Ambrosial Addendum

My favorite thing about food is that it’s a vehicle for stories. Yes, it’s nourishing and tastes good, if you’re skilled or lucky or wealthy enough. Those qualities, though, aren’t special. My favorite foods are the stuff of memories, my own and others, of historical or personal importance. Having a deeper connection to the people that made it is the secret spice that makes flavors bloom more vibrantly than a whole quart of MSG. I’d trade all my quick fix recipes just to have more stories.

Every time I feel compelled to dive back into the past, through fading photos or slides illuminated from the Kodaslide‘s unearthly glow, I’m digging just beyond the margins. Living inside each frame. Hunting for something I’ve missed, as if just looking harder, more intensely, will reveal Waldo right in the middle of the page. Sometimes it’s easier to discover, though harder to decipher.

The subject of one holiday snapshot, I recognize my beautiful 20-year-old Grandmother immediately, beaming over a table of desserts. Delicate glasses filled with an undefined, nebulous substance preside over every formal place setting. For weeks, maybe months, the image haunted me; I had no idea what that dish was. I was missing a story.

Great debates with other family members followed. At first, I thought maybe it was sorbet, as my Grandfather was so fond of making, but I swear it seemed to have more texture. Is it a pudding, a parfait? I’m not at all convinced I have the answer, but I’ve decided to create my own addendum to this story. If you ask me, I think it’s ambrosia. Wildly popular in the early to mid-1900s, especially for the winter holidays, I can see it being all the rage around the time of the photo.

Writing my own post-script, I’m making ambrosia in my own modern kitchen, hoping that I might have more stories to pass down, too. In this rendition, I’ve taken the sweetness down a notch by tempering it with an invigorating triple hit of citrus. Mandarin orange segments are traditional, easily augmented with candied lemon peels and a final flourish of fresh lime zest.

I could write a whole dissertation about what could qualify as ambrosia (most creamy fruit salads) and the crimes against humanity some commit (including mayonnaise), but I’d rather tell one story at a time. I don’t worry about running out of ingredients or inspiration. I do worry about running out of stories. Hopefully this one might be the beginning of another for someone else.

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Wordless Wednesday: Swift Sweets

Tahini Crispy Rice Treats with Date Caramel
Peppered Marmalade Thumbprint Cookies
Peanut Butter Balls
Giant Chocolate Chunk Cookies
Iced Chai Latte Bars
Great No-Grate Carrot Cake
Glazed Chocolate Donuts
Baked Cinnamon Sugar Donuts
Chocolate Sheet Cake
Yogurt Blueberry Muffins
Everyday Birthday Cake Cookies
Banana Gingerbread Cupcakes

Recipe testing for The 29-Minute Vegan: Real Food, Real Vibes, Anytime by Isa Chandra Moskowitz

(As it goes with recipe testing, not all of these made the final cut. You’ll have to check out the cookbook for yourself to see the winners!)

Fried Chicken Cold Case

While all signs point to a declining appetite for fast food hamburgers, fried chicken sandwiches are hot and ready to take up the slack. You’d think that simply slapping a bun around the standard staple would be a forgettable adaptation, but less than 80 years ago, it simply wasn’t done.

That historical oversight has now been corrected with a dizzying swiftness that borders on violence. Anyone can and will attempt to peddle their own version with widely varied results. I think we can all agree that no matter what, the best versions should be immaculately crisp, audaciously juicy, and boldly seasoned. Toppings should be minimal to allow that thick patty to shine.

Sink your teeth into the plush brioche bun, meeting just the slightest resistance from a toasted edge, before reaching the treasure within. Crisp, cool coleslaw contrasts against the star of the show at the center of the action, dressed in its finest golden-brown fried breading. Ketchup, both sharp and sweet, anchors the bite in comforting nostalgia. It’s all so satisfying, so familiar, and yet… Melting away, like a half-forgotten dream.

April Fools!

It would be tough to truly trick someone with this trompe l’œil ice cream sandwich, a dessert masquerading as lunch, though the best pranks are harmlessly on par, if you ask me. Inspired by “fried” ice cream which has never once gone near a vat of bubbling oil, it starts with a pint of vegan ice cream sliced into four perfect rounds. Crushed corn flake cereal is pressed into the surface to form a crunchy crust, then stashed in the freezer until ready to serve. Shredded green apples with a touch of lemon, maple syrup, and mint makeup the slaw, while the ketchup is merely thinned-out strawberry jam. The bun is still a toasted brioche bun, sweet enough to pass muster as a confection as is.

Is it excessive? Sure, and isn’t a proper fried chicken sandwich squarely over the line for everyday indulgence, too? For a crowd-pleasing shortcut, you could always just serve your chicken-fried ice cream over waffles with maple syrup. If you play your cards right, that could even be considered an acceptable breakfast, no fooling.

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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