smaller candles and one large candle, all to celebrate Hanukkah. Basically, it means I've worked my life out to get presents almost every day in December. And people say writers can't figure out how to live in the real world!

But Bruce and I are mixed in other ways. Some fairly simple. I balance the check book. He tends to go by feel. And others more shameful. He loves chocolate--and I don't care if I ever eat it again.

OK, don't judge me. I should have said that I used to be indifferent to chocolate. When I met Bruce, I thought chocolate was a big "meh." Then he took me to Maison du Chocolat in New York City. I had one of the earl grey truffles. Holy cow. What did I know, a Texas boy who thought Cadbury eggs were haute cuisine?

Anyway, now I'm into chocolate. Isn't it funny how a relationship can morph you? I mean: chocolate, me, happy. It was once impossible math. Now it makes sense. I'm sure it's one step on the road to looking like Bruce. You know, those old couples who look alike. They buy matching running suits just to emphasize the obvious. Are we there yet? (Now if I can only grow another half a foot.)

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Vietnamese-Inspired Beef Shanks On The Grill

If ever there was a recipe that begged for an apology, this is it: a no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners, forget-the-quick-and-easy feat.

Most of the time, Bruce is on a pretty short leash. I'm always the one playing the food prude:"But it's got to have fewer ingredients (or steps or necessary techniques) for anyone to make it."

Until our HAM book, that is. There, he was given free rein--and some of the recipes are wild, crazy and wonderful, his creativity on full display. (However, I'll admit that I stuck a sidebar on some of them called "Slash The Ingredient List," all about how to do the same thing with fewer items.)

Well, here's one of his more fanciful creations and the kind of food he lavishes on me and our weekend guests: a grill/braise recipe with Vietnamese flavors that takes on all comers.

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Cold Carrot Ginger Soup

When I met Bruce, I, the Texan, was the world traveler. I couldn't wait to crush myself into an airline seat, fly anywhere, and run up my credit cards, all to travel, tromp--and mostly eat. I just couldn't get enough.

Bruce? Not so much. He believed the world ran on an axis of Manhattan and the Hamptons with an unfortunate stretch of interstate between.

Naturally, I construed myself the well-heeled food sophisticate. With a few telling lapses. Like cold soup. I just couldn't do it. It violated the Texas prairie boy in me. Soup is hot. Period. If it's cold, it means you didn't get your butt to the table fast enough.

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