Why Measure?
Katie, the Baker, lives in a co-op, where the communal kitchens are fully equipped with state of the art appliances, an endless supply of PC mugs (no cute cartoon mugs here -- NARAL, Union Now!, Free Tibet!, NOW, or RISD Alumnus mug for your morning cup of joe?) 1,381 empty tahini jars, 419 mint condition Greek yogurt containers (and 17 matching lids), 3 cast iron skillets, and 11 French press coffee makers.
Finding a measuring cup, or a tablespoon, is a daunting task, and the motley collection of utensils which can be rounded up on any given day lead to entirely too much math:
If there are 16 Tablespoons in a cup, and we need 2 ½ cups, that’s 40 Tablespoons and we’ve got a ¾ teaspoon so we need 4 scoops to make one Tablespoon and so 4 x 40 = 160. Right?
By this time, the Beleaguered Apprentice’s eyes have glazed over and he’s fiddling with the iPad to find LCD Soundsystem’s cover of “I’m Not in Love” on YouTube to drown out the Baker’s mathematical blathering. Meanwhile, one of the co-op kids has co-opted the ¾ teaspoon, reasoning that it’s the just right size to convey organic pudding from cup to mouth.
13 or so minutes later, we’ve uncovered a jigger and we’re back to business. A quick Googling turns up an illegal download of “Shut Up and Play the Hits” as well as the useful factoid that there are 5.33333 jiggers in a cup.
Hence, we measure.
And we measure in ounces, not grams, because the sheer mention of grams makes the Beleaguered Apprentice giggle.
Measuring affords greater accuracy, which leads to more precise and predictable pastry results.
Assuming you can do it right. One of the Katie’s comrades has made off with the bowl that fits the scale, and so we need to adjust the weight on the scale. Now, the Baker knows what she wants done, she just can’t find the word.
She’s staring blankly at the scale; the Beleaguered Apprentice is starting back at her.
Do that thing. The t-t-ta, tah. . . .
With a sense of the absurd tainting his droll delivery, the Beleaguered Apprentice begins to recite his first incantation of the day:
The T-t-ta, tah. . . . Tahoe? Tadpole? Pole vault? Vaulted ceiling? Cathedral ceilings? The glass ceiling? Ceramic Seals? "The Seventh Seal"? The four horsemen of the apocalypse? Five and twenty black birds baked in a pie? Pie eyed? Shut your pie hole? Courtney Love? "Love is a Drug?” Brian Ferry? Fairy Dust? Dusty Springfield? “Dusty in Memphis?” Measure?
No, not measure! Katie is now actively glaring at the Beleaguered Apprentice, who is responding with a rather blasé look. That thing you do to the scale that gives you the net weight.
Oh: tare.
Yes!
Despite her verbal inaccuracies, the Baker is a stickler for consistency and she is going to weigh out any ingredient beyond a couple of Tablespoons. If you insist on crossing her and must use and measuring cups and spoons, Katie suggests the conversion table at Bitsy’s Kitchen: http://bitsyskitchen.com/conversion.html.
Finding a measuring cup, or a tablespoon, is a daunting task, and the motley collection of utensils which can be rounded up on any given day lead to entirely too much math:
If there are 16 Tablespoons in a cup, and we need 2 ½ cups, that’s 40 Tablespoons and we’ve got a ¾ teaspoon so we need 4 scoops to make one Tablespoon and so 4 x 40 = 160. Right?
By this time, the Beleaguered Apprentice’s eyes have glazed over and he’s fiddling with the iPad to find LCD Soundsystem’s cover of “I’m Not in Love” on YouTube to drown out the Baker’s mathematical blathering. Meanwhile, one of the co-op kids has co-opted the ¾ teaspoon, reasoning that it’s the just right size to convey organic pudding from cup to mouth.
13 or so minutes later, we’ve uncovered a jigger and we’re back to business. A quick Googling turns up an illegal download of “Shut Up and Play the Hits” as well as the useful factoid that there are 5.33333 jiggers in a cup.
Hence, we measure.
And we measure in ounces, not grams, because the sheer mention of grams makes the Beleaguered Apprentice giggle.
Measuring affords greater accuracy, which leads to more precise and predictable pastry results.
Assuming you can do it right. One of the Katie’s comrades has made off with the bowl that fits the scale, and so we need to adjust the weight on the scale. Now, the Baker knows what she wants done, she just can’t find the word.
She’s staring blankly at the scale; the Beleaguered Apprentice is starting back at her.
Do that thing. The t-t-ta, tah. . . .
With a sense of the absurd tainting his droll delivery, the Beleaguered Apprentice begins to recite his first incantation of the day:
The T-t-ta, tah. . . . Tahoe? Tadpole? Pole vault? Vaulted ceiling? Cathedral ceilings? The glass ceiling? Ceramic Seals? "The Seventh Seal"? The four horsemen of the apocalypse? Five and twenty black birds baked in a pie? Pie eyed? Shut your pie hole? Courtney Love? "Love is a Drug?” Brian Ferry? Fairy Dust? Dusty Springfield? “Dusty in Memphis?” Measure?
No, not measure! Katie is now actively glaring at the Beleaguered Apprentice, who is responding with a rather blasé look. That thing you do to the scale that gives you the net weight.
Oh: tare.
Yes!
Despite her verbal inaccuracies, the Baker is a stickler for consistency and she is going to weigh out any ingredient beyond a couple of Tablespoons. If you insist on crossing her and must use and measuring cups and spoons, Katie suggests the conversion table at Bitsy’s Kitchen: http://bitsyskitchen.com/conversion.html.
