Category Archive: GB Cookbooking

homemade gingersnaps. Homemade cream cheese. Homemade yogurt . Homemade whipped cream. Homemade halle-f ureakin looo yah`

Angel, after making that lovely motherfucker a cheesecake by request.

This thing is...like if you've ever been a teenaged boy in love with a tomboy, this sandwich is like tomboy love language deep lol-

this is that girl's got an appetite sandwich that'd get your lips kissed offa ya in front of all your little friends if ya brought yer tomboy girl this lol-

& my riff- what I did, how it came- I LOVE it legit reminds me of home in the omg way and the rufnkidding me way- it's such an elegant riff on it, taking in all the-

this is the tomboy destined to date men who talk with their hands & cook their asses off sandwich lol-

It was so good, so life-altering that as I finished it, the solution to a recipe I'd been chewing came through on its heels.

It's... like a cross between a basque burnt yogurt cake, Spanish flan, Japanese cheesecake, gingerbread , flourless chocolate cake...and creme brulee. Everything I love and hate about those desserts sorted correctly, highlighting the best of the best aspects to me and synthesizing it into literal delectable fast-breaking revelry.

I am a fucking genius, God Love me. It's that good. It's THAT good.

& it's from listening impeccably as I went. Every almost didn't do manifested what i desired By tha trusting my gut & doing things that flew in the face of dessert design. I'm 2 for 2, Temecula. This is what treating every restaurant gig taken on as a co-op, watching chefs liiike hawks gave me😇.

Tha Angel, now understanding why her soul pushed her to leARn to make her own yogurt.

working out a recipe that has just been in my bones & realized it may be the cleanest, sexiest, fix-everything I hate about a dish I always loved- adjacent recipe I’ve Eva riffed in 4+decades Of riffing- Literally went “wait- isn’t that…?…let me check it against a few things~” which is a Cool cookbookinghead moment either way it bends. It’s not IT…but that it may be able to be Better than it has me dazed…

There’s a whole story to skillet bread/ fry bread.

… It’s…’native american heritage, ‘ yeah. But it’s vicious white folks heritage too.

Because the reason they were ‘consciously reduced’ to making it was due to the white people who stole their land, eventually death marched away all the elders they didn’t murder off ahead of time…and gave the survivors (that were not 9, 10, 11 & twelve year old girls they raped into their own psychotic bloodlines to greedily absorb inheritances from matrilineal tribes(whole nother post)… flour in fucking rations.

Fry bread came out of them fn with the rations and making something delicious with it that they could give to one another with love. As their fn tormentors seethed at still having to carry the weight of their own toxicity in their skin sacs after violating so many black & brown Natives.

By the time it got to me, I was a kid, his first grandkid, mind-blown that his big- assed glorious, gorgeous hands could make something sooo delectable & sweet- because he’d give it to me with molasses.

It was pure dee heaven. My feet almost kick even now, thinking about it. Didn’t matter where it came from across time. It mattered that this grumpy, hungover, beautiful red- black man… would make it & crack up a bit at his goofy grand daughter losing her shit over something he made. I remember his spark-shooting eyes watching me be ridiculous, writing this.

I LOVED this man’s hands. Love. To this day. Present tense.

I used to check his Huge hands to check on him for real all the time. I came back from college right before he passed just to check his hands to make sure he was really okay & going where he was seriously supposed to go lol.

Between his hands & my Dad’s- who used to make me draw his hands as minime( & who almost had his dad’s hands. Almost…)- I ended up processing hands like this.

&now…i can make his skillet bread exactly.

Life is wiiiild, maaaan.

That time-nullifying moment when, with the 2nd batch of a recipe riff you stumble upon a taste had literal lifetimes (in this one) ago. Everything stopped.

I looked up & said "this is your skilletbread-"through the ether to mah graindaddy. & got back a grinned "yup, you remember that? "

Last time he made me some I was 14, standing in his kitchen. Flashed him it. Happy. Because that was in me. By default. Now? 35 years later I know I called it skillet bread as a kid. But it IS Cherokee fry bread. His riff. Mines now. Lol.

Motherfucker, thaaat was loaded in mah fingers, tha whole time!?!

There are epocs I tried to retcon this to his flavor profile. Cities where I f'd it up. Yet here it is.