Vanilla Cupcakes

Today marks my 24th year of life. Twenty-four seems like one of those unusual ages that's neither here nor there. I'm not old (though some days I may feel it), but I'm not so young anymore either. I have a bit of that sneaky thing called life experience that only career changes, extensive traveling, and a familiarity with the "real world" can bring. Even so, every year when my special day rolls around, I'm not sure whether I feel old enough to embrace that extra number.

Happy birthday to me.

Since becoming a baker, I've grown acquainted with a phenomenon known as The Baker's Dilemma. The dilemma poses a simple, but curious question: should a baker be expected to make his or her own birthday cake? It's true that a baker may bake a better cake than a friend or family member. It's also true that if they do make the cake themselves, they can have precisely the flavor they would like, elaborate or otherwise. I've debated this question back and forth with friends and fellow bakers alike.

Family and friends tend to agree that it is not only okay for a baker to make his or her own cake, but it's encouraged. I've heard confessions ranging everywhere from "I want to eat good cake, not my cake" to whispered fears that their own cakes wouldn't live up to a baker's expectations ("It's too much pressure to bake for a baker").

On the other hand, professional bakers seem to come to the opposite conclusion. After making a thousand cakes, baking a cake is no longer a novelty. It's work (with the added pressure to meet everyone else's expectations of what a baker's birthday cake should be). To a baker, it's the thought that counts, not the taste. It doesn't matter whether the cake is homemade or a boxed mix with canned frosting—both are loved and equally appreciated.

This year my mother and sister got together to make me my favorite cake, strawberry shortcake. It's a cake I've requested on my birthday a dozen times in my life and I couldn't be more excited to take a fork after it.

It took me two years to find this reliable, light, and moist vanilla cupcake recipe, but it is definitely a keeper. The cupcakes have a delicate crumb, but are tough enough to frost or fill with whatever delights that may strike your fancy. This is a true vanilla cupcake, made with pure vanilla extract (though if you are lucky enough to have vanilla beans on hand, a bean can certainly be used in place of one tablespoon of the extract). Watch the oven closely around 12 minutes; these cupcakes can over-bake rather quickly.

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S'mores Cupcakes

In between my break away from physics and finding a job in an established bakery, I worked in a small cake shop selling special order cakes and thousands of cake and cookie decorating equipment. Though my job title was "baker," it was a far stretch from my actual job description. I spent one or two mornings a week baking up boxed cake mixes; my employer hovering over my shoulder convinced I was going to mess them up.

It was frustrating in many aspects. Though my boss was truly a lovely woman who went out on a limb to give me a chance, the job wasn't quite what I had dreamed of. I spent my hours daydreaming of a bakery where I had freedom of ingredients and the trust to make something delicious (it would eventually happen, but not today). The cake shop didn't even have a stick of butter buried in the back of the fridge. I looked.

When I wasn't in the back of the store baking, I was out front helping customers and keeping the shelves stocked. The store was never terribly busy. Most of my time was spent languidly lining the food colors in stick straight lines, the sound of my breathing and the shuffling of paper in the back the only noises in the stilled shop. Among the quiet activities, attending to The Wall of Sprinkles became the most time consuming. The wall held at least a hundred different packages of sprinkles of every imaginable shape and color—jimmies, nonpareils, dragees, sanding sugar, crystal sugar, holiday sprinkles, and so forth. It was, in essence, a sprinkle lover's mecca.

Rather than "baker," my job title really should have read "sprinkle curator." I attentively filled the sprinkle containers by weight, tapped them shut tightly, and priced them with love. I arranged them by color, type, and holiday on the shelves—five containers in back and four in front. I never meant to get irrationally obsessed with The Wall of Sprinkles, but it was beyond my control. As soon as a customer bought one of the sprinkles off the shelf, I would run to the back to grab another to make my sprinkle-lined shelves even.

Looking back, I think I was looking for validation. Validation in my decision to switch careers and validation to pursue baking. If I couldn't prove to my employer that I could bake, perhaps my devout attention to The Wall of Sprinkles would, in some small way, redeem me. It took a couple months of hard work before she allowed me to frost the cakes for her to decorate. It was the smallest of steps for me, but for her it was as large as the Grand Canyon. Though I set out to learn to bake, the true skill I came away with was patience. Honestly, I think it was more valuable in the end.

Well, that and I have an unusual fondness for sprinkles.

These S'more Cupcakes are delightful, irresistible, and impossible to ignore. The cupcakes have a crunchy graham cracker base, topped with a sweet chocolate cupcake, rich chocolate glaze, and toasted marshmallow meringue. I love the texture of these cupcakes—crunchy, light, soft, sticky, and gooey. It truly is a s'more in cupcake form. These are perfect for birthday parties, long summer nights, and when you want a special treat just for you.

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Chocolate Lavender Cupcakes

When I lived in Montreal, my lovely roommate Jessa was the first to introduce me to the concept of baking and cooking with flowers. Until this point in my life, I reveled in the bold colors, soft lines, and sweet scents of buds and blossoms, but it hadn't occurred to me just how delicate they could become in food. The subtle aromas, the muted tones, the calmness they brought to a flavor storm of complexity—it was beautiful.

It opened a new door to how I perceive and interact with food.

It started with a glass of lavender lemonade. Jessa brewed up a fresh batch in our small kitchen while I was away and greeted me with a tall glass when I arrived back home. I was hesitant at first. The scent of lavender reminds me of summer days and peaceful breezes, not sweet refreshments. However, after I took a sip, my opinion changed entirely. The subtle tones of lavender were the perfect match for a lemon's tart disposition.

[To this day, that lavender lemonade is the best lemonade I've ever had. When the weather gets warmer, I'll be certain to share it with you too.]

Later, Jessa introduced me to the small, quaint café Fuchsia, where I happened upon my first chocolate lavender cupcake. It was, undoubtedly, delicious, but deliciously simple. The cupcake wasn't covered in a sweet, buttercream frosting. It wasn't filled with lavender cream. A few lavender buds settled on top of the cupcake to reveal the secret within.

With a flavor so pure and effortless, it would be such a shame to cover it up.

These Chocolate Lavender Cupcakes have a delicate lavender tone that is not too perfumed or overwhelming. The chocolate and lavender complement each other well, creating a cupcake with a complex palate. Please be sure to use culinary lavender and not lavender labeled for another purpose, which may be sprayed with pesticides or coated in inedible solutions. Edible lavender can readily be found in most health food stores.

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