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Request to the server "whisk-kid.blogspot.com"
Received 40 bytes from address 85.13.159.101#53 in 91 ms
Request to the server "whisk-kid.blogspot.com"
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Received 40 bytes from address 85.13.128.3#53 in 94 ms
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IP: 209.85.175.132

continent: NA, country: United States (USA), city: Mountain View

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Basic information

website build using CSS

code weight: 80.79 KB

text per all code ratio: 18 %

title: Whisk Kid

description:

keywords:

encoding: UTF-8

language: en

Website code analysis

one word phrases repeated minimum three times

two word phrases repeated minimum three times

three word phrases repeated minimum three times

B tags

The ingredients are simple, but the message is not. I made the crumble while on the bad side of a childish argument with a friend. The fight involved yelling and tears, ultimately ending with a deafening mid-sentence click from the other line. I held the stunned silent receiver in my hand, questioning the worth of the relationship.I made the crumble before the resolution, hopeful that a well-placed apology would warrant a visit to my friend’s place. I had visions of him opening the door to find me on the porch, crumble in hand, and just smiling; relieved, I would hope, that things could be so easily fixed.I baked it to solidify my emotions and my feelings into something tangible. I wanted to present it to him and show him that I cared that much. That he meant that much. And so I did. The apology was placed and accepted. The delivery was received, the smiles were shared and the crumble was divided.It should have, by my own calculations, been “right” at that point. But it didn’t feel that way. I had thrown everything that I had into the friendship, but it wasn’t enough. There was a lingering guilt in the air; an unforgivable hurt on either side that carved hallowed and pained faces on each of us. He had asked too much of me, selfishly considering my unwillingness to fall as a sign of disrespect and indifference. And I, selfish in my own ways, refused to change my mind.Trying to fix the friendship wouldn’t help because we had different ideas of what “fixing it” even meant. To salvage or to heat up were our only options, and neither seemed mutually attractive to both parties. I sat at his kitchen table with a smile painted on my face, fearful for the days ahead. Things had changed, we realized, and both of us knew that it was finally time for it all to crumble. Which, in the end, was the best thing that could have happened. Chocolate Stout Cupcakes

I made these for my brother and was surprised at how much I liked them! This is a wonderful recipe. Printable Recipe2 1/2 c (313 g) flour2 c (400 g) sugar3/4 c (64 g) cocoa powder1 1/2 tsp baking soda1/2 tsp salt1 (11.2-ounce) bottle Guinness stout1/2 c (118 ml) milk1/2 c (118 ml) vegetable oil1 Tbsp vanilla3 eggs, room temp3/4 c (177 g) sour creamPreheat the oven to 350F and line two muffin tins with liners. Set aside.In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt. Set aside.In a large bowl, combine the Guinness, milk, vegetable oil and vanilla. Add the eggs, one at a time, whisking until completely incorporated. Mix in the sour cream. Add 1/3 of the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and fold to combine. Gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet, folding to combine. Divide into the prepared tins. Bake 20-25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the muffins comes out clean. Set pans on a wire rack to cool completely before removing the cupcakes from the tins.Simple Bailey's Buttercream

The toasted triangle pushes a pool of runny yolk; unyielding and rigid in my hand. Contained by a slick dam of homefries, the streaks of yellow gel begin to coagulate and harden, not only incorrigible, but inedible, too.Across the table is Dad's plate, the contents of which have been reduced to a scattered mess of cubed corned beef and hashbrowns. I've always considered my dad a fast eater, a thought clearly evidenced by today's empty plate. As a child, I remember sandwiches of potato bread - often stacked thick with peanut butter and jam - disappearing in a matter of bites. His bowls of soup emptied almost as if by straw, bags of popcorn were devoured in moments and coffee cups drained like ice water. Without a doubt, his plate has always been empty long before my own - a true fact for as long as I can remember. But I realized something that day as I peeked down at my half-emptied plate between sentences. Having lost interest in the potatoes, they'd been poked and muddled across the plate over the course of the meal. Bits of smooth white lay strewn among the dried painted stripes of yolk; the separate toast plate now holding only crumbs. I'm not done, but I'm finished, and Dad's beaten me again - as expected. But I know now that I've not offered any competition, today or any other day. I almost wonder how I've managed to eat anything at all amid relaying what I've just realized to have been an absurd amount of stories and information to the poor guy. Perhaps I took a bite after the story about my exam? Or maybe a swig of coffee after telling him a little about my roommate? I know half the stuff I've told him isn't even important. Hell, I'm being generous - maybe it's more like three quarters of what I've told him. But he listens anyway, offering advice and nodding politely even if he's maybe-kinda-sorta tuning me out a bit - which I'd forgive him for. His stories are much more thought-out than mine, but that's what you're to expect when you've got a daughter of any age - right? Sometimes I feel like what I've got to say is useless and completely pointless, but it's nice to just talk to (or perhaps at) him for a bit, especially after not seeing him since the beginning of the semester and spending so little time with him over the summer. Not a whole lot has changed in my life over the past few months. It's been good, and it's been simple. But even so, over a puddle of coagulated egg yolks and greasy slices of potatoes, I brought Dad up to speed on all the little details. I talked too much about too little. Like usual.And as he listened, he ate, and finished his meal before me.Like always. Red Velvet Cake

Printable RecipeStella wrote a great piece about the history of red velvet that you should really check out before making this cake. It's not your typical red velvet, and her article explains why. The wine adds a great depth to the cake (I used Sweet Cakes Sweet Red Wine), which everyone who tried it really enjoyed. I can't wait to make it again! This recipe will make three 8-inch layers or around 42 cupcakes.2 3/4 c (340 g) flour 1/2 c (57 g) natural cocoa2 c (454 g) unsalted butter, room temperature4 Tbsp safflower oil or other neutral flavored oil3 c (510 g) moderately packed brown sugar1 tsp salt2 1/4 tsp baking soda3/4 tsp baking powder1/2 tsp ground cinnamon, preferably freshly groundScrapings from two vanilla bean pods or 1 tsp vanilla bean paste6 eggs, room temperature1 1/2 c red wine (Zinfandels work especially well)3 Tbsp vanilla extractPreheat the oven to 350F and oil and line three 8" pans. Sift together the flour and cocoa powder to remove lumps, then set aside. In a large mixing bowl, cream together the butter, oil, brown sugar, salt, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon and vanilla bean seeds. Let the mixer run for about 10 minutes, making sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl from time to time. Turn the mixer speed down to medium low and add the eggs, one at a time, fully incorporating each egg before adding the next. Again, be sure to scrape down the bowl.Reduce the mixer speed to low. Add the flour/cocoa mixture and red wine in 3 alternating portions, scraping down the sides of the bowl before each addition. Add the vanilla at the very end, then shut off the mixer and fold the batter a few times to ensure an even mix.Divide the batter evenly between the three prepared cake pans (25 ounces each).Bake the cakes for 30 to 35 minutes or until the cakes have domed but retain a slight impression if touched gently with a fingertip. A toothpick inserted into the very center should have a few moist crumbs still attached.Cool the cakes on a wire rack for 10 minutes then invert and wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate until completely cool, about 2 or 3 hours. Cream Cheese Frosting

8 oz (227 g) cream cheese, room temp8 Tbsp (114 g) butter, room temp4 1/3 c (676 g) confectioners' sugar, or more if desired1 Tbsp vanillaCombine the cream cheese and butter in a large mixing bowl. Cream together until smooth and lightened. Sift in the powdered sugar about a cup at a time, then beat in high speed until light and fluffy. Add more powdered sugar if needed. Beat in the vanilla.Assembly

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U tags

I tags

The ingredients are simple, but the message is not. I made the crumble while on the bad side of a childish argument with a friend. The fight involved yelling and tears, ultimately ending with a deafening mid-sentence click from the other line. I held the stunned silent receiver in my hand, questioning the worth of the relationship.I made the crumble before the resolution, hopeful that a well-placed apology would warrant a visit to my friend’s place. I had visions of him opening the door to find me on the porch, crumble in hand, and just smiling; relieved, I would hope, that things could be so easily fixed.I baked it to solidify my emotions and my feelings into something tangible. I wanted to present it to him and show him that I cared that much

that much

I sat at his kitchen table with a smile painted on my face, fearful for the days ahead. Things had changed, we realized, and both of us knew that it was finally time for it all to crumble. Which, in the end, was the best thing that could have happened. Chocolate Stout Cupcakes adapted from ChowI made these for my brother and was surprised at how much I liked them! This is a wonderful recipe. Printable Recipe

I've always considered my dad a fast eater, a thought clearly evidenced by today's empty plate. As a child, I remember sandwiches of potato bread - often stacked thick with peanut butter and jam - disappearing in a matter of bites. His bowls of soup emptied almost as if by straw, bags of popcorn were devoured in moments and coffee cups drained like ice water. Without a doubt, his plate has always been empty long before my own - a true fact for as long as I can remember. But I realized something that day as I peeked down at my half-emptied plate between sentences. Having lost interest in the potatoes, they'd been poked and muddled across the plate over the course of the meal. Bits of smooth white lay strewn among the dried painted stripes of yolk; the separate toast plate now holding only crumbs. I'm not done, but I'm finished, and Dad's beaten me again - as expected. But I know now that I've not offered any competition, today or any other day. I almost wonder how I've managed to eat anything at all amid relaying what I've just realized to have been an absurd amount of stories and information to the poor guy. Perhaps I took a bite after the story about my exam? Or maybe a swig of coffee after telling him a little about my roommate? I know half the stuff I've told him isn't even important. Hell, I'm being generous - maybe it's more like three quarters of what I've told him. But he listens anyway, offering advice and nodding politely even if he's maybe-kinda-sorta tuning me out a bit - which I'd forgive him for. His stories are much more thought-out than mine, but that's what you're to expect when you've got a daughter of any age - right? Sometimes I feel like what I've got to say is useless and completely pointless, but it's nice to just talk to (or perhaps at

Like always. Red Velvet Cake adapted from Stella Parks at Gilt TastePrintable Recipe

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Sunday, October 16

Friday, October 14

Sunday, October 9

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Sunday, October 16

Friday, October 14

Sunday, October 9

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