Chocolate Chip Cookie Cake

I absolutely love chocolate chip cookies!  Who doesn't?  Well, people with dairy allergies like me think they/we cannot safely eat them.  We are wrong.  At my grocery store I found dairy-free chocolate chips. As always, I found a way to make dairy-free cookies.   This recipe is loosely based on Nestle's cookie recipe. 

Ingredients:
2-1/4 cups whole wheat flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup unsweetend, natural apple sauce
3/4 c sugar in the raw (puree in food processor for a fine grain)
3/4 c packed brown sugar (or Agave nectar)
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1/2 package of dairy-free chocolate chips

Step 1:
Mix sugars, vanilla, apple sauce, and eggs, add remaining ingredients.
Step 2:
Spray 2 cake rounds with cooking spray, pour mixture in, divide evenly.  Bake at 350 for 30 to 35 minutes.  If your oven seems too hot, to prevent burning, turn it down to 300 and cook longer.  It's done with the top is brown and feels firm to the touch. 
Step 3:
Invert out of the pans and cool.

Dairy-free ganache:
This recipe is very loose, meaning you don't have to be exact.  Here's what I did on the last cake:
2.5 squares Baker's semisweet chocolate
1 c dairy-free chips (same ones as above)
3 Tbs coconut milk

Take a 2-quart pan fill 1/3 with water.  Set a glass oven-safe bowl on top.  It should not fit inside, rather rest on the edges.  Turn burner to medium high.  Melt the chocolate in the double boiler (the contraption above).  Use a rubber spatula to stir frequently.  Add the coconut milk a little at a time.  More milk makes it runny, less very thick. Play with it until you get the consistency you like.  The ganache should be hot but not boiling!

bottom layer of chocolate chip cookie cake

Spread ganache over bottom layer.

Finished chocolate chip cookie cake

The rest goes on top.  Let cool. Dig in. 

OPTIONAL FILLING:

1 cup peanut butter, any kind
1/2 cup dairy-free margarine or soy butter
2 cups powdered sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
3 Tbs almond milk

In mixer, mix until smooth and creamy.  Pile onto bottom layer of cake with spatula, spread evenly.

For cookies, spoon onto parchment paper-lined cookie sheet, cook 3-5 minutes then flatten with a greased spatula.  Cook another 5 minutes. 

Dairy-free bread recipe

I love to bake.  The first thing I remember baking was a batch of Snickerdoodle cookies for my Grandpa's birthday. They were his favorite.  Over the years I have learned to "tweak" recipes to my own liking out of the fun of it and because of my dairy allergy.  I'm also a runner so even though I have a huge sweet tooth, I like to know what I'm eating and prefer home-made to store bought.  I bought a bread maker a few years ago and quickly wore it out.  That didn't stop me.  I simply use the recipe manual as a "guide" and mix the ingredients in my Kitchen-Aid mixer.  

Because of my dairy allergy, I've been playing around with bread recipes and have found one that I really like.  Here are two. The Oatmeal bread is below:

1 cup + 3 Tbs coconut milk, room temperature
2 Tbs coconut oil
3 Tbs molasses
1-1/2 tsp salt
1-1/2 tsp active dry yeast
3-1/4 cups Whole Wheat flour   

Put the ingredients in a mixer in order listed above.  Wet ingredients need to be warm (80 degrees F).  Let sit for 5 or 10 minutes then mix well, approximately 5 minutes. If you don't have a mixer with a dough hook, mix and knead by hand until well incorporated.  Cover with plastic wrap and let sit in a warm area for 30 minutes to an hour until dough has about doubled.  (I turn the oven on to lowest setting when I start, then turn it off, put the mixer in the oven with door vented.)  Mix again for another minute (or knead by hand) i.e. punch down the dough.  Roll it by hand (shape), not on the counter, in your hands like playdough. If the dough sticks to your hands, spray them with cooking spray. Transfer dough into greased bread pan or baking sheet.  Let sit for another hour, this time on the counter is fine unless your house is cooler than 78 degrees.  In that case, a sunny window sill or the oven will work.  Take your time, let the dough rise.  Bake at 350 for at least 30 minutes.  I usually start with a cold oven, seems to give the yeast a little boost.   Bread is finished when thumping on the top sounds hollow. 

The pictures below are the loaf made today:

Oatmeal bread:

1-1/2 c warm water (80F)

2 TBS honey (raw, local)

2.5 tsp active dry yeast

1 tsp salt

1 TBS olive oil

1 cup ground oats

2-1/2 cups whole wheat flour

Directions:  Place the water in a mixer.  Add the honey and dissolve.  Sprinkle the yeast over the water and let rest for 10 minutes.  Add salt and olive oil.  Mix lightly.  Add oats and flour.  Turn on the mixer and mix well.  Cover and let rest one hour.  Prepare your baking dish by spraying with cooking spray.  For round buns use small ceramic bowls.  You can use traditional bread pans and even free form.  Bake at 350 F for 15 minutes for small loaves or rounds, 30-35 for large loaf pan.

Whole Wheat Oatmeal bread

Do you know how many times the word "yeast" is used in the Bible?  I counted 57. (www.Biblegateway.com).

1 Corinthians 5:7

Get rid of the old yeast, so that you may be a new unleavened batch—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed.

Scars

I have a lot of scars. You know, those discolored, ugly lines on your skin (not wrinkles) that form after a cut or a wound.  Each one of them is tied to a memory.  I was looking at one the other day and realized I really have a lot.  Did that mean I was really clumsy? Did it mean I've had a very physical life? Was it self-abuse?  Some of them I call "war wounds" and show them off. Others are hidden and no one ever sees them.  

Let me tell you about a few.  My very first one is on my right ankle.  Its about 3.5 inches long.  When I was 3 years old I was riding on the back of my mother's bike.  This was before car seats and baby bike seats.  My dress somehow got caught and as I was pulling it out I forgot about my feet.  My right foot went into the spokes of the bicycle.  It happened right in front of a neighbor's house that my mother knew. I vividly remember sitting on the edge of the sink and the water being blood red.  I was rushed to the hospital where the wound was stitched up.   I can still see eight little dots on either side of the cut from the sutures.  

While I'm at my feet, there are three scars on my left foot.  One at the base of my 4th toe where I did a somersault into a carpet tack. Second grade I think.  One on the inside border where I walked into a drill my step-father left on the floor, and a fairly large scar on the top near my ankle from where my horse fell on me.  

That's kind of a funny story.  Some people came over, the day before 9th grade, that's freshman year of high school, my sister and I were asked to take their son or daughter horseback riding. I didn't want to go.  I jumped on the yearling (maybe she was 2) with no saddle.  Only the bridle and me in my flip-flops.  The horse I was riding on, in the street, slipped on some rocks and fell, landing on my left leg.  I was scraped up from knee to foot.  I jumped back on the horse and we raced home.  In the ER the doctor's were amazed nothing was broken.  The doctor said there was a rock embedded in my foot.  He holds up a bottle of something, said 'this is going to hurt' then started to pour the liquid.  I didn't feel a thing.  I recovered fully, but the memory lingers.  

I have a scar below my right knee.  Don't know from what. A scar on my right thigh from when my dog jumped into the pool and I was helping her out, one on my left from the cat.  Two of my proudest visible scars are from C-sections. I have a scar on my back from jumping over a barbed wire fence, two on my abdomen from mole removal, another on my chin from mole removal.  I have one on my left pinky from when my sister slammed a door on my hand and broke it, a long scar on my right pinky from a cat, and finally, I think, right index finger from broken glass. 

I don't remember the pain of any of these wounds.  Only the memories of the incidents remain.  Some are vague, some are almost too vivid.  

However, it's the scars you don't see that  haunt me. Those scars are the ones where the pain is remembered more than the event that caused them.  The invisible scars are the emotional scars that are not 'war wounds' and are difficult to deal with because we, I, typically do not talk about them.  I can look back and laugh about the above scars because they were mostly accidents.  Emotional scars only fade if we release them to the one who heals.

Some people have visible scars that are very much tied to the emotional ones. They are reminders of things in the past and often in the present.  Whenever I see someone with those types of scars I often want to know, what's their story, how are they dealing with both the physical and the emotional.  

Scars, both physical and emotional, are reminders. I'll never ride a horse barefoot again! I remember my children's birth every time I look in the mirror when getting dressed.  My emotional scars remind me that the people who created those scars are also wounded creatures.  Those scars help me remember to to love as I have been loved and to forgive as I have been forgiven.   Have you ever wondered why Jesus, who brought himself back to life after being beaten and crucified on the cross, left the scars on his hands?  

John 20:²⁴ Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. ²⁵ So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

Maybe those scars were left only for Thomas. 

John 20:26 A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said,“Peace be with you!” ²⁷ Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” ²⁸ Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”

²⁹ Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

Some people need a little reminder.  I look at my scars differently now.  Not only do they remind me of events in my life, they also remind me of Jesus. He was scarred so that I can live. 

What do your scars mean to you?

Ashley N. Day

The following is re-posted with permission.  See the full blog here.  Thank you Ashley for the tears and the re-positioning of my perspective.

Why I bought—and ate—a cupcake today

This entry was posted on August 24, 2012, in learn, live and tagged cupcake, live and learn,NYC shooting, overcoming injuries, perspective, setbacks. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment

In January my world completely crumbled under me. The person my entire life revolved around and I ripped ourselves apart. The family we’d become no longer was and it was sudden and painful and overwhelming. So I ran. As I do, I ran from it and over it and around it, and one day I ran so hard I tore a muscle and fractured my femur and could no longer run. I couldn’t even walk. To my broken heart I added a broken bone and I had no option but to let both heal.

For six months I’ve reluctantly fumbled through therapy, X-rays, MRIs, scans and ultra sounds with appointment after appointment resulting in four and eight and 16 more weeks on crutches and an infinite amount of time from running again. I drained most of my money, worked like a fiend, and gradually grew more and more frustrated with the time and difficulty it took to get anywhere. When surgery finally came, I had lost all confidence in my body and my luck. Scared and uncertain, I went to church the day before the procedure and watched a video on a woman who’d just overcome cancer for the fourth time and whose faith was contagious to every patient around her. And I lost every bit of fear and hesitance. I went into surgery with an entirely new, hopeful attitude.

What I needed that day wasn’t sympathy or stress relief, I needed perspective. I had all the support and encouragement in the world, but my fear stemmed from discouragement and exhaustion and maybe a little self pity. The truth is, this has been one of the hardest years of my life, but it’s been a walk in the park compared to so many other people’s circumstances. And although at your breaking point, you need that moment when it’s okay to be upset, the moment after you have to put your feelings into perspective.

I spent the first five months on crutches trying to understand why this had happened to me, why something so defeating would trample me while I was already down and why life kept kicking dust in my face. It wasn’t because I was ungrateful about my ability to run, it was that I took credit for my ability to walk, and the truth is the crutches actually carried me when I no longer could. God saw I’d let another person take over caring for me and determining my worth, and it took his place. But I learned to lean on him again and not take even the simplest of blessings for granted. And I learned that as hard as this part of my story is to tell, it’s still a part of my story.

Today I was cleared to walk after half a year of crutching—half a year of needing assistance carrying anything, shopping, doing laundry, walking my dog or using stairs. Half a year of the bus, spending a fortune on cabs, having three to five appointments a week, making a scene everywhere I go, annoying every restaurant and bar goer I inconvenience, and never ever exercising. It is a big, long awaited day for me, but as I leave the hospital I pass a man in a wheelchair with only one leg who apologizes for being in my way. Perspective.

When I crutched upstairs to get what I hoped were my last X-rays, the entire waiting room was glued to the TV where breaking news of a shooting near the Empire State building was scrolling across the screen and people were on stretchers and bystanders were fleeing the scene. And I thought of every friend and former coworker of mine who works within three blocks of there and all of my friends and family out of state thought of me. Perspective.

After the final clearance, I feel exactly like the night I got my first car and pledged to never be hard on my dad again because he’d gifted me this. That day when every 16-year-old starts volunteering to run errands just to grab the wheel of new found freedom. I want to walk somewhere and accomplish something completely on my own to celebrate, but I check back on the developing story and read a woman at a crosswalk watched the woman beside her suddenly fall to the ground, shot in the hip. My hip was torn and fractured and hurt, but she was shot in hers today. I want to update my status and announce to everyone whose only ever known me on crutches that I’m walking and normal and ready to take on the world, but it seems so small on a day like today that’s not at all about me.

Today may have been her last day and we all wonder, what did she think in that moment, if she had a moment to think? We put ourselves in her shoes—when we take 10 minutes from our not at all life or death work—to consider if this happened at our crosswalk instead. We think of who we would’ve wished we’d reconciled with, who we would’ve wanted to say bye to, what we would’ve regretted not accomplishing or where we would’ve liked to be standing instead. We wonder what will be remembered about us and what will be such a shame we didn’t get around to.

I think of the little things I care way too much about, the time I waste, the dreams I put off, and the family I miss. I think of what I need to do and say and experience before I’m at that crosswalk. And then I head to the market to pick out something fattening and forbidden and delicious looking, and I buy it. I buy a chocolate, iced cupcake, because I’m 115 pounds and dieting like a psychopath, and I eat it even if it takes me all day. Because I can’t change the world right this second, but I have no idea what else will happen today, and it’d be a shame to snack on celery and carrots over a lack of perspective.

Where has perspective knocked you off your feet?

Jesus Is Enough

I'm currently training for my second marathon.  Did you think I'd quit after the last one? Not a chance.   Anyway, today was long run day.  It is customary for me pray during my long runs.  It's my quiet time, the time in my day that there is nothing else that needs my attention.  My feet know what to do, my brain is just along for the ride.  Being a woman, I must multitask. Don't get me wrong, I don't pray out of boredom or just to have something to do.  It is a deliberate, focused time of communion between me and God.  

My prayers usually start with my family, then my church family, issues I have, and then I open it up to whatever comes to mind.  

Today, I near the end of my prayer, I was thinking about a conversation my husband had recently.  The topic was whether or not the common person could understand the Bible.  Now, I'm no Bible scholar. I haven't been to seminary. However, I have read the Bible cover to cover, several times. I'm not bragging, just stating a fact.  

This much I know. 
God Is:  Exodus 3:14 God said to Moses, "I am who I am."
God created the world: Genesis 1:1  In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.
God created us, people:  Genesis 1:26 Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”
Jesus is the son of God, is God, was with God in the beginning:  Genesis 1:26... Let us...our...
Jesus came to the earth freely, died for us willingly as a sacrifice once and for all to wash away my sins, was raised on the third day, and wants a relationship with me. See Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. 

I know Jesus loves me. I know I do not need a self-help book, prophetic sermons, prophetic books, or any person to tell me how I should live my life.  

I know I don't fear death.

I know there are things in the Bible that are not 100% clear at first read.  Several books are poetry.  I've never liked poetry. Revelation is a difficult book to understand.  That's okay.  It was written for specific people for a specific time.  I know enough to build my faith, put it in God's hand, and turn my life over to him.

I know enough to give my life to God so that I may enter the gates of Heaven and be welcomed by Jesus.

I know I don't need to argue politics, semantics, exegesis, prophesy, or the second coming with anyone. I know that I do not need to know everything the Bible says in order to go to heaven. I know God wants my heart. I know my faith is just that, faith. 

 Why?  Because Jesus is enough.

Romans 1:20  For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.