Daddy's Girl: Chocolate Dipped Biscotti
The thought of being a Daddy's girl has always creeped me out.
I've known girls, way past puberty, who are quite comfortable sitting on daddy's lap, and flirting for what they want, be it a pair of diamond earrings, a car, or maybe some Choos. I distinctly remember feeling nauseous watching Meadow Soprano on Tony's lap one season -- she was about the same age as the girls at the Bada-Bing.
Eeeeew.
But girls and their Daddy's have always been a thing, and can be sweet, with images of girls learning to dance by stepping those tiny ballet flats on Dad's dress shoes. But with today's extended childhoods, modern daughters are twenty-something women, dancing on daddy's laps flirting for allowance.
I have never been a Daddy's girl. As a kid, if dad had to entertain me for the day, we'd engage in gender-neutral activities, like party-boat fishing, and trips to Belmont racetrack. Some Long Island kids go to museums in Manhattan; I got to sit in the grandstand with the the degenerates and their cigarillos. My dad would give me $10 of don't-tell-mom hush money, which I'd usually split between a long shot trifecta, and a couple of square pieces of pizza. I was more of Daddy's little handicapper than a girl.
So I got a strange case of girlness last week, when I found myself baking cookies in the kitchen while my dad watched some Will Ferrell movie on the couch. The cookie making wasn't for fun, mind you, I was working. I informed my father that although it might look as if I was baking cookies (because --er-- I was baking cookies), I was actually earning a living.
I removed the first batch from the oven, and placed the fragile, camera-perfect lovelies on a cooling rack. Every so often, I'd catch him sniffing the air. Once he waved at me. After about 10 minutes, he slowly walked to the kitchen, with a familiar look. It was the same face I'd seen on my dog when I cook steak. I asked him how his movie was. "Funny," he replied, staring at the cookies, sniffing.
It was too much. "Dad, would you like a cookie?" I asked.
"No, no. I don't want to disturb you at work. I mean, if it's not a problem I would be happy to have one, but just to help you with your test."
"It's no problem, take this one." He took it, pointed to a second, at which point I nodded. He took a cookie in each hand, made a small bow, and was back to the couch before the commercial break was done.
A few minutes later, he came back with the same face, and asked for a cold glass of milk and a napkin.
At the next commercial, he appeared again, ever-so-politely, asking if there was another batch that he should sample, so that he could give me proper feedback. Of course, only if this would help me with my work.
I gave him another, and packed up the rest of the cookies. Someone had to save him from himself.
This coy sweetness is something I hadn't seen in my father before. After all, he's the father and parent, the provider and giver. I was finally in a position to give my father a little sugar (so to speak).
Sure, it was funny to see my dad semi-afraid to ask for a cookie, but it was much more thrilling to know that with my own two hands I was able to make something that would make him so happy. It wasn't a square piece of pizza exactly, or a hook baited with a bloodworm, but it was what I had and what he wanted. And that was enough.
Dad's Favorite Biscotti
Adapted from Jewish Cooking in America, by Joan Nathan
Makes 4 dozen biscotti
1 3/4 cups loosely packed unbleached flour
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 large eggs
½ teaspoon vanilla
6 ounces whole, unbleached almonds
6 ounces semi-sweet chocolate, cut into chunks (optional)
1 teaspoon vegetable shortening
1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Using a paddle in the bowl of an electric mixer, mix the dry ingredients.
2. Lightly beat the eggs and the vanilla and add to the dry ingredients. Add the nuts. Remove the dough to a well-floured surface and divide into 2 pieces. Roll each piece into a sausage about 2 inches wide. Lay the strips on a buttered and floured baking pan. Leave several inches between each.
3. Bake for 50 minutes and let cool for 5 minutes. Remove to a cutting surface and using a serrated knife, cut into 1/2 inch pieces (on a bias). Lay the bars on their sides on the baking sheets and return to the oven for 35 to 50 minutes until they are dried.
4. In a small microwave-safe bowl, melt chocolate in the microwave for 45 seconds. Add shortening and stir. Dip half of each biscotti into melted chocolate, allow the excess chocolate drip from the biscotti, and place on a sheet of parchment paper. Let chocolate harden, and store in an airtight container.
I've known girls, way past puberty, who are quite comfortable sitting on daddy's lap, and flirting for what they want, be it a pair of diamond earrings, a car, or maybe some Choos. I distinctly remember feeling nauseous watching Meadow Soprano on Tony's lap one season -- she was about the same age as the girls at the Bada-Bing.
Eeeeew.
But girls and their Daddy's have always been a thing, and can be sweet, with images of girls learning to dance by stepping those tiny ballet flats on Dad's dress shoes. But with today's extended childhoods, modern daughters are twenty-something women, dancing on daddy's laps flirting for allowance.
I have never been a Daddy's girl. As a kid, if dad had to entertain me for the day, we'd engage in gender-neutral activities, like party-boat fishing, and trips to Belmont racetrack. Some Long Island kids go to museums in Manhattan; I got to sit in the grandstand with the the degenerates and their cigarillos. My dad would give me $10 of don't-tell-mom hush money, which I'd usually split between a long shot trifecta, and a couple of square pieces of pizza. I was more of Daddy's little handicapper than a girl.
So I got a strange case of girlness last week, when I found myself baking cookies in the kitchen while my dad watched some Will Ferrell movie on the couch. The cookie making wasn't for fun, mind you, I was working. I informed my father that although it might look as if I was baking cookies (because --er-- I was baking cookies), I was actually earning a living.
I removed the first batch from the oven, and placed the fragile, camera-perfect lovelies on a cooling rack. Every so often, I'd catch him sniffing the air. Once he waved at me. After about 10 minutes, he slowly walked to the kitchen, with a familiar look. It was the same face I'd seen on my dog when I cook steak. I asked him how his movie was. "Funny," he replied, staring at the cookies, sniffing.
It was too much. "Dad, would you like a cookie?" I asked.
"No, no. I don't want to disturb you at work. I mean, if it's not a problem I would be happy to have one, but just to help you with your test."
"It's no problem, take this one." He took it, pointed to a second, at which point I nodded. He took a cookie in each hand, made a small bow, and was back to the couch before the commercial break was done.
A few minutes later, he came back with the same face, and asked for a cold glass of milk and a napkin.
At the next commercial, he appeared again, ever-so-politely, asking if there was another batch that he should sample, so that he could give me proper feedback. Of course, only if this would help me with my work.
I gave him another, and packed up the rest of the cookies. Someone had to save him from himself.
This coy sweetness is something I hadn't seen in my father before. After all, he's the father and parent, the provider and giver. I was finally in a position to give my father a little sugar (so to speak).
Sure, it was funny to see my dad semi-afraid to ask for a cookie, but it was much more thrilling to know that with my own two hands I was able to make something that would make him so happy. It wasn't a square piece of pizza exactly, or a hook baited with a bloodworm, but it was what I had and what he wanted. And that was enough.
Dad's Favorite Biscotti
Adapted from Jewish Cooking in America, by Joan Nathan
Makes 4 dozen biscotti
1 3/4 cups loosely packed unbleached flour
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 large eggs
½ teaspoon vanilla
6 ounces whole, unbleached almonds
6 ounces semi-sweet chocolate, cut into chunks (optional)
1 teaspoon vegetable shortening
1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Using a paddle in the bowl of an electric mixer, mix the dry ingredients.
2. Lightly beat the eggs and the vanilla and add to the dry ingredients. Add the nuts. Remove the dough to a well-floured surface and divide into 2 pieces. Roll each piece into a sausage about 2 inches wide. Lay the strips on a buttered and floured baking pan. Leave several inches between each.
3. Bake for 50 minutes and let cool for 5 minutes. Remove to a cutting surface and using a serrated knife, cut into 1/2 inch pieces (on a bias). Lay the bars on their sides on the baking sheets and return to the oven for 35 to 50 minutes until they are dried.
4. In a small microwave-safe bowl, melt chocolate in the microwave for 45 seconds. Add shortening and stir. Dip half of each biscotti into melted chocolate, allow the excess chocolate drip from the biscotti, and place on a sheet of parchment paper. Let chocolate harden, and store in an airtight container.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 6:52 PM
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