FOOD ON THE FOOD

Peanut Marzipan

I first tasted peanut marzipan in the Bronx one steamy summer circa 1987. Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance with Somebody was playing on my Walkman. We were visiting a family friend, one of those transient people who passes in and out of your life almost unremembered. He produced a package that contained what in essence was a dense cake of powdered peanuts. He said it was Mexican marzipan. When you peeled off the cellophane, there was a thin film of grease clinging to it from the oil that had separated from the nuts in the summer heat. The marzipan was delicious! It reminded me of the inside of a peanut butter cup, but less sweet. Thirteen-year-old me wasn't a whole lot different than I am now. The package didn't last long in my hands.

Since then, I've never seen or even heard of peanut marzipan. It created a bit of confusion for me many years later when confronted with traditional marzipan, which has an entirely different flavor and texture, and isn't made from peanuts at all, but rather almonds. It's soft, sweet, and moist, almost perfumey with almond flavor. Peanut marzipan is sandier, crumblier, and, well, peanuttier. Whenever I mentioned marzipan made of peanuts, no one knew what the hell I was talking about.

Vindication came last week. Better 25 years late than never. I was at the library flipping through the cookbook My Sweet Mexico by Fany Gerson, which contains recipes for traditional and modern Mexican desserts. Right there on the page was a recipe for none other than peanut marzipan. Could it be, I thought? I swung by the store for some peanuts on the way home and whipped up a batch that afternoon. This never happens, but it was EVEN BETTER than what I remembered. Like peanut butter fudge but much easier to make. It had all of the peanut flavor and almost none of the guilt (there's always a smidgeon of guilt when you're enjoying yourself a little too much).

My youngest is a peanut butter fiend and he was enraptured at first bite. I promised he could have a bigger piece for dessert later on. In fact, all I saw of his dinner that night was an empty plate. He only had eyes for peanut marzipan. He's his mother's son, after all.

Peanut Marzipan

Two ingredients and five minutes in the food processor and you're done. You can make it with other nuts, too.

2 cups plain roasted unsalted peanuts, skins removed (not raw)
1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar

Grind the peanuts in a food processor until finely ground. Add the sugar and continue to process, scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally, until peanuts release their oil and mixture clumps together. For me it took somewhere in the 3-5 minute range. You can roll the mixture into balls or form small disks by pressing it into a circular cookie cutter until compacted. Carefully remove cookie cutter and wrap in wax paper. Can be stored at room temperature for a little while at least, though long-term storage should probably be in the fridge.

Cracking the Recipe: The Local's Peanut Butter Pie

Recently, the whole family went to The Local in Newton where the fried pickles are good and the macaroni and cheese is even better.  (Holy crap, their mac 'n' cheese is good, and I don't even like mac 'n' cheese.  It's on par with Silvertone's, in my opinion, so if you don't feel like driving into Boston to luxuriate in a bowl of cheesy mac, now you know: West Newton, baby.)

Anyway, TeenNiece ordered the peanut butter pie for dessert.  She really liked it.  Later on, I noticed, peanut butter pie kept coming up in conversation.  I suggested that maybe we should try to make one ourselves.  Peanut butter is something we always have on hand, after all.  And chocolate.  At least for a little while. 

TeenNiece and I worked on this together, and what we came up with is a little bit dangerous: peanut butter mousse in a salted peanut-graham cracker crust with thick ribbons of bittersweet chocolate sauce poured on top. Consider what your waistline is worth to you before you commit to making this pie.   It's somewhat airier than the version we had at The Local (maybe ease up on the whipped cream if you want to get picky about the details), but TeenNiece likes it this way so that's how it's going to stay.


Peanut Butter Pie with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce

Inspired by The Local, 1391 Washington St., West Newton, MA

Crust
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
1 cup graham cracker crumbs (or 10 whole graham crackers crushed)
1/3 cup dry-roasted, salted peanuts, ground in the food processor

Filling
1 8-oz. package cream cheese
3/4 cup confectioner's sugar
3/4 cup smooth peanut butter
1 tsp. vanilla
3/4 cup heavy cream

Sauce
1/3 cup heavy cream
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate chips (like Ghirardelli) or shaved chocolate
Pinch of sea salt
1/2 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 F.  For the crust, combine the melted butter, graham cracker crumbs, and ground peanuts.  Press into a 9-inch pie dish and bake 7-9 minutes until edges start to color and you can smell the peanutty aroma.  Set aside and let cool.

For the filling, beat the cream cheese and sugar with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.  Mix in peanut butter and vanilla.  In a separate medium bowl, beat the cream with a whisk or electric mixer until stiff peaks form.  Stir about a half cup of the whipped cream into the peanut butter mixture, then gently fold in the rest of the whipped cream just until no longer streaky.  Carefully pour the mousse into the crust and chill at least 3 hours or overnight.

For the sauce, combine cream, chocolate, and salt in a small saucepan and simmer for 2 minutes.  Remove from heat and stir in vanilla.  Transfer to small bowl and let cool.  If the sauce starts to separate or you want it a little thinner, whisk in a bit of extra cream until smooth.  When ready to serve, reheat just enough to get a pourable consistency (don't pour hot molten fudge on your nicely chilled pie).  To serve, ribbon chocolate sauce over each slice of pie, letting it puddle on the sides.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Hawaiian Sunshine

For the next two months, we will be a family of five.  My teenaged niece who lives on Maui is staying with us for the summer. 

In the two weeks since she arrived, TeenNiece has brightened our home with her sunshiny personality and charming expressions like "awesome possum!"  She won over the 5YO immediately with descriptions of exotic Hawaiian birds.  She and Husband exchanged important, possibly life-saving tips regarding the zombie apocalypse.  An excellent swimmer (a more graceful butterfly stroke I've never seen), TeenNiece has proven to be a motivating personal trainer—one who can also be counted on to quickly and reliably rescue her sputtering, partially drowning Auntie T.  Aaaaaand, she can cook!  While we were on tornado alert last week, she prepared creamy fettuccine with breaded chicken strips (which Husband dubbed "chicken and tornoodles") all by herself.  It was delicious!  Perhaps she will be guest-posting this summer!  Did I mention she's a prolific writer?

In the spirit of our visitor from more tropical shores, here's a recipe I developed for passion fruit bars with macadamia nut shortbread shown above.  Think lemon bars with a Hawaiian twist.  It's currently being featured on Babble.com.   Enjoy!

Local Sources:
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Eggs: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Plate: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

Last year, I saw a sudden spike in my blog traffic and, come to find out, Tori Spelling had tweeted about my rhubarb pie post.  Yes, that Tori Spelling. 

It really threw me for a loop.  You mean to tell me the busty Beverly Hills 90210 teen star cooks?  With rhubarb?  And is able to spell it correctly?  These were the thoughts that instantly ran through my head, proving that not only am I a judgmental a-hole, but I also confuse actors with their television roles, despite knowing better, and simultaneously freeze them in time—say, 1992 in this case.  For all I know, the actual Tori Spelling of 2011 in whatever zip code she currently resides is super-smart and a fantastic cook and a warm and wonderful person unspoiled by wealth and fame.  And if that's true then fuck you, Tori Spelling.  You can't have rhubarb, too!  Save something for the rest of us!!!

Over here in Waltham 02453, my modest success this week was helping somebody who didn't like rhubarb to like rhubarb.  (My victories are small but sweet!)  The idea behind these rhubarb-blood orange parfaits is to layer lightly sweetened rhubarb compote with fresh whipped cream.  It's a lovely balance of sweet/tart, and a nice prelude to strawberry shortcake.   Keeping the layers separate provides more flavor contrast while folding them together mellows the rhubarb tang.  If you've ever heard of a dessert called a "fool," that's what it is: cooked, sweetened fruit lightened with whipped cream.  As in, I pity the fool that doesn't like rhubarb fool!  Anyway, I've been dying to try this with wild Japanese knotweed, but I keep missing the window of time when the shoots are young and tender.  Too busy chasing down mushrooms, I guess. 

What I'm trying to say is, Rhubarb Haters and/or Shannen Doherty, this one's for you! 

 

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

You can use a regular orange, of course, but I found that the blood orange deepened the color of the fruit compote, making for prettier contrasting layers.

1-1/2 lb. rhubarb, washed, trimmed, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 cup sugar
1 medium blood orange, zested (about 1 tsp.) and juiced (2-3 Tbsp.)
1 tsp. vanilla
Pinch salt
2 cups heavy cream, cold

Place rhubarb in a medium saucepan with all but 1-2 Tbsp. of the sugar (reserve remaining sugar for whipped cream).  Add orange zest, juice, vanilla, and salt, and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat.  Reduce heat slightly and gently simmer 7-10 minutes until rhubarb is soft but still chunky.  Let cool.  Transfer to medium bowl and refrigerate several hours until chilled.

Just before serving, whisk the heavy cream in a medium bowl until the wires leave trails.  Add the remaining sugar and continue whisking until thick and an upswing of the whisk leaves medium peaks.  To assemble, layer rhubarb mixture and whipped cream in each of four bowls, beginning with rhubarb and ending with cream.  Serve immediately.

Source: Adapted from Raquel Pelzel.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Bowl: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

Snow Day 5: Maple Cookies

Not that I'm counting or anything. 

I know maple cookies might not seem very original given that we already talked about cookies on the first snow day, and learned how to make maple taffy on the third.  But for our fifth snow day, I thought maybe I would take the maple and the cookies and combine them.  To make maple cookies.  Aaaaand use the exact same cookie cutters as before.  And take a crappy picture.  This is the kind of half-assed posting you can expect if we have any more snow days.

The recipe, however, is quite tasty, especially for rolled-out cookies, which tend to err on the side of boring, flavor-wise.  I tweaked it from an old New England family recipe I found.  A splash of maple syrup in the standard powdered sugar icing makes them extra tasty.  You could also add walnuts to the dough, shape it into a log, chill, and then slice into rounds before baking if cookie-cutter whimsy isn't your thing.  I might skip the icing in that case.  Maybe not.

Just please, for the love of god, no more snow days.

Maple Cookies

Dough
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into quarters
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup maple sugar (or another 1 cup brown sugar)
2 eggs
1 Tbsp. vanilla
3 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt

Icing
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
1 tsp. maple syrup (preferably Grade B)
Few drops of lemon juice (optional)
Water

Preheat over to 375 F.  Lightly grease cookie sheet or line with silpat or parchment paper.

In a stand mixer, cream together butter and brown sugar.  Add eggs and vanilla, mixing well after each addition.  Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt.  Add to sugar mixture, and mix until combined.  Chill about an hour to make the dough slightly firmer and easier to handle.  Roll out about 1/4-inch thick.  Cut out shapes, gather scraps, and reroll.  Bake 8-10 minutes, or until cookies start to color along the edges.  Monitor closely as they burn easily.  Let cool completely on rack before making icing.

For the maple glaze, whisk confectioner's sugar, maple syrup, and lemon juice in a small bowl.  Add water as needed to make a slurry that both runs off the spoon and has some body.  Start with 1 teaspoon of water and go from there.  It doesn't take much.  If the icing gets too watery, add more sugar.  Frost and decorate.  Let dry.

Local Ingredient Sources:
Maple sugar: Warren Farm & Sugarhouse, North Brookfield, MA
Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Deerfield, MA (via Russo's)
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Eggs: Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA (via Wayland Winter Farmer's Market)

National Pie Day: Banoffee Pie

Did you know that yesterday was National Pie Day?  Don't ask me why they picked January of all months to formally celebrate pie instead of midsummer when fresh, seasonal fruit is readily available.  But who am I to argue with the people who come up with arbitrary holidays for marketing reasons?  I like pie!

My plan for Sunday was to present you with a recipe for banoffee pie, a seductive variation on banana cream pie with a silky caramel filling reminiscent of dulce de leche.  It's a popular dessert in Britain and other places where British influence lingers.  The recipe I was working with came straight from my sister's South African mother-in-law, who has all kinds of delicious things in her repertoire.  But, for some reason, which I chalked up to inaccurate metric conversions or possible hemispheric differences, the filling only worked for me half the time.  One day I'd make it, and it would be perfection.  The next, it would be a soupy mess.  It went on like this for years.  Finally, I decided I would get to the bottom of the problem once and for all.  On National Pie Day 2011.

I reviewed my notes from previous attempts and proceeded to make the first pie.  The result: pie soup.  So, I made another pie.  That one ended up with a filling as firm as fudge.  Good for fudge, bad for pie.  I cursed and cursed, but at least I had the two extremes mapped out.  I continued to zero in on the sweet spot, making adjustments to the amount of liquid and heat in the recipe.  The clock, however, was ticking on National Pie Day.  I considered posting my best recipe guess without retesting it.  But what if it failed again?  I could just see the police arriving to tape off my comment section.  Or maybe they would be too mad about their failed pies to even bother. 

In the end, quality trumped punctuality.  National Pie Day passed me by.  This morning, after letting the fricking freezing morning air slap me across the face a few times, I retested the filling based on my new hypotheses.  Twice.  Both were winners.  So now you have a confirmed recipe for banoffee pie.  It's a day late, but less likely to leave you a dollar short.  And after all, in the real world, Pie Day is any day you want. 


Banoffee Pie

Make the crust and caramel filling ahead.  Then, slice the bananas and whip the cream just before serving (or no more than a few hours in advance so the bananas don't brown).  Plan on eating the whole pie at serving time since it doesn't keep well.  Your guests won't require much convincing.

Crust
4 oz. (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
2 cups finely ground graham cracker crumbs

Filling
5 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup condensed milk (6 oz.)
1 cup heavy cream
5 bananas

For the crust, mix melted butter with graham crackers crumbs, and press into 9-inch pie plate or tart pan.  (I actually like to rub cold butter into graham cracker crumbs to make a more cohesive dough, but this takes more time.  Your call.)

In a small saucepan, melt butter and brown sugar over low heat, stirring constantly.  When mixture starts to foam up to a simmer, stir in condensed milk.  Bring to a simmer over medium-low heat.  This is where you need to pay attention.  Turn down heat and simmer, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes.  Set a timer.  While you're stirring, scrape every inch of the bottom and sides of the pot to prevent scorching and unsightly lumps.  When the spoon starts to leave a trail on the bottom of the pot, around 2 minutes, remove from heat.  More than 3 minutes and you'll end up with something too stiff to be enjoyable in pie.  Pour caramel over crust.  Let cool in refrigerator for 45 minutes. 

When ready to serve, whip cream in a large bowl with a whisk or electric mixer (no sweetener necessary).  Stop when the cream mounds softly and forms soft peaks when you lift up the whisk.  I try to stop before the cream goes from smooth to rough and rumpled,  almost styrofoamy in appearance.  It's still edible at this point, but not as texturally pleasing.  If you go much beyond that, you'll end up with waxy butter flecks in your cream.  I made that mistake my third day in culinary school and I shan't make it again.

Slice bananas and pile on top of caramel.  Top with whipped cream.  Dust with cocoa if desired.  Devour.

Note: You may substitute canned dulce de leche for the homemade caramel filling.  Use caution, though, when using jars of charming, locally made, farm-fresh cajeta, which are typically too runny.  Save that ambrosia for another purpose, like drizzling over ice cream.

Local Ingredient Sources
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Snow Day 3: Maple Sugar on Snow

By the third snow day, I was pretty ready to be done with snow.  We had already spent the past two days doing every possible no-cost snow activity I could think of: shoveling, sledding, snowball fights, snow-fort construction, snow-fort demolition, and my personal favorite: cramming as much snow as possible up the sleeves of our coats and then crying about it. 

Still, we had all that beautiful snow, so I decided to try something new: making maple taffy (also known as maple sugar on snow).  Have you heard of it?  Basically, it's a soft candy made by heating up maple syrup to a certain point and then rapidly cooling it down.  That's where the snow comes in: you pour the hot syrup directly onto the snow.  Then, once cool, you take a popsicle stick and roll the taffy onto the end like a lollipop.  The cold temperature of the snow cools the taffy into a soft, sticky mass.  The snow also tends to stick to the taffy, making it as icy cold as it is sweet. 

A half cup of maple syrup makes a snack for 4 to 6.  Scope out an area of snow that is clean and not yellow ahead of time.  You want the snow at least two inches deep as the top layer will melt and sink when the hot syrup comes in contact with it.  You need a candy thermometer, a small pot, and a willingness to babysit the pot as it boils to make sure that the syrup doesn't bubble up and over the sides of the pot.  It really wants to.  Just lower the heat as necessary.  When the syrup reaches a temperature range of 234° to 238°F (recipes vary), turn off the heat and immediately bring the pot and your popsicle sticks outside.  Pour the syrup onto the snow in lines about 6 inches long.  Adhere a popsicle stick to one end of the amber ribbon and roll it onto itself.  Rest it in the snow while you complete the others.  Eat immediately (off its icy bed, the taffy tends to fall apart).  Once you're done, you can use the stick to dig any residual maple syrup out of the snow and eat it like a snow cone.  For me, this was half the fun. 

So there it is: possibly the only exception to the "Don't Eat Yellow Snow" rule!

 

Local Ingredient Sources:

Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Old Deerfield, MA

Foolproof Chocolate Fudge

I thought I had given you all of my holiday recipes, but it turns out that I forgot the most important one of all.  Fudge! 

As you know, I make fudge every holiday season without fail.  No Christmas is complete without the requisite fudge-packing jokes.  This particular fudge recipe is the same one I’ve been making since high school.  My dad brought home a plate of holiday cookies from a company party in the late eighties, and I immediately zeroed in on the fudge.  For weeks, I badgered him to get the recipe.  I nagged him as only a 16-year-old adolescent female with a cocaine-like chocolate addiction can (count your blessings, Dad).  Finally, he tracked down the source of the fudge, and she wrote out the instructions.  I still have her original hand-written note, though I never got her name.  With the secrets to delicious fudge in my possession, I could presumably get back to the important business of shellacking my entire head in a candy-like shell of Aqua Net.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized there was a slight error in the recipe.  The following was written in the ingredient list: "¼ cup (1 stick) butter."  Since I’m a parenthetical kind of girl, I used 1 stick.  Well, ¼ cup is actually half a stick of butter, but my high-school self didn’t catch the mistake.  My early-thirties self didn’t either, so I’ve been making this stuff extra delicious for years!  Still do.

I hesitate to use the word foolproof with any recipe, especially for fudge.  Especially on the Internet.  I mean, anything can fail if you try hard enough.  This recipe is no different.  But it’s certainly more forgiving than most fudge recipes.  The small dose of corn syrup from the marshmallows prevents the sugar from recrystallizing in a coarse, grainy fashion, ensuring a nice, creamy texture.  If you’re good at stirring, then you can make this fudge.  You don’t even need a candy thermometer.  (Now before you write off this recipe as substandard because it doesn’t use a candy thermometer, I’ll have you know that I made a batch yesterday WITH a candy thermometer just for kicks, and guess what?  It still works.  As long as you live at sea level and don’t double the recipe, five minutes of hard boiling will get you to the soft-ball stage.)

Now that I’m older and snobbier, it has occurred to me that maybe I should move to a fancier, non-marshmallow-based recipe.  But why?  Everybody loves this fudge.  They tell me it’s the best fudge they’ve ever had.  I, for one, can eat a whole pan on my own.  I certainly pay my dues with the other candy I make this time of year, a time-consuming and finicky praline-ish butter-pecan fudge (also known as Boston cream candy).  I figure I’ve been making this version of chocolate fudge for 20 years and I’m probably not going to change.  Not unless you can direct me to a recipe that calls for two whole sticks of butter! 

Happy New Year!

 

Fudge

The better the chocolate you use, the better the resulting fudge.

1 cup (6 oz.) semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tsp. vanilla
2¼ cups sugar
1 stick unsalted butter (or half!)
¾ cup evaporated milk
16 large marshmallows
¼ tsp. salt

Line an 8-inch square cake pan with foil.  Get your handheld electric mixer at the ready.  Also, have some oven mitts nearby.

To a large bowl, add chocolate chips and vanilla.  Set aside.  In a medium, 4-quart saucepan, add sugar, butter, milk, marshmallows, and salt.  Stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, bring to a boil over medium heat.  You want the marshmallows to be just about melted by the time the bubbling starts.  If they’re not, reduce the heat a bit until they do.  Bring mixture to a heavy boil and, always stirring, set the timer for 5 minutes.  Careful—hot mixture can spatter.  Use an oven mitt if necessary.  After 5 minutes, the temperature should be in the soft ball range (235°F-240°F). 

Remove pot from heat immediately, and carefully pour hot mixture over chocolate chips.  On a low speed, blend with mixer until uniformly brown.  Blending on high speed will introduce lots of air bubbles, which you don’t want.  Quickly pour fudge into your prepared pan.  Let cool until firm.  Makes 2 lbs.

A Cranberry Christmas

We spent Christmas with the in-laws on the Cape this year.  The kids were tickled to get to experience Christmas morning in a different place, and were careful to note the change of address in their letters to Santa. 

Santa, for his part, was none too happy about the extra mileage.


Nevertheless, he arrived on schedule, with NORAD surveillance hot on his trail.

Earlier on Christmas Eve, the boys, vibrating with anticipation, finished their dinners early and then proceeded to sneak off and quietly change into their pajamas, go to the bathroom, and brush their teeth—activities that are rarely accomplished without a fair amount of cattle-prodding.  The sudden quiet alerted my spider senses.  I arrived on the scene to find the two little stinkers in bed with the lights off—at 6 o’clock!

I did a few calculations in my head:

                They get up at 6 a.m. normally
        +
                On Christmas, it’ll probably be more like 5
        +
                They’re going to bed 2 hours early
                ______________________________

                Oh, shit, I’m going to have to get up at 3 o’clock in the morning!

Spurred into action, I flipped the lights back on, threw back the covers, and jabbed fingers into their ribs until all visions of sugarplums disappeared into a cloud of giggles.  Then I heard something very out of character come out of my mouth: Get up and go watch TV.  The two fleecy bundles skipped down the hall and pig-piled onto the couch.  Either way, Christmas came early for my kids.

We got up at a merciful hour the next morning to squeals of delight over Lego sets and Pillow Pets, Hess trucks and a seriously cool electronic snap circuit set, comic books and bird books and mushroom identification books.  (Hey, I can squeal if I want!)  Then we admired our new toys over bacon strata, lobster quiche, and this cranberry buckle I brought. 




Cranberry Buckle with Vanilla Crumb

I’ve added more cranberries to the original recipe.  More!  This is Cape Cod,
after all.

Topping
½ cup flour
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 Tbsp. packed light brown sugar
Pinch fine sea salt
¼ cup (4 Tbsp.) cold, unsalted butter, cut into ¼ inch cubes
1½ tsp. vanilla extract

Cake
1¾ cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. fine sea salt
½ cup unsalted butter
¾ cup granulated sugar
Zest of 1 orange
2 eggs
1 Tbsp. vanilla extract
½ cup sour cream
3 cups fresh cranberries, 1 cup reserved for topping

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Butter a 9-inch square baking pan.

Using a food processor, combine flour, sugar, brown sugar, salt, and butter.  Pulse until you get coarse crumbs.  Drizzle vanilla over the mixture and pulse briefly to distribute.  Set aside.

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt.  Using a handheld mixer or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, cream the butter, sugar, and orange zest on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, 3-5 minutes.  Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition, then stir in the vanilla.  Add the flour mixture in three installments, alternating with sour cream and ending with the last of the flour, scraping down the sides of the bowl.  Fold in 2 cups of cranberries, reserving the remaining cup for topping. 

Spread mixture into prepared pan.  Distribute remaining cranberries on top and sprinkle crumb topping over the cranberries.  Bake about 50 minutes, or until lightly golden and firm on top.  Let cool.  (Wrapped in plastic wrap, this cake will keep at room temperature for 2 to 3 days.)

Source: Adapted from Rustic Fruit Desserts by Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson.  This is one of my favorite cookbooks of the year, and one that will likely come up again in the summertime.

Cookbook Winner and Consolation Cupcakes

Wow, guys, you don’t make things easy for a ruthless dictator, do you?  So many great stories about Flour Bakery, from weddings saved by doughnuts and brioche, to a cross-continental flight undertaken in the name of sticky buns, even a brush with celebrity.  In the end, and after much deliberation, I declare Manasi the winner of the Flour cookbook for demonstrating a deep and long-abiding love for the bakery, which remains as such despite the fact that she is now stuck in med school out in Worcester.  A worse fate, I cannot imagine.  Get this girl some sticky buns stat!

As for the rest of you, I have the recipe for Flour’s popular chocolate cupcakes, which I hope will distract you from any coups.  I let the 5YO select today’s recipe since he is the keeper of all of my dessert cookbooks in a stack next to his bed.  That is actually how he learned to read—by flipping through cookbooks with me, learning the correct pronunciations for “ganache,” “brioche,” and “meringue” (though, for the latter, I much prefer his own interpretation, “mangaroo”). 

The 5YO was particularly taken with the photo of these cupcakes and what was billed as “crispy magic frosting.”  I’ll admit, I was, too.  They turned out fantastic and they have since superseded all others as our go-to cupcake and frosting recipe.  I have a feeling this is going to make at least one of my readers (hi Marika!) very happy!


Flour Bakery’s Chocolate Cupcakes with Crispy Magic Frosting

Cupcakes
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, chopped
¼ cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 cup granulated sugar
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1/3 cup water
½ cup milk
1 egg
1 egg yolk
½ tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. kosher salt

Frosting
2/3 cup granulated sugar
2 egg whites
1½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into chunks
1 2/3 cups confectioner’s sugar
¼ tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbsp. milk
1 Tbsp. vanilla extract

In a small heatproof bowl, combine the chocolate and cocoa powder.  In a small saucepan, heat the granulated sugar, butter, and water over medium-high heat, whisking occasionally, for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the butter is melted and the sugar is dissolved.  Pour the hot butter-sugar mixture over the chocolate-cocoa mixture and whisk until the chocolate is completely melted and the mixture is homogenous.  Whisk the milk, egg, yolk, and vanilla into the chocolate mixture until thoroughly combined.

In a bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until well mixed.  Dump the flour mixture on top of the chocolate mixture.  Whisk until are totally combined.  Let the batter sit for at least 1 hour at room temperature (or transfer to an airtight container and store in the fridge for up to 3 days).

Heat the oven to 350°F.  Butter and flour a standard 12-cup muffin tin, or line with paper liners.  Spoon the batter into the prepared muffin cups, dividing evenly and filling the cups just shy of the rim.  Bake 25-30 minutes, or until the tops spring back when pressed.  Let pan cool completely on a wire rack.

Meanwhile, in a small heatproof bowl or the top half of a double-boiler, whisk together the granulated sugar and egg whites to make a thick slurry.  Place over a saucepan of simmering water (not touching the water) and heat, whisking occasionally, for 3 to 5 minutes or until the mixture is hot to the touch.  Remove from heat and scrape the mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment (or use a handheld mixer).  Whip on medium-high speed for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the mixture becomes a light, white meringue and is cool to the touch.  Turn down the speed to medium and add butter, a few chunks at a time, beating for 3 to 4 minutes or until the butter is fully incorporated.  Add the confectioner’s sugar, salt, milk, and vanilla, and continue to beat on medium speed until the mixture is smooth and satiny.  You should have about 3½ cups.  Use immediately, or transfer to an airtight container and store at room temperature for up to 3 days, or in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.  (If storing, beat with a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment for a few minutes until smooth before using.)

Remove the cupcakes from the muffin tin.  Spread the frosting on the cupcakes with a spatula or fit a pastry bag with a small round or star tip, fill the bag with frosting, and pipe frosting onto the cupcakes.  They are best eaten immediately, but can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature for 2 days.

Source: Joanne Chang’s Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston’s Flour Bakery + Café. 

Almond Cheesecake with Fig Confiture

All right, I think I’m done ranting about grocery shopping.  No, wait…okay, yes, I’m done.  I feel so much better now.  My apologies to the West Coasters who have an entirely different checkout culture.  It’s just that I’m feeling very pressed for time, generally speaking, as if I have to cram 40 years of living into the next five years just in case.  I don’t want to be stuck in line the whole time.  Focusing my energies in the form of mentally hating unsuspecting strangers maybe isn’t the best way to seize the day, but, you know, it was worth a try.

Let’s now direct our attention towards the cheesecake.  After all, that was the reason I was at the grocery store in the first place.  To get cheese and figs.  I was concocting a birthday dinner for my BFF, which included a homemade porchetta and various roasted fall vegetables from my winter farmshare. I thought almond cheesecake in an amaretti crust with fig preserves dribbled over the side would be the perfect seasonal ending to the meal.  I was not wrong.  For a change.

This cheesecake is excellent: smooth and rich with just the right amount of almond flavor.  I’ve made it many times.  The secret is almond paste (similar to marzipan) whipped into the filling.  You can use a regular graham cracker crust instead of my amaretti/graham cracker crumb combo.  Crushed almond biscotti would also be nice.  Start a day ahead if you want to make the fig topping because the fruit needs to macerate overnight.  If figs aren’t really your thing, you can serve the cake with whatever preserved or fresh seasonal fruit you like.  Blackberries.  Sour cherries.  The world is your orchard.

Almond Cheesecake

Freeze any remaining almond paste for future baking: macaroons, pignoli cookies, croissants (or another almond cheesecake!). 

Crust
1¼ cup crushed amaretti cookies (I use the food processor)
¾ cup graham crackers crumbs
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted

Filling
½ cup sugar
4 oz. almond paste
2 8-oz. packages cream cheese, cut into 1-inch pieces
3 large eggs
½ cup heavy cream
¼ tsp. almond extract

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Combine amaretti and graham cracker crumbs in a small bowl and mix in melted butter.  Press over bottom and 1 inch up sides of 9-inch springform pan.  Bake until crust starts to color, about 10 minutes.  Cool.

In a food processor, blend sugar and almond paste until mixture resembles a fine meal, about 1 minute.  Add half of cream cheese and process until smooth.  Add remaining cream cheese and process until completely smooth and no graininess remains.  Add eggs, cream, and almond extract, and blend until just combined.  Pour filling into crust. 

Bake cake until just set in the center and beginning to crack at the edges, about 40 minutes.  Turn off oven and open oven door to let the cake cool slowly for about 20 minutes.  A gradual cool-down helps to minimize cracking.  Take cake out of oven and let cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until well chilled.  If your cheesecake cracks, it’s no big deal.  These minor imperfections give things character.  Run knife carefully along edge of springform pan, unbuckle ring, and remove cake.  Slice and serve with...

Fig Confiture

These preserves would also dress up a Thanksgiving cheese plate alongside Manchego or a local blue goat cheese, for example.

1 lb. figs, both ends trimmed
2 cups sugar
¼ cup honey
½ lemon, zested and juiced
1 bay leaf
¼ tsp. wild fennel pollen or fennel seed (optional)

Cut figs into quarters and add to a medium bowl.  Gently mix in sugar, honey, lemon juice, bay leaf, and fennel pollen.  Let sit in the fridge overnight.

In a medium pot, bring mixture to a full boil and skim off the foam.  (The foam is delicious, by the way, it just clouds up the finished product.)  Reduce heat slightly to keep things boiling without overflowing the pot.  Cook, stirring occasionally, about five minutes.  You want the syrup to be somewhat loose for the purpose of cheesecake topping.  If you boil it too long, you’ll end up with a thick jam more suitable for biscuits.  Ladle into a pint jar and keep refrigerated until ready to use.  Before serving, let the preserves warm at room temperature to loosen up a bit, if necessary.  

Sources: Cheesecake adapted from Bon Appétit.  Fig confiture adapted from Saving the Season, a wonderful preservation-themed blog that you should check out right now at its new location!

Making Madeleines

To kick off our experimental loaner program, one of the first things I borrowed from The Concord Shop was a madeleine pan.  I’ve never made madeleines before because I’ve never had the required pan, and I try not to make a habit of buying one-use items.  Even one-use items that result in delicate, lemony teacakes.

[Husband would just like to interject to say that I have PLENTY of one-use-items, and he will refer you to Exhibit A: the cake pedestal.  Which, yes, I own.  And I will readily admit that not very many meticulously constructed, pedestal-worthy cakes get made on my watch.  However, I got that cake pedestal as a wedding gift.  I merely added it to the registry.  If somebody else agreed that, yes, I should have a cake pedestal on my wedding day, that, in fact, one’s wedding day is the perfect day for such a gift, then I think certain husbands should take that up with the friend in question, not me.  And, anyway, if you can’t satisfy your deepest, most profound culinary desires on your wedding day, then I’d like to know when you can.]

So, madeleines.  Right.  By law, I am now required to talk about Marcel Proust and his early childhood memories of France conjured up by tea-soaked madeleines in his epic, semi-autobiographical novel In Search of Lost Time.  I have not read this book, nor do I have any similar nostalgic remembrances to report.  My only memory of madeleines are from a Madrid subway station during my junior year abroad, where I purchased something billed as a madeleine and was struck by how genuinely tasty it was.  This, I remember thinking, really illustrates the difference between Europe and the U.S.  In Europe, you can buy quality confections in the bowels of the subway.  Some days later, I returned to that same subterranean pastry case and bought a cream-filled something or other, and just barely made it to my stop before I threw up the whole curdled mess.  It would seem that all of my autobiographical stories come back to vomit.

But not anymore.  Here’s what madeleines conjure up to me now: a pleasant and windy Sunday afternoon spent nibbling the soft, buttery cakes with a mug of chamomile tea while everyone else was watching the football game.  Warmth and comfort.  Now I’m thinking a madeleine pan might be a one-use item I could stand to have around. 

 

Madeleines 

This makes enough batter to fill one standard-sized madeleine pan, plus a little extra for eating straight out of the bowl.  No one, not even Proust, will cure me of that habit.

2/3 cup all-purpose flour
¾ tsp. baking powder
Pinch of salt
½ cup sugar
Grated zest of 1 lemon
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 tsp. vanilla extract
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting

Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt.

In the bowl of a stand mixer (or in a large bowl), rub the sugar and lemon zest together with your fingertips until the sugar is moist and fragrant.  Add the eggs to the bowl.  Working with the whisk attachment (or a hand mixer), beat the eggs and sugar together on medium-high speed until pale, thick, and light (2-3 minutes).  Beat in the vanilla.  With a rubber spatula, very gently fold in the dry ingredients, followed by the melted butter.  Press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface of the batter and refrigerate at least 3 hours, or up to 2 days.  This relaxes the gluten and makes a more tender cake.

Preheat the oven to 400°F and center a rack in the oven.  Take one end of a stick of butter and apply a thick, chapstick-like coating to the madeleine pan.  Use a paper towel to smear the butter entirely into the crevices.  Dust the insides with flour and tap out excess.  Place the pan on a baking sheet.  Spoon the batter into the molds, filling them not quite to the top.  Batter will spread in the oven, so don't worry about smoothing the tops.  You don't want to deflate your lovely batter.  If you accidentally overfill the molds, you will end up with a lip around the edges like mine, which is only a very minor aesthetic issue.   Bake 11 to 13 minutes, or until the tops are golden and the tops spring back when touched.  Remove from oven and rap edge of pan against the counter to release the madeleines, nudging them out with your fingers.  Transfer cakes to a rack to cool.  Dust with sifted confectioner’s sugar before serving.

Source: Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours by Dorie Greenspan

Local Business Credits:
Madeleine pan, green Emile Henry mug: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Eggs: Chip-in Farm, Bedford, MA

Peach Ice Cream

According to my mother, the first words I learned to read were ‘ice cream.’  This makes all the sense in the world if you know me at all.  It may also explain the relish with which I learned to read additional words, only to discover that most of them were significantly less delicious than the first.  It was my earliest childhood disappointment, though I suppose literacy is a decent consolation prize.

As a kid, nothing brought me greater pleasure than going to an ice cream parlor and studying the flavors on display in the long, transparent cases, their muted, subtly different hues right there at eye-level.  It was like an edible artist’s palette, seemingly bottomless and filled with sweet promise.  Some had flecks of chocolate or nuts.  Bits of fruit.  Swirls of fudge.  I wanted to take a spoon, dip it into every pot, and paint the world with ice cream.

I loved to watch the people who worked there (the luckiest people on the face of the planet, in my young estimation) scooping out ice cream from the deep cylindrical tubs.  There is something about the texture of ice cream that still thrills me, the way the scoop digs and rolls across the surface.  How the resulting smooth crown and ruffled edges sit precariously atop the cone, defying (or not defying) gravity and clumsy children.  The way the frozen confection is both creamy and crystalline, temporarily suspended in a state somewhere between solid and liquid as you race to devour it before it seeps sloppily from the bottom of the cone.

It all began with strawberry.  What is it with little girls and pink?  But that flavor, to this day, represents all the pleasures and comfort of childhood.  Later I gravitated toward the artificial pale greens of pistachio and mint chocolate chip.  Strawberry ice cream was for babies, you see.  A cone of mint chocolate chip always required jimmies (Massachusetts-talk for chocolate sprinkles).  Brigham’s in the South Shore Plaza was a favorite source.  As I angled for adulthood, the teenage years brought an appreciation for coffee, maple walnut, butter pecan, and mocha in their frosty shades of beige.  I still favor them to this day.

It took years before I realized that the best and most versatile ice cream flavor of all was the white one in the corner with the barely-perceptible flecks of black.  It was hard, though, as a kid to choose Plain Jane vanilla when there were so many flashier options vying for attention, especially once Oreos and cookie dough entered the picture.  To this day, my least favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate.  Chocolate, which is one of my most favoritest things ever!  (Did I forget a superlative in there?)  What can I say, Chocolate Ice Cream, you’re a poor substitute for chocolate.  But the real thing is welcome to be poured, thick and fudge-like, over my vanilla ice cream anytime.

This history is why I’m compelled to make homemade ice cream even though we have about a million sources for quality ice cream in the Boston area, from old-school ice cream shops (J.P. Licks, Cabot’s), to inventive, boutique ice cream bars (Toscanini’s, Christina’s), to farm stands (Bedford Farms, Kimball Farm).  They’re hard to beat and thank goodness we don’t have to.  But for me, there will always be homemade ice cream in my freezer.  Peach ice cream.  Maple ice cream.  And other far more disgusting concoctions of which I have yet to conceive. 

Tammy + Ice Cream 4 Eva.

 

Peach Ice Cream

There’s nothing like peaches and cream in the summertime.  I kept the skins on this time and I liked it!

2 cups ripe peaches, washed, fuzz rubbed off under water, chopped
½ cup sugar, plus ¾ cup more (1¼ cup total)
Juice of ½ lemon
2 large eggs
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup milk

Combine peaches with ½ cup of the sugar, and stir in lemon juice.  Cover and refrigerate for 2 hours, stirring every half hour.  Pour peaches into a strainer fitted over a bowl and drain, reserving the peach juice.

Whisk the eggs in a large bowl until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes.  Whisk in the remaining ¾ cup sugar, a little at a time.  Pour in the cream, milk, and reserved peach juice, and whisk until sugar is dissolved.  Pour mixture into ice cream machine and freeze following the manufacturer’s instructions (usually spin for 25 minutes).  Add the peach pieces during the last 5 minutes of processing.  Spoon partially frozen mixture into a container, cover, and place in the freezer until firm. 

I tend to like it on the softer side rather than solid as a rock.  If it freezes too hard, let sit on the counter for five minutes before serving.

Source: Adapted from Ben & Jerry’s Homemade Ice Cream & Dessert Book by Ben Cohen, Jerry Greenfield, and Nancy J. Stevens.

Local Ingredients:
Peaches: Carver Hill Orchard, Stow, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Milk: Our Family Farms of Massachusetts, Greenfield, MA

Constructing Pavlova

So now that you know (or don’t know) the history of pavlova, let’s make a pavlova!

If your experience with meringue is mostly marked by indifference, this pavlova will change all that.  It’s not chalky and tasteless the way some structured meringues can be.  Long, slow baking forms a thin, crisp shell on the outside while the middle stays soft and marshmallowy—a billowy, free-form cloud in the palest, purest shade of pink, like brand-new pointe shoes.  That outer shell is fragile enough that if you pile your fruit too high, as I did, the middle collapses slightly.  I suspect that’s why the whipped cream was introduced in the first place.  To cover up the fissures and sinkholes that arise when one of your major ingredients is just air.  That’s my theory, anyway. 

But the combination of sweet meringue, not-to-sweet whipped cream, and sweet-tart berries, along with the contrasting textures of crisp and yielding is absolutely delightful.  Which is why I ate all of the leftovers at 11 p.m. that night.  You know, because they wouldn’t taste as fresh and wholesome the next day!  Best of all—and I hope you’re reading this, Mom—pavlovas are gluten-free.  So, if you’re allergic to wheat, then consider this a very worthy substitute for strawberry shortcake.

Pavlova

Save the unused egg yolks for lemon curd or pasta dough or whatever else you make that could benefit from some extra richness.

4 egg whites
Pinch salt
1 cup sugar, whizzed in a food processor (or super-fine sugar)
1½ tsp. cornstarch
1 tsp. vinegar
1 cup heavy cream
1 Tbsp. sugar (optional)
Splash of vanilla
1 quart strawberries, raspberries, black raspberries, or other seasonal fruit

Preheat oven to 250°F.  Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and trace an 8-inch circle on it in pencil using a cake pan or bowl as a guide.  Turn the parchment paper over so you don’t get pencil on your meringue (but make sure you can still see the circle you just drew).

Using an electric mixer, whip the egg whites with a pinch of salt in a large, clean bowl.  It’s very important that your bowl is grease-free and that you separated your eggs cleanly, with no broken yolks mixed in with the whites.  Any fat will interfere with the whipping process.  When soft peaks form, begin adding the sugar 1 tablespoonful at a time with the mixer running.  Continue beating on medium-high speed until stiff, glossy peaks form, about 5 minutes.  Rub some meringue on your fingers to make sure all the sugar has dissolved.  Lightly but thoroughly fold in the cornstarch and vinegar.  These ingredients are not optional.  They are necessary for that magical texture I described.

Gently mound the meringue in the center of the parchment and lightly spread it to fill the circle you traced.  With the back of a spoon, shape it so that it’s higher on the sides and dipped like a well in the middle.  Don’t fuss with it too much, though, or you’ll lose air.  It’s meant to look free-form.  Bake in the preheated oven for 1 hour and 15 minutes, until it’s just starting to take on some color and crack slightly (cracks are totally fine).  Then turn off the heat and let the meringue sit inside with the oven door ajar for 30 minutes.  Take out and let cool.

Assemble just before serving.  Whip the cream in a clean bowl with a splash of vanilla and perhaps a bit of sugar (though the meringue is sweet enough that you don’t need much) until soft peaks form.  Mound the cream in the well and top with seasonal fruit of your choosing. 

Local Ingredients:

Eggs: Chip-In Farm, Bedford, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries: Various local farms via Verrill Farm, Concord, MA

Rhubarb Pie

Oh, my god, you guys, I am obsessed with rhubarb pie.  Obsessed!  Do you know how many rhubarb pies I’ve made in the past two weeks?  Three.  Three pies and nary a strawberry to be found in any of them.  Strawberries have their time and place, don’t get me wrong, but that time is when they’re raw and right out of the garden, and that place is far away from my rhubarb pies. 

This recipe comes from my friend, Cathy, whom I stalked until she gave it to me.  Yes, I’m back to my stalking ways.  Get it?  Rhubarb?  Stalks?  Shut up.  Her recipe is tart, the way I like my rhubarb, with a touch of cream, which is how I like pretty much everything.  I had to add a little more sugar to appease Husband, and double the flour because my particular rhubarb seemed to have a high water content.  I also added a lattice crust so you wouldn’t be subjected to a photo of a pie that looked like someone just vomited into a pie shell.  Now it looks like someone vomited into a pie shell and I added a decorative lattice crust!  But you know I never discriminate against ugly food on this blog.  Ugly food is the best food.

Make this pie.  Make it early and often.  And I know one of you is going to ask me if you can leave out the cream, and my answer, as always, is that you could, but why would you want to do a silly thing like that?

 

Rhubarb Pie

Yes, you can use a premade crust, but I won’t stop nagging you to make your own at least once.  Below is a recipe for a homemade butter crust.  Using half butter, half shortening will give you extra flakiness (the tradeoff is transfats).  Or you could make a lard crust.

Crust
2 cups flour
12 Tbsp. cold butter, cut into pieces
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
8-10 Tbsp. ice water (or more)

Filling
1 lb. rhubarb, cut into 3/4-inch pieces (3½-4 cups)
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup flour
¼ tsp. salt
½ cup heavy cream
1 Tbsp. lemon juice

For the crust, mix flour, sugar, and salt in food processor.  Add cold butter and pulse in 1-second beats until butter is the size of small peas (around 20 pulses).  Dump mixture into a large bowl and add ice water, a few tablespoons at a time, fluffing with a fork until gently absorbed.  You don’t want it wet and sticky, but if there’s too much dry flour, the dough won’t come together right.  It should just hold together when you press on it.  Don’t knead or it will become too tough.  Tear off two pieces of plastic wrap.  Dump a little over half of the dough mixture in the middle of one, and the rest in the middle of the other.  Folding over the sides of the plastic wrap, flatten the mixture into disks about an inch thick, then wrap them up, and refrigerate at least an hour or until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 450°F.  Have your 9-inch pie plate at the ready.  In a large bowl, toss rhubarb with sugar, flour, and salt.  In a small bowl, whisk together cream and lemon juice and set aside.  Retrieve your pie dough from the fridge.  Flour your counter and rolling pin well.  The dough shouldn’t stick at all.  Take the larger disk and roll it out about ¼-inch thick, about a foot in diameter.  Roll from the middle out in all directions.  Don’t grind the dough down into the counter—push it out to the sides.  If the dough sticks, sprinkle more flour.  Transfer to your pie dish by lifting the edge of the dough over the top of the rolling pin.  Gently lift and push until the dough is draped over the rolling pin (a bench scraper or even a spatula under the dough really helps).  Align dough over pie plate and gently unfurl.

Dump rhubarb mixture into pie shell.  There will be a small pile of sugar and flour in the middle.  Redistribute evenly.  Pour cream mixture over the top evenly.  Roll out the second pie crust the same way as the first, only slightly smaller.  Using a pastry wheel or sharp knife, cut thin strips for a lattice topping.  Arrange strips like so.  Fold over edges of bottom crust and crimp however you like.   Place in oven on top shelf with a baking sheet on the bottom shelf to catch any drips.  Bake 20 minutes.  Reduce heat to 350°F and bake until bubbly, puffed, and crust is richly caramelized, about 45 minutes more.  Keep an eye on the crust—if it starts to brown too much, cover with foil.

Let cool.  Serve with vanilla bean ice cream.

Local Sources:
Rhubarb: Verrill Farm, Concord, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Indian Pudding

This, right here, is the best Indian pudding in the world.  I adapted this classic Yankee recipe from The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by Fannie Merritt Farmer (originally published in 1896).  I think it’s even better than Durgin-Park’s famed Indian pudding, but don’t say anything because I don’t want to get yelled at.  (Do they still yell at people over there anymore?)  My version uses a combination of molasses and maple syrup as well as ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  The consistency is very soft and is meant to whey a bit (meaning some liquid separates from the pudding—I like to call it sauce).  Serve warm with vanilla bean ice cream melting all over it in shallow, milky pools.  Dreamy!

Indian Pudding

No Indians were harmed in the making of this pudding.

4 cups milk
½ cup cornmeal
2 Tbsp. butter
½ cup molasses
½ cup maple syrup (preferably Grade B)
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. ginger
Pinch nutmeg
2 eggs, well beaten

Preheat oven to 325°F.  Butter a 2-quart casserole dish.

In a medium pot, bring milk to a gentle simmer.  Very slowly whisk in cornmeal briskly to prevent clumping.  Cook for 20 minutes, adjusting heat to maintain a gentle simmer, until mixture has thickened and coats the back of a spoon well.  Remove from heat.  Stir in the butter, molasses, maple syrup, salt, and spices until well blended.  Temper the eggs, meaning slowly whisk in about ¼ cup of the hot pudding mixture to the beaten eggs, then return tempered mixture to the pot.  This prevents the eggs from scrambling.

Pour mixture into a buttered casserole dish and bake about 1½ hours, until center is set (the center will still be soft, but you don’t want it to look liquidy).  Some recipes call for a water bath (i.e., set the casserole dish in a larger pan, then pour boiling water into the outer pan until it reaches halfway up the sides of the pudding dish), but I’ll be honest, I don’t bother.  This right here is the Indian pudding of my childhood.  Let sit at least 20 minutes.  Serve warm with vanilla bean ice cream.

Local Sources:
Milk: Our Family Farms of Massachusetts, Greenfield, MA
Cornmeal: Winter Moon Organic Farm, Hadley, MA
Butter: Mendon Creamery, Mendon, MA
Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Old Deerfield, MA
Eggs: Chip-In Farm, Bedford, MA

Macaroons: Not To Be Passed Over

I went to my first Passover Seder last week. I’m not sure how it is that I’ve never been to one before given how many of my friends and family are of the Jewish faith. I suppose it’s because I tend to shy away from religious celebrations of any kind with as much polite respect as possible. It’s just that I find religion to be extremely personal.

However, I’ve been thinking lately that maybe too much distance from something can bring you to the brink of closed-mindedness. Or maybe loosening some of my boundaries when it comes to religion is part of the whole process of confronting one’s own mortality. Who the hell knows? I heard there would be food. Maybe that was it.

As a newbie, I enjoyed the accessible, non-traditional format that our neighbors L and W embraced. Before eating, for example, everyone broke into groups of three or four and pantomimed the story of Passover in memorable fashion utilizing stuffed animals for props and the like. While a few of the songs were in Hebrew, most were humorous English interpretations, like the Exodus Rap: Well my name is Moses, you can call me Mo…. Suddenly, I realized what all of my years of after-school Catholic tutelage had been lacking: Rap. Oh, and food.

Dinner began with hard-boiled eggs, a symbol of spring, fertility, and the giving of life, which were dipped in salt water to represent the tears of the enslaved Jews. Parsley also received a dip in the salty brine to signify rebirth and renewal. Charoset, a tasty concoction of apples, nuts, and wine, represented the mortar that the Jewish slaves used to build the pyramids of Ancient Egypt. Sweet charoset combined with horseradish, the bitter flavor of which is analogous to slavery itself, was meant to remind one that there is sweetness in even the most bitter of times. Matzo, the unleavened bread that the Jews carried with them on their impromptu exodus out of Egypt, symbolized oppression and the importance of freedom. Did I get any of this wrong?

I was impressed with how important and symbolic the food was. We also had matzo-ball soup, chicken, vegetables, and extra helpings of charoset. I don’t know the story behind the four glasses of wine, but I know I like it. For dessert, there was chocolate- and toffee-covered matzo, which should be eaten year-round I declare. Our neighbor S also brought these amazingly rich chocolate-coconut macaroons. The recipe came from Clear Flour bakery in Brookline and they are the perfect treat for either Passover or Easter. You could even flatten the mounds into little nests and, once baked, set Cadbury mini-eggs or malted milk robin’s eggs in there. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing. They’re also gluten-free. Something for everyone.

Chocolate Coconut Macaroons

Don’t scrimp on the chocolate here. Skip Hershey’s and Nestle and go for Callebaut, Valrhona, even Ghirardelli. And, for the love of god, never use anything wrapped in Easter foil and marked as “chocolate” for baking. That stuff’s disgusting.

9¼ oz. semisweet chocolate, cut into ½-inch pieces
4½ oz. unsweetened chocolate, cut into ½-inch pieces
5 egg whites (save the yolks for pasta dough!!)
8 oz. granulated sugar (about 1 heaping cup)
1 Tbsp. vanilla extract
14 oz. sweetened shredded coconut

These cookies are meant to be frozen before baking to maintain a super-creamy center, so don’t preheat your oven just yet.*

Bring an inch of water in a medium saucepan to a boil then turn down the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. In a large metal bowl, combine the two types of chocolate. Set the bowl on top of the pan of water (the bowl shouldn’t touch the water—the steam provides the heat). Stir the chocolate until it is melted and remove from heat. If you have a double-boiler, use that instead.

In a large clean bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric mixer until foamy. Slowly add the sugar and keep beating until the mixture has the consistency of melted marshmallows. With a rubber spatula, fold in the vanilla, coconut, and melted chocolate until well blended.

Line 3-4 cookie sheets with parchment paper and scoop out batter into small mounds about 2 inches wide and an inch or two apart. Once they’re frozen, you can either store the macaroons in plastic containers to get your pans back into circulation, or bake them right on the pans. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Bake the frozen macaroons 16-20 minutes or until the outsides have developed a delicate crust and the tops are set. Slide the parchment paper (with the macaroons still on it) off the cookie sheets and onto a wire rack to cool. Makes 25.

*If you don’t have time for freezing the batter, you must have macaroons now, then preheat your oven to 425°F and bake on parchment-lined pans about 10 minutes until tops are set but centers are still soft. Let cool on pans several minutes more. The centers won’t be as creamy, but they’ll still be pretty damned good.

Source: Adapted from Boston.com. Original recipe from Abe Faber and Christy Timon, owners of Clear Flour Bread in Brookline.

United Statesian Honey Tarts for World Peace

One thing I learned last week is that if you want to see some Canadians get all opinionated, just try to muscle in on their butter tarts! And to think that diplomatic relations between our two countries hinged not on trade or other mutually beneficial economic factors, but on the enforcement of clear pastry boundaries. Sure, we can filch all of the Canadian comic talent and then fake a vacation in order to burden their generous healthcare system, but hands. off. the butter tarts.

Just kidding, Elisabeth et al! But I have to warn you that I did revisit the butter tarts. I couldn’t help it. I was sooooo close, and I had extra pie dough plus a couple of egg yolks I needed to use up. So I tinkered further with the recipe for what I think we can all agree wasn’t really a butter tart at all, aside from the butter. What I came up with will hopefully restore faith between the two nations and narrowly avert a third World War.

First item of business: lose the butter. Well, not all of the butter. I haven’t gone mad. Just half of it. I wanted the predominant flavor of the filling to be honey, not butter, and only enough to bind the nuts together. The answer: egg yolks. Next step: change the name. We like to do that over here. Change something nominally, then call it our own. It’s the American way.

Behold: American Honey Tarts. Wait, now I’m pissing off the Mexicans. North American Honey Tarts. Well, North American (But Not Canadian) Honey Tarts And Now The Nuts Are Mad. I’m still working on the name. But these homely little tarts made me insanely happy. I loved them. The next time I throw a wine and cheese party (in 2018, by my estimation), I’m breaking them out. Only maybe I’ll try them with maple syrup next time!

Honey Walnut Tartlets

If you have a favorite pie dough, feel free to use that instead. Or you could use store-bought, though I’ll deny I ever said that. One of these days I’ll make a video on how to make an awesome pie crust. That day is not today.

Dough
1 cup flour
½ tsp sugar
½ tsp. salt
6 tbsp. cold, unsalted butter, cut into pieces
4-6 Tbsp. ice water

Filling
1½ cups walnuts, whole or pieces, but not diced
2 Tbsp. softened, unsalted butter
¼ cup sugar
2 egg yolks (remaining whites can be put towards this recipe)
¼ cup wildflower honey (stronger, more complex flavor than clover honey)
Fleur de sel

To make the dough, mix flour, sugar, and salt. Cut cold butter into flour mixture by hand or in a food processor (pulse about 10 seconds or until butter pieces are pea-sized, then dump into bowl). Add ice water and fluff until starting to clump together in a raggedy mass. Gently squeeze a bit in your hand and see if it holds together at all. If not, add more water. Tear off a large swath of plastic wrap and dump the dough mixture into the middle. Gather up the sides of the plastic wrap, and press the dough into a flat disk, wrapping tightly. Refrigerate at least a half hour.

Preheat the oven to 425°F. Lightly grease mini-muffin tins. On a well-floured surface, roll out the dough to ¼-inch thickness. Better to have too much flour on the counter than not enough. You can always brush off any excess—you don’t want the dough to stick to the counter at all. A word on rolling: Don’t crush the dough into the countertop. This will make the finished crust tough. Basically, you want to push the pin across the dough to smear the butter between the layers of flour as you go. Imagine buttering a piece of bread. Like that, only rolling. This will result in a light, flaky texture.

Using a biscuit cutter, a sharp paring knife, or, I suppose, a glass, cut circles out of the dough that are a bit larger than the diameter or the muffin cups. Cut a Pac Man mouth out of the side, then fit dough into muffin cup, pressing the cut sides gently to seal. You’ll have to experiment to get the perfect size. Repeat until you run out of dough. You can reroll the dough once more, but the more you work it, the tougher it becomes. I usually end up gently pressing the scraps into the cups in a free-form way towards the end. When you finish a pan, put it in the refrigerator so the gluten in the dough can relax while you do the rest.

In a medium bowl, cream the soft butter with the sugar with the back of a spoon. Stir in yolks and honey. Fill pastry cups with walnuts, breaking up pieces that are too large. Spoon filling over walnuts to cover, but don’t overflow the tops of the crusts. Add a few more walnuts. Sprinkle lightly with fleur de sel. Bake 12 minutes or so until walnuts are toasty brown and filling is bubbly. Let cool in pans for 10 minutes, then remove to wire racks to cool completely. Makes about 20.

Local ingredients:
Honey: Warren Farm & Sugarhouse, North Brookfield, MA
Eggs: Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA
Butter: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Nuts, Part 2

I swore I’d never do it, but I did actually roast and peel chestnuts last Christmas. Not over an open-fire, but in the oven, as nature intended. Then I peeled them all until shell shards got jammed under my fingernails and I was all out of curse words.

I’m glad I tried it, though. It makes you appreciate how much hard work goes into shelling nuts. Plus, there are other sensory aspects of the process that are far more pleasurable than the aforementioned shards. The beautiful mahogany shells, for example, and the way the dry-roasting makes the whole house smell of shoes. Not stinky, old shoes. New shoes of the finest Italian leather. Then, of course, there are the sweet chestnut meats inside that can go into stuffings or cakes. But especially cakes.

Even though it feels like we’re on our way out of chestnut season, if it’s not already long gone, I have to mention this particular cake because it makes an elegant but manly dessert. Like if your dad, for example, has a winter-ish birthday. It’s super-easy to pull together, but makes a great impression. You can buy chestnut puree in a can at discerning markets (at Russo’s, it sits on a low shelf across from the eggs and cheese). The brand I bought was straight from France and contained chestnuts and water only, no surprising additives, so the recipe remains gluten-free. It makes for a somewhat expensive shopping list, but you will consider it money well spent when you’re sitting down eating cake instead of peeling a million goddamned chestnuts.

Chocolate Chestnut Torte

Unfortunately, the kids loved it, too.

1 15-oz. can chestnut puree
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
6 eggs
10 oz. semi-sweet chocolate (of the high-end variety), melted and cooled
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Two pinches of salt
¼ cup granulated sugar

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a 9- or 10-inch springform pan with a circle of parchment paper.

Add chestnut puree and softened butter to a large bowl and, using a mixer, beat until well blended. Separate the eggs using clean hands (crack an egg, pour contents into your hand, and let the whites fall through your fingers into a small bowl until only the yolk remains). One by one, add the yolks to the chestnut-butter mixture. One by one, dump the whites into a separate large bowl. (If the yolk breaks, set that egg aside for an omelet. Get another egg. A broken yolk will render the associated egg whites unwhippable). Set bowl of egg whites aside. Add melted chocolate and vanilla to chestnut-butter mixture along with the yolks, and mix well. Set aside.

With clean, dry beaters, whip the egg whites with the salt. Gradually add in the sugar. Continue whipping until stiff, glossy peaks form (but you don’t want them dry and Styrofoam-looking). Gently mix one third of the egg whites into the chocolate chestnut mixture to lighten. Then, add half of what’s left of the whites to the bowl and fold in until incorporated. Gently fold in the remaining egg whites. The idea is to deflate the egg whites as little as possible. Proper folding technique is important. Here’s a refresher.

Gently pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 35-45 minutes, until the top looks dry and slightly cracked. Cool in pan for 20 minutes, then remove to wire rack. Serve alone or with a dollop of whipped cream or crème fraiche.

Source: Adapted from A Treasury of Jewish Holiday Baking by Marcy Goldman, who adapted it from a recipe from Montreal’s Titanic Café.

Zaleti

I don’t know if anybody else is going to like these. Not the best way to start a post, I realize, but this isn’t one of those guaranteed-crowd-pleaser types of recipes. It pleases the Preschooler and I, and that’s about all I can guarantee. There are cookies that will kill you with sweetness and there are cookies that won’t, and while there is definitely a place for both (right here in my stomach), these fall firmly in the latter category. However, after the Caramel deLite incident(s), this is a welcome departure.

Zaleti is the traditional name for these northern Italian cornmeal cookies, usually made with lemon rind and grappa-soaked raisins. I use dried cranberries plumped with brandy instead and a perky pinch of zested tangerine peel. Then I cut them into diamond shapes and, after they’ve baked and cooled, give them a February dusting of powdered sugar. They’re like a rustic tea cookie if tea parties took place in the woods instead of fancy hotels. With some tree stumps for tables and the woodland creatures and my mushroom log dolls sitting all around. What are you looking at?

The result is a snack I don’t feel guilty about when the Preschooler (or I) want more than one. But, for some mystical reason that I can’t explain, two is usually plenty.

Zaleti

Winter Moon Organic Farm of Hadley, MA sells local cornmeal ground on a bicycle-powered mill at the Wayland Winter Farmer’s Market.

¾ cup dried cranberries
¼ cup brandy
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1 cup cornmeal
½ tsp. salt
12 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened (1½ sticks)
2/3 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Zest of one tangerine (or corresponding amount of orange or lemon)
Powdered sugar, for dusting

In a small bowl, soak the dried cranberries in brandy for about an hour or until plump. You can omit the brandy and use apple cider or even water to moisten the cranberries instead. The kids won’t miss it, though I might.

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment.

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, cornmeal, and salt. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar until smooth. Beat in the egg, vanilla, and tangerine zest. Stir in the dry ingredients along with the raisins and any remaining liquid. Cover and chill until firm enough to handle, about an hour.

On a floured surface, roll out the dough to a thickness somewhere between ¼- and ½-inch. Using a sharp paring knife or bench scraper, cut the dough into diamond shapes and set on cookie sheets. Bake about 15 minutes or until zaleti are lightly browned around the edges. Let cool on rack. Dust with powdered sugar just before serving.

Boooooooooobs!

It’s very convenient that breasts are food-related. That way, when I feel like talking about mine, which is pretty much never, I can do so without breaking theme. In fact, this blog could have been 100% boobs all the time and no one could convict me of exploiting the female form. I really feel I’ve missed out on an important marketing opportunity, not to mention a chance to really connect with my male readership.

I only bring this up because I go for reconstructive surgery tomorrow and posting may be spotty for the next week. In layman’s terms, that means boob job. Yes, I know I’ve made fun of boob jobs several times on this blog that I can recall. Have you noticed that every time I make a joke about something, I then have to go and eat my words in a very humbling fashion? It’s almost like somebody’s trying to teach me a lesson. But that somebody is going to be very distracted from their lesson-teaching when they get a load of my giant new boob!!!

Just kidding. It’s not going to be giant (despite Husband’s enthusiastic lobbying). What the hell am I going to do with one giant boob? Sounds like an awful lot of unwanted attention if you ask me. I know the jury is still out on the long-term health implications of breast implants, and I don’t really consider them to be a fabulous idea, but do you know what I like even less? The constant reminder of cancer. What can I say? Life is just a series of justifications for your hypocritical behavior.

So, to welcome my new bionic boob, I made cookies. Special, celebratory cookies.

The nipples, of course, are optional.

This is a great cookie recipe I pulled from Molly Wizenberg’s A Homemade Life. It’s easy enough for kids to make, it rolls out perfectly for cookie cutters of all shapes and sizes, and the resulting buttery, shortbread-like texture is quite satisfying for all ages. The cream cheese frosting is barely cherry-scented with kirsch, and two drops of red food coloring give it the palest hint of pink, making it perfect for Valentine’s Day. Or, if you’re not the frosting type, roll out the cookies thinner, and sandwich a layer of dulce de leche in between for Argentinian-style alfajores.

And in a few weeks, depending on how things go, I’m thinking I might enact that 100% Boobs All The Time policy on this blog. There will still be food, of course, just food in the vicinity of boobs. Boobs with biscuits. Boobs with soup. Boobs giving away the temperature of all the outdoor shots. I think I’m going to be getting a lot more compliments on my photography. Let the traffic spike begin!

Pink Cookies

You can flavor and color the frosting however you like. Don’t feel limited to the most hideous color known to man.

Dough
3 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
3 cups all-purpose flour
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Frosting
8 oz. cream cheese, room temperature
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, room temperature
3 cups powdered sugar, sifted
1¼ tsp. kirsch, or more to taste
Red food coloring

For cookies, combine the butter and sifted powdered sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Beat until light and fluffy, starting out very slowly so the sugar doesn’t fly everywhere, and gradually increasing speed. In a medium bowl, mix together the flour and salt. With the mixer on low, add the flour mixture to the butter mixture, beating until the flour is just absorbed. Add the vanilla and beat well to incorporate. Lay a large sheet of plastic wrap on the counter and turn the dough out onto it. Gather the dough into a ball and press into a thick disk. Wrap well and refrigerator for 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 325°F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. On a clean, floured surface, roll the dough to a thickness of ¼- to ½-inch. (Breaking the dough into two pieces makes it easier to manage.) Cut shapes with cookie cutters or drinking glass. Place the cookies on prepared baking sheets, spacing them an inch apart. Bake one sheet at a time for 16-20 minutes, or until the cookies are pale golden at the edge. Do not allow them to brown. Transfer pan to wire rack and allow cookies to cool completely on pan.

To make the frosting, wash your mixer bowl and paddle. Combine cream cheese and butter in the bowl and beat with the paddle on medium speed until smooth. Add the powdered sugar and beat on low to fully incorporate, then raise speed to medium, beating until there are no lumps, scraping down the sides of the bowl with a rubber scraper as needed. Add the kirsch and a few drops of red food coloring and beat well. I like the frosting barely pink, but feel free to add more food coloring and kirsch to taste. Spread thickly over cookies. They will keep in the refrigerator for 3 days, and can be frozen. Makes about 2 dozen.

Source: Adapted from Jimmy’s recipe in A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg. I hope he would approve of my interpretation.

Honey Caramels for Gifting

New to my holiday candy-making repertoire this year are honey caramels, made with local honey, of course. I used Golden Meadow from Reseska Apiaries, which, incidentally, is offering a honey and beeswax candle CSA in the spring. But there are also likely to be several small batch producers in your area, so ask around.

These caramels are sticky, creamy, and buttery, just the way I like them. Extra salt makes them super-addictive. The honey gives them a more complex flavor than your typical caramels, not to mention a taste of your local terroir (i.e., purple loosestrife, black locust, basswood, and buckthorn in my area). What better way to celebrate the bees’, and possibly your own, hard work this year?

Happy holidays, Everyone. See you next week.

Honey Caramels
You will need a candy thermometer for this. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It goes in the pot.

1½ cup sugar
½ cup honey
1 cup heavy cream
4 Tbsp. butter, cut into 4 pieces
1 scant tsp. kosher or sea salt

Line a 9x12-inch baking pan with parchment paper.

Add sugar and honey to a large, non-reactive pot. On medium heat, let the sugar and honey melt and come to a boil. Meanwhile, heat the cream in a small pot until gently simmering (don’t let it boil over).

Cook the sugar mixture, stirring occasionally, until caramelized to a medium to dark amber color, but don’t let it burn. If you’re having trouble judging the color through all the foam, use the sniff test (but don’t get too close—caramel will give you a nasty burn). The longer caramel cooks at this stage, the more bitter the flavor becomes. You want some bitterness to counter the sweetness, but not too much. Give a smell and see what you think.

When you get it where you want it, whisk in the butter 1 Tbsp. at a time until well mixed. Then add the heated cream and salt, and whisk until smooth. Clip on your candy thermometer at this point and cook until it reaches 242°F (for a sticky caramel) up to 250°F (for a firmer one).

Quickly pour into the parchment-lined pan and let cool at room temperature. Chilling soft caramel in the refrigerator makes it easier to handle. Cut into small pieces and wrap them up in parchment or wax paper, twisting the ends. You’ll have to experiment with shapes and sizes of the caramels and papers to get a combination you like. Make sure you have some time on your hands. Wrapping them can take a while. Store in refrigerator until ready to gift.

Source: Adapted from Chez Pim.

Addendum: MidLifeMama tried this recipe over the weekend and had some trouble with the caramels setting up with my original temperature recommendation of 236°F, so I've revised the temperature range to 242°F-250°F. Keep in mind that there can be vast differences in outcomes when making caramel even when altitude isn’t a factor. The time it takes for the sugar to melt and then come to a boil, as well as how much you stir it and the humidity in the air, may all play a role. Furthermore, if you live at a high altitude, subtract 2°F for every 1,000 feet above sea level. I’d say aim for the middle to top of the temperature range (before you do your altitude math) to be on the safe side. If the batch doesn’t set up, you’ll still have some awesome caramel sauce to put in little jars for gifts. Anyone else have anything to add from experience?

Local Sources:
Honey: Golden Meadow, Reseska Apiaries, Holliston, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Perfect Pumpkin Pie

We had three Thanksgiving dinners this year. One with Nonni on the day, one with my Mom the day after, and then I cooked one for us at home on Sunday. I’ve never cooked a whole Thanksgiving dinner in my life because we’re always away. It occurred to me that this is one of the things I want to do before I die, and that maybe I should start working on that list sooner rather than later.

So, I roasted a giant turkey leg that I had procured the week before from Diemand Farm in Wendell, MA with Annabelle of Calamity Shazaam in the Kitchen and her lovely family. Alongside the turkey leg were roasted carrots from Waltham Fields and potatoes from Picadilly Farm. Then I made oyster and chestnut dressing with Wellfleet oysters (courtesy of Grandpa P), as well as the stale, half-eaten baguettes I’ve been collecting from Russo’s. Finally, I made roasted Eastham turnip with local shallots and apples. Husband followed everything up with a homemade pumpkin pie.

One of the great things about this dinner was that the kids actually ate it. Not only ate it, but liked it. I was definitely not expecting that. The dressing alone was “food on the food” at its worst: many of the ingredients were green (leeks, celery, thyme, sage, parsley), several were gross-looking (chestnuts, oysters), and they were all mixed up with stale bread doused in the drippings of a dead bird. I did not explain it to them in this way, however. Maybe that’s the secret.

After they had eaten every bit off their plate, and my dad had eaten every bit off his plate (yes, including the turnips), they had pumpkin pie and ate every smear of filling right out of the crust. Since when is pumpkin pie popular with kids? Now they suddenly adore it, which means Husband will be even more inclined to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night for secret pie.

Husband’s recipe is as simple as, well…pie. It’s the simplest pie you’ll ever make, put it that way. He makes it with canned pumpkin and a Pillsbury crust, so it’s super-quick to put together. If you don’t already have a standard pumpkin pie in rotation, I’d suggest starting with this one and building off it.

Now, all we have to do is marry his pumpkin pie technique with my homemade lard crust, possibly also real CSA pumpkin or squash, and then there will be world peace.

Someday.

Husband’s Pumpkin Pie

His secret is to mix fresh, grated nutmeg along with the powdered stuff, half and half.

3 eggs
½ cup sugar
½ cup brown sugar, lumps sifted down
1 can pumpkin pie filling (or 1½ cups cooked and puréed fresh pumpkin)
1 Tbsp. flour
½ tsp. nutmeg
½ tsp. allspice
½ tsp. salt
1¼ cups low-fat milk, heated (not boiled)

Preheat oven to 450°F. Let pre-made dough come to room temperature for 15 minutes to unstiffen. Grease the pie plate, line with dough, and crimp.

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs with the sugars. Mix in the pumpkin, flour, spices, and salt. Slowly add the heated milk, whisking all the while, over the course of a minute or so. If you like your pies creamier, you can use whole milk instead or go up an extra ¼ cup on the low-fat milk. However, Husband likes his dark and firm. His words. Hmmmmm…

Bake pie for 10 minutes at 450°F, then lower heat to 350°F and bake 55-60 minutes longer. Let cool, then refrigerate until chilled. Serve with whipped cream or, as Husband prefers it, plain.

Hair Day

Last week, my BFF and I went shopping for a wig.  Because even though I hate shopping, I was a little bit worried about how the children might react when I suddenly go bald.  Also, how I might react.  I mean, we all know my hair and I haven’t always been on the best of terms, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to sever all ties.  Surely we could work out a mutually agreeable arrangement. 

No?

Anyway, I already have a few bandanas I got at Target for the really hot days when having no hair is an actual blessing.  But not every occasion lends itself to a bandana.  Like all of the fancy wine tastings I never go to.  Also, events at exclusive country clubs I’m not a member of.  Job interviews I don’t get.  Prom invitations that never materialize.  I need to be prepared. 

So we went and I tried to keep an open mind, she who has never dyed her hair in her life nor changed her hairstyle in 15 years.  The wig lady showed us lots of options.  There were dark chocolate bobs and pixie-ish cuts the color of flax seed.  There were sleek cascades of mahogany with cherry highlights, and mad tangles of curls in strawberry blonde.  I thought I wanted a black blunt cut à la Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, but I wasn’t sure I would have the intensity to pull that off.  I never win in staring contests.  Especially not dancing, staring contests.  And certainly not dancing, staring contests with murder lurking in the air. 

Husband had put in a vote for the pink wig that Natalie Portman wore in Closer.  I did try on the pink wig.  I did, but there were about 100 reasons why that wasn’t going to work, starting with the pink color.  If you ever want to look like death warmed over, put on a neon pink wig.  Sorry, Natalie, but I don’t need any more help in that department, and, frankly, your luminousness is a long shot for anyone on a good day.

Believe it or not, trying on all those wigs was not depressing at all, and, in fact, was quite fun.  Like I could just up and decide to be anybody I wanted.  It made me fantasize about being a spy in a really, really non-dangerous type of situation.  Like if my client, let’s call him Charlie, very badly needed to know what Jon Hamm of Mad Men orders when he goes out to eat.  Then I would be your woman.  I might be very interested in such an assignment, actually, which would be fine with Husband because he would be over at the bar courting January Jones, and whatever happens in the restaurant bathroom stays in the restaurant bathroom, no questions asked.

In the end, I couldn’t decide, so I got two: one short, cropped wig in my regular chestnut brown and one shoulder-length blonde one.  Well, not blonde so much as straw-colored (but on me it looks BLONDE!).  Does it look ridiculous?  Kinda.  But, guess what, I don’t care.  I’ve always heard that blondes have more fun and now’s my chance to find out.  Of course, there are probably more boobs involved in that equation normally.  And less vomiting.  But I’ve been wrong about stuff before.

So, this recipe goes out to all my blonde friends (and one particular red-head).  We’ll compare notes later.

Blondies

For maximum fun, make a pan of these and a pan of your favorite dark chocolate brownies and let your guests duke it out over which is better and why.  That always gets the party started.

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 cups flour
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. kosher salt
1 cup chocolate chips
½ cup butterscotch chips
1 cup chopped pecans
Sea salt for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Butter a 9”x13” pan and line with parchment paper.

Cream butter and sugar with an electric mixer until smooth.  Add eggs, beating well after each addition.  Add vanilla and mix again.  In a separate bowl, mix flour, baking soda, and salt.  Add dry ingredients and mix on low until just combined.  Stir in chips and nuts.  Spread in prepared pan and sprinkle top with a few pinches of sea salt.  Bake for about 30 minutes, until top is golden brown and the middle yields slightly to gentle pressure.

Buckle Up

Turns out I’m addicted to black raspberries.  I picked a bunch more a few days ago because it was raining, and when I got back, Looky Daddy had tweeted about this, which was adapted from this.  Suddenly, there was cake in the oven, its jammy scent wafting upstairs, interfering with my ability to fold laundry properly.  (I’m still finding mismatched socks in odd places.)

I managed to hold off for most of the day, but then I ate a quarter of this cake while making dinner.  What, I’m just fattening myself up for chemo. 

Black Raspberry Buckle

I know buckles usually have a crumbly topping, but that would ruin this.  It’s perfect the way it is.  I just like the name.

1 cup all-purpose flour
½ tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup sugar, plus 1 Tbsp., divided (I liked Pinch My Salt’s idea of using demerara sugar on top.  I would have done it if I'd had some.)
½ tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 large egg
½ cup buttermilk, well shaken
1 cup fresh black (or red) raspberries

Preheat oven to 400°F with rack towards the top.  Butter and flour a 9-inch round cake pan.  Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  Cream butter and 2/3 cup sugar with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 2 minutes.  Beat in vanilla. Add egg and mix well.

At low speed, add flour mixture in 3 batches, alternating with buttermilk, and mixing until just combined.  Spoon batter into cake pan, smoothing top.  Scatter raspberries evenly over top and sprinkle with remaining 1 Tbsp sugar.

Bake until cake is golden and a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean, 25 to 30 minutes. Let cool.  Serve.

Source: Adapted from Gourmet’s recipe by Melissa Roberts.

Dulcet Caramel, You Will Be Mine

Recently, a jar of Argentine dulce de leche caught my eye at Russo’s.  I didn’t even hesitate as I placed it lovingly in my basket.  After all, this is the time of year when I eat whatever the hell I want, from wherever I want, environment be damned.  It’s been a long winter and the summer is still achingly out of reach.  So, I figured, I could either fly the whole family down to Argentina for dessert or fly the dulce de leche up to me.  (It was a bitch of a flight, but I got the goods.)

This dulce de leche by La Salamandra, essentially caramelized whole milk, is by far the best I’ve ever had, with deep caramel tones and a full, rich mouthfeel.  Now the canned stuff will forever suck by comparison.  I spread it on crêpes for a mid-afternoon snack, then melted and poured it over ice cream for a mid-evening snack.  A banoffee pie even crossed my mind for a midnight snack, except by then I had already eaten the rest of it right out of the jar.  God, this stuff is amazing.

So, here’s a question.  Has anyone ever boiled cans of condensed milk for hours to make dulce de leche?  And did they explode?  Back in my twenties, I did this quite a few times without considering the dangers of cans under pressure.  Then I heard all of these second-hand horror stories about explosions and caramel-coated kitchens and I haven’t done it since.  Just curious what your experience has been.  David Lebovitz says you can make it in the oven without the can, which seems less controversial/exciting.  But I may never go back to cans again now that it seems like you can make better stuff with regular milk (do I hear local?), sugar, and baking soda in a pot.  Or at least the Argentines can.  As always, I will report back.  In the meantime, here’s a snack.

Crêpes with Dulce de Leche

My crappy 7-inch non-stick T-Fal from college makes awesome crêpes.  Don’t tell anyone.

2 eggs
1/3 cup flour
Pinch of salt
1 cup milk
1 Tbsp. butter
Dulce de leche

Whisk together eggs, flour, and salt in a medium bowl.  Slowly add the milk, whisking constantly, until smooth.  Strain batter into another bowl, cover, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.  The batter will seem like it's way too thin, but it's not.

Heat a 7-inch non-stick pan over medium heat until hot.  Grease pan with a little butter, then pour in ¼ cup of batter, swirling to coat the bottom of the pan evenly.  Cook 1-2 minutes, until the edges start to brown and the underside is cooked and developing toasty spots.  Flip crêpe and cook 1 minute more.  The first one always comes out like crap.  Persevere.

Transfer crêpe to plate and spread dulce de leche on half of it.  This is easier to do if the dulce de leche is room temperature.  If it’s coming from the fridge, you can nuke it slightly to loosen it up, but be careful or you’ll end up with a puddle that refuses to be wrangled.  Fold crêpe in half, then in half again, and devour.  Repeat.  Makes about 6.  (Also good with Nutella or whatever other fillings you might concoct.)

Source: Adapted from Saveur, from an article by Melissa Hamilton (I think).

Serendipitous Cheesecake

So often, the very best things I come up with are not what I intended to make at all.  They’re usually offshoots of things that didn’t quite work, or I didn’t like, or were in some other way terribly misguided.  Kind of like my life.  This cheesecake evolved in much the same way.  I’ll spare you the backstory.  Suffice it to say that I had a lot of soft cheese that I needed to figure out something to do with. 

These little cheesecakes make use of two of my favorite local ingredients: goat cheese from Westfield Farm in Hubbardston and Bonnie’s Jams out of Cambridge.  They’re more reminiscent of thick, New York-style cheesecakes than creamy, custardy cheesepies.  Dense, sturdy, and rich, the same way I like my men.  Just kidding.  The tangy goat cheese gives them lots of character.  Don’t you just love the way the fruit spills over and stains the exposed walls?  (If you reject this one, Tastespotting, you’re dead to me.)

This is a good occasion to show off any of your own preserved berries you may have hiding away, preferably something on the tart side.  But, if you don’t know your gelatin from your pectin, fear not.  Bonnie’s fruit preserves are pretty much better than anything I could ever make.  I don’t really even understand how anything out of jar can taste that good, but I’m very glad it’s possible.  What you see up there are blackberry preserves, although the blueberry and lemon would also be nice.  I’ve always felt her jars were a little too pricey just to spread on toast.  They’re more like dessert fare.  In fact, if I do say so myself, this may be the perfect use for them.

Little Goat Cheesecakes with Blackberry Compote

I get the impression that cheesecake is considered passé, but I will never tire of it.  NEVER. 

1 cup graham cracker crumbs or 9 graham crackers, pulverized
5 Tbsp. butter, melted
2 8-oz. packages cream cheese
10 oz. goat cheese
½ cup sugar
2 Tbsp. honey
2 eggs
Blackberry preserves (or whatever else you fancy)

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Mix butter with graham cracker crumbs until well moistened.  Grease one of those mini-cheesecake pans and press crumb mixture into the bottoms only.  You could also use muffin tins.  Or, if you don’t have the former and you don’t feel like washing the latter, you could use a set of biscuit cutters of varying sizes set on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper.  Your call.  Bake 10 minutes.  Let cool.

Cut cream cheese into chunks and nuke them until they soften (maybe 3-4 minutes on medium).  Crumble in goat cheese and add sugar, honey, and eggs.  Whip until smooth.  You can use a mixer or, if the cream cheese is warm enough, just do it with a whisk.  Spoon into forms and bake about 20 minutes or until centers are set and just starting to crack.  Let cool and refrigerate.  Carefully remove from forms and serve with Bonnie’s blackberry preserves.  Makes 9 to 12 depending on size.

The Truth About Lard

Look what I found at Pete and Jen’s Backyard Birds:

Laaaaaaaaaard.  Because Pete and Jen don’t just raise birds, they also raise pigs in pristine Concord (as well as sheep, rabbits, and, potentially, a cow).  I think they should change their name to Pete and Jen’s Backyard Birds And Other Animals.  They’re really nice people over there behind Verrill Farm, but, more importantly, they have lard.

Lard gets a bad rap.  It’s a terrible-sounding word from a phonetic standpoint.  It’s almost always used in a derogatory way (e.g., lard-ass).  Sure, it’s possible that there may be a correlation between eating large quantities of lard and an ever-expanding derrière, but that can be said of lots of things.  I don’t think we need to single out lard unfairly.  And while the idea of pig fat may be less than appealing in a theoretical sense, practically speaking, there’s no more delicious way to make sure all the parts of the animal are put to good use.  I mean, you like bacon, don’t you?  That’s something like 75% pig fat, if you’re lucky. You can’t love bacon and hate lard.  It’s physically impossible.

So, now that we’re being open-minded about lard, let’s put some in a pie!  A pie crust, to be exact.  Why are we back to heaving so soon?  You know how great apples and pork go together.  Here, lard just provides extra richness and a delicate flakiness to the crust.  It’s not like the pie is going to have a giant pork chop in the middle of it or anything.  I don’t think.  I mean, no, of course it’s not.  God, Tammy, show some restraint.

Dough made with lard handles very differently than dough made with butter.  The mixture is sandier, requires less water, and is softer and easier to work with.  It’s a good dough for novice pie-makers.  

I always form any leftover dough scraps into little jam-filled tarts so I have something to distract me away from cutting into the larger pie before company arrives.  Would you look at the flakiness?!

Just look at it!!!  (Calm down, Tammy.  You’re making a scene!)  This is why pie crusts made with lard are so awesome.  You can’t buy this in a box. 

Here’s the pie. 

Sorry, there was no time for even cursory styling as there was a chicken stew to be made.  Here’s what was going on in the other three feet of counter space to the left. 

Raw chicken and pie.  Two worlds that must never collide.  Unless, of course, we’re talking about chicken pot pie.  Drooooooool.  Need more lard!

 

Apple Pie for the Pork Lover

Or, if I have failed to convince you losers, the crust can be made with butter instead.  You’ll need 12 tablespoons of unsalted butter plus several more tablespoons of water.

Crust
2 cups flour
¾ cup lard
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
8 Tbsp. ice water (you may need slightly more or slightly less depending on the humidity, phase of the moon, your emotional state, etc., etc.)

Filling
6-7 tart apples, like Cortland, Northern Spy, Macoun, or whatever, peeled, cored, sliced ¼-inch thick
¾ cup sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. nutmeg (preferably freshly grated)

1 egg, beaten

For the crust, mix flour, sugar, and salt in food processor.  Add spoonfuls of lard and pulse in 1-second beats until you have little chunks the size of small peas (around 12-15 pulses).  Be careful not to process it into oblivion.  If the dough gets too uniform, I suspect some flakiness will be lost in the final product.  Dump mixture into a large bowl and add ice water, a few tablespoons at a time, fluffing with a fork until gently absorbed.  The dough should just hold together when you press on it.  Don’t knead it or it will become too tough.  Tear off two pieces of plastic wrap.  Dump a little over half of the dough mixture in the middle of one, and the rest on the other.  Flatten the mixture into disks about an inch thick, then wrap them up, and refrigerate at least a half hour until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 425°F.  In a small bowl, mix sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  Add all but 1 Tbsp. to the sliced apples and mix.  Set aside.

Flour your counter and rolling pin well.  The dough shouldn’t stick at all.  Take the larger disk and roll it out about ¼-inch thick, about a foot in diameter.  Roll from the middle out in all directions.  Don’t grind the dough down into the counter—push it out to the sides.  If the dough sticks, sprinkle more flour.  Transfer to a 9-inch pie dish by lifting the edge of the dough over the top of the rolling pin.  Gently lift and push until the dough is draped over the rolling pin (a bench scraper or even a spatula under the dough really helps).  Align over pie plate and gently unfurl.  Make sure it’s centered, then brush bottom of dough with beaten egg (this seems to help keep the crust from getting too soggy).

Pour in the apples.  Roll out the second crust the same way, only slightly smaller.  Drape over fruit.  Fold edges of top crust over edges of bottom crust and crimp.  Cut steam vents on top with a sharp paring knife.  Brush dough with beaten egg and sprinkle with reserved sugar mixture. Place pie plate on baking sheet and bake for 20 minutes.  Reduce heat to 375°F and bake until bubbly and crust is golden brown, 20-30 minutes more.  Let cool until warm.  Serve with vanilla bean ice cream.

Chocolate Fix

Now that the cold, dark, sickly, depressing season is upon us (which is made even less tolerable by the seepage of premature Christmas music), comfort food has become paramount once again.  And so I have instituted Sunday family dinners with my dad, effective immediately. 

Our first feast: roasted leg of Codman Farm lamb with rosemary, garlic, and a red wine pan sauce, turnip and potato gratin, and braised kale.  For dessert, we had molten chocolate cakes spiked with cognac.  Because, let’s face it, that was the only way my dad was going to eat his kale.  And turnips.  Weird how the lamb disappeared so quickly, though.  (He is his daughter’s father, after all.)

This is not the same kind of chocolate cake that Bill Cosby spoke so highly of as part of a balanced breakfast.  These are more like individual chocolate soufflés encased in chocolate cake.  You know, the kind you have to order at the same time as your meal at an expensive restaurant so they’ll be done in time.  I was sure the kids wouldn’t like them at all, being gooey in the middle and frostingless and somewhat boozy.  But they did, goddamnit.  I had hoped the remaining cakes would last me until at least Wednesday.  Nope, just Monday.  Round about 7 a.m.  When I ate the last one out of the microwave while the kids had Chex.

 

Molten Chocolate Cakes

Don’t worry, they get more alcohol than this in their cough medicine.

9 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 Tbsp. cognac
4 eggs, separated
1/3 cup granulated sugar
3 Tbsp. cake flour
Confectioner’s sugar, for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 400°F.  Butter 6 individual ramekins and dust lightly with flour, shaking out any extra.

In a double-boiler, combine chocolate, butter, and cognac, and stir until melted and smooth.  (No double-boiler?  No problem.  Just set a large metal bowl over a medium pan of simmering water and proceed.  The steam from the water will heat the bowl enough to melt the chocolate without scorching.  Oven mitts are recommended.)  Remove from heat.

Beat the egg whites in a medium bowl until they hold stiff peaks.  In a separate large bowl, beat the yolks and sugar until the color lightens and the mixture falls off the beaters like ribbons.  Gently fold the egg whites into the yolk mixture.  Sift the cake flour over the egg mixture and fold in.  Add the chocolate mixture and fold in.  You want the batter to be uniform color but still maintain as much of its airy lightness as possible.  Spoon batter into ramekins.  (You can refrigerate them, covered, for several hours at this point.)

Set dishes on a baking sheet and bake 10-12 minutes until they rise and the tops just start to crack.  Do not overbake.  Remember, you want the centers to basically be hot batter.  Invert onto a plate and then onto serving plates.  Dust with confectioner’s sugar and serve immediately.

Remember the UPS Man

Have you ever made such a spectacular fool out of yourself that the more you try to explain, the worse it gets? 

Whenever this occurs (fairly frequently, I might add), it reminds me of the time I got my wisdom teeth pulled.  I was in my studio apartment in godforsaken Malden waiting for the Novocain to wear off when the UPS guy arrived.  He was cute and I was on pain meds, so I set about answering his delivery-related questions with much enthusiasm, forgetting, of course, that my mouth wasn’t working.  And, well, there’s no other way to put it…I sounded like I was retarded.  A retarded adult living alone with her two cats in a one-room, rent-controlled apartment in the middle of nowhere.  The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.  And the more I gestured wildly about dental procedures and fumbled around for a pen and paper to clarify, the more he backed himself down the hallway, and the more I tried to sponge off the drool and reassure him that no, no, I’m actually not retarded, while sounding completely, 100% retarded. 

Someday, they’ll find an antidote for bruised pride—something better than time, which takes too long.  Until then, take my advice and remember the UPS man.  Shut your trap, and don’t open it again until you're alone with a plate of turnovers sitting in front of you.  Cranberry cardamom or fig with blue cheese and walnut, for example.  You’ll thank me later.

Cranberry Cardamom Turnovers

I love these as is, but one of you should put a little orange rind in there and see what happens.  For the fig version, simply slice fresh figs into thickish ovals (no pre-cooking required), overlap three or four to a turnover, dot with blue cheese (I wished I had used more), and sprinkle with chopped walnuts before sealing them up. 

Crust
2 cups flour
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
12 Tbsp. cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
10-12 Tbsp. ice water

Filling
1 cup cranberries
½ cup sugar
¼ cup water
½ tsp. cardamom

1 egg, beaten

For the crust, mix flour, sugar, and salt in food processor.  Add cold butter and pulse in 1-second beats until butter is the size of small peas (around 20 pulses).  Dump mixture into a large bowl and add ice water, a few tablespoons at a time, fluffing with a fork until gently absorbed.  You don’t want it wet and sticky, but if there’s too much dry flour, the dough won’t come together right.  It should just hold together when you press on it.  Don’t knead or it will become too tough.  Tear off two pieces of plastic wrap.  Dump half of the dough mixture in the middle of each, and flatten the mixture into disks (or rectangles or rhombi) about a half-inch thick, using the plastic wrap to help shape and compress them.  Wrap tightly and refrigerate until ready to use (or at least a half hour to let the gluten relax).

Meanwhile, in a small pot, bring cranberries, sugar, water, and cardamom to a boil and simmer on low, 15-20 minutes, until berries burst and thicken.  Let cool.

Preheat oven to 425°F.  Line sheet pans with parchment paper.  Flour your counter and rolling pin well (the dough shouldn’t stick at all).  Take one of the disks (keep the other refrigerated) and roll it out about ¼-inch thick.  Roll from the middle out in all directions.  Don’t grind the dough down into the counter—push it out to the sides.  If the dough sticks, sprinkle more flour.  A bench scraper comes in really handy for loosening stuck dough.

Cut dough into rectangles about 3 inches wide by 9 inches long, or whatever looks like a reasonable turnover size once you fold it in half.  Place filling on one side of dough, leaving space all around the perimeter to seal it up.  Fold dough over and press edges to seal.  If the dough doesn’t stick to itself, run a wet finger in between.  Crimp edges with a fork.  Cut steam vents in top crust with a knife.  Brush with beaten egg and set gently on parchment-lined pan.  Repeat with remaining dough (any leftover scraps can be gathered up and re-rolled).  Bake 15-20 minutes, until crust turns golden brown.  Let cool.  Makes about 12.