This bread has been on constant rotation around our house lately. It is delicious (especially right out of the oven) and it is pretty healthy so I feel good about eating it, too. I have always found baking to be really therapeutic, and I seem to have a major baking itch lately. January has called for some serious comfort food and therapy in the form of baking it seems.
I’ve been feeling somewhat uninspired lately. Uninspired in the kitchen, uninspired to write, and even more uninspired to get up at 7 a.m. to exercise outside before it hits 100 degrees. I’m not sure if it is the endless heat wave in Dallas or my body telling me to slow down, but it sure feels like a “funk” and quite frankly, I am over it.
I have always had a sweet tooth (if you couldn’t already tell from the amount of baked goods on this blog). I blame my mother, really, who would always order dessert at restaurants even if no one else was ordering anything. And being the amazing, supportive daughter that I am, I would never want someone, let alone my mom, to eat dessert alone and thus, felt obliged to order the sweet stuff as well. Of course, I would eat it all because I couldn’t waste a single bite. That would be rude. And I am just really thoughtful like that.
I know, I know. Not the Blood Orange Olive Oil Cake, again?! Yep, that’s right. I’m doing it. Every food blogger under the sun has posted this recipe, and I’m posting it here, too. It really all started because I was curious as to what could be so special about this fruity cake. I also just so happened to have New York Times food writer, Melissa Clark’s In the Kitchen with a Good Appetite, AND I remembered that I had blood oranges in the fridge—clearly a sign that could not be ignored. Until I went to said refrigerator to dig out those blood oranges. Huh, that is strange. I swear I bought five blood oranges as I distinctly remember the Whole Foods sale, 5 for $5. Am I losing it? Maybe, but in this case, I knew someone had taken them, and Henry the dog didn’t do it; he can’t even open the fridge.
Landmine Pie. That is what my lovely fiance named this dessert that I slaved over for hours in the kitchen (okay, so maybe it was actually an incredibly easy dessert that took less than 30 minutes, but that is absolutely not the point.) I will be calling it by its real name, Cherry Clafoutis not Landmine Pie. Why Landmine Pie you ask? Please read on.