Showing 4 posts tagged baking

A Short & Sweet Q&A With Momofuku Milk Bar’s Christina Tosi

That ol’ leprechaun had it all wrong. Magically delicious treats aren’t found at the end of a rainbow: they’re available in tonight’s event, which features desserts, cookie mixes, and a cookbook from the wild, wild brain of Christina Tosi—chef, founder, and owner of Momofuku Milk Bar.


As the head honcho of Momofuku Milk Bar, she creates American-style confections with a creative, quirky twist—like cornflake cookies or crack pie (an extravagant creation that counts Anderson Cooper among its addicts). All of them are a dream come true for anyone who’s always longed to visit Candyland in real life.

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Baking in the Family with Sisters’ Gourmet

Founded in 1995, Sisters’ Gourmet really began much earlier for sisters Lisa Sorensen and Suzy Sultemeier. Baking was a cozy family activity that infused their home with heartwarming aromas and mouthwatering treats all year round. These days, they meld an old-fashioned reverence for all-natural ingredients with creative recipes and bright, modern packaging to turn cookie mixes into giftable masterpieces. Let’s take a trip down memory lane together.


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Do’s And Fondants - A Confession


Gutentag Bradford, wilkommen back!

We have a confession to make. While you were away in Fab Berlin, we indulged in a few bad habits. First, we started sending out way too many GIFs to everyone at Fab. Man, those low-res moving images are addictive. Then, we started leaving our coats and scarves everywhere, instead of in the handy dandy closets. It wasn’t very Fab, to say the least.

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Food Shop Spotlight: Cherryvale Farms

They wanted me to bake pumpkin bread, but I didn’t want to bake pumpkin bread. “I don’t cook,” I said. “I’ve never made pumpkin bread. I’m not sure I’ve even opened an oven before. I don’t own an oven.”

“You will bake pumpkin bread,” they said crisply, depositing the box on my desk with a sense of finality. This was really happening. “Cherryvale Farms Pumpkin Spice Bread,” the box chirped sadistically. “Everything But The…Pumpkin. And a little bit of oil and water.”

I needed backup, so I roped in my friend Chesley. She had to have an apron in her East Village apartment. “They’re making you bake pumpkin bread?” she asked. “What the hell are they doing to you over there?”

“I tried to imply I’ve never opened an oven, but they wouldn’t have it,” I said. “I need your help. I have to hang up now—they’re coming.”

It was decided the pumpkin bread would rise on Easter Sunday. That night, I trawled the aisles of Key Foods on Avenue A until I got all the fixings (fixins?): a can of pumpkin puree and a bottle of vegetable oil—in this case, Crisco. Chesley summarily deposited the Crisco into the nearest trash receptacle when I got to the apartment. Adult humor was exchanged. She had her own vegetable oil. We’d use that.

After donning her apron, I found myself buttering the loaf pan with a zest hitherto unknown to me. Was it really so easy? The vegetable oil, water, pureed pumpkin and Cherryvale Farms mix made for a nasty, nuclear-orange glop, but it tasted very delicious right out of the mixing bowl. “Am I gourmet?” I wondered airily, licking my fingers.

I poured the glut of goodness into the loaf pan, threw it in the oven (oven mitts on), and waited. We smoked tremulously, drank red wine in silence. Hospital waiting rooms had nothing on us. Would the pumpkin loaf pull through? Was everything going to be ok? Did Chesley believe in God?

The moment of truth came an hour later, when I pulled the pumpkin bread out of the oven. It was healthy-looking; all of a piece. It filled the entire apartment with a heady, delicious aroma. We tasted it. There were loud hosannas all around. The bread was moist. Pure. As we gorged like greedlings, I tried not to gloat.

“God, it really just has the most distinctly fluffy mouth-feel, don’t you think? What?”

The next morning, the editorial staff tasted the pumpkin bread—first with palpable distrust, and then with mounting enthusiasm.

“I just broke keeping pesach,” Josh said. “And it was totally worth it.”

“You actually pulled it off,” Shirley said, visibly rattled. “You actually… pulled it off.”

“It’s delicious,” Johanna said. “And you can say that’s from a certified Park Slope baking snob.”

“Eh, it’s just a little something I threw together on the fly,” I said, “with a little help from my friend Chesley—and the good people at Cherryvale Farms.”

"Okay, Derek. Simmer down."

—Derek DeKoff