Almond Cardamom Rolls

In a hidden gem of a bakery in the vibrant city of Montreal, I sat down to my first almond croissant. The tiny bakery, Kouign-Amann, held only 3 tables, but the atmosphere felt so cozy and inviting it made me feel as if I belonged. The bakery was open to the kitchen where the bakers rolled out beautiful sheets of homemade puff pastry. The pastries were classically French, but the bakery had a vibe that could only come from the soul of Montreal. Despite its small size, I had never encountered a more active bakery in my life (and I doubt I will again) as the door swung open so often I rarely saw it close for more than a moment.

On this particular day, I was lucky enough to find myself a seat at a table. The almond croissant was larger than my two fists put together, standing tall from the flaky layers. Covered with powdered sugar and sliced almonds, I found it a mess to eat as the tender crumbs scattered over the table and onto my lap as the croissant gradually disappeared. Somehow, though, it was perfect.

Perfect for the moment, perfect for the city, perfect for the place I was at in my life.

My roommate introduced me to the bakery a few days earlier. I had just moved into an apartment a few blocks down and to break up the rush of a trip to buy furniture, she pulled me into the small bakery on our walk to the metro, ordered me a plain croissant, and warned me that it would be the best I would ever eat. She was right.

From then on, I walked past the bakery regularly as I made my way around the city. The bakery, to its credit, kept the ovens on throughout the day so it was possible to get warm pastries any time of day. The temptation to resist, I found, was often too much. Every time I made my way through the bakery door, I fell a little more in love with pastries, more smitten with baking.

It was a cold fall afternoon when I stepped in the bakery after a rush of holiday shopping. The bakery was humid, as the hot air from the ovens mixed with the frigid air from outdoors. I ordered an almond croissant and managed to snag one of the coveted seats in the busy room, dropping my packages by my feet. French language bounced off the walls as the windows fogged over with steam, condensation running down the panes to reveal the bustling street outside. An old man sat across from me, a newspaper spread across the table, a coffee in hand. The moment itself made me feel so rich, so alive. Emboldened by the atmosphere and a mouthful of croissant, I made up my mind about a decision that had been haunting me for quite some time.

It was the moment I made the decision to pursue pastries.

Almond Cardamom Rolls are inspired from the pastries I fell in love with in Montreal. The dough is no-knead, which makes it much less work than its traditional counterpart. A touch of sour cream brings a tenderness to the rolls and the addition of cardamom adds the right amount of spice. The rolls are filled with a mixture of almond paste and brown sugar, which is rich and deeply flavorful. A simple vanilla glaze and a sprinkle of sliced almonds finishes off the light rolls. The rolls can also be made the night before and baked the next morning to serve warm for family and friends.

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Chocolate Pomegranate Tart

December is riddled with dinner parties and friend and family get-togethers. While I love a good reason to eat great food and spend time with loved ones, there is always pressure on me to bring a fabulous dessert. Truth be told, the largest contributor to the pressure is myself. I want to find a way to outdo myself, to wow the guests with unexpected flavor combinations or an elaborate dish. The baker inside me wants to be a bit of a show-off. However, as time has shown me again and again, the pressure I place on myself to perform tends to backfire.

For Thanksgiving a couple years ago, I created a wonderful caramel pumpkin bread pudding. It took me two attempts to get it right, once because I burned the pudding in the oven and the second because I burned the caramel on the stove. Pressure, it seems, brings about rookie mistakes. One year I attempted to create a meringue cake to share with you on my blog's first birthday. A year and a half later, I haven't recovered from the misfortune that happened in my kitchen (contrary to what my mother may believe, I'm still not ready to discuss it).

This year, I've decided to learn from my past mistakes. While I can't erase the small part of me that wants to create brilliant, impressive desserts, I want to avoid disaster, disappointment, and rushing to the grocery store to grab more ingredients an hour before the event takes place (no one needs that kind of stress). This year, I am planning ahead. It seem like an obvious decision, but I've always been a last minute kind of girl, making the desserts the day or morning ahead and panicking if something goes awry.

I've gotten too good at panicking.

A month ago, my boyfriend convinced me we needed to buy pomegranates. After bringing them home and prying them open, I quickly decided they would be heavenly with a bit of chocolate. It took a bit of convincing for my skeptical boyfriend (and a mouth full of chocolate chips and pomegranate seeds to prove my point), but he ultimately came to the same conclusion. I put this idea on the back burner for the last month, mulling it over and trying to figure out the best presentation. I've always thought pomegranates looked like gems so the last thing I wanted to do was hide them in a dessert.

This Chocolate Pomegranate Tart is the result of all the reflection and, well, reflect it does.

A slice of this Chocolate Pomegranate Tart brings a hint of pomegranate to a decadent chocolate tart. The crust is made with ground almonds, reminding me a bit of sugar cookies. A rich chocolate truffle filling is baked in, setting like a thick custard. The finished tart is glazed with pomegranate juice (thickened to a syrup to strengthen the flavor) and dotted with pomegranate arils. The pomegranate seeds catch the light just so, making this a lovely tart to impress guests.

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Pumpkin Pie Espresso Bars

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, but from the sheer amount of holiday commercials on television and Christmas music on the radio, you may guess it to be mid-December. My family is hosting the Thanksgiving celebration this year, as we have done many years before. My mother is already rushing around to get groceries, keep the house clean, and find enough space to seat twenty people for dinner. It can be a tight fit, but we figure it can't hurt to bring the family close together (both literally and figuratively).

Food and family go hand-in-hand. In many ways, it is a defining feature of our holidays to truly help them feel like a special moment in time.

For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has always held the very same routines for me. As family begins to arrive and the food slowly begins to be spread out on the table, I hover over the vegetable tray trying to steal half of the black olives without anyone noticing, starving from a lack of breakfast (Needless to say, someone always notices and I continue to sneak olives despite it). Once everyone has arrived, we say grace and dig in, always eating much more than we should.

The chorus of content, but slightly uncomfortable voices after dinner confirms this fate.

As the dishes are cleared, the televisions are quickly tuned to football games and everyone settles in for a lazy, sleepy afternoon. Without fail, someone in the family manages to fall asleep with his or her mouth hanging open, snoring softly, while the rest of the family gathers to laugh quietly and take embarrassing video footage (I desperately hope it's not my turn this year). In late afternoon, after the sun has set and the food coma is beginning to wear off, the leftovers from lunch are spread out on the tables and the second meal of the day indulgently begins before we part ways for the evening.

While my family never quite expresses our gratitude for one another out loud, it can be felt in the room. It is as real and perceptible as the scent of turkey in the air.

I've been struggling to come up with a Thanksgiving dessert menu this year, but this recipe has easily made the short list of possible contenders. These bars are a twist on the traditional pumpkin pie. The crust is made from oatmeal and almonds, providing a strong contrast in texture to the smooth pumpkin filling. The filling is spiced with the classic spices of cinnamon and nutmeg, but I added a tablespoon of espresso powder which lends a subtle, but harmonizing flavor to the finished product. Topped with whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon, these bars are truly something special for the holiday season.

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