I’m not sure if anyone Irish will take issue with me for this bread, but I like to tinker. Consider authenticity thrown out the window with this one.
I’ve taken out the raisins and seeds and put in chocolate chips and cocoa. As a result, I’m a very happy girl right now.
The bread itself isn’t sweet (except for the chocolate chips here and there), but there’s a lovely chocolate flavor throughout that makes this quite a wonderful St. Patrick’s Day snack!
Now that the Oscars are over, can I get in on the controversy? Hey, better late than never.
Back in the day, I got really excited about the Oscars. Hey, I was a kid. I didn’t overthink the situation. All I knew was that the fashion was fun and that for a few hours, I could watch celebrities hobnobbing and performing. It was just a fun TV night.
As you know by now, this year things got really heated. There’s no doubt that equal representation in Hollywood (in the movies themselves or at the awards shows) has not yet been achieved, and I am duly upset about it. But there’s something else about all awards shows that bothers me.
Why do we give actors so much screen time for recognition? I mean, we’re talking endless hours of airtime, media coverage, and money that gets poured into awarding people who have made it in the television and film industry. They’re all talented, so I’m not trying to hate on their craft. But why are they the heroes? Why do they get all those moments in the sun?
People risk their lives every day (or actually give up their lives) to save humanity, and I don’t see them being recognized or rewarded. Heck, they’re not even paid that well. Instead, people who pretend to be heroes, who play the part, get all the credit. It’s so much more glamorous to play a firefighter who dies to save others than to actually be one.
The real heroes have been taught not to expect appreciation as a matter of course, and that’s the way it is. But the way we celebrate Hollywood is positively obscene. Do you know about the gift bags that Oscar nominees receive? Some publications have estimated the worth of these gift bags to be around $200,000 each. Really? Is that necessary?
And that doesn’t include the expense of the show itself, or the parties, or the fashion, or the salary bumps that the world’s most successful and well-paid actors receive once they win that gold statuette. I’m not all about the money (I did go into teaching, after all), but that’s just insult to injury when you consider how much time and attention is spent on rewarding people in show business.
Okay, rant concluded. Deep breath. Soda bread.
Every year on St. Patrick’s, someone brings a soda bread into the office. It’s the standard issue soda bread, which has a lovely flavor and texture and goes perfectly with butter. I enjoy it, to a point. But man…those caraway seeds. Not my thing.
What I’ve done here is probably super not okay with traditional St. Patrick’s Day revelers, so I apologize. But I had to. The bread gets a shot of cocoa and some chocolate chips. And it’s not hard to put together at all. The video is the proof!
This bread is simple to make and accessible. Nothing fancy going on here! Nope, we save that for the Oscars. They can have the overdone display of exclusion and artificial emotion. I’ll keep it real with the baking!
I fulfill many roles in life: wife, mother, teacher, everlasting learner.
This site is dedicated to one role that expresses my creativity in ways that I find consistently challenging and rewarding: baker.
Inventing new ways to enhance food, especially if that food involves chocolate or peanut butter (or both!), is a passion of mine. I look forward to sharing my ideas with you.
The other day, I posted an easy Mother’s Day recipe. This one is not quite that easy, but it’s still pretty doable. So if you know what a spatula is, dig in!
For some reason, people associate Mother’s Day with brunch. Okay, I know that it’s traditional to take mothers out for brunch on the big day, but why? Don’t we rate a fancy dinner?
Listen, I’m not trying to knock brunch. The food is delicious and decadent, and it’s totally fine to feature chocolate in your pancakes, or waffles, or French toast. How could I possibly object to that? But I really, really love going out for dinner. Dinner out means one night of not having to cook for greedy little mouths.
I’ve heard that climbing Mount Everest is pretty hard. For most people, anyway.
We all have our version of that, the near-impossible summit that we can’t reach, no matter how hard we try. For years, that was my grandmother’s mocha bread.
When I was little, I didn’t like apple pie. Chalk it up to youthful foolishness. So when my grandmother made the pie, she’d also make this bread. And I loved it. It was so special that I’d eat it slowly, sliver by sliver, to make it last. Usually, I gobble up my dessert. But this was too special
And when I grew up, I tried to make it. Over and over again I followed the recipe, calling my grandmother each time I failed. It was too light in color, or too heavy in weight. What was I doing wrong? It got to the point where I suspected her of recipe sabotage.
Finally, about a year ago, and shortly after my grandmother’s death, I got the mocha bread right. I’m still not sure exactly what I did to make it correctly other than acquire more knowledge and skill, but I feel like the torch has been passed. She was a phenomenal baker who used scant resources in harder times to make amazing food. Later in life, she still had the knack for producing recipes that nobody else seemed to have.
I’m really trying here, folks. You know, to come to terms with the end of summer. It ain’t so easy.
As a warm-weather enthusiast, I greet cooler temperatures with about as much joy as a toddler greets a shot-wielding nurse. Over the past two weeks, my fellow awesome food bloggers have pulled out the pumpkin, heralding an early start to autumn. It’s still August, people! Rage against the dying of the light!
I’m going to hold out against pumpkin for a bit longer. I mean, I love pumpkin. But I want to use it when I really need it, i.e., when the long sleeves start coming out of my closet.