Abracadabra, afterschool!

The best days at Brainfood always involve a little magic.  We’ve just finished the first three weeks of the after school program, and I can proudly assert that magic, yes, magic, is still a powerful, real force in our kitchen.  For all the cynics and arched brow types who may not believe me, who doubt the ability of kitchen magic to hold any sway in the ranks of our plugged in, city-savvy class of millennial teens, I present the following for your consideration...

Act 1: Ladies and gentleman, behold as an ordinary bowl of butter, sugar, cream cheese, and vanilla is transformed into cream cheese frosting before your very eyes. 
For our second class, students tackled a recipe for red velvet sandwich cookies.  One group whipped up their cookie dough in a flash, but then got stuck while making the accompanying cream cheese frosting.  When I approached them, they were silently huddled around a mixing bowl, staring intently at mound of frosting as if to divine the future in the snowy swirls of confectioner’s sugar.  I peeked into the bowl and smiled, at which point, one of the perplexed students blurted, “But when does it become frosting?  Don’t we have to do something else to it besides stirring it together?”  But they didn’t.  All they had to do was stir all the ingredients together, and (hocus pocus!) they became cream cheese frosting.  The deconstruction of such a familiar food, the sudden simplicity of frosting had completely astounded them, and it was a realization that was wonderful to watch.          

Act 2: Now, an exhibit from our collection of Oddities and Wonders.   It terrorizes kids, it causes grown men to weep, it will make you shudder and wail in fear.  Turn your eyes, if you dare, and gaze upon The Vegan Cupcake.
There was no attempt made to stifle the groans of disappointment on low fat baking day.  Eyes rolled skyward, arms crossed in front of chests, and pursed, pouty lips very clearly communicated my class’s discontent with the topic of the day.  They were promised cupcakes, and now they had to bake some inferior imposter baked goods that didn’t even have butter.  Unfair!  False advertising! Bait and switch!  All across the classroom, students measured margarine with a distinctly funereal sense of purpose.  Thinly disguised glares were thrown in the direction of an innocuous carton of vanilla soymilk.  I almost felt bad for them, except that I knew how amazing these cupcakes are. It wasn’t until the homey fragrance of pumpkin and cinnamon started trickling out of the ovens, that people began to perk up a little.  Furtive fingers began to discreetly dip into the cinnamon soymilk glaze.  By the time the finished muffins were cooled, gussied up with a shiny coat of glaze, and pried apart to reveal melty nubs of chocolate chips, we were all sold. I fought a half hearted battle to get people to wait to until cleaning was done to try the cupcakes, but mostly I was just happy that they were so excited.  As we gobbled down our warm pumpkin muffins, I was once again grateful for the power of discovery and the allure of trying new things.  These are the forces, after all, that dispel the insecurity and boredom that keep us eating the same things day after day.  Sometimes all it takes is one vegan cupcake and (shazam!) what’s foreign becomes familiar, what’s scary becomes satisfying.

Act 3: For our grand finale, in a peerless show of culinary audacity, we will be dissecting a muffin in front of your very eyes!  Just when you think the innocent muffin has met a grisly demise, it will emerge from the oven, whole and well again. 
Oh, muffin madness.  If there’s ever a day that the kitchen deities of good fortune smile upon us year after year it’s Muffin Madness day.  Groups start out with a recipe for a plain muffin base, and then they get to take the choose-your-own-adventure route by adding in a cup of “stir-ins” to flavor the muffin base.  When I tell most people about this class, they think it’s a recipe for (insert inescapable pun here).  There are truly a lot of pitfalls to avoid in this class.  There are the groups where one student has a Vision for the muffins. One of my returning students is a true believer when it comes to savory cheese muffins brimming with cheddar, mozzarella, and a dash of Italian seasoning; for three years now, I have watched her wage a cheese muffin campaign, slowly winning her group’s dubious allegiance.  Luckily cheese muffins, as it turns out, are indeed delicious.  Other groups may fall prey to an overzealous sense of democracy—striving to include each person’s favorite stir-ins, even if it is pineapple, butterscotch chips, and bacon bits.  And then there’s the ever present kitchen sink cooks who happily add cupfuls of ingredients-- pretty much anything they can get their hands on-- without a moment’s deliberation.  Each year, there are a few muffin pans that I send into the oven with a distinct sense of foreboding, yet, somehow, every year, all the make your own muffins are magically delicious.  Surprise class favorites this year included “The Vincinator” which featured bacon bits and turkey pepperoni with a crunchy brown sugar crumble on top and the “McGriddle Muffin” which had pepperoni, cheese, and (you’ll never guess…) a scrambled egg in it.  The finished McGriddles were then liberally swathed in maple syrup.  Other sweet muffin combinations included a trailmix-esque muffin, with cranberries and walnuts peeking out of the top, and a marbled vanilla fudge muffin with two lovely layers of flavors.  Certainly there will be days in the future where recipes go awry and contrasting flavors don’t meld together, but a successful Muffin Madness class is always a good reminder that recipes are often just suggestions.  Taking a chance and experimenting with new flavors can be intimidating for new cooks, but sometimes the risk is worth it when doubtful beginnings give way to (poof!) delicious endings. 

If you’re still wondering about kitchen hocus pocus, and what magic has to do with our after school day, let me offer one last thought for your consideration.  Outside of the 2.5 hours of kitchen time, running an after school program is a lot of work.  Recruiting students with a small staff and a tight schedule can be unexpectedly stressful.  Planning classes that offer students enough to do within a limited budget is a new challenge each year.  Holding orientations, conducting student interviews, and slotting classes are the kind of events that involve long days and lots of energy.  And right before classes get started, there’s cleaning the kitchen, taking inventory of equipment, and getting ready for the nightly loads of dirty dishtowels.  In short, getting ready for after school to start is the anti-magic.  It’s logistics, timelines, paperwork, and number crunching.  By the time students and classroom assistants walk in the door to start the year, I’m more than ready for program to stop being a rewritten paper schedule and just be.  Being there to witness and recognize the moment when after school stops being a plan and starts being a class is a truly enjoyable and incredibly energizing experience.  It’s actually a little Pinocchio-esque, minus the blue fairy and the hazy lighting.  Say what you will, but I can tell you: that transformational moment never gets old.