Life From Scratch (43 page)

Then we make masala chai. It is a simple concoction: spices and tea simmered together, then strained. Even as I stir the pot, the spices unfurl, their warm bouquet hanging heavy in the kitchen. Eventually this garden of ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, and fennel overruns the house.

Later, at Ava’s birthday party, I smile to see her and her friends run around with the miniature pops and tumblers of iced chai, stirred together with long cinnamon sticks. Even in the heat of midsummer, India keeps us cool.

The morning Tim leaves, we have breakfast at an outdoor café. I tell him what my readers are saying, and apologize for making such simple recipes. I explain that I’m trying to celebrate my daughter, give her a normal birthday party, and have time to smile along the way, have time to visit with him.

“Don’t give it a second thought! I loved it. Anyway, you have to prioritize family. It can’t always be go, go, go.” He pauses. “You know, I was supposed to visit you and Michael three weeks before he died. I should have been there when he was in the hospital. I didn’t know it was going to be the end. Stupid.”

He shakes his head, as though willing the image away. “Work never matters as much as family. I learned that the hard way.”

“You could have never known. None of us knew,” I said. “I’ve spent most of my adult life trying
not
to run away from the past. We’ve all coped the best we could in a no-win situation.”

“But look at you now! You’ve got a great kid and husband …”

“But you want to hear the ugly truth?” I lower my voice. “Sometimes I wonder if I deserve them. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real—like I could blink and it could all just disappear.”

Neither of us speaks.

Finally, Tim clears his throat. “We can’t let the past get in the way so much.” He suggests we plan our next visit right then.

As we talk, we realize that we’ve never given Mom a surprise party, that popular ritual that’s so common in big, warm families who celebrate with supermarket cake, hot dogs, and not enough salad. Her birthday is coming up in February, six months away.

We decide to throw Mom a surprise party at Tim’s home in Florida. He will send her tickets for a Christmas present, inviting her to visit him that February for her birthday. As far as she knows, she’s just coming to see Tim for a quiet, sun-drenched weekend.

Masala Chai

With coffee shops on every corner, I sometimes forget how easy it is to make my own spiced tea. Although I greatly dislike the cloying sweetness of premixes, this recipe can be adjusted to personal tastes. In India, there are regional variations, but one
thing is certain: “Chai” means “tea,” making the expression “chai tea” redundant. “Masala Chai,” which means “spiced tea,” is the proper nomenclature. I took Mark Bittman’s advice in
The Best Recipes in the World
and kept this spice blend simple (this way the drink stays in regular rotation); for a change of pace, try adding nutmeg, clove, or star anise to the pot
.

6 cups prepared black tea, tea leaves removed

Spice blend:

10 cardamom pods, lightly cracked

1 teaspoon fennel seeds

10 black peppercorns

1 or 2 cinnamon sticks

1 large knuckle unpeeled fresh ginger, sliced in 3 or 4 coins

Finishing touches:

Up to ¼ cup sugar

Up to 1 cup milk

Tumble the prepared black tea and spices into a medium pot. Bring to a bubble, cover, and cook 10 to 15 minutes, or to desired strength. Remove from heat. Stream in some sugar and milk (my preference is a touch of sugar and
all
the milk). Strain. The spices have done their work—lay them to rest in the garden. Serve steaming hot in the winter or ice cold in the summer.

Makes a good 1½ quarts

In the months leading up to the trip, I spend days mulling what kind of gift to give Mom. One day I dig up an old wooden picture-frame box and decide to fill it with strips of paper—one for every year of her life—each listing a different reason why I love her—except that there’d have to be dozens upon dozens. It’s a lot of love notes to think of on my own.

I decide that dividing the project up by four would be a lot easier. With Connor, Tim, and Grace, we’d each have just 17 and a half reasons to contribute.

Tim loves the idea and asks when “it’s due.” Connor, my brother of few words, asks how long the notes have to be, and says he’ll enlist his kids’ help. Grace has a harder time. Raised without a mother at her side in a house full of boys, she still feels uneasy about her relationship with Mom. But after a sincere heart-to-heart, she takes the most artistic approach of all, using photos and doodles to enhance her sentiments. We decide to put a picture of the four of us in the frame to commemorate the celebration.

“Mom! You’ll never believe this.” I squeal into the phone a few months later. I’ve finished all the I, J, and K countries—and now we’re well into the L’s. “I just got off the phone with Rick Steves, host of his own show on NPR. He interviewed me about my stove top travel concept—which he
loved
. They’re going to air our conversation all over the country in January!”

Mom
oohs
and
aahs
, and I smile, grateful for the distraction. We’re only a couple of months from her surprise party; it’s getting harder to keep my mouth shut.

“He got really excited about the Guinness Chocolate Cake With Baileys Buttercream.”

The cake had gone viral that summer. It isn’t fussy, or prim. But the Irish stout and the Baileys give it a certain swagger, helped by the striking contrast between the dark chocolate crumb and pure white frosting. There’s festivity to each bite, and although many might have reserved the cake for Saint Patrick’s Day, I’d made it for Keith’s birthday. Once our plates were clean, we almost felt like we’d had a swashbuckling time on the Emerald Isle.

“Sounds like the perfect celebration,” Mom says.

“Who doesn’t love a good party?” I ask, bursting to share our secret. Perhaps in anticipation of her surprise, I include
Global Table
desserts at all our family celebrations over the next months. When Keith’s son Ryan starts his own budding family, we celebrate the new baby boy with Latvian “birthday cake,” bread studded with plump raisins, bitter orange peel, and delicate saffron threads.

Dark Chocolate Guinness Cake With Baileys Buttercream

Jet-black, ultra-moist cake topped with pure white frosting makes this Irish confection resemble a real pint of Guinness. Although beer and cake might sound like a bad night at a frat party, the Guinness actually works to deepen the chocolate flavor, much like espresso—even as the alcohol cooks off. It’s a very easy batter, with no egg separating or careful folding. Sometimes an easy cake is just the thing
.

For the cake:

12 tablespoons (1½ sticks) butter, plus more for cake pans

1 cup Guinness Extra Stout

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

¾ cup unsweetened cocoa

1½ cups sugar

1¾ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 large eggs

For the buttercream:

¾ pound (3 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

1 pound powdered sugar, sifted

2 to 4 tablespoons Baileys Irish Cream

For the cake:

Preheat the oven to 350°F. In a small saucepan, heat the butter until just melted, then whisk together with Guinness, vanilla extract, and cocoa. While the Guinness mixture is cooling, grease and line the bottoms of two 8-inch cake pans with rounds of parchment paper. Whisk together the sugar, flour, and baking soda in a large bowl. Pour the Guinness mixture onto the dry ingredients, and then whisk in the 2 eggs. When the batter is shiny and smooth, pour it into the two prepared cake pans. Lick the whisk when no one is looking. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. Cool completely.

For the buttercream:

In a stand mixer, whip the softened butter until fluffy. Add the powdered sugar on low speed, then increase to medium-high, and drizzle in just enough Baileys to get the buttercream loose and fluffy. The key to making whiter frosting is to whip it 5 to 10 minutes, scraping occasionally.

To assemble the cake:

Run a knife around the edge of the cake pan to loosen and turn out cakes. Level the layers with a serrated knife, if needed. Spread about a third of the buttercream on the bottom cake layer. Top with the second layer. Wiggle them around until they line up just right.

Thinly spread another third of the frosting mixture over the top and sides of the cake to make a crumb coat. This will seal in the crumbs so chocolate flecks don’t ruin the white frosting. Refrigerate to set—about 30 minutes or overnight if desired.

Once the crumb coat is firm to the touch, add the final third of the frosting to the cake—top first, then sides. Spread it around evenly. Slice and serve with an extra cold pint of Guinness.

Enough for 8 to 10

When the NPR interview airs, thousands of visitors flock to the website, crashing my server many times over. Some read to remember travels past; others come to dream about trips they’ll never take.

Mom calls to check in.

“It’s incredible,” I say, “People from everywhere are finding the site.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mom replies dryly.

“Aren’t you the least bit excited? Where’s the enthusiasm you had the other day?”