The Beekeeper's Ball. Сьюзен ВиггсЧитать онлайн книгу.
and when it lodges in the victim’s skin, it tears loose from the bee’s abdomen, causing its death within moments.
However, the queen’s stinger is not barbed.
The queen can sting repeatedly without dying.
The traditional Bienenstich (Bee Sting Cake) is a complicated production of brioche dough and pastry cream, topped with a crunchy caramel made of almonds, honey and butter. This simplified version is every bit as delicious, particularly with your morning coffee.
DOUGH
2¼ cups flour
4 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons honey
1½ teaspoons instant yeast
¾ teaspoon salt
2 eggs
¼ cup warm water or milk
Combine all of the dough ingredients in a mixing bowl and stir to create a sticky, elastic ball. Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled board and knead for 5 to 7 minutes until smooth. If your mixer has a dough hook, use that for 4 to 7 minutes at medium speed. Place the dough in a bowl oiled with melted butter, turn to grease all sides, cover the bowl with a damp tea towel or plastic wrap and let it rise for about an hour, until it looks soft and puffy.
Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled board, fold it over (you might hear a sigh of escaping gas), then roll into a ball. Place the dough in a buttered 10-inch springform pan. You can also use a 13 by 9-inch cake pan. Don’t worry if the dough shrinks away from the edge of the pan. Allow it to rest so the gluten will relax, making the dough easier to work with. After about 30 minutes, gently stretch and pat the dough out to the edges of the pan.
While the dough is resting, make the topping.
HONEY-ALMOND-CARAMEL TOPPING
6 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup sugar
3 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1½ cups sliced almonds
a pinch of salt
Melt the butter in a pan over medium heat. Add the sugar, honey and cream. Bring the mixture to a boil, and cook for 3 to 5 minutes to achieve a golden syrup. Stir in the almonds, let the mixture cool slightly, then spread gently over the cake dough.
Bake the cake in a 350 degree oven for about 25 minutes, until the almond crust has a deep golden color and the cake tests done with a toothpick. Set on a rack to cool completely.
While the cake is cooling, prepare the pastry cream.
PASTRY CREAM
1 cup minus 2 tablespoons heavy cream,
whipped to soft peaks
2 cups vanilla custard or vanilla pudding.
Use homemade, store-bought, or pudding from a mix,
depending on your level of skill and commitment.
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon Bärenjäger or other honey liqueur
Serve the cake in wedges or squares, with a side of pastry cream and a dram of Medovina, coffee or tea. Medovina is mead, a sweet wine made from honey. It’s the oldest known alcoholic beverage.
[Source: Adapted from a traditional recipe]
The first rule of beekeeping, and the one Isabel swore she would never break, was to remain calm. As she regarded the massive swarm of honeybees clinging to a Ligustrum branch, she feared she might go back on her word.
She was new to beekeeping, but that was no excuse. She thought she was ready to capture her first swarm. She’d read all the beekeeping books in the Archangel town library. She’d watched a dozen online videos. But none of the books and videos had mentioned that the humming of ten thousand bees would be the creepiest sound she’d ever heard. It reminded her of the flying monkey music in The Wizard of Oz.
“Don’t think about flying monkeys,” she muttered under her breath. And that, of course, guaranteed she would think of nothing else.
It took every fiber of power and control in her body to keep from fleeing to the nearest irrigation ditch, screaming at the top of her lungs.
The morning had started out with such promise. She’d leaped out of bed at daybreak to greet yet another perfect Sonoma day. A few subtle threads of coastal mist slipped through the inland valleys and highlands, softening the green and gold hills like a bridal veil. Isabel had hurriedly donned shorts and a T-shirt, then taken Charlie for his morning walk past the apple and walnut trees, inhaling the air scented with lavender and sun-warmed grass. Paradise on earth.
Lately, she’d been waking up early every day, too excited to sleep. She was working on the biggest project she’d ever dared to undertake—transforming her family home into a destination cooking school. The work was nearing completion, and if everything went according to schedule, she would welcome the first guests of the Bella Vista Cooking School at harvest time.
The big rambling mission-style hacienda, with its working apple orchard and kitchen gardens, was the perfect venue for the project. The place had long been too much for just her and her grandfather, and Isabel’s dreams had always been too big for her budget. She was passionate about cooking and in love with the idea of creating a place for other dreamers to come and learn the culinary arts. At long last, she’d found a way to grow into the house that had always felt too large.
Isabel was determined to revive the house in every possible way, filling it with the vibrant energy of the living. These days, she felt grateful that she finally had the resources to restore the place to its former glory.
That meant opening the hacienda back up to the world. She wanted it to be more than just the place where she and her elderly grandfather spent their days. She’d been a hermit for far too long. This summer would bring a wedding filled with well-wishers. In the autumn, she would host guests of the cooking school.
Her head full of plans for the day, she’d gone to check the bees with Charlie, her rangy German shepherd mutt. When she’d reached the hives, located on a slope by a rutted track at the end of the main orchard, she’d heard the flying monkeys and realized what was happening—a swarm.
It was a natural occurrence. Like a dowager making way for her successor, the old queen left the hive in search of new digs, taking along more than half the workers. It was rare for a swarm to occur so early in the day, but the morning sun was already intense. Scout bees were out searching for the ideal spot for a new hive while the rest clung en masse to the branch and waited. Isabel had to capture the swarm and get them into an empty hive before the scouts returned and led the whole mass of them away, to parts unknown.
She had quickly sent a text message to Jamie Westfall, a local bee expert. Only last week, he had left a flyer in her mailbox—Will trade beekeeping services for honey harvest. She’d never met him, but kept his number in her phone contacts, just in case. Unfortunately, a swarm in this intermediate stage was ephemeral, and if the guy didn’t get here quickly, Isabel would be on her own. She’d thrown on her jumpsuit, hat and veil, grabbed a pair of loppers and a cardboard box with a lid, and approached the hanging swarm.
This should be simple, she thought. Except that the thing draped from the bush looked like a horrible, reddish, living beard. The humming sound filled her head and then flowed through her like the blood in her veins. She kept reminding herself that there was nothing to fear despite the fearsome appearance and furious