Re-mixing Upside-Down Cake

27 Jul

Upside down cakes are a magic trick to me. The perfect chemistry of caramel, cake, and fruit.  I felt like playing around with this traditional southern favorite this week. The classic variation features a light, white cake, brown sugar caramel, and pineapple rings studded with maraschino cherries

For starters, pineapple is sweet enough—maraschino cherries are delicious, but kind of overkill. We’ve had some lovely, tart blueberries in VA this summer, so I swapped those in for flavor and color contrast, and then brightened the whole caramel up with fresh herbs and lime. I also diced the fruit and let it cook with the caramel, rather than layering them individually. It really let the fruit soak up the herbs and zest. Yum!

As for the cake itself, well, there’s nothing wrong at all with a good white cake, but my favorite batter is a good old-fashioned yellow butter cake. And frankly, no egg whites to whip means less bowls to clean. Shall we?

Pineapple-Blueberry Upside Down Cake with Lime and Mint Caramel


Cake Batter

  • 4 oz. butter, room temperature
  • 1 cup granulated sugar
  • 2 egg yolks and 1 whole egg
  • 2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • ½ cup whole milk plain yogurt
  • 1 ½ cups flour
  • 1 ½ tsp. baking powder
  • ½ tsp. salt


  • 1 pineapple, cored and diced (fresh or equivalent canned amount, drained)
  • ½ cup blueberries (frozen or fresh)
  • 5-6 mint leaves, finely chopped
  • zest and juice of one lime
  • 4 tbsp. butter
  • ½ cup brown sugar


Preheat an oven to 350 degrees. Butter a tube pan, bundt pan, or 9 in. cake pan thoroughly.

Combine the chopped pineapple with the lime zest and herbs and set aside.


To make the caramel, combine the brown sugar, lime juice, and butter in a saucepan over medium heat.


Once the sugar dissolves and the caramel is bubbling, add the pineapple mixture, and cook until fruit is soft, well-glazed, and the caramel has reduced by half (5-7 min). Set aside to cool slightly while the cake batter is prepared.


Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, then add the egg and yolks one-by-one, mixing and scraping the sides of the bowl between additions. Add the vanilla and mix well.


In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt.

With the mixer on low speed, alternate adding yogurt and the flour mixture until all is incorporated. Mix just until the batter is even.


To assemble, pour the pineapple and caramel in an even layer on the bottom of the pan. Then, make decorative lines using the blueberries.



Pour the cake batter over the top. It is a stiff batter, so use an offset spatula to smooth it as evenly as possible.


Bake the cake for 40-50 minutes or until golden brown on top. A knife into the cake (not the fruit layer) will come out clean.


Let the cake cool on a wire rack and then invert. Yes, it’s scary, but if you’ve baked the cake long enough and prepped your pan well, then…


The cake is buttery and rich, the caramel and fruit are tart and sweet, and it all comes together so beautifully.

Enjoy and be inspired to make your own upside down creations!

Ciao for now,


My Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies

27 Jan

What sort of red-blooded American woman has a recipe blog without a chocolate chip cookie recipe??

Oh, oh…

Oh dear.

How did this happen? Once again I fell into that trap of thinking, “Oh that’s too simple. People know how to make that.” And that’s true, but hey, who knows? Every method has its own little tricks and quirks to it. In fact, what started this was my husband showing me this image from Handle the Heat that’s been floating around social media:

Now there’s science I can get behind! Why didn’t I do this as my science experiment for PJAS in grade school?

Joe asked about the chocolate chip cookies I make, and I told him that my recipe was a combination of several of those variables, except that I rarely chilled the dough for a whole day. Maybe he was just trying to get a batch of chocolate chip cookies, but he asked me to try it out of curiosity.

I did, and the flavor was amazing, but found that the first batch didn’t spread out as much as I’d prefer. So for the next go-round, I rolled the soft dough into a log, wrapped it in parchment, and then chilled it. Instead of rolling or dropping/flattening the cookies, I cut half-inch slices off of the dough log, ensuring even thickness and less spreading.

And lo, it was the perfect chocolate chip cookie. I doubt the ingredients are much different than yours, but I think the method here makes all the difference.

CCL’s Most Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies

  • 2 cups all purpose flour
  • 3/4 tsp. salt
  • 1/2 tsp. baking soda
  • 6 oz. unsalted butter, melted
  • 1 cup brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup granulated white sugar
  • 2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1 whole egg and 1 egg yolk
  • 1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
  • 1/2 cup milk chocolate chips

Sift the flour, salt, and baking soda together in a bowl and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl or a stand mixer, combine the sugars and melted butter and beat until well mixed and slightly thickened. Add the egg, egg yolk, and vanilla to this mixture and beat until thick (2-3 minutes).

Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix just until combined.

Mix in the chocolate chips.

Scoop the soft dough onto a large piece of parchment paper and form it into a 12-13 in. log. Roll the dough up in the parchment and refrigerate for 24 hours.

To bake, preheat the oven to 325 degrees, and then use a sharp knife (those chocolate chips are chilled and hard now) to cut the dough log into 1/2 in. slices. Place the cookies on a parchment-lined sheet pan about 2 in. apart and bake for 16 minutes or until golden around the edges.


They’ll bake more evenly, no spreading, no fuss. Just delicious chocolate chip cookies. Now stop reading and get baking!


The Evolution of an Identity

27 Jun

When I was in high school, I met the first person I’d ever date. And I didn’t know it when I met her, but we would weave in and out of one another’s lives for the next three years. I would feel simultaneous joy and pain for every moment we were friends.

The first time I told a friend that I liked this girl (but still liked boys too), she frowned and said, “Bisexual? That’s not a thing. You’re gay or straight.” But I wasn’t, and even though I knew it deep down, I remember that I just smiled and moved on to a different topic.

I understood very little about sexuality, and all of the opinions that dominated my life came clouded with religious overtones. It was a time when “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and the Defense of Marriage Act were heavy parts of the national conversation, and many of the people I went to school with were devout Catholics. My parents were faithful, but never evangelical, teaching me that above anything really to just treat others as you wished to be treated. “Love one another, for God is love.” They thought that the environment that gave my brother and I the best opportunity at getting into good colleges were the local Catholic schools. I attended those schools for 12 years. On the academic side, they were probably correct in their assumption. But there was a high price to pay for this education (beyond the tuition.)

Because of where I went to school, I got into trouble for holding my girlfriend’s hand or saying anything in our morality classes that implied that I didn’t consider homosexuality a sin. When we were “dating” (and I put it in quotations simply because it was such a gray area), I could tell very few of my friends, and never, EVER show so much as an iota of affection in front of the girl’s mother. If she ever knew, she’d have thrown her out of the house. I was well aware of where and when we could get away with letting it show that we cared about one another.

I still cringe sometimes when I consider how I treated this young woman, constantly vacillating between loving her and running away from her. At a time in my life when I wish I felt free to tell someone, “I don’t understand. There is no difference between my attraction to boys and my attraction to girls,” I felt that if I told anyone of authority, the only thing that could follow was anger, disappointment, or shame. Once a priest told me I’d be better off leading a life of celibacy than ever experimenting with homosexual relationships. I fled dating my girlfriend numerous times, often seeking easier or more “normal” relationships with guys. I figured that even if I was bisexual, life would just be easier if I presented and acted like a straight woman. I wanted more than anything to make my faith and my sexuality work together, but the mental gymnastics required were more than I could tolerate.

At one point though, I was tired of pretending all the time. I told my two of my best friends on summer swim team that I was bisexual, and they were revolted. That was a dagger in my heart. I will never, ever forget the loss I felt sitting between them that day, and I never told either of them how badly it wounded me. I’d not felt that sting of hatred since eighth grade, when I first read about young Matthew Shepard being beaten and left for dead tied to a fence in Laramie, Wyoming for the crime of flirting with a couple of heterosexual men.

When I moved to Boston for college, I met people of all backgrounds and found allies through campus GLBTQ organizations, PFLAG, clubs, and online support to understand that I identified most sincerely as pansexual. Some people really don’t like labels on their sexuality, and that’s fine, but for me it gave me a sense of ownership of my sexual identity. I didn’t have a preference of how a person presented, or what reproductive organs he or she had. I just knew I felt attracted and drawn to all kinds of different people.

And then one day I decided to just out myself casually. I was watching TV with a bunch of friends in my freshman year dormitory and we were talking about high school. At a point, I mentioned an ex-girlfriend and one of my friends said, “I didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not, I’m bisexual. Well, I guess pansexual is more accurate.”

“You just like everyone?”

I laughed at the remark, but suddenly I realized that this identity I’d felt ashamed of my whole life was actually an enormous gift. I couldn’t remember a time where I’d ever felt a preference toward men, women, or any other gender identity. I just felt drawn and attracted to certain people. It was revelatory—I kept trying to think back to a time when I felt differently, and I realized that this person always existed. There were never any barriers around gender. I felt lucky.

I was born this way.

The friends watching football with me that Sunday afternoon continued to watch the game with me as we moved on to complaining about finals together. Absolutely nothing changed. Nothing. No one treated me differently, and no one told me “I’ll pray for you,” or “God will help you find your way.”

I was free. Free of all of it. Even though I realized that there would always be people who didn’t like me because of my identity, I realized also how many MORE people didn’t care at all.

I could love anyone I wanted to love. And finally I really felt like I knew myself.

Many years later, I happily returned to a sense of spirituality through yoga and meditation, and am joyfully married to a man who has known and loved me for everything I am from day one. He is proud of me every single day, and has never asked me to hide my feelings or thoughts. He knew what yesterday’s Supreme Court decision meant to me, my family and friends in gay relationships and marriages, and all of those who have ever felt like their relationships were somehow second-class. After I taught my morning class yesterday, I received his text message that the United States of America had taken this massive step toward stripping this country of institutionalized discrimination. I fell to my knees and cried the moment the last student left the studio.

I thought of my littlest cousin, who is only one year old. She will grow up in a country where it has always been legal to marry the person you love, regardless of sex or gender. She will grow up in a country where, yes, there is still a great deal of work to be done toward equality, but her generation will have this foothold of marriage. She will know that in the eyes of the law, these relationships are every bit as beautiful, valid, and special as the marriages of heterosexual partners.

She will not go through high school with words like “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” being commonplace or rallying cries for a “Defense of Marriage Act.” She’ll have all the confusion, angst, and elation that every teenager goes through without that one added pressure. Her generation will have its own challenges to face, and the road to equality for all is a long and winding one, but for now I embrace this moment.

“I celebrate myself and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to YOU.”

–Walt Whitman


An Apology

28 Apr

It took me a little while to find you. As we drifted apart, I let the pictures of you fade away too. One by one. The ones I kept accessible were only to remind me that I was better off without you.

For a long time, I regarded you with pity and dismay, then contempt for everything you did to spite and hurt me, and at long last indifference. A numb acceptance that you existed as a part of my history.

But I never loved you. Maybe in brief, fleeting moments I remembered something funny you said, or the way that you didn’t pay much attention to what anyone thought of your sense of style.

If I let you in, even for a second, I might think you weren’t so bad. I might feel loss.

I might remember that there were good times. And that you fought courageous battles that would have brought others to their knees. I might see the dark circles under your eyes the day after you stayed on the phone with a friend through the whole night, because she told you she wanted to kill herself.

You wrote every day, religiously, fiendishly. Filling up notebooks and journals without worrying about deadlines, word counts, style manuals, opinions, or critics. You paid none of it any mind and allowed that creativity to energize you, even at the darkest moment. Even the worst day of your life (almost a decade and a half ago), you wrote in that notebook until three pens were dry and your hand was so cramped you wore a wrist brace to school for two days.

I missed that drive.

And that is all it took. I felt you seeping into my heart, wheedling your way in and begging for my attention. Every time you have come to me like this in the past, pushing into the corners of my heart, I rejected you with anger, indifference, pride…anything to show you that I didn’t need you.

This time I just heaved a sigh and asked, “What do you WANT?”

You were silent. You looked down and I knew everything you felt. You were telling yourself all the reasons that you shouldn’t have come, you’re not worth anything, you’re not good enough….

That’s my script. I wrote that.

All of the things others told you, I reiterated a thousand times, branded them into your heart and left deep, painful scars.

And I realized suddenly that of all the tormentors you had, I was the worst. All this time I rejected and cast you aside for hurting me, letting me down, making me lonely. Meanwhile I shouted at you, struck you, and shackled you. Every day, I reiterated the world’s message that you simply were

Not. Good. Enough.

Finally I looked at you through tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you as you are. You are important. You matter.”

And so today on this eleventh anniversary of my gastric bypass, I celebrate YOU.

aidswalk 012

AIDS Walk Pittsburgh 2004

Every time this anniversary comes around, I focus on how far I have come and been so proud of how I’ve pushed you into the past. And I owe you an apology. Because even though I made that decision to give this vessel a better shot at carrying me around for more years of life on earth, you never deserved the hate I threw at you. You didn’t need one more person to remind you that your round shape was unwelcome.

And so here I stand. I am not at the lowest weight I’ve ever been. In fact, I didn’t want to remember my anniversary today. Because maybe I’m scared that I’ll never really feel “victorious” over the weight problems we’ve had.

But I never stood in a Bikram class in a bra top and shorts at that lowest weight—the confidence wasn’t there, and I do it now with great pride. (I can demo a mighty fine kapalabathi breath because you can see that whole belly move.) A student told me he felt welcome in class with me because I explained things practically and used anatomy cues. Another told me that she felt relaxed because I moved “like a graceful yoga swan” but I looked like “a real person.” Granted, we are all real people, but if you look at publications like Yoga Journal, you might recognize the mold that pop culture has tried to create for the Western yoga practitioner. My personal favorite was the student who said to me, “Oh my god, no one has ever told me I could reach and move my belly flesh out of the way in a seated twist. I actually twisted!” Those were all things I learned from you. I remembered what you felt like in that first yoga class as an obese woman.

I’ve come home and cried to Joe on occasion, “What do I have to offer that someone else can’t do a thousand times better?” Even I fall into that trap of thinking that I’m not worthy to be in the seat of the teacher because I can’t float up into arm balances gracefully or fold my legs into lotus. And again I have to go back to all of those words I say in class. “This is not about how many postures you do, how deeply you go into them, or how strong you are. It is about finding a ‘steady, comfortable seat’ in any shape you take. All you need to do to figure out what that means is listen to your breath. If it’s even and calm, you’re just as deep in the posture as anyone else. What is a steady comfortable seat for you at this present moment?”

Sometimes when I feel unsure of myself as a teacher, I imagine you standing there, proud and tall. All of the weight hanging off of your bones, and you don’t care because this place is safe. This room is sacred. This yoga is for everyone. And I would say to you, dearest 18 year-old Neen…

Welcome home.

Listening to music in Faneuil Hall - April 2004

Listening to music in Faneuil Hall – April 2004

Quick Re-Heats: Potato Crusted Mini Quiche

23 Apr

One of the most in-my-face changes since becoming a self-employed person with odd “office hours,” has been figuring out when and what to eat. Sometimes there are evenings where I teach from 6 until 9:30. I personally don’t like to eat less than 2 hours before I teach a hot class, and sometimes afterward my brain kicks into “I just want to relax” mode before I have time to consider dinner. The problem is that thinking leads to grabbing something easy or fast on my way home. And while Alexandria has a decent variety of quick, healthy food options, let’s be honest that buying a $10-15 salad/pizza/sandwich that I could make at home for a fraction of the cost is not the best idea.

So I’ve been leaning on foods that are easily re-heated and those that can be made for the sole purpose of using up odds and ends at the end of the week. Soup, lasagna, chili, and pot roast are all pretty good examples. Still, for simplicity, nothing beats quiche. And this version negates the need to make pastry, which is a good bonus. I make these on Sunday and refrigerate them in individual containers. The key here is to not think too hard about specific ingredients. Use what you have. In this instance, I made this right after Easter, so I had leftover ham, potatoes, a lone tomato, a half package of mushrooms, and some half-wilted salad greens. I also only had 5 eggs, and I assure you it was not the end of the world.

Potato Crusted Mini Quiche

  • 1 russet potato, sliced thin on a mandoline
  • 6 eggs, well beaten
  • 2/3 cup milk
  • 1/2-3/4 cup of shredded or diced cheese (I used a cheddar-jack blend)
  • 1 roma tomato, diced
  • A few handfuls of greens (I used kale/spinach/chard salad blend)
  • 5-6 oz. of ham, diced
  • 1 clove garlic, minced
  • 6-8 oz. white or cremini mushrooms, diced
  • 1/4 tsp. grated nutmeg
  • Salt and pepper to taste

Prep the potato crust first. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F and lightly grease a baking sheet. Lay the sliced potatoes out—they can overlap a bit.

Bake for 9-10 minutes or until just lightly golden. This isn’t to cook the potatoes through, but to make them pliable.

Grease a muffin tin. Let the potatoes cool slightly and then lay slices in each cup, pressing them against the bottom and sides. Make sure they overlap slightly. Five slices usually does the trick if you’re working with a large potato.

Set the pan aside while you prepare the filling.


Lower the oven temperature to 375 degrees F.

Place a skillet over medium heat and add some olive oil or butter to the pan. Gently saute the mushrooms until they start to give up some liquid, and then add the ham and garlic. Cook one minute more, and finally add the tomato and greens to the pan. Cook until the greens wilt slightly, and then remove the pan from the heat. Season the filling with salt and pepper to taste.

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Beat the eggs with the milk, nutmeg, and some salt and pepper.

To assemble the quiches, place a generous amount of the vegetable/ham filling into each crust, top each with shredded cheese, and then very slowly add egg custard to each one until ¾ full.

20150330_121236 20150330_121408 20150330_121406 20150330_121729

Carefully move the muffin tin to the oven and bake the quiches for 12-15 minutes. They will puff up and be golden brown on top when ready. Let them sit in the pan for 5-10 minutes, then run a knife around the edge of each, and lift the quiche out with a wide spoon or small spatula.


I like to have quiche with some greens in spicy vinaigrette to offset the rich custard. Yum.

To reheat from cold, just pop into a toaster oven or conventional oven set to 350 degrees F and cook for 5-8 minutes. Nearly instant breakfast, lunch, or dinner! This recipe usually makes about 8-10 quiches depending on how large the potato is and how many odds and ends you’re throwing into the custard.

Ciao for now,


Sunday Morning Sweets: Old Fashioned Cake Doughnuts

26 Mar

If you were snowed in, work was cancelled, and you had all of the necessary ingredients, tell me…

Why wouldn’t you make doughnuts?

Sure it takes a little time to do it properly, but it wasn’t like I was going anywhere on that February morning.

A lot of people don’t like frying, because they’ve had bad experiences with poorly-fried food. I get it. Believe me, greasy food makes me queasy too. If you keep a thermometer in the pot, fry in small batches, monitor the temperature between batches, and drain food properly, you will end up with almost as much oil in the pot as you started with. Less oil leaching into the food, no greasy texture.

I am always a fan of peanut oil for deep frying as I think it has the most neutral flavor, but you can use anything with a high smoke point.

Since I was snowed in at the last minute on this occasion, I decided to make cake doughnuts. I prefer to allow yeast doughs to rise overnight and we didn’t have that kind of time.

Old Fashioned Cake Doughnuts

  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 4 teaspoons baking powder
  • ½ tbsp salt
  • 1⁄4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
  • 1 teaspon cinnamon
  • 2 eggs
  • 1⁄4 cup unsalted butter, melted
  • 1 cup whole or 2% milk
  • 4 cups flour
  • Oil for frying

In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and spices.

20150222_114358In another bowl, Combine the sugar with the melted butter, milk, and eggs, and blend well.

20150222_114605Slowly add the wet ingredients to the flour mixture and beat until you have a batter that comes together, but is very soft and sticky.

20150222_114623Cover the dough with plastic wrap and chill for one hour.

After chilling, roll the dough out until it is about ½ in. thick.
20150222_122147Cut out doughnuts with a pint glass or biscuit cutter, and then cut out center holes with a small cookie cutter or shot glass.

20150222_122554Fill a deep skillet with about 1 ½ in. of vegetable or peanut oil, and heat the pan until the oil is about 360 degrees.

Add doughnuts gently to the hot oil, cooking a few at a time so that the oil temperature stays between 360-375 degrees. Once you see golden brown around the edges, flip the doughnuts so that they cook on both sides. Total cooking time is about 2-3 minutes for doughnuts and about a minute for doughnut holes.
20150222_124221Remove the doughnuts using a spider and drain on a cooling rack inverted over a layer of paper towels.

While warm, glaze or sugar as desired. For this batch, I dipped some in cinnamon sugar and others are topped with a simple powdered sugar, milk, lemon zest, and vanilla glaze and sprinkles. I love crazy flavor combinations, but sometimes simplicity is perfect.


And I have to say that toasty coffee, pajamas, and doughnuts is a pretty fantastic way to spend a Sunday morning with your sweetie, snowed in or otherwise.

Ciao for now!