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Posts Tagged ‘The Flaky Tart’

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Did the research: I can’t have chocolate more than every four days. If I do, I get on the express train to Migraine City. It’s a fairly new caffeine intolerance that does not have me aflutter with happiness, but there it is. First world problems. And I have a reader out there who can’t have cocoa at freaking all, so I’m not whining.

Having realized this, Day Four is a lovely day. One I cherish. One I don’t fritter away on crap chocolate. I’ll have a third of a bar* of the good stuff, or a great-quality chocolate chip cookie, or a great brownie. That last gave me the incentive to find the best in the state. This I sweated through, dauntless, because I am a hero, and heroes don’t do the daunt.

Some like their brownies cake-like. Others like them with a bit of moisture, what the English call ‘squidgy.’ I’m an easy sell; either is fine.

The one up top is the clear king thus far. It’s from The Flaky Tart in the Atlantic Highlands, the bakery that kindly sells my marzipan creations, but it rules nonetheless, I promise you. Thick, very dark, and (most importantly) not too sweet. It’s a European’s brownie.

Below is my favorite downtown brown. It’s at The Grateful Deli. A little on the sweet side and with chocolate chips, neither of which are a requirement for me, but delicious—squidgy and unfussy.

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Next is one of the varieties sold at Whole Foods, sourced from an outside bakery. You all know I’m not a bells-and-whistles girl (dolling up food is often done to disguise poor quality underneath), but I liked these toasted coconut brownies even better than the plain. Wonderful, not sweet, and cakey.

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There are actually two places where one can buy a brownie in my little town of 500 residents, because we have our priorities in order. This is from the second place: Cravings. A peanut butter and chocolate brownie with peanut butter chips on top. This will be a noble choice for my next fourth day: Thursday. I’m stoked.

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*I have to ration amounts as well. This took more research. But when you believe in something, by golly, you make it work and suffer the migraines. This post would be sponsored by Imitrex if the stuff worked on me.

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As the days begin to lengthen, the cold begins to strengthen. Right now it’s 12 degrees F at the New Jersey Shore, and everyone on Facebook is comparing our temperature to that of Anchorage, AK (32F) and Davis Station, Antarctica (31F). It’s totally whack.

I’ve been staying warm working backstage which, with the stage lights lending their colorful gusto, is about 85 degrees. Outside, the ice has been a femme-fatale combo platter of treacherous and strikingly beautiful. Most people don’t stoop to take pictures of the snowflakes trapped in the ice at the bottom of their driveways.

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But I’m not most people.

And a recent fire destroyed some of the stores and homes in Ocean Grove. I did my laundry in the laundromat a few doors down. It was intact, but smelled strongly of smoke. People did what they did when 9/11 struck and when Hurricane Sandy struck: wandered a little, stunned; collected provisions for those who has lost their own; and cleaned up. Water from the fire hoses froze in the trees in the foreground—an eerily beautiful counterpoint to the burned debris behind them.

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And I’ve been in the kitchen, for a change. I love Valentine’s Day, and filled orders for European-style chocolate truffles (55% semisweet Ghirardelli chocolate, cream, and sweet butter rolled in cocoa powder or topped with fleur de sel). I am told hearts were warmed, which makes me happy.

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And I made marzipan. The candy hearts were sold at The Flaky Tart in the Atlantic Highlands, NJ.

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The Japanese maple branches and dragonflies (detail below) were pitches for Confections of a Rock$tar in Asbury Park…

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…along with a little (2″) dinosaur egg. This little guy warms my heart, as he did for the shop proprietor. Hey, it’s almost hatching season.

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Marzipan is a pale cream color until you add gel paste. This is destined to be chick yellow.

I’ve been making marzipan from scratch for a good long time, and talked about it awhile back during a particularly gloomy time of year in order to get the grey out my mind. Used it in 2012 for my Traditional English Christmas cake, too. Big success there.

Around the same time, I had contacted local baker Marie Jackson to ask her for a couple of recipes for publication in Edible Jersey magazine. I’d been by a few days prior on a reconnaissance mission to try her croissants. She made them from scratch, which, as an 8-hour process, is not exactly something you can mail in. After poking huge crackly buttery wads of it into my face, I deemed them fabulous.

When I called Marie for recipes, she was champagne-bubbly and fun to talk to—easily as memorable as her croissants. I’ve reviewed her and her shop (theflakytartnj.com) a few times since.

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Future peas. They look a little blue here. Hm.

This year I approached Marie to have a taste of my marzipan, and was gratified to hear she liked it well enough to offer me a spot in her shop to display and—with any luck—sell it.

Today I gave The Flaky Tart a test drive of a dozen boxes of candy in springy pastels: cherry blossoms, lop-eared bunnies, pea pods, and chicks. The bunny and chick look like Weebles. I quite dig them that way.

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Chick assemblage.

I wrote the below awhile back as part of my promotion for the candy, and I think it sums up the spirit of this work…and play.

*

so whatever happened to that little kid who slurped popsicles until there was a ring of orange around her mouth that hung on for a day

?

who was unbeatable at hide and seek (something to do with not being creeped out by the spiders who lived behind the rhododendron)

who sat up straight at the dining room table while dreaming of revolution
and who never ever turned down an opportunity to be ludicrous?

is she gone? in hiding? or stuck in line again at the post office, late for the dishwasher repairman, up to her eyeballs in grown-up clutter?

so wendy from peter pan grew up. so you did too, maybe not even noticing until two years ago Christmas, when your upper arms started to resemble ed asner’s.

no need to panic.

the post office line, the leaky dishwasher, your upper arms…they’re just details. and details aside, you add up to a lot more now than you did back in the day. your youth became tenderness, your cleverness became smarts, and your sass became chutzpah. way the hell better off than wendy.

all she did was mourn the changes. you’ll avoid that at all costs. you’ll celebrate them (yes, even the changes to your arms) because they’re what make you delicious.

besides,
that fearless, sometimes hare-brained, always wildly creative, good-time-charlie kid is no further away than one of your belly laughs. treat her to one. treat everybody who hears, too. why not?

you’ve still got the edge on.

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