Emerald Anniversary: 20 Years of BitterSweet

Twenty years. Two decades. I’ve already said it again and again, out loud and in my own head, and the numbers still don’t make sense. True, I was never any good at math, but I just don’t understand. How could it possibly be twenty years since BitterSweet began? I’ve been blogging longer than I haven’t, more than half of my life, a constant thread tethering me back to the world when I felt I could just as easily disappear. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure if it’s the blog that shaped my life, or my life that developed around the blog. They’re simply too deeply enmeshed, impossibly intertwined, to pick apart.

How it all started; the earliest form of BitterSweet

I never went into this with any bigger picture in mind. The only goal was to share the things I loved, and hopefully use that as a conduit to connect with more people of like minds. While the golden era of blogging is long past, as evidenced by the rarity of finding a dinosaur of a twenty year-old blog, I’d say I’ve been wildly successful in that regard. When publishers shot down my pitches, when brands turned me down for TikTokers who sing and dance, I still had this space that encouraged my creativity, supported my madness, and kept me going when the world at large told me to stop.

I’ve spent the better part of the past six months agonizing over how to commemorate such a huge milestone. The big two-oh only rolls around once, and I can’t begin to imagine if blogs will even exist another twenty years from now. Watching the date drawing ever closer, there was no idea grand enough, nor reasonably attainable, to do my beloved BitterSweet proper justice. Maybe it was time to make a mini cookbook, the Best of BitterSweet, available in print, or at least a zine? Or just an e-book? Barring that, perhaps a twenty-layer cake?

Emeralds Aren’t Forever, But Potentially Delicious

Finally, in the eleventh hour, it came to me: I was taking this entirely too seriously. The reason that I’ve been able to sustain this living archive, feeding it thrice weekly, every week, is that I just do whatever I want. I don’t do SEO properly, I don’t monetize it enough, I don’t use social media to its full potential, but you know what? That’s not what feeds my soul. I just need this to be my creative outlet, full of weird, wild, sometimes off-putting things. To that end, I strongly considered making an Emerald Salad Ring to honor the traditional 20-year anniversary gemstone, but ultimately, something sweet (and less repugnant) felt more fitting.

Edible Gems

Pandan candy emeralds, a stylized take on Japanese kohakutou, are essential shards of sweetened agar that are aged until sugar crystallizes on the outside. The interior remains soft like jelly for a crave-worthy textural contrast. Using pandan flavoring means the green color is already built in, bringing the ingredients list to a grand total of three, water and edible glitter not included. Brilliantly simple, recklessly creative, unconventionally delightful; Sounds like BitterSweet, alright.

I’m not one for grand gestures so I leave you with this, at least until the next regularly scheduled post. I’m sure as hell not stopping here. Twenty years is just another chapter in the larger story. There’s still a lot left to this story, even if no one knows how it will end, including the author.

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Marvelous Mekelesha

Spice blends make the world go ’round. Individual spices are powerful, but who cooks with just one at a time? It’s rare to find a solo seasoning that really stands up to scrutiny, or at least, can’t be improved by a bit of teamwork from complimentary flavors. Being able to quickly reach for a harmoniously blended combination that’s already carefully calibrated and ready to go is the ultimate cooking hack. When I can add a new blend to my spice rack, it opens up a whole new world of possibilities. That’s exactly what happened when I first tried mekelesha from Red Fox Spices.

What is Mekelesha?

Traditionally employed as a finishing spice in Ethiopian wots, the warming, sweet character of the mixture seems incongruous to the richly savory stews at first, yet somehow manages to meld seamlessly into the finished dish. Carried by nutmeg, cinnamon, and cardamom, then sharply contrasted by cloves, cumin, and pepper, it’s a potent, distinctive taste that’s hard to explain. Like any spice blend, the exact components and ratios are up for debate. What’s nonnegotiable, if you ask me, is that long pepper makes the cut. Though a rarity in the US, that’s exactly what Red Fox Spices invites to the party, alongside more commonplace black peppercorns, imparting an irreplaceable slow-building, earthy heat.

How is Mekelesha Used?

By all means, use mekelesha as intended to make more robust entrees, compelling side dishes, and unforgettable meals. Then, when you’re ready to experiment, consider the sweeter possibilities that I found utterly irresistible. Spice cookies use so many of these basic components already; why not cut to the chase by creating a simple formula that dazzles with wildly complex flavor? That’s why a good spice blend is essential.

The Sweeter Side of Mekelesha

Mekelesha Molasses Cookies leverage the inherently rich, hot, and simultaneously smooth spice blend to brighten the classic New England treat. Nutty whole wheat flour and molasses lend a dark, deep foundation to amplify the contrasting tastes. Like gingerbread with a brighter bite, soft and chewy, with a crisp coarse sugar crust, the complete package is utterly irresistible. The fact that they come together with only a handful of pantry staples makes them all the more tempting; once you have mekelesha at your disposal, nothing will stand in the way of your next batch.

Make More with Mekelesha

Anywhere you might reach for apple pie spice, pumpkin pie spice, chai spice, five spice powder, or even garam masala, give mekelesha a try instead. With a single sprinkle, it bridges cuisines and traditions, slipping effortlessly from slow-simmered stews to baked goods that feel both familiar and extraordinary. When a dish needs something more but you can’t quite name it, this indispensable Ethiopian blend just might be the answer.

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Top Tier Tiramisu

Tiramisu, the iconic Italian “pick me up,” isn’t entirely as it seems. Although some will cite texts from the 18th and 19th centuries that reference desserts with similar components, none are the proper, full-featured tiramisu as we know it. That honor is bestowed on two rival bakeries that claim to be the first; the true origin being lost to history, though neither existed before the 1950s, at the earliest.

The fact of the matter is, the tiramisu is a wholly modern creation, every bit as trendy and changeable as it is iconic. Ladyfingers dunked in spiked espresso syrup are generally agreed to be the traditional base, but plenty of equally competent offerings simply use slabs of soaked cake. Naturally, if we assemble from that starting line, cupcakes are just one evolutionary step away.

Tiramisu cupcakes, far from a groundbreaking twist, are simply another version of this crowd pleasing dessert, disassembled and then rebuilt in a different way. I promise this is less like rickety IKEA furniture and more like a like an upcycled version of a vintage find. Perfectly portioned for everyone to help themselves, they’re the ideal guests to invite to a party. That was the real inspiration here, fulfilling the mandatory cake requirement for my birthday without making a big fuss of it.

Using cream cheese in the frosting evokes creamy mascarpone, as seen in the original filling, while making it a much more stable topping for sitting out, unrefrigerated, until party goers are ready to dig in. Existing in that rare middle ground of sweet but not sugary, rich but not heavy, even I was honestly impressed by how well they turned out.

I’m not one to brag, so it’s really saying something that I might want to make these for my birthday every year. There’s an ease to them that feels like a gift in itself, effortless to whip up, painless to transport, and quick to disappear. For all the mythology and debate surrounding tiramisu’s origins, its true legacy might simply be adaptability because in cupcake form, it fits right into contemporary traditions with surprising grace.

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Treat Yourself

You deserve a treat. How do I know? Well, you’re alive, aren’t you? You’re surviving in spite of it all, persisting in the face of obstacles both big and small. We’re all going through something and for that, we’ve earned a little reward. Just a bit more kindness to soften the harsh edges of life would go a long way, so here’s my suggestion for how to start.

A Treat For All Tastes

The concept behind these sprinkle-encrusted morsels is far from original. In fact, they’re inspired by my original recipe found in Real Food, Really Fast, but simplified for an already overly complicated world. This new rendition uses only 4 main ingredients; 6 if you count salt and vanilla, which feel like a given, if you ask me. Now the recipe can boast being:

  • Oil-free
  • Gluten-free
  • Refined sugar-free
  • No-bake
  • And as always, dairy-free, eggless, and vegan

Plus, I’ve removed the protein powder to make it more accessible. Almonds and cashews already have plenty of protein as is, thank you very much.

Substitutions to Sweeten the Pot

Consider this the most basic flavor, with infinite options to spin off of. A few of my favorites include:

  • Cookie dough: Swap the sprinkles for chocolate chips.
  • Peanut butter cookie: Swap the cashew butter for chunky peanut butter and the sprinkles for chopped, roasted peanuts.
  • Mint chocolate chip: Add 1/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder and 1 teaspoon peppermint extract, and swap the sprinkles for mini chocolate chips.
  • Chocolate-covered cherry: Add 1/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder and swap the sprinkles for dried cherries. Drizzle with melted chocolate to put it over the top!

Treat Yourself

It’s not just a cheeky saying; treat yourself, early and often. Treat yourself like you mean it. Treat yourself because you got out of bed today. Treat yourself because you’re alive. A little bit of sweetness in a bitter world goes a long way.

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Center of the Cinnamon Roll

It’s not every day, or even every year, that I get the chance to share a guest post on the blog, so you have to know that this one’s special. I’m lucky enough to have a local chef Craig Vanis of Bistro Vonish joining us to share a story that’s both personal and delicious. As someone with a deep love for food and tradition, Craig reflects on the small yet unforgettable moments that food can create. Especially as we near Mother’s Day, it feels especially poignant as he takes us back in time to his grandmother’s kitchen, where cinnamon rolls were more than just a treat, but also a symbol of connection and joy. It’s a real treat to have him share that moment in time along with the recipe that’s been a part of his family for years. -HK

Somehow, grandmas always have the best treats. It’s a fact. Maybe our memories of those goodies tasting so great is due to a childish regression. Or maybe, and I think this is more likely, everyone is factually correct in remembering their grandma’s snacks as superlative. Having those little treats at Grandma’s house is always going to be a little slice of joy so wholesome that Norman Rockwell wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Being a descendant of Bohemian immigrants, kolaches were a must have at Grandma Vanis’s house (only the sweet varieties are “kolache” in a Czech home, and the poppyseed filling is especially popular). But kolaches were not my favorite treat in her kitchen. My favorite? The Cinnamon Roll. Yes. Singular Cinnamon Roll. Specifically, Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™). How giant? Giant. About 10 inches across. Approximately 120 cubic inches. It was as if a whole loaf of monkey bread was twirled to maximized cinnamon-sugar surface area. “Quick! Tell me about grandma’s cinnamon roll.” I’d say, “It’s huge!”

Her mid-western farm house was always abuzz with innumerable grand kids, and eventually, great grand kids. The Cinnamon Roll was an ever-winding solitary behemoth, spiraling out to the far reaches of a large pie pan. A horizontal monolith of hypnotic enjoyment. We would cut sections off of the outer edge as the circumference tightened in on itself (full disclosure: we probably used our fingers unless an adult was watching), relishing each delightful morsel while we caught up with the extended family.

There’s a delicate dance to this ritual where you do not want to fill up too much on the outer layers, lest you miss being the lucky duck whose final big bite includes the point from which all cinnamon-sugar elation radiates. The very concept of a dopamine rush made incarnate and leavened with yeast. The headliner in this amazing festival of treats. The checkered flag in the pastry grand prix. The Center. The Center of Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™).

This is where the cinnamon-sugar is concentrated while being endlessly wound during assembly. It is where the icing pools and gently soaks in while the pastry race is in progress. And unlike other cinnamon rolls, this center is attained by beating your siblings and cousins in a criterium race to the treasure. Eat too little and you’ll never get there. Eat too much and you’ll be too full to compete at crunch time. It’s not just that the center is the moistest, or sweetest, or gooiest. The center of this cinnamon roll tastes like victory.

The rules to this game of Duck Duck Cinnamon Goose chasing bites around the pie pan are sacred. And it is this sanctity which keeps the calm and order during this adventure. And woe to whomever skips ahead to pluck The Center before it is time. That person will meet the wrath of this sugar-fueled mob, and feel the ire of a whole half of a family tree. This betrayal will plant a grudge that will persist for decades.

So be warned. This Ceylon-spiced key to delight can also unlock a bedlam not known since William Golding stranded that group of British school boys on an island.

Now that you know the stakes, I offer this recipe up to you, dear reader, in hopes of sharing a sliver of these happy memories with you and your loved ones.

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Add a Little Bit of Spice

Oh, I thought, staring vacantly at the occupied oven. Oh well.

Am I getting more careless in old age, or are product packages becoming more inscrutable? All I wanted was to use up the last of a bottle of tahini and conquer cookie cravings all in one fell swoop. Whether it was willful ignorance or distracted driving behind the stand mixer dials, I had failed to notice that this was harissa tahini, creamed into the already baking batter.

Unfazed, I waited for the timer to sound before retrieving the sheet pan as planned. What else was there to do? Yank the half-baked dough out of the oven and hastily toss it into the trash? As a person more likely to pull the same dough out of the trash, letting the effort go to waste was never an option.

Fortunately, my mistake turned out to be so minimal that you could call it an asset. Nutty, toasted, and subtly buttery, you’d never know anything untoward had occurred at first bite. Only after would you feel a very slight warmth, a growing but gentle burn, at the back of your throat. Balanced by the woodsy sweetness of maple syrup, it certainly won’t light your tongue on fire. In fact, it’s such a successful twist, I’d suggest adding a little bit of spice to standard tahini in case you have the opposite supply issue.

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