Tag Archives: food

{feed the mackenzies} orange-glazed cinnamon rolls;


one month into my gender studies class and i’ve realized the following: i sort of find the “women’s protein” powder i bought a few weeks ago hilariously sexist, and i’m an inherently domestic lady.

which probably stems from the fact that nothing excites me more than “NEW CANDLE FROM TJ MAXX DAY!”, one of my new favorite holidays that i’ve recently been celebrating. it almost rivals my love of my favorite month, february, which i’ve come to call “BAKE EVERYTHING IN A HEART-SHAPED PAN MONTH!” 

things baked in a heart-shaped pan thus far? cornbread x2 , guinness cake, two-layer carrot cake, and….these orange-glazed cinnamon rolls. or what i called them during the four hour baking process, “those bad boys”.


i zested (and giggled).
i pretended this recipe was entirely my own. ahem. putting two recipes together counts as a new one, right?
i put dough on top of my radiator for it to rise for two hours because my apartment has the tendency to be a drafty siberian tundra.
i cursed the rising dough for the two-hours of rising time. and put on my bear slippers to combat the tundra.
i giggled more when i made a ginger dough man. i think it helps the dough rise or something.

oh yeah, and maybe telling you the recipe would help:
{i adapted from this one for the dough and this one for the filling. i just added orange juice to the  first recipe’s glaze.}

1.mix the dough. let it rise, as you silently weep over how easy it was to use bakers yeast for the first time. around two hours, or so.
2. knead again. weep again. rise again.
3.after you’ve kneaded your ginger dough head and made it talk like sloth from the goonies for 15 minutes, and chased after  your roommates with it, it’s time to fill and bake those aforementioned bad boys.


slove love chunk. mackenzie love orange-glazed cinnamon rolls. it’s a similar kind of love, hence the heart-shaped pan. 

last step is obviously to insert your face into one of these bad boys. and bask in the glory under the glow of your newest tj-maxx candle.

and spend your sugar high imagining j-schwartz is praising your baking prowess.

and that totally original cinnamon roll recipe that you totally made up yourself. or something.

{feed the mackenzies} snickerdoodle ice cream sandwiches;


snickerdoodles, i feel like you don’t get the air time you really deserve. sure, you bring to mind an era of 50′s aerosol hairsprays and garish floral couches covered in plastic protective coverings, but you really are an awesome anytime-of-the-year, any-decade-where-cookies-are-eaten (curse you, frantic fat-hating, 90′s)  kind of cookie.

 who cares if you’re not a chocolate chip cookie (truth be told, i always pick the chocolate chips out, i much prefer the brown sugar-laced cookie). and like, sure you’re not the best cookie variety i’ve ever had (that goes to the german chocolate cookie i got at whole foods over the summer. holla @ dat cookie).

  but besides all of that, you are a damn good-enough cookie. and you know what makes you even better? putting two of you silly little cookies around a loving dollop of ice cream. ghost of barry white, be praised, ’cause all i wanted to do after i made a couple of you guys today was say “awwwwww yeaaaaah.” 

ahem. right. so, let’s just get to the recipe, then. ahem.

Photo on 1-14-13 at 2.48 PM #2


 your favorite snickerdoodle recipe (i used this one from the ppk, but less chai, ‘cuz that shizz is nasty).

 + your favorite ice cream (even though i heartily enjoy eating dairy now, i unabashedly looooooove the coconut milk + soy milk ice creams from tj’s.)


 1. congratulate yourself on this genius idea by taking webcam photo shoots with a half-eaten cookie.

 2. since no one is home, why don’t you put on liquid eye liner?

 3. and a green polka dotted bow?

4. and red lipstick?

 5. and you should put on the pretenders, right? right.

Photo on 1-14-13 at 2.47 PM #4 (1)

5. spin around in your rolly desk chair at least six times. more web cam photos are recommended at this point.

 6. oh yeah, snickerdoodle ice cream sandwiches. that’s right.  damn it.

 7. yeah, so just sandwich two of those bad boys around a mound of your favorite ice cream. ugh, the happiest of sandwiches it will be. ugh, so happy. easily the happiest moment of your life, f’real.

Photo on 1-14-13 at 2.47 PM #5

no need to thank me, guys. this one’s on the house.

{feed the mackenzies} tealuxe-y iced tea;

anyone who has ever visited me or asked me advice on what to do in this lovely city has most likely heard me speak volumes about my favorite tea shop, tealuxe. tealuxe is the one place in harvard square that arguably has the most of my money, and for good reason. the only way i can describe tealuxe to outsiders is that it is the ollivander’s wand shop of tea shops. i actually usually tell people,”the tea chooses the drinker…the wand chooses the wizard…” upon taking them there. yeah, i lose a lot of sleep over that one. i’m actually the worst.

aside from horrible jokes and references, tealuxe is one of the facilitating factors that lead me to call harvard square one of my favorite places in the whole wide world (cute academics + poetry bookshops + kind drivers and bike lanes only solidified it for me).

i’m a huge fan of their iced teas, to which they add milk. sound weird? nope, definitely not. it’s actually the dreamiest. seeing as this is my drink of choice when i’m studying, and i don’t exactly live down the street from tealuxe anymore, i found a way to make my favorite drink at home. i usually go for their creme de la earl grey iced tea + soy milk, but i used this vanilla rooibos tea instead.

essentially, boil water as you would for hot tea, brew around 6-7 bags of the tea of your liking (i’d go with english breakfast, earl grey, rooibos, or chai teas), and combine all in a pitcher until steeped, around 4-5 minutes. cool down the tea with iced cubes, as it will be pretty concentrated, and boom, it’s ready for consumption. a 1:1 ratio of (almond) milk to tea was a pretty happy combination for me.

mmmmmm. tastes like academia and cobblestones (not literally) and overachievement. yum.

{feed the mackenzies} earl grey cupcakes + lavender lemonade;

earl grey chocolate cupcakes with creamy vanilla frosting.

okay, wipe the drool off of your sundress. get yourself together, woman.

these cupcakes were both a literal and metaphorical mouthful when i told the guests at my 21st birthday that they would be the lucky recipients of these bad boys. plus lavender lemonade. plus this recipe of witches brew (yes, it’s sangria. and no, i will never stop calling it witches brew, ever).

yes, i am accepting offers to be on the guest list of my 22nd birthday. stand behind the velvet rope, please.

regardless, i dreamt about these cupcakes for months. i usually plan parties because i want to merit a new, crazy-seeming baking project + have twenty willing victims to taste-test it. ergo, earl grey chocolate cupcakes.

guys, i cried when i put one of these in my gullet. after i put the (shockingly bright green) frosting with purple zombie sprinkles on top of it, it was beautiful. it was like getting a back massage while watching “the princess diaries” and someone is feeding you a bowl of pasta, all at the same time. that kind of beauty.

but really, this recipe was deceptively simple. i dare you to mess this up. and then feed me the “mess ups”, because they will still be delicious.

1. take your favorite chocolate cake recipe (vegan or not, the one in this cookbook is my favorite. i also got my lavender lemonade recipe from here).

2. grind up six packets worth of earl grey tea in a coffee grinder until it’s a fine powder.

3. fold in to cake batter, bake according to directions. ice to your liking (i use the basic recipe from isa chandra, goddess of vegan baking). i think lavender icing would be BOMB on this kind of cake, but i was too lazy to make two lavender-y sweet treats. first world problems, much?

4. win the admiration and praise from all of your friends and immediate family members. bask, homegirl. bask in it.

and remember; pinkies up when eating these cupcakes, darling.

other feed the mackenzie posts:

versunkener apfelkuchen (german apple cake)
cinnamon apple crisp 
pumpkin cake with cranberry glaze
creamy vegan (spicy as shizz) tomato soup 




i binged on fun at remuda ranch, part one;




{the two mackenzies, wickenburg az 2006)


this is a story i’ve been meaning to spit out for the last six years. but couldn’t possibly. things weren’t quite resolved. but now that it’s nearly six years since i’ve left, and neda week starts tomorrow, i thought it was more than overdue. i’ll be posting this in three parts over the course of the next week, in awareness of national eating disorder awareness week. please don’t be too shocked that i finally capitalized things for once. that just means i’m being seeeeerious.


There are potentially two moments in a young girl’s life where she can get a high five for taking a shit. One is when she’s a toddler precariously, tentatively plopping herself on her child-sized, rainbow, plush toilet seat  in her childhood bathroom. Her parents cheer her on from the sidelines like she was about to win the state championship football game. The second is when she gets a high five from twenty five other teenage girls at a treatment center for eating disorders in Wickenburg, Arizona. Getting your period for the first time in three years is also subject to getting a high-five, a hug, and a special shout-out at affirmation circles, after you sing “Kumbayah”, of course.

If you would have told me at age thirteen, tottering on my too-large heels borrowed from my mother’s closet, at the entrance of my eighth grade dance that I’d be spending eight months of my freshman year of high school in and out of treatment centers for anorexia nervosa, I wouldn’t have believed you. I would have spat out the three Red Lobster cheddar biscuits I had stuffed in my mouth in my half-starved stupor and told you kindly that you had the wrong girl. That girl was Mary Kate Olsen, shuffling her skeletal frame between New York City skyscrapers under willowy peasant skirts. That was a Lifetime movie with the fainting ballerinas and their issues with “forgetting to eat”. I did not own a peasant skirt at thirteen, nor had I taken ballet lessons since I was three, so I couldn’t possibly have fallen into this trap. No, not me. Must have been someone else. Go check next door.

I was the girl who cracked fart jokes in the middle of Honors geography. Who accidentally tripped up the stairs getting her 8th grade superlative award in front of everyone, who walked it off like she had a bad limp. Who could do an uncanny impression any female character on SNL. Who had a 4.0 GPA, but got kicked out of class for talking too much. Who asked boys to dance. Who laughed it off when she broke her nose in the middle of cheer practice. Who never thought she’d be concerned with the fact that one day, her thighs might, in fact, touch each other.

But there I was, in my XXL men’s sweatshirt and children’s size 12 jeans, shivering my poorly circulated self on a flight to a nowhere town in Arizona. For an eating disorder. A top of the line, grade-A, genuine eating disorder.

I remember all the months leading up to that point so vividly. All the times people would kick me off their laps, where I’d sit when there weren’t enough chairs at parties; my bony ass literally would cause them bodily harm. Waking up and eating exactly a half-cup of Cocoa puffs for breakfast with a table spoon of milk, enough for the puffs to become saturated, but not enough that you could feel fat grow on your already miniscule thighs from the skim milk. A Chewy bar for lunch eaten in a stall of the girls bathroom, picked apart, never eaten with full bites. A bed of romaine lettuce topped with a 30-calorie drizzling of chemical dressing for dinner. A gurgling stomach to keep you awake and aware of your hunger, for dessert. Always, always, always.
I’d wake up each morning, strictly at noon during the summertime. This was all strategic, you see. If I woke up at noon, that meant I could skip breakfast, eat a tiny lunch, a microscopic dinner, and then fall asleep at ten p.m. and do it all over again. If I woke up any earlier that just meant more time for me to think about how little food I would allow myself to eat, how much I’d have to exercise or fidget my body to expel the little calories I was ingesting, how many of my friends don’t like me anymore, or how much of a pest to my family I was. Waking up at noon was my coping mechanism. It also meant that there was less chance of me fainting spontaneously on the tile in my house, which had quickly become my new hobby of sorts.

As you can see, I was not parading around in peasant skirts and sipping on sugar free lattes, admiring my drastically dropping weight in all reflective surfaces that I walked by. I did not spend hours in the mirror, fawning over my waiflike physique. I did not score modeling contracts, despite my 5’8’’ frame and double- digit weight. I didn’t have photos of Kate Moss and other heroin “chic” models pasted on my walls as “thinspiration”.

No. I had to wear effing circulation hose, which were very sexy, tight, white knee socks that made sure the blood circulated in your legs enough so that you didn’t faint for at least eight hours every day. I didn’t shit for months, nor did I have a period for three years after the onset of my eating disorder. I wanted to be thinner because it felt like a sort of purity my own personality could not ensure. I was dirty if I ate. If I ate I couldn’t physically disappear, like I had been hoping I could do. I was bad if I even entertained the idea of eating.  I lived vicariously through my “The Sims” characters, rather than talk to my group of non-avatar friends that didn’t wet themselves whenever I forgot to tell them to go to the bathroom. I slept through my life. My skin took on a yellowish pallor and a lovely, peach fuzz (seductively called “Lanugo”. It sounds like the name of a Cuban pool boy, doesn’t it?) grows on your body in attempt to keep your body warm.


If there is one misconception about girls with eating disorders it is this; it’s all about weight. It’s not about the number on the scale, in that you are looking at how good you look. Actually, you know how bad you look. You are constantly, completely, vividly aware of how terrible you look at all times, actually. The number on the scale is just a placeholder, like “x” in your algebra class, for a number of different things. “X” could be a boy who didn’t like you, but asked you for advice on how to get with your best friend. “X” could be some run-of-the-mill “daddy issues”. “X” could be a gross exaggeration of your OCD, where you felt like you weren’t deserving of food, which was all too true in my case.  But unlike “x”, you can always control it. You can manipulate it, twist it, and bend it to your liking with each perfectly portioned and accounted 120 calorie dinner. For once in your life, everything is under control. Or, at least it seems like it.

A few days before I was admitted to my first treatment center (of three. A sentence you think you’ll never have to say), a girl in my world history class asked if she could get some advice from me. I had an A in this class, and I was sure she was going to ask me about the Mongol empire or antisemitism, but this was not the case. That’s never the case, actually.
“Mackenzie. How did you give yourself an eating disorder?” she asked tentatively, chomping on an egg Mcmuffin.
“What was that?” I said in shock.
“You’re so thin…I’m just, I’m just so jealous. How did you do it? Like, how did you give yourself an eating disorder?”

I mustered up as much strength a girl surviving on a diet of half-cup servings of chocolate-y cereals could possibly have, which is to say that I shot her a look that could only be categorized as a “Bitch face”. Even that was exhausting.

“You can’t give yourself an eating disorder, Rachel,” I said as she shook her brunette hair extensions in disbelief over this novel idea.

“Well, I’m going to try,” she said with a definitive chomp on the remains of her crumbling English muffin.

This was the age of the glamorous nature of eating disorders. Lindsay, Paris, and Britney were all being praised for their “discipline”, their sprinkling of water on their dinners so they wouldn’t overeat. But I wanted so desperately for someone to understand that that wasn’t true, not even a smidgen true.

for part two, click here.

a valentine’s day itinerary;


nom to your heart’s content on some maple-apple oatmeal and iced coffee. watch your favorite, most romantic, creepiest episodes of “twilight zone” under your electric blanket boyfriend. yell at your laptop screen, screeching “SANDRA, DON’T EFFING PUT YOURSELF INTO SUSPENDED ANIMATION!” until your heart breaks for commander douglas stanfield in “the long morrow”. feel the love from the lovely street art in your ‘hood. luv u 2, central square. luv u 2.


after bike riding from cambridge to boston in your happiest dress, getting called “best dressed biker” by a spandex-clad old man, and getting clay (?!?!?!don’t ask ??!?) out of the headphone jack from your iphone, make your film acting debut. make sure to take your direction to fall in the middle of boston common as seriously as possible. you are a method actor after all, and if comes down to covering yourself in mud, then mud it shall be. eat and bond with your valentine’s date of choice, a tofu burrito larger than most newborn babies. bike back to cambridge and daydream about making out with some cute, bespectacled nerd in your favorite, most romantic, creepy little alcove on harvard’s campus (do we see a theme here?).NewImage

enjoy your valentine’s dinner with your favorite smarty pants, jane, at dudley coop. think about how it reminds you of your hippie dippie year of vegan food and composting at new college of florida. admire their knick-knacks and stumble upon your favorite poem in their potty. watch as a pacifist knife-fight breaks out between courses. remember why valentine’s day is the best day ever. NewImageNewImageNewImageNewImage

break up said knife fight. celebrate first year valentine’s day friend-iversary with your lovely friend (we met last year in sf while swing dancing at uc berkeley!) admire even more knick-knacks and leave the lovely little hippies of dudley some goodbye magnetic poetry. congratulate yourself on having three successful single-ladies valentines days in a row (year one: blue man group with BFF +second family. year two: this happened.) wonder how year four will top this one and hope that it involves burritos, swing dancing, romance, and less mud. you know, the basics.

{feed the mackenzies} hotter-than-a-witch’s-teat tomato soup;

in a way, cooking makes me feel like a mad scientist.
or a witch. yeah, i like witch better.

you sit around your cauldron of deliciousness, stirring a bunch of random ingredients together in an attempt to make a potion to woo josh groban into your clutches* make some food so you won’t get scurvy from only eating pb & js.

thus, some magic happened in the kitchen the other night, guys. oh, did it.

so i give you a recipe i’m not sure what to call, but i have narrowed it down to the following:

“i would marry myself if i could” soup.


“hotter-than-a-witch’s-teat” tomato soup


3 whole tomatoes, chopped.
3 small onions, minced.
3 medium carrots, chopped.
3 boullion cubes, dissolved in 3 cups water (or 3 cups vegetable broth)
2 medium potatoes, or a handful of those cute baby potatoes, chopped. (that i buy purely because they make me feel like i am eating doll food.)
1 tbsp. dried thyme
1 tbsp. rosemary
1 tbsp. herbs de provence
salt, to taste.
1 tbsp. red chili flakes
1/4 cup nutritional yeast
1/4- 1/2 cup unsweetened plain soy/almond milk

1. for broth, combine broth, and all the herbs together and allow them to get all happy and tasty together.
2. in a fry pan, fry the minced onions in a good amount of canola/olive oil with a little salt on a low heat until they turn translucent.
3. as broth is getting happy and onions are doing their thang, add potatoes and carrots to the broth to soften them.
4.once onions are translucent, add the tomatoes until they cook down, approximately 5-8 minutes. add chili flakes once the tomatoes are cooked.
5. combine the onion/tomato mixture to the broth and allow everything to boil together for about 5-10 minutes. make sure the potatoes don’t overboil because they can get gummy when you put them in a blended later.
6. in increments, ladle the soup mixture into a blender with the nutritional yeast and soy milk, and puree until smooth. continue with another batch until everything has been pureed.
7. debate whether or not you want to marry yourself now, or after you eat all 5 servings of this deliciousness (3 servings if you are me).

now, if you will just excuse me, i have a pre-nup to sign….with myself.

* true story! josh groban/ j-grobz was totally spotted at my school’s cafe last week. my friend had to stop me from outing him, which i am glad she did because if anyone else noticed him besides us, at a school where 85% of the people are theatre nerds who make “west side story” references on the daily, there would have been a mob. or i would have gotten a restraining order or yelled “HAVE MY BABIES” at him. either of these possibilities would be bad, very bad.

{feed the mackenzies} vegan cinnamon apple crisp;

as we have already established, food is very important to me.

 i daydream about future parties i will plan and the menus that go along with it. (chocolate cherry cupcakes for valentine’s day. pumpkin chocolate chip cupcakes with maple frosting for thanksgiving)  i mean, they didn’t make me emerson’s quidditch world cup team mom for nothing? homegirl has some menu-planning skillz. and a significant lack of shame. but that’s another story.

in a way, this recipe is a tester for the feast that my lovely blog-friend maya and i will be feasting on just a few short weeks from now. in fact, we had a pretty intense g-chat about said feast.  here are some of the gems. enjoy:


me: i just want to jump into a large vat of it





me: kjdghkjdhj yessss

put it in an iv pleaaase

me: if they made earl grey custard

i would no longer need men in my life


Maya: men are so finicky

custard is not

me: i would just order a huge life’s supply of it

and get myself to a nunnery

which then led to the “official thanksgiving menu of outstanding glory 2k11”:

Maya: 1) field roast


Maya: 2) roasted brussels

3) coconut milk sweet potatoes with peanut butter

4) cranberry sauce? homemade?

me: 3) orgasmic mashed potatoes

me: 5) pumpkin cake with raspberry glaze

Maya: YAYAYAYAYAY starches

me: 6) pumpkin cupcakes with chocolate chips and maple frosting


me: 8 ) MAJOR NAP

Maya: me: 9) FOOD COMA


me: 11) CUSTARD I.V.

as you can tell, i am very much a carb sympathizer. they always look so lonely, not being eaten by people trying to watch their figure. i’m just trying to find them a home, in my belly. that’s all.

broston 003edit

that being said, i  found some good homes for this cinnamon apple crisp.
8 apples, sliced and cored
juice of half a lemon
1 tbsp. corn starch
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/8 tsp each: nutmeg, allspice
pinch of cloves
1/2 c. maple syrup (awwwww yeaaaaaaaaah)

1.5 c. rolled oats.
1/3 c. all purpose flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/8 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. canola oil
2 tbsp. maple syrup
1 tsp. vanilla

1. for filling, combine all ingredients in an oven safe baking dish. cover with tin foil and bake that sucker for 25 minutes at 350 degrees.
2. while filling is baking, combine all topping ingredients in a separate bowl and set aside until filling is done baking.
3. remove tin foil from baking dish and add topping to the filling and continue baking for another 30 minutes.
4. allow the scents of a pottery barn catalogue fill your kitchen as you sip tea and admire your own domesticity. think about how lucky your future gentleman callers will be.
5. take the apple cinnamon dish of heaven out from your oven. decide that a tasty molten bowl of apple goodness and soy ice cream is exactly what you need in your mouth. try to pass off your tears of pain as tears of intense delight to your roommates.

totally believable.

{feed the mackenzies} vegan pumpkin cake with cranberry glaze;

oh, do i have a recipe for you guys today.

i’ve tried to be humble about this one, but that quickly gave way to my gigantic baking ego. i wonder what freud would say about that?

whoever my future manfriend is will surely be one lucky dude, because i’m pretty sure this will bring tears of joy to his eyes.

because my friend sam and i basically cried tears of joy over our pieces of cake
(three in my case. woops.)

broston 039.JPGedit

and since i have a baking ego (and because i copied this recipe down by hand into my recipe journal and veganized the recipe) i am going to call it my own. also, because this recipe initially suggested a “chai cream” topping and to be honest, if i wanted to eat something that tasted like toothpaste, i would just eat toothpaste. cut out the chai-flavored middle man entirely.

yeah, freud. what says you to that?

broston 040edit

pumpkin cake with cranberry glaze, adapted and veganized by yours truly.


1.5 c. all purpose flour
1/2 c. granulated sugar
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. vegan margarine (i use earth balance and i think it is the god of “butters”, but feel free to use less immortal butters if you like)
1 can of unsweetened pumpkin
1/2 tsp. each of nutmeg, cloves, ginger (i almost never have ginger, so i just used more nutmeg and felt less fancy. deal.)
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tbsp. flax seeds (these are your “eggs”, they are used to bind everything together and help it rise.) + 4 tbsp. water
1 tsp. vanilla

1 bag of fresh cranberries (1.99 at trader joe’s! what what!)
1 c. of orange juice
2/3 c granulated sugar

broston 044edit  directions:
1. preheat oven to 350 degrees
2. mix together all the ingredients until well incorporated. some people like to add dry to wet mix ingredients, but i find that i usually never do that and always get good results. so shenanigans on that rule.
3. grease down a springform pan and mentally prepare yourself for the torrential rainstorm of deliciousness that you are about to devour.
5. pour cake batter into spring form and bake for 45-60 minutes, or until a knife/toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean.
6. while cake is baking, prepare the ingredients for the cranberry topping.
5. place orange juice, sugar, and cranberries into a large sauce pan on high and cook until cranberries are all mushy and your whole apartment smells like what you think a pottery barn catalogue would smell like. put the cranberry sauce/glaze into a separate container and chill for 3-4 hours(chilling is optional, but i kind of fancied it).

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around 45 minutes later when the cake is done, your roommates will proclaim how glad they were that they found you on craigslist and your friends will realize that your harry-potter themed tattoo is redeemed because of your gigantic baking ego and skills.

broston 049edit oh, wait. is that just me? woops.

{feed the mackenzies} 1;

i love food. i’m usually thinking of my next meal with the last bite of the present one. i daydream about what desserts will go with a fancy entree for a dinner party i am planning a month ahead of time (it’s pumpkin chocolate cupcakes with maple frosting. for my halloween dinner party. invitation only, but you all are on the guest list.)

that being said, i sometimes find it hard to quell this magnificent hunger of mine. i’ve been known to say that i “have the appetite of a thirteen year old boy” (his name is oliver, by the way). i’ve also been known to not wear white shirts because i cannot be trusted around noodles covered in essentially any kind of sauce. and sriracha sauce. it basically looks like the splash zone at seaworld whenever i slurp noodles. i usually eat noodles in private due to my shame over this. in the dark.

i mean, what?

thus, my first in a series i’d like to call “feed the mackenzies”. this hunger of mine is almost as bad whales not being saved. but don’t fret, i won’t make sarah mclachlan sing sad songs to you on tv.  i will just give you yummy recipes. pinky promises.

this baking mission was a long time coming. i took four (+) years of german and used three, count ‘em, three textbooks that all referenced “apfelkuchen” (apple cake) heavily. my classmates were basically all of my best friends all these years of german and we spent way too much time making bad german puns (“wir machen es regeln!” = we make it rain!), and making fun of this weird sounding dessert. we always said we were finally going to bake this mysterious dessert at the end of each year but never got down to doing it. thus, i finally got closure yesterday, and what scrumptious closure it was. apfelkuchenblog 005edit

versunkener apfelkuchen , adapted from “the joy of vegan baking”.


1/2 c. of sugar

1/2 c. of vegan margarine (i use earth balance. mostly because i always have it/slather it on everything)

3 apples, peeled, cored, sliced thin

1.5 c. of all purpose flour

1/2 c. unsweetened apple sauce

2.5 teaspoons baking powder

2 tbsp. non-dairy milk (almond, soy, rice)


1/4 c. firmly packed brown sugar

1/2 tsp. of cinnamon

1/2 tsp. of ginger (secretly, i used nutmeg because i’m not fancy enough for ginger. tasted just as good!)

1. microwave apples in a small amount of water for 30-40 seconds, set aside.

2. cream together the sugar and non-dairy margarine with a spoon.

3. slowly mix in flour, baking powder, soy milk, and apple sauce.

4. place the mixture in to a spring form pan that is lightly greased/oiled.

5.  place apples in a pretty spiral on top of cake mixture.

6. mix together topping ingredients and sprinkle atop the cake/apple/magic.

7. bake in oven at 350 degrees for 30-40 minutes (40 minutes worked perfectly for me.)

8. let cool for 15 minutes before popping this bad boy out of the springform and prepare yourself for glory.

apfelkuchenblog 009edithannah, the happy victim of the baking experiment. 


needless to say, it makes it rain.