Macarons at Midnight by M.J. O'Shea & Anna Martin
Authors: M.J. O'Shea & Anna Martin
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he was sinking back onto the sofa and running seeking, shivery fingers up under Tristan’s shirt.
“N-no cake?” Tristan asked.
“Well,” Henry grinned. “It really is best the next morning.” He shrugged and tried to look innocent. Tristan smiled back.
“Am I going to get to taste it, you know, in the morning?” Tristan hoped Henry had been offering what he thought.
“I think that can be arranged.”
C OUNTY K ERRY A PPLE C AKE
A Honeyfly Tradition, our apple cake is fragrant and tender.
It’s perfect on its own or with cream cheese frosting for extra sweetness. Delicious fresh out of the oven, even better the next day.
4 cups grated apples (Golden Delicious are the best for this cake)
3 eggs
2 cups white sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla (extract, not flavoring)
2½ teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 cups flour
First, peel and grate four large apples to make the four cups of grated apple. It might take five apples. You’ll want to err on the high side. If you have a little bit too much apple, no one’s going to complain.
After you have your apples peeled and grated, it’s time to start the batter. Mix the eggs and the sugar together. Then add the oil, vanilla, and cinnamon. Sift the baking soda, salt, and flour into the batter while stirring slowly until incorporated. Last, add the grated apple to the batter and mix that in as well. Make sure you scrape the sides of the bowl to catch any dry ingredients.
Pour the batter into a buttered baking dish. Once the batter is in the pan, you’d bake it at 350°F for 55 minutes. Check the center with a toothpick to make sure it’s done. If the toothpick comes out with batter stuck to it, you have to leave it in just a little longer. Remove the cake and let it cool.
Chapter 6
E VEN THOUGH he hadn’t had had much sleep in days, Henry walked to work Friday feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. Sure, it was ass thirty in the morning as he plodded through the streets of the Village, but he crossed West Fourth with a spring in his step all the same. Henry hummed to himself as he made his way through his neighborhood. Even at this time of morning, there was a buzz in the air—more than summer bugs, it was the energy of New York itself, teeming with life even under the quiet, deserted, tree-lined solitude of early morning.
He unlocked the door to the bakery and threw the lights on. Henry breathed in. He’d always appreciated the smell of clean counters in the morning. They said something about hard work or industriousness. He wasn’t sure what it was he liked so much. But cleanliness and the warm, sunny color of the walls always made him smile. He’d picked yellow on purpose. He’d wanted the bakery to be a bright place where he could work and where people would feel welcome to sit and talk with their friends over pastries and coffee, a bit of sun even when it got bitter and cold in the city during the winter.
Henry opened the blinds so the sun could peek in as soon as it rose, lending a glow to the whole place, and then got to work prepping the pastries for the morning. It didn’t take long for him to get the ovens going and to start pulling bags of flour and sugar onto the counter like some sort of mad scientist with a vision in his head that changed constantly.
One of Henry’s favorite things about owning his own bakery was getting to choose what he made each day. Even though there were always the basics—cinnamon rolls, black-and-white cookies, muffins, breads, cupcakes, and croissants—he liked to mix it up every now and then and try out new recipes. It meant that even his regulars had the chance to try something different from time to time.
While he rolled out, cut, and shaped the dough for the regular items, Henry hummed along to “The Head and the Heart” on his sound system and thought about what he might try that would be different, something to liven up his shelves.
His
“N-no cake?” Tristan asked.
“Well,” Henry grinned. “It really is best the next morning.” He shrugged and tried to look innocent. Tristan smiled back.
“Am I going to get to taste it, you know, in the morning?” Tristan hoped Henry had been offering what he thought.
“I think that can be arranged.”
C OUNTY K ERRY A PPLE C AKE
A Honeyfly Tradition, our apple cake is fragrant and tender.
It’s perfect on its own or with cream cheese frosting for extra sweetness. Delicious fresh out of the oven, even better the next day.
4 cups grated apples (Golden Delicious are the best for this cake)
3 eggs
2 cups white sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla (extract, not flavoring)
2½ teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 cups flour
First, peel and grate four large apples to make the four cups of grated apple. It might take five apples. You’ll want to err on the high side. If you have a little bit too much apple, no one’s going to complain.
After you have your apples peeled and grated, it’s time to start the batter. Mix the eggs and the sugar together. Then add the oil, vanilla, and cinnamon. Sift the baking soda, salt, and flour into the batter while stirring slowly until incorporated. Last, add the grated apple to the batter and mix that in as well. Make sure you scrape the sides of the bowl to catch any dry ingredients.
Pour the batter into a buttered baking dish. Once the batter is in the pan, you’d bake it at 350°F for 55 minutes. Check the center with a toothpick to make sure it’s done. If the toothpick comes out with batter stuck to it, you have to leave it in just a little longer. Remove the cake and let it cool.
Chapter 6
E VEN THOUGH he hadn’t had had much sleep in days, Henry walked to work Friday feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. Sure, it was ass thirty in the morning as he plodded through the streets of the Village, but he crossed West Fourth with a spring in his step all the same. Henry hummed to himself as he made his way through his neighborhood. Even at this time of morning, there was a buzz in the air—more than summer bugs, it was the energy of New York itself, teeming with life even under the quiet, deserted, tree-lined solitude of early morning.
He unlocked the door to the bakery and threw the lights on. Henry breathed in. He’d always appreciated the smell of clean counters in the morning. They said something about hard work or industriousness. He wasn’t sure what it was he liked so much. But cleanliness and the warm, sunny color of the walls always made him smile. He’d picked yellow on purpose. He’d wanted the bakery to be a bright place where he could work and where people would feel welcome to sit and talk with their friends over pastries and coffee, a bit of sun even when it got bitter and cold in the city during the winter.
Henry opened the blinds so the sun could peek in as soon as it rose, lending a glow to the whole place, and then got to work prepping the pastries for the morning. It didn’t take long for him to get the ovens going and to start pulling bags of flour and sugar onto the counter like some sort of mad scientist with a vision in his head that changed constantly.
One of Henry’s favorite things about owning his own bakery was getting to choose what he made each day. Even though there were always the basics—cinnamon rolls, black-and-white cookies, muffins, breads, cupcakes, and croissants—he liked to mix it up every now and then and try out new recipes. It meant that even his regulars had the chance to try something different from time to time.
While he rolled out, cut, and shaped the dough for the regular items, Henry hummed along to “The Head and the Heart” on his sound system and thought about what he might try that would be different, something to liven up his shelves.
His
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