Power to the Bauer

Eggs

2012-01-30T15:39:00.003-05:00

The chicken? The egg? The cardboard box. That's what came first in my chicken adventure. Our fifty meat birds and twenty-five layers were sent through the United States Postal Service in two ventilated cardboard boxes strapped one on top of the other. The package was chirping as T. brought it out from the back and it chirped all the way home, stopping at sudden movements or loud noises only to resume seconds later.

It has been seven months since we gave those chirping little balls of fuzz their first drink of water and first taste of mash. Now they're giving us eggs. We gave away half our birds and from the ten we kept we get up to ten eggs a day--some light brown, some pink, some speckled, dark brown ones from black bird, and blue ones from yellow bird.

I have heard it said that all eggs taste the same. Organic eggs, 'conventional' eggs, free range, cooped up, store bought, back yard--they all taste the same. But I don't buy it. Perhaps I'm biased, influenced emotionally by my involvement in the production of these eggs, but I really do think these are better than what you can buy at the grocery store. The yolks are more golden and stand up taller in the pan. The whites have a more delicate texture, refusing, happily, to become rubbery. I., my best customer and one not prone to exaggeration or overt praise, called our eggs the best she has ever had and said they poach better than any egg she has ever cooked. So there.

Another benefit of keeping your own layers is that the anomalies don't get weeded out. Several times a month one of the girls lays a veritable torpedo of an egg. It's a double-plus-super-double-yolker. Two eggs in one, more like.

I had started to wonder if fresh eggs were worth the feeding and watering and cleaning of poopy boxes and worry over hen pecking and everything else that comes with keeping chooks. Having tasted tages ei, I now know they are.

Rooibos-Anise Hyssop Sun Tea

2011-07-08T19:03:00.003-04:00

It's always nice when delicious things practically make themselves. Sun tea is one of those things. You can put it out to steep in the morning and forget about it most of the day and then when you're in need of a refreshing beverage (because if it's hot enough to make sun tea, it's hot enough to drink a cool glass of something) your tea is ready to be strained and poured over ice.

Rooibos is a wonderful base for sun tea. It gives it a beautiful color and a rich, round flavor from which to build. It readily welcomes other flavors, such as the anise hyssop I used, which gave it a refreshing hint of licorice. I used anise hyssop, because that's what I have, but any of the mints--peppermint, spearmint, chocolate mint, pineapple mint, lemon balm--would work just as well. As always, use what you have, trust your own judgement, and don't panic--it's only tea.

Rooibos-Anise Hyssop Sun Tea

for one half gallon

4-5 Tbs. rooibos tea
several sprigs anise hyssop
a half-gallon jar with lid
cold water

Spoon tea into half-gallon jar. Pick anise hyssop, bruise the leaves by rolling them between your palms, and place in jar. Fill the jar with water and screw on the lid. Place jar outside in a sunny spot that will remain so for several hours. Allow to steep 3-5 hours. Strain into a pitcher and serve over ice. Garnish with a sprig of anise hyssop. Store any leftover tea in the refrigerator.

Any mint can be used in place of the anise hyssop.

Strawberry Jam

2011-06-30T13:26:00.005-04:00

I couldn’t let June go by, let all the strawberries ripen, without making at least one batch of strawberry jam. So yesterday I did. It’s not the strawberry-jalapeno jam a customer told me about Tuesday night; it’s not the balsamic strawberry jam I saw in a cookbook at the library on Monday; it’s just plain old strawberry jam made from the recipe in the Sure-Jell box. It’s the kind of strawberry jam you’re happy to take out of the pantry and spread on toast when the snow has long since covered the garden.

Strawberries are on the very, very low end of the pectin spectrum, so as much as I like the idea of just using fruit and sugar and maybe some lemon juice, my fear of the jam not setting is greater. To allay my fears I decided to turn to boxed pectin. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any in the cabin, but with some searching and climbing of ladders Y. was able to find several packages of Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar in the barn.

Inside the Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar box was a sheet of recipes for fruit jams and jellies, both cooked and frozen, and a set of instructions. I understand that in jam making, as in baking, precise measurement is important, but the instructions in the Sure-Jell package make you think that your kitchen might blow up if you add even one granule too much sugar. They use bold type; bold, red type; bold, red, ALL CAPS type; bold, red, ALL CAPS type that they then highlight. It’s enough to put one off jam making altogether, especially when all of one’s (my) measuring cups and spoons are locked safe in a seafaring container at the bottom of the hill. I decided that I wasn’t sending anyone to outer space in my jam, so measuring my sugar in a mason jar and weighing my strawberries by means of a rudimentary scale composed of a bicycle tube box, a piece of wood and a can of scungilli would probably be good enough. Judging by the results—delicious, perfectly set jam—one doesn't have to be quite as EXACT (red, bold, highlighted) as they lead one to believe.

Strawberry Jam

Adapted from the Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar instructions

6 cups quartered and crushed strawberries,
about 3 pounds unprepared fruit
4 cups sugar
1 box Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar

Wash and sterilize enough jars to hold 8 cups jam. Pour boiling water over dome lids and allow to soak, off heat, until ready to use.
Core and quarter strawberries, then mash them with either a fork or potato masher. If some pieces don't get crushed, that's okay--it's nice to have some recognizable pieces of strawberry in the finished jam. Measure out six cups of fruit and place in large, heavy-bottomed, nonreactive pot.
Measure out sugar. Mix 1/4 cup of it with one package pectin and combine this mixture with fruit. Bring this mixture to a full rolling boil (one that won't stop bubbling when stirred) over high heat, stirring constantly. Add remaining sugar and bring back to a full rolling boil, still stirring constantly. Allow to boil 1 minute. Remove from heat and skim off any foam.
Give it another stir, then ladle into prepared jars, leaving 1/8-1/4 inch of headroom. Wipe off rims and threads and place lids and rings on jars, tightening only finger tight. Place jars on a rack in a canner, if you have one, or a very large pot, if you don't, and cover by 1-2 inches with water. Bring water to a gentle boil. After 10 minutes remove jars and place on a towel to cool. The lids should make a satisfying pop within minutes, indicating that they've sealed. Store in a cool, dark place; refrigerate after opening.

Sealed, will keep at least a year.

Now that I have preserved a taste of June to open in December or February, when I'll really need it, I might risk trying a batch of Sure-Jell free strawberry jam. Besides, if it doesn't set, it will still taste just as good stirred into yoghurt or spooned over ice cream.

Strawberry Spinach Salad

2011-06-22T12:48:00.004-04:00

The strawberries are ripening now and we have eaten at least a quart of them straight from the garden unadorned, unadulterated, unembellished. They're perfect that way in all their red glory, but if you can muster the patience and will power to cut them up and add them to a dish, your efforts will not go unrewarded.

I was all set to have a go at Ovenette biscuits and to macerate some berries in sugar and Cointreau, but when I was weeding the garlic I noticed the spinach was just begging to be picked. Hmm, I thought, how 'bout a spinach and strawberry salad? A crumble of feta, a grind of pepper, a drizzle of olive oil, and a splash of vinegar later my salad was ready.

It is a very simple salad, but too much refinement, I think, would rob it of its charm. Like this, each ingredient shines on its own, while also complimenting the other elements. The crispy green-ness of the spinach remains intact and contrasts well with the juicy sweetness of the strawberries and the salty creaminess of the cheese.

Strawberry Spinach Salad

A delicate late spring salad

1 handful spinach per salad
3-4 strawberries per salad
a small piece feta or chèvre per salad
freshly ground pepper
coarse salt
extra virgin olive oil
vinegar of your choice

Double, triple, quadruple wash spinach to remove any trace of dirt/sand/grit. If the leaves are small enough, leave them whole, if not you probably shouldn't use them for salad anyway. Cut strawberries in quarters and set aside. Arrange spinach leaves and strawberries on plate in some attractive manner. Crumble cheese, grind pepper, and sprinkle salt over the top. Drizzle oil and splash vinegar over salad, being careful not to drown it, and serve.

Consider serving with a white fish or a nice fluffy omelette.

I ate my salad for lunch with a couple Wasa sesame flatbreads, though I think a nice piece of monkfish would have done it better justice.

June is for Strawberries

2011-06-17T14:01:00.001-04:00

This is what hope looks like. This is why I get up in the morning. This is why I dream at night. This is why I leave the shopping on the porch and go for a walk in the garden before I unlock the front door. This is next Wednesday's breakfast. This is frozen strawberry soufflé in waiting. This is the reason I needed to attempt making biscuits in the Ovenette. This is why you stay tuned.

Radishes

2011-06-14T14:53:00.006-04:00

I find it difficult to fathom things that are very, very, very old. My mind goes into a sort of warp and I end up feeling small, inconsequential. I didn’t know until this morning that radishes could have this effect on me. Turns out they’re old. Very, very, very old. Nine-millennia-of-human-cultivation old. So old that no one is quite sure of their origins. So old their wild ancestor has disappeared into those proverbial mists.

And yet, every spring they seem brand new. They’re one of the simplest and most gratifying things to grow. They sprout out of the ground after a few days and they’re ready to eat in a matter of weeks. In fact, waiting on radishes is not rewarded. As Waverly Root tells us, “radishes have to be harvested young, as soon as they become edible. An old radish is a worthless radish—woody, usually wormy and frequently hollow in the center.”

Adding to their charm is that radishes require no more preparation than a wash and a trim and a sprinkle of salt. Though I love them in salads, where they add both color and flavor and while they can be cooked or pickled, I have to agree with Alan Davidson when he suggests that “perhaps the most satisfactory way to eat them is to hold what is left of the green stalk between one’s fingers, rub the radish over a piece of butter, dip it in salt (as Evelyn, 1699, remarked, it brings its own pepper!), and eat it with bread and butter.”

I’m not sure that William Wallace Irwin had this in mind when he called radishes “gay and playful,” but carved into mice they’re just too cute and the perfect garnish for a cheese plate.

Radish Mice

Inspired by Y.

as many radishes as you want mice
cold water

Wash radishes and trim off the greens, leaving a bit of a 'nose' behind. Clean the 'tail', removing most of the tendrils coming off the main root. Using a paring knife, make two slits on either side of the radish where a mouse's ears would be. Repeat on remaining radishes. Soak in cold water for an hour or so, or until the ears stick out. When ready to use, cut a strip off the 'belly' of the mouse so that it will stand up instead of rolling on its side.

Use to garnish cheese plates or anything requiring a little whimsy.

Cool as a Cuke: A Cocktail

2011-06-01T12:50:00.007-04:00

Now that we can officially wear white shoes again, we can start talking about the official drinks of summer. The classics still stand, of course. I would never say no to a gin and tonic, nor turn down a mojito, nor a Pims No. 1 cup, nor any sort of fruity rum drink. This summer, however, I feel I am going to be drinking a preponderance of vodka-cucumber drinks.

Sometime in April a sparkling cucumber beverage sold in 7-ounce green glass bottles, catchily named Mr. Q Cumber, appeared on the shelves of the discount wing of the Co-op. Y. bought a couple just to try. At 2 for 99¢ the risk was not great and immediately paid off. After the first sip we decided we needed a case of the stuff; once we learned that it normally retails at over two dollars a bottle, we bought three.

Cool as a Cuke

makes one drink

1 five-count pour vodka
1 7-ounce bottle Mr. Q Cumber
ice
cucumber peel or slices for garnish

Fill a 16-ounce glass with 4-5 cubes of ice. Pour vodka over ice, counting out five seconds as you pour. Fill glass with Mr. Q Cumber (the entire bottle should bring drink to the top of the glass). Garnish with cucumber peel or slices and serve. To make peel into a curl, twist around your finger or a chopstick and hold for a few seconds.

Perfect for a summer afternoon on the porch.

Nothing compares to standing in the garden in the middle of summer eating a cucumber straight off the vine, getting a practical understanding of the expression “cool as a cucumber.” Mr. Q Cumber has, however, come as close as possible to bottling this experience. It’s bubbly and refreshing and not too sweet, containing no HFCS, and actually tastes like cucumbers. Mixed with either gin or preferably vodka (the cucumber flavor is more apparent) it makes the perfect summer cocktail. Cheers!

Planting Tomatoes

2011-05-25T13:32:00.004-04:00

Before we get to the tomatoes, I’d like to assure you that although I haven’t posted a recipe here in months, I have been eating as well as ever. This is what I mean by living with a cook better that oneself: wild turkey twice in one month, the breasts stuffed on one occasion with Serrano ham and membrillo, on the other with Serrano ham and dried figs stuffed with roasted almonds; frog’s legs coated in panko, fried, and served with fresh horseradish (from the garden) sauce; seared sea scallops in a butter sauce topped with shavings of truffle chocolate; pitch-perfect cucumber, tomato, cilantro salad; Greek sausage and lobster frittata; fiddlehead and ramp soup; venison (from our woods)…you get the idea. Don’t worry, I will start documenting these meals and sharing them with you.

Now on to the tomatoes. The expression “as above, so below” applies to, well, almost everything, but to tomatoes also and that’s what we’re talking about. For a tomato plant to be healthy and happy above ground it needs to be healthy and happy below ground. That means it needs a robust root system and the teeny, tiny ball of roots that come out of a start pack just isn’t enough.

So what to do? The solution is to plant the tomato start so that it is parallel to the ground, burying the lower portion of the plant. The portion of stalk below ground will root, giving the tomato plant the support it needs to grow and produce to its full potential. Then it can spend its energy on making delicious tomatoes for your salad bowl or sauce pot not on struggling to survive. We’re so used to plants growing perpendicular to the ground that it seems strange, even wrong, to plant one lying down. It really is for the best, though, and within a few hours or a day the tomato plant will point itself up toward the sky, appreciative of the extra care you gave it.

The Bauer is Back

2011-05-19T11:58:00.006-04:00

Taking a cue from the garlic and asparagus, the tat soi and the soldier beans, I am finally reemerging after a long winter. A long winter that was not without its struggles, but over the course of which I moved to the mountaintop to live with my wonderful Y., learned that the only thing better than being a good cook is living with a better one, learned to ski, learned to make a fire, learned that hauling water and dishes and personal effects up and down a mountainside on a daily basis isn’t really that bad and a small price to pay to live in paradise—in short became a healthier, happier version of myself.

My geographical relocation means a number of things, but most pertinent to this post is the change in my proximity to the garden. I am now, instead of 20 miles, 20 feet from the garden, which makes keeping on top of the weeds so much easier. I can also check the progress of my seedlings daily (not weekly) and putter before breakfast while the kettle boils for tea.

There are two main things about gardening that will never cease to amaze me. The first is the miracle of putting a hard, dry, seemingly lifeless seed in the ground and several days or weeks later finding two tiny, green leaves in the same spot. You just put them in the ground and food comes up—simple. Simply amazing.

The other is they way time passes when you have your hands in the dirt. There are times when I intend to spend an entire morning in the garden, but the time to shower and go to work still seems to come too soon. There are others when I think I’ll just do a couple things and when I go back inside I find two hours have passed without my noticing. It's kind of like the way time melts away when eating and drinking in good company. So, hello again, I am glad to be rejoining yours.

Happy Fall

2010-10-18T14:57:00.004-04:00

All of a sudden it's fall and I haven't done anything here since high summer. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I could bore you with excuses--a vacation, losing internet service at my house, my laptop going on the fritz, knee surgery (again), moving and then not moving and then living out of cardboard boxes until I actually do move--which I guess I did, but I'll spare you the details.

This pause does, however, have an upside: your Power to the Bauer withdrawal symptoms have probably abated by now, so the disappointment you feel when I announce a hiatus from blogging will hardly register. Yes, I'm afraid I will have to stop for a while. As I mentioned above, I am moving and my new residence is equipped with only a two-burner Coleman stove and lacks running water and although Y. cooked me an amazing nine-course meal the first time I went there and any number of divine meals since, I cannot claim to be as intrepid or innovative a cook as he. It is possible I will regale you with accounts of my adventures with the Ovenette, but I make no promises. It is also possible that I will soon have unlimited access to a state-of-the-art kitchen and will therefore be able to blog to my heart's content, but again I cannot be certain. I can offer only my sincerest apologies for not being there at harvest time to can with you and my regrets for having left anyone in the lurch. I wish you all happy cooking and happier eating and I hope to be back soon.

Zucchini Banana Bread

2010-08-23T09:04:00.003-04:00

What would you do if you had staffed bananas getting frost bite in the freezer and a baseball bat of a zucchini you grew threatening to go soft in the crisper? There are, of course, any number of things you could do given these circumstances. As I have an extreme fondness for both banana and zucchini bread, I decided to make zucchini banana bread.

I didn't have a recipe, but after reading five or six recipes for other types of sweet, quick breads, I cobbled together this one. And then doubled it because do you know how many cups of grated zucchini my baseball bat gave me? Six, two of which I had to put in the fridge for use in something else. The recipe, although a confirmed success, could probably use some tweaking--a little less butter, maybe, or a tad a less sugar (because bananas are sweet!).

Zucchini Banana Bread

makes two 9x5-inch loaves

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
a few gratings of nutmeg
1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
4 bananas, mashed
4 cups grated zucchini
2 cups walnut halves

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour two 9x5-inch bread pans and set aside.
Combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and spices in a bowl and set aside. Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy then add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the vanilla and banana pulp and mix mell. Gradually add the flour mixture, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the grated zucchini then the walnuts and mix until they are evenly distributed.
Pour batter into prepared bread pans and bake for one to one and a quarter hours, or until a skewer inserted into the center of a loaf comes out clean. Allow to cool in the pans for several minutes, then turn out onto wire racks to cool completely.

A nice bake for a cold, damp day.

This bread is good warm out of the oven, though it's best not to cut it hot; it's good the next day at room temperature; but it is especially good sliced and toasted and enjoyed alongside a nice cup of something hot.

Neiman Marcus Cookies

2010-08-18T13:21:00.003-04:00

I know I should be making something with all the fresh veg from the garden, or even from the farmers' market, but today I decided to face my chocolate chip foe and it turns out I can make chocolate chip cookies after all. I came across the Neiman Marcus Cookie recipe in the back of the WWD Neiman Marcus issue in the midst of my chocolate chip cookie despondency and it has taken me two months to gather the courage to try it.

I'm glad I finally did, because it was a success and has gone a long way in reducing my chocolate chip cookie making anxiety. The ingredients and proportions aren't that much different from those in other choc chip cookie recipes I have tried, except for the addition of instant espresso, but the oven temperature is considerably lower and the cookies are cooked for longer. I think this made all the difference, although it could just as easily have been the weather or the position of the stars or any other number of things over which I have no control.

Neiman Marcus Cookies

adapted from Women's Wear Daily

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. instant espresso
1/2 cup butter, soft
1 cup light brown sugar
3 Tbs. granulated sugar
1 egg
2 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 cups chocolate chips

Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and instant espresso in a bowl and set aside. Cream the butter and sugars until light and fluffy then add the egg and vanilla and beat well to combine. Gradually add the flour mixture, mixing well after each addition. Add the chocolate chips and stir until they are evenly distributed.
Preheat oven to 300°F and refrigerate dough while the oven warms up. Drop generous teaspoonfuls of dough onto a parchment lined baking sheet and bake 17-20 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool for a minute or two before transferring to wire rack to cool completely. Repeat with remaining cookie dough.

Like it or not, cookies really do go well with cold milk.

Peach and Pepita Chutney

2010-08-07T16:38:00.004-04:00

In Jan Berry's Art of Preserving, she recommends this chutney as an accompaniment to grilled game hen or chicken. I'm sure peach chutney would be delicious with grilled game hen or chicken. But I like chutney with everything. Of course I like to serve chutney with Indian food, but I also like it on cheese sandwiches; on turkey sandwiches; with eggs: scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, egg salad sandwiches; with meats of all kinds.

You really can't go wrong with chutney. Nor can you go wrong with half-priced, local, organic fruit. When I saw the baskets of peach seconds at the farmers' market on Wednesday, my first thought, having just had success with wild blueberry jam, was peach jam. Y. asked me to make chutney instead and I was easily persuaded. The seconds were not so-called for no reason. They were bitten and bored into and already a bit on the mushy side. I thought if they were puréed they would make an excellent base and then I could get a few firmer peaches to cut into chunks. So that's what I did and I would do it again. The pepitas were not in Ms. Berry's recipe, but they add a nice textural element, and she used raisins where I prefer currants, and she used a red chili and I a habanero. So you can see: there's always room for modification.

Peach and Pepita Chutney

With inspiration from Jan Berry

1 1/2 lb. overripe peaches
1/2-3/4 lb. firm ripe peaches
2 1/2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup currants or raisins
2 generous Tbs. grated ginger
1 onion, finely chopped
2-4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 hot pepper, finely chopped
1 1/4 cups white vinegar
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2-1 cup roasted salted pumpkin seeds

Place enough jars to hold 4 to 5 cups of chutney into a large pot along with their corresponding domes and rings. Cover with water and bring to a boil. Turn off heat and let sit in the hot water.
Peel and roughly chop the overripe peaches. Place them in a blender with about 1/4 cup of the vinegar and process until smooth. Set aside. Blanch the firmer peaches to make them easier to work with and then peel, pit, and cut into small wedges.
Place peach purée, peach wedges and all remaining ingredients except the pumpkin seeds in a nonreactive saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the mixture comes to a boil, then reduce heat and allow chutney to simmer 30-40 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the pumpkin seeds.
Ladle chutney into prepared jars, wipe off the rims, and secure the lids. Re-submerge filled jars in the hot water and boil 10 minutes or so to seal. Remove from the water and allow to cool.

If you have the patience, wait one month before opening.

Consider the Oyster Mushroom

2010-08-03T09:38:00.003-04:00

This is what I have managed to glean about the oyster mushroom in the past 48 hours: One, they're DELICIOUS. They're a shelf mushroom preferring to grow on maple trees and particularly old and feeble maple trees and usually too high up to be easily reached. That last bit might not actually be a preference of the oyster mushroom, but it seems often to be the fact of the matter. They might look within reach when you see them from the car, but when you get out and walk up to the tree, nine times out of ten (although I've only been car-shrooming for oysters once) you'll either have to attach your knife to a pole, and a long one, or you'll have to shimmy up the tree in order to reach the mushrooms. Or watch your intrepid boyfriend do the same. As the case may be. Other options include using a ladder or standing on top of your car. They're also kind of gross to clean, but remember point number one: they're DELICIOUS.

Guests often like to help out in the kitchen and there are many things they can do: wash lettuce; chop veg; assemble a salad, even; open wine; wash dish. If oyster mushrooms should be on the evening's menu and an enthusiastic guest offers to clean them, however, kindly ask him to make you another cocktail instead. It's not that oyster mushrooms are difficult to clean or even that they're so delicate as to require careful handling. No, it's just that they have developed a special relationship with a certain orange and black bug and when the mushrooms are bathed in salt water, which they should be, these bugs are forced out of their hosts and either float to the surface of the water or become lodged in the mushroom's gills, in which case a finger or a knife is required to permanently evict them from their home. A guest would, of course, be able to perform this duty, but after having done so, he may or (more likely) may not want to eat his dinner. So, please, clean your oyster mushrooms yourself and while so doing, if it helps or becomes necessary, remind yourself: they're DELICIOUS.

What makes them so DELICIOUS? Their inimitable mushroomy texture. Their earthy, woodsy flavor. Y. laughed when I said this, but I definitely detected a pleasant mollusk aroma when they were in the pan. Perhaps that is why they do so well sauteed with garlic and onion and simmered in white wine and when that's cooked down doused with heavy cream, cooked down again and served over pasta. Yes, oyster mushrooms are DELICIOUS.

NB: Please do not eat mushrooms you've gathered yourself unless you are absolutely sure they're what you think they are.

Wild Blueberries

2010-07-24T09:21:00.003-04:00

Last summer I discovered mulberries; yesterday I picked my first quart of wild blueberries. A walk around the block brought me to the mulberries; a drive across state lines and a five mile hike was necessary to find these blueberries, but it was well worth it. Wild blueberries are the very essence of blueberry. They're not as fleshy as their cultivated cousins and their seeds are more prominent, but they taste sweeter and bluer and somehow... berry-er.

These berries are probably best enjoyed in the woods: a sweet reward for energy spent, but if you do happen to have a container with you and if you have the self control to put more berries in the container than in your mouth and if you manage not to trip over any roots or rocks on your way down the mountain and spill your hard earned loot and if there are any berries left after the car ride home, you can make a delicious jam out of them.

Wild Blueberry Jam

Adapted from the Pomona's Universal Pectin box

4 cups wild blueberries, mashed
1/4 cup lemon juice
2 tsp. calcium water
1 cup sugar, more or less depending on your taste
2 tsp. pectin powder

Cover jars, lids, and rings with water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Turn of heat and let stand in hot water.
Place berries and lemon juice in a pot and add calcium water. Mix well. Combine sugar and pectin powder in a separate bowl, mixing thoroughly. Bring the fruit mixture to a boil. Add the sugar-pectin mixture and stir vigorously for 1-2 minutes, until dissolved. Bring back to the boil and remove promptly from heat.
Fill jars to 1/4 inch from the top. Wipe rims clean and screw on the 2-piece lids. Put filled jars in boiling water to cover. Boil for 10 minutes. Remove from water and allow to cool, listening for the distinctive popping sound of jars sealing.

Give as gifts or use to fill cakes.

When I have made jam in the past, I have used only fruit and sugar and lemon juice, shying away from adding pectin. I liked the simplicity of it. What I didn't like, however, was the vast quantity of sugar required. I felt that I could hardly taste the fruit through the sweetness, so yesterday I heeded a piece of advice I overheard an old lady dispensing two jam-making seasons ago: "Just buy pectin and use the recipe in the box. It works every time." And it did work. And for four cups of fruit I used just one cup of sugar and my jam tastes like the wild blueberries from which it is made.

Summer Rolls

2010-07-21T12:59:00.004-04:00

This eating from the garden thing is absolutely the way forward. I have a feeling I will never tire of it. Last night the only ingredients of our venison-with-wild-blueberries-fried-squash-blossoms-and-haricots-verts-with-scallions feast that didn't come from Y.'s land were the wild blueberries, which came from an obliging bush on the side of the road, and the egg and flour the blossoms were dipped in before they met their fate in the frying pan. I didn't do quite as well here, but all the non-white ingredients that went into the rolls I picked myself from the garden.

It is more usual to see cilantro or mint in summer rolls, but we don't have mint and the cilantro bolted while I was being overwhelmed elsewhere in the garden. As I was pinching flowers off the basil Monday morning, I picked a branch of leaves for myself off each plant. I could, I suppose, have made yet another pesto dish, but when I saw the anise hyssop in the the raised bed just outside the cabin, it occurred to me that I could use it along with the basil in summer rolls. Instead of lettuce I chose sugar snap and snow peas to provide the crispy green in the rolls and I was pleased to have a purple carrot ready to pull. (It meant I hadn't weeded all the carrots as they came up.) Tofu provided the protein in my rolls, but chicken or shrimp or even hard-boiled or scrambled eggs would be just as good (or better).

The rolling takes a bit of practice, so try not to get frustrated. Put what will be the pretty side on the bottom as you build your roll and remember there is no need to rush.

Summer Rolls with Peanut Dipping Sauce

For the rolls:
12 spring roll wrappers
1/2 package rice vermicelli
24 basil leaves
24 large anise hyssop leaves
24 sugar snap peas
24 snow peas
1 carrot, cut attractively
1 block firm tofu
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For the dipping sauce:
(From Martha Stewart)
1/2 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup warm water
1/4 cup lime juice (2 limes)
1 Tbs. soy sauce
4 scant tsp. sugar
peanuts for garnish

To make the rolls: Cut tofu into batons. Chop the carrot any way that appeals to you. Wash (if necessary) and trim the basil and anise hyssop leaves. De-string the sugar snap peas. Cook the rice noodles according to the directions on the packet. Line up your ingredients on a work surface and fill a large shallow dish (pie plate?) with warm water and have ready a damp tea towel to work on. Soak a wrapper in the water for 15-20 seconds. Remove from water and lay flat on the tea towel. Stack your ingredients in the middle of the wrapper, starting and ending with either the basil or anise hyssop, facing the leaves outward. Fold the bottom edge over the stacked ingredients, then fold in the sides, and finally roll the onto the other edge. Set aside and repeat with remaining wrappers.
For the sauce: Whisk together the peanut butter and water until smooth. Add the lime juice, soy sauce, and sugar, and mix until well incorporated. Garnish with peanuts and an anise hyssop flower.

Serve as soon as possible after making.

I worried (because that's what I do) that the vermicelli would be crunchy or the basil and anise hyssop would compete with each other and/or the peanut sauce or they'd just be bland, but (as usual) my worries were unfounded. I ate two rolls for lunch and they were delicious and extremely refreshing on a hot and humid day. I guess that's why they call them summer rolls.

Beets with Their Greens, Scapes, and Chèvre

2010-07-14T10:44:00.006-04:00

The garden is starting to produce! We have been eating broccoli rabe for a month now and chard and lettuces and peas and basil and strawberries and now beets too. And these are only the ones I pulled while thinning the bed, that the rest will get bigger. When they do I'll make this dish as I usually do, with layer upon layer of beet rounds topped with chèvre and chives, reserving the greens for something else. For now, though, this is a delicious alternative.

Beets with Their Greens, Chèvre, and Scapes

1 bunch small beets, with greens
1 handful garlic scapes
1 small round fresh chèvre
olive oil, salt, pepper

Cut the beets from their greens, trim, halve or quarter as necessary to make them all about the same size, and boil them until a fork can slide easily into them. Strain and rinse immediately in cold water. Peel beets by simply rubbing them with your thumb and fingers, under cold water if necessary. Set aside.
Cut scapes into manageable lengths and sautée in olive oil for as long as it takes to chop the greens. Add chopped greens to the pan, cover, reduce heat to low and allow to cook, turning occasionally, until both scapes and greens are tender.
Transfer greens to an attractive dish, making a bed for your beets. Scatter beets over the bed of greens and top with decent-sized chunks of chèvre (if you crumble it into pieces that are too small you will have all crust and no melt when you put it under the broiler). Drizzle olive oil over the top and season lightly with salt and pepper. Put under the broiler until the cheese is touched with gold.

Serve as part of a garden feast.

A Note on the Importance of Using It All

2010-07-08T12:17:00.006-04:00

You already know how I am about separated eggs: the half that isn't called for in one recipe will always get used in another, whether I really need six crème brulées in my fridge or not. You can see now that my use-it-all fanaticism is worse than you thought. Yes, those are grouse feet and yes, I have made them into earrings. And worn them. With pride. I actually find them quite beautiful and believe by making and wearing them I am showing some sort of respect for the animal who was killed and most gratefully eaten.

Grouse Foot Earrings

makes one pair

one pair fresh grouse feet
salt to cover well

Form loops in two pieces of wire, leaving a long end on each. Poke the wires into the ends of each leg until the loops meet the flesh and carefully position each loop in the same orientation. Place your grouse feet in a ziplock bag and pour salt over them until they are well covered. Close bag and set aside.
Several months later break them out of the salt and, using a brush you might otherwise use to clean mushrooms, remove any salt that clings to the feet. Remove any remaining feathers or material you find unsightly.
Wrap the ankles in wire. Using another two pieces of wire, attach hooks to the loops you made when you put the feet up to cure.

Wear with pride.

I can recommend these particularly to those who work with the public in a service capacity and wake up feeling their personal bubble needs an extra ounce of reinforcement any given day. And if they fail to provide it, if someone manages to get through anyway, you can always take one out of your ear and see what those little grouse claws are capable of.

Cherry Pielettes

2010-06-18T14:29:00.003-04:00

It's odd. I've never liked cherry pie. Perhaps it's more accurate to say that I've never had a cherry pie that I liked. Talking to mom, we came to the conclusion that they're usually too sweet and gooey. Yuck. Nevertheless, when I saw people coming through the checkout with pints of local, organic Hartland cherries last night, I had to have some too. And I bought them with the intention of making little cherry pies.

To avoid the too sweet, too gooey quagmire, I decided to approach my cherry pies as I would an apple pie. I used about half of the amount of sugar called for and omitted the quick-cooking tapioca entirely. Instead, I used a bit of lemon juice, a couple tablespoons of flour, and as I said a fraction of the sugar. These modifications produced the desired effect, the only complaint being that there wasn't quite enough filling. A happy problem and an easy one to fix.

Cherry Pielettes

makes 6 3-inch pies

1 recipe pie crust (you'll have extra)
1 1/2-2 cups cherries, pitted and quartered
1 Tbs. lemon juice
very scant 1/2 cup sugar
2 Tbs. flour

Make pie dough and refrigerate at least one hour before rolling. Pit and quarter the cherries. Add the lemon juice, sugar, and flour, mix to combine and set aside.

Preheat oven to 450°F.

Roll out half the dough, leaving the other half in the fridge, and line 6 3-inch tartlette pans. Refrigerate the lined pans while you roll out the other half of the dough. Fill the pie shells with cherries, leaving behind some of the juices that will have formed. Dot the top of each pie with butter. Cut strips of dough with a fluted pastry wheel from the rolled out dough. Weave a lattice on top of the cherry filling and trim the edges. Brush the tops with an egg/cream wash.

Bake at 450°F for 7 minutes. Reduce to 350°F and bake an additional 30-35 minutes, until crust is golden and fruit is bubbling.

Cool in pans on wire racks for 15-20 minutes. When you feel it is possible, turn pies out of pans and return to racks. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Serve with whipped or ice cream.

Chocolate Macarons

2010-06-10T13:14:00.007-04:00

I know it's been a long time. Far too long. While I was away I learned a devastating truth: I cannot make chocolate chip cookies. I can manage perfectly flaky croissants. I'm fine with pie crust. I can bake brioche. Biscotti: not a problem. Allow me to make you puff pastry. But good ol' chocolate chip cookies are apparently beyond me. To console myself, and although I always say my next post will be a savory, I got up this morning and made chocolate macarons. And they're divine.

They have a perfect meringue crust giving way to a pleasantly chewy center. The ganache is as ganache should be: rich beyond rich and like silk on the tongue. The points may not have smoothed out as much as I would have liked, but when I opened the oven and saw perfect collars around every macaron, I was elated.

Macarons were once near the top of my baking intimidation list. After two successful attempts, they have fallen off it. I hope you too can experience the euphoria these little cookies can offer when they work.

Chocolate Macarons

Makes 18 2-inch sandwiched macarons

For the macarons:
200 g confectioners' sugar
95 g almond flour
40 g cocoa powder
130 g egg whites (about 4), room temp
130 g granulated sugar
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For the ganache filling:
1/2 recipe basic ganache
1 Tbs. soft butter
1 1/2 Tbs. Cointreau

For the macarons: Line several baking sheets with parchment and set aside. Alternately you can line one baking sheet with parchment and set three other sheets of parchment on your work surface. If you find it helpful, which I do, draw circles the diameter you desire your cookies to be on the parchment.

Place the confectioners' sugar, almond flour, and cocoa in the bowl of a food processor and process until there are no lumps and the cocoa is evenly distributed. Set aside. Place the egg whites in the bowl of a stand mixer. Using the whisk attachment, beat the whites on low speed until they are frothy. Increase the speed to medium high and when whites start to hold shape, gradually add the granulated sugar. Continue to whip until whites hold stiff peaks. Using a rubber spatula, fold the almond-sugar-cocoa mixture into the whites in two parts until no streaks of white remain.

Transfer the batter to a pastry bag fitted with a medium-large plain tip and pipe mounds of batter into the circles drawn on the parchment. Allow to stand for one hour. Half an hour before the first batch goes into the oven, preheat oven to 350°F. Bake for 15 minutes. Transfer immediately to wire racks to cool. Allow the oven to reheat, transfer your second piece of parchment to the baking sheet and bake 15 minutes. Repeat until all the macarons are baked.

For the ganache filling: While the cookies are awaiting the oven, make the ganache. After the cream is fully incorporated, add the butter and process for a few seconds. Add the Cointreau and process a few seconds longer. Transfer ganache to a bowl and refrigerate until pipable, stirring occasionally to allow for even cooling and to prevent a skin from forming.

To assemble: When the cookies are fully cooled and the ganache is thick enough to pipe, pipe a dollop of ganache onto the bums of half the macarons. Sandwich with the remaining cookies.

Serve with strong coffee or cold milk. Or both.

Grapefruit Arak Sorbet

2010-05-29T08:10:00.004-04:00

On our first night in Jerusalem, Y.'s cousins took us to Mahane Yehuda, a restaurant sharing both a name and a neighborhood with the shuk. I was introduced to many things that evening, not least of all Israeli negotiation and perseverance: The table our party of five was led to after waiting next to an empty one for 45 minutes was upstairs in a dark corner and set for four. H. was not impressed and she had no qualms about letting the maître d' know as much. She asked why we couldn't be seated at the table downstairs, which had been free since we got there and big enough for our party. The reply was that it was reserved for a party of six. M. and Y. backed H. up saying that the table the maître d' wanted us to sit at wasn't nearly big enough to accommodate us. The reply this time was that it certainly was big enough--they sometimes even sat parties of six at this table. Thus the maître d' sank her own ship and at H.'s suggestion we were led back downstairs to the empty table, which happened to have an excellent view of the open kitchen and the spontaneous speeches and singing and dancing to come, and left the four top to the as-yet-unseen party of six.

But the relevance of our night at Mahane Yehuda to this post is the grapefruit and arak cocktail that was served upon our arrival at the restaurant before the table debacle and well before the restauranteur from Tel Aviv began speechifying and the waiters commenced drinking and the chef put on his fez and started dancing and waving a dish towel over his head to a song whose lyrics loosely translate to, "I want to be out there in the jungle where there is no Rabbi Google." This refreshing citrus-anise cocktail appeared several times during our stay in Israel sometimes with a sprig of mint, sometimes blended with ice, always absolutely delicious. It is at Y.'s suggestion that I turned it into grapefruit arak, although I couldn't find any and had to use ouzo, sorbet, a perfect accompaniment to the unusually hot days we have had this spring and the many we are bound to encounter come summer.

Grapefruit Arak Sorbet

makes one quart

3 cups fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice (about 9 grapefruit)
1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup water
1/3 to 1/2 cup arak (or ouzo or pernod), chilled

Make a simple syrup with the sugar and water by dissolving the sugar in the water and cooking it on medium heat until clear. Add syrup to grapefruit juice and chill until very cold.
Freeze grapefruit-syrup mixture in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. After 10-15 minutes slowly add the arak/ouzo/pernod. Continue to freeze until mixture becomes slushy, another 10 minutes or so. Transfer to airtight containers and place in the freezer for several hours.

Allow to temper before serving.

A Garden

2010-05-21T17:42:00.003-04:00

I've never had a garden before and finding myself part steward of Y.'s this year while he fries bigger fish is, frankly, a bit overwhelming. I don't know what I should put where or when or how close together or how deep or with what companion or in how much sun or during which phase of the moon. At least I know I don't have to take it for twice daily walks. Y. assures me that I can do no harm and the important part is just to be out there doing a bit at time and eventually there will be a garden.

Y. always says there is no time for resting on one's laurels and that seems particularly true in gardening. I was proud of the job I did waking the garden up after the winter. Six hours of clearing pathways and pulling dock and grass and who-knows-what-all left beautiful mounds of soil standing out against the woods. And then I didn't do anything for a good two weeks and the weeds came back as weeds will and I thought, "Right, Em, no resting on your laurels."

I should be out there now weeding and turning soil and planting seeds and telling the plants to grow, although they seem to manage that all by themselves. That is the exciting part. I put seeds in the ground, give them some water, and by some miracle a few days later there are little green shoots coming through the dirt. It's exciting and that's before there's even anything to eat.

It is thrilling to see the asparagus coming up (even though I know we aren't allowed to eat it until next year) or to see flowers on the strawberries that weren't there the day before or to look out the window and be able to make out rows of tiny beets and peas or to eat the first radish of the season. I used to think seeing local produce at the farmers' market was fun, and it is, but seeing it in your own back yard is so much better. I'm still afraid I'm doing things all wrong, but with each new shoot I am gaining confidence that I won't ruin the garden and that we might even have food to put up come fall.

Rhubarb Cake

2010-05-14T13:33:00.006-04:00

It is with great pleasure that I announce that at long last the local rhubarb est arrivé! Or it did a week or so ago when I wasn't looking. In any case the 'Oregon' sign on the rhubarb basket has been replaced with a sign showing a map of Vermont and a little star indicating the approximate location of Dwight Miller Orchards, just a few miles from where I sit.

There are a thousand things you can do with this pink, tart stalk. You can make compote or cobbler, tarts or pies, a sauce for fish, a filling for danish, jellies or jams... or you could make a rhubarb cake.

I'll be honest: this is not my favorite rhubarb recipe. There's nothing wrong with it really, but I am not a fan of undercooked batter and the high moisture content of the rhubarb prevents the batter around it from cooking completely. Either that or I took the cake out of the oven ten minutes too early, which is entirely possible even though my toothpick came out clean. I do like the texture the cornmeal lends the cake--its slight crunch contrasts well with the softness of the rhubarb. And the flavor is good. The tartness of the rhubarb keeps the cake from being too sweet and there's just enough cinnamon to be noticed but not enough to be overpowering. So, who knows, maybe the problem is me and not the cake and I should try again before pronouncing my verdict.

Rhubarb Cake

adapted from Nigella Lawson

18 oz. rhubarb
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbs. fine cornmeal
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup butter
1 cup plus 2 Tbs. yoghurt

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a 9-inch spring form pan and set aside.
Clean and trim rhubarb if necessary, then cut into 1/2 inch pieces and place in a medium bowl. Sprinkle 1/3 cup of the sugar over the rhubarb and set aside.
In another bowl, combine the flour, cornmeal, soda, salt, and cinnamon. Beat the eggs with the vanilla. In large bowl cream the butter and remaining 2/3 cup sugar. Gradually add the egg mixture to the creamed butter, beating well. Alternately add the flour mixture and yoghurt, mixing just to combine after each addition. Finally, fold in the rhubarb, sugar, and any juices that might be in the bowl.
Pour batter into prepared pan and bake about one hour. Cover the top with foil if it starts to get too dark.
Allow to cool in the pan for a few minutes and then turn out onto wire racks.

Serve at room temperature or warmed, plain or with cream.

I think a better idea might be to make it a rhubarb upside down cake. I would caramelize the rhubarb somehow with sugar and a splash of Cointreau, boil off any extra water, then transfer it to the bottom of my cake pan, pour a batter over the top and bake it 'til done. That way you both minimize the risk of undercooked batter and show off the rhubarb to better effect. Just a thought.

Pizza on the Grill

2010-05-07T09:40:00.004-04:00

I understand that when most people make pizza on the grill, they make pizza on the grill. With nothing between the pizza and the grill. You might think that if you're going to put a pizza stone on the grill, you could just as easily bake your pizza in the oven. And you're probably right. But there are two or three reasons that still convince me it's a good idea. Maybe you don't want to deal with the hassle of flipping the crust, but you still want a bit of that smoky, grill flavor. Put a stone on the grill. Say your boyfriend lives in a one-room cabin in the woods and doesn't have an oven and you're still determined to make pizza. Put a stone on the grill. Or if it's the middle of summer and it's a kazillion degrees out and you'd rather not fire the oven up to four-fifty. Put a stone on the grill.

Basic Pizza Dough

Adapted from Marcella Hazan

3/4 tsp. active dry yeast
1/2 cup lukewarm water
1 1/2 cups plus 2 Tbs. bread flour
1 1/2 tsp. olive oil
3/4 tsp. salt
cornmeal for dusting the peel

Sprinkle yeast over 1/8 cup of the water and set aside for about 10 minutes, or until yeast is dissolved. Once the yeast has dissolved, add 1/2 cup of the flour and mix thoroughly. While still mixing, add the olive oil, salt, another 1/8 cup of the water, and 1/2 cup of the flour. Continue to alternately add the water and flour until a manageable, soft, but not sticky dough forms.
Knead dough for 10 minutes until soft and silky. Lightly grease a clean bowl with olive oil. Form the dough into a ball, place it in the bowl, cover, and allow to rise until it has doubled in volume, 2-3 hours.
Start heating the grill with the pizza stone on it about 1/2 hour before you're ready to bake.
Dust a peel or baking sheet generously with cornmeal. Punch down the dough and form it into a circle with a rolling pin or your hands or by any means that suit you. Place formed dough onto dusted peel or baking sheet. Put the toppings of your choice on the dough, leaving a bit of an edge.
If using a gas grill, turn off the fire that is directly below the pizza stone, leaving lit the fires to the sides. Using jerking movements and possibly a spatula, slide your pizza onto the stone. Close the lid and allow to bake about 20 minutes, or until the dough is a light golden brown.

Makes one 12-inch pizza.

This was my first attempt, naturally, and I learned one very important lesson. Make sure there is no fire directly below the stone once the pizza goes on it. If there is, the bottom is likely to burn. I'm happy to have burned a pizza so you don't have to so long as you get outside and put a stone on the grill.

Lemon Macarons

2010-04-29T08:58:00.007-04:00

If you made the cheesecake below, you might be wondering what to do with all those egg whites and all that leftover lemon curd. Maybe you already made lemon meringue tartlets. If not, you could try making macarons. I should warn you, though: if they work you'll be overcome with baking euphoria, if not... not. You decide whether it's worth the risk.

The first time I attempted to make macarons, it was a macaron massacre. I aged the egg whites like the recipe told me to and heated the syrup to so-many degrees before drizzling it down the side of the bowl while the whites were whipping and folded in the almonds and sugar just so and piped and waited and baked and then... they were lop-sided and hollow and just plain wrong. I was despondent for the rest of the day. This time I felt like I cheated somehow by making them with French meringue instead of Italian, but when I opened the oven and saw the perfectly shiny domes and frothy little collars, I didn't mind quite so much.

I hope your audience is as appreciative as mine was. I took my macarons to work with me and was positively regaled with praise. "They look like little hamburgers," S. said, "but taste like lemon meringue pie!" Another co-worker said, "I don't know what those are, but I want the recipe." Well, here it is.

Lemon Macarons

adapted from The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts

115 g almond flour
200 gconfectioners' sugar, sifted
90 g egg whites, room temp
8 g confectioners' sugar, sifted
1/2 tsp. almond extract
lemon curd

Line a baking sheet with parchment or a silicone mat and set aside.
Place the almond flour and 200 g sugar in a food processor and process for about a minute. Set aside.

Place the egg whites in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and beat on low until whites are foamy. Add the sugar and beat on high to the soft peak stage, being careful not to over-whip.

Remove bowl from stand and fold in the almond mixture and almond extract using a rubber spatula. Transfer batter to a pastry bag fitted with a medium round tip.

Pipe rounds of batter onto the parchment lined baking sheet, leaving enough room between them for the batter to spread slightly. Make the rounds any size you want so long as they're all the same size. If it helps, you can even draw circles on the parchment as guides.

Let the uncooked macarons sit for about an hour before baking. They will form a skin, which will help them keep their shape during baking. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Bake for about 10 minutes, or until firm and just beginning to brown around the edges.

Immediately transfer macarons to wire racks to cool. Once cool, pipe a mound of lemon curd on half the macarons and sandwich them with the other half, pressing them together to squeeze the filling to the edges.

Serve the same day.

Sour Cream Lemon Curd Glazed Cheesecake

2010-04-27T10:17:00.007-04:00

I love lemon curd: lemon curd on toast, lemon curd tarts, lemon curd cream puffs, just a spoonful of lemon curd on a particularly sunless day. Or how about using lemon curd to decorate a cheesecake? I rescued several Meyer lemons from the reduced bin a couple weeks ago and they were still languishing in my fridge last weekend so it was obvious, I had to make lemon curd. And since Y. gave me this box which had once contained cheesecake and was sadly empty, I decided to restore it to its former glory and to return it to him holding cheesecake once more.

Cheesecake with sour cream lemon curd glaze

For the lemon curd:
6 Tbs. butter
2 whole eggs
1 egg yolk
scant 1/2 cupsugar
1/2 cup lemon juice
zest of 1 lemon
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For the crust:
2 cups digestive biscuit or graham cracker crumbs
1/4 cup confectioners' sugar, sifted (optional)
6 Tbs. melted butter
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For the filling:
1 1/4 lbs. cream cheese
1/2 cup sugar
3 whole eggs
3 egg yolks
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 tsp. lemon juice
1 pinch salt
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For the glaze:
1 1/2 cups sour cream
2 Tbs. sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 pinch salt
lemon curd from above

For the lemon curd: Melt butter over medium-low heat in a heavy-bottomed pot. Add sugar and lemon juice and stir until sugar is dissolved. Beat together the eggs and the yolk. While mixing, pour a bit of the butter mixture into the eggs. Strain the egg mixture back into the butter mixture. Return to heat, reduce heat to low, and whisk constantly until curd forms. Pour into a baking dish, lay plastic wrap over the surface, and refrigerate until cold before using.
If you are going to bake your cheesecake in a hot water bath, which is recommended but not absolutely necessary, wrap an 8- or 9-inch spring form pan twice in heavy duty aluminum foil. Set aside.
For the crust: Combine the cookie crumbs and sugar if using. Add the melted butter and mix with a fork until all the crumbs are wet. Press into the bottom of the wrapped (or not) spring form pan. Refrigerate while you make the filling.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
For the filling: In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, mix the cream cheese on low speed until it is smooth. Add the sugar and mix to combine. Add the eggs and yolks one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add the vanilla, lemon juice, and salt and mix until smooth. Pour filling onto the chilled crust. If using the water bath method, put the cake pan into a roasting pan and pour recently boiling water into the roasting pan until it comes about half way up the cake. Either way, bake for about 50 minutes.
Allow cake to cool to room temperature. Heat oven to 400°F.
For the glaze: Combine sour cream, sugar, vanilla, and salt and mix until very smooth. Pour over the cooled cake and level with an offset palette knife. Pipe the lemon curd in concentric circles on top of the sour cream mixture. Starting from the center and working outwards, pull a skewer through the circles of lemon curd. Repeat around the cake until you have formed a sunburst. Place in oven for 5 minutes. Remove cake from oven and allow to cool before refrigerating for several hours.
Allow cake to stand out of the fridge for a while before serving.

Try using different fruit curds depending on what's available.

I adapted this recipe from Nigella and the Joy and my own experience. I had always before made lemon curd in a double boiler, but Nigella gave me the courage to do it in a pot directly on the burner. I didn't have a roasting pan large enough to hold my spring form pan, but if you do I highly recommend baking your cake in a hot water bath. Custards, and what is cheesecake if not a very, very thick custard, do appreciate that sort of treatment. Above all, though, don't stress or rush (which might mean making the curd a day or two ahead), and enjoy this creamy confection with people you love.

Pâte à Choux

2010-04-20T12:19:00.004-04:00

I have long wanted to make a Croquembouche, one of those divine towers of caramel coated cream puffs crowned with spun sugar. Having never before so much as attempted a pâte à choux, I thought that was a good place to start. I chose Paula Peck as my guide and, true to form, she did not let me down. They turned out so well, I'm sorry now I didn't have the forethought to make a crème pâstissière. Next time.

You can use pâte à choux to make cream puffs, of course, or éclairs or profiteroles or a croquembouche or cheese puffs or any number of pastries sweet or savory. I did not put any sugar in my pâte à choux, but I'm sure you could if you want to push your puffs to the sweet side.

Pâte à Choux

adapted from Paula Peck's The Art of Fine Baking

1/2 cup butter
1 cup water
1 cup sifted flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. sugar (optional)
4 eggs

Preheat oven to 375°F. Line baking sheet(s) with parchment or silicone mats and set aside
Combine flour, salt, and sugar (if using) and set aside. Put butter and water in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Cook until the butter is melted and the mixture comes to a boil. Reduce heat to low. Add the flour mixture all at once and stir vigorously for 3-5 minutes. The mixture will pull away from the sides of the pan and form a dough.
Remove from heat and transfer dough to the bowl of a stand mixer. Using the paddle attachment beat the dough on low speed for about a minute. Increase the speed and add 3 of the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Lightly beat the fourth egg and add gradually to the dough. Beat until the dough is smooth and shiny.
Transfer dough to a piping bag fitted with either a round or star tip, depending on the look you're going for, and pipe dough according to what you're going to use it for.
Bake until puffs are golden brown and show no signs of moisture, 40-50 minutes for two-inch puffs. Turn the oven off and leave the puffs in the oven for an additional 15 minutes.

Use for cream puffs, éclairs, profiteroles, etc.

It's an odd process, making pâte à choux, but worth its strangeness for the delight of seeing beautifully puffed pastries when you open the oven.

A Venison Salami Experiment, Part One

2010-04-11T16:39:00.005-04:00

Step one: make the sausage--not a difficult process, but one that has taken me five months and approximately five and a half hours to accomplish. The first four months consisted of gathering the necessary starters and salts and sugars and cetera and of thinking that I really should grind the pounds and pounds of venison sitting in a garbage bag in my freezer. And then one day I did grind the pounds and pounds of venison and put them back in the garbage bag and back into the freezer. Another month went by and then today I spent four and a half hours regrinding the meat, grinding the fat, mixing everything together, stuffing said mixture into hog casings and finally tying them with string. The sausages are back in my freezer now awaiting transport to the dehydrator. Hopefully it won't take another month for them to get there.

If you decide to embark on a similar enterprise, let me offer you these small pieces of advise. One, don't do this alone. Second, don't use the KitchenAid meat grinding/sausage stuffing attachments. Yes, they do work, but not particularly well or efficiently. Third and lastly, really, don't do this alone. You'll want the company and the extra hands, promise.

Scones

2010-04-07T12:07:00.003-04:00

I had my parents over for tea on Sunday. I baked scones and served them with orange marmalade and whipped crème fraîche. There were daffodils on the table and macaroon nests complete with speckled chocolate eggs. It was a lovely event, all in all, except that I was disappointed with the scones I served and the crème fraîche I had made before my trip to Israel had become a little too sour. I've always had a bit of a scone complex the way other people have anxiety about pie crust or curdling custard. I was determined to kick it today and, with the help of The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts, I think I did.

After some initial concern that my dough was too dry, my scones came out flaky, like they're supposed to, and golden and tender and just begging for a dollop of clotted cream.

Currant Scones

adapted from The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts

325 g bread flour
45 g sugar
20 g baking powder
pinch salt
110 g butter, cold, cut into pieces
100 g dried currants
1 large egg, room temp.
1 egg yolk, room temp
100-145 mL heavy cream

Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat and set aside.
Combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Drop in the butter and cut it into the flour using a pastry cutter until the mixture forms pea-sized pieces. Avoid over cutting the butter, or your scones will be dense not flaky.
Lightly beat together the egg and yolk in a measuring cup. Pour in enough cream to bring the mixture to 200 mL. Stir to combine the eggs and cream. Add the egg mixture to the dry ingredients and mix just until a dough forms.
Lightly flour a work surface and turn the dough out onto it. You might have to give the dough a brief knead to bring it together. Lightly pat the dough until it is about an inch thick. Using a round, fluted biscuit cutter, cut out scones and place them on the prepared baking sheet. You can of course cut the scones into the shape of your choice. Brush with either a cream or egg wash and sprinkle with coarse sugar if you like (I happen not to). Bake in the preheated oven 15-25 minutes or until scones are nicely browned on the bottom and edges. Serve immediately.

Makes about one dozen scones.

They say the doom of things like scones in overhandling and they're probably right, but don't be afraid of handling them at all. If your dough is quite dry, as mine was, it might take a knead or two to bring the dough together. Give your dough what it needs and you can't go too far wrong.

I'm glad to have overcome my scone making anxiety. They're supposed to be one of those things you can whip up when someone drops by and offer with a comforting cup of something hot. I might not be a that point yet, but with practice I will be.

Braided Cardamom Loaves

2010-04-02T10:19:00.005-04:00

It's just about Easter again and if you don't feel like making hot cross buns for your Sunday brunch, may I suggest you bake up a few braided cardamom loaves. I got the recipe from the current Saveur (thank you, Dad, for the subscription), where they say this bread is eaten with coffee or tea in Finland. There is no reason it cannot be eaten with coffee or tea in the comfort of your own home.

In the comments section of this recipe in the online version of Saveur there is some question about the amount of flour called for. I used the 6 1/2 cups in the recipe and had no problems. I think what it comes down to is properly measuring your flour. You'll want to fluff up your flour, spoon it into the measuring cup until it is slightly overflowing, and then even it off with the back of a knife. Don't, under any circumstances, scoop up the flour with the measuring cup--it will become too compact in the cup and, yes, it'll seem like the recipe calls for way too much flour. This is why I prefer recipes that give quantities by weight. No questions there.

The recipe says it yields two loaves, but I divided the dough farther to make six 8-ounce loaves. If you choose to do the same, check your loaves after 15 minutes and give them a bit more time if needed. My first batch needed 20 minutes and my second batch had just started to get a bit too brown after the same amount of time. In any case, these smaller loaves are ideal for tying up in colored string and giving to your neighbors (or your mother's neighbors, in my case). If you have any leftover I have a feeling they'd make a star bread pudding or scrumptious French toast.

The Shuk

2010-03-19T10:28:00.009-04:00

There are a lot of things that make living in Israel, well...difficult. There's the driving for one; the riots; the religious zealots, who mess things up for everyone, but we're getting too political (another thing impossible to avoid in the all too promised land). But then there is Mahane Yehuda aka the shuk, the only place in Israel I visited more than once.

H., Y.'s cousin and our wonderful host during our two-and-a-half week visit to Irael, shops at the shuk every Friday. She has a system and the second I stepped into the raucous market I could see why. She parks, transfers the money she is going to spend from her wallet to an empty pocket in her purse, arms herself with her rolling basket, and then enters the shuk.

While this is not the lovey-dovey farmers' market and your new found Israeli driving skills could come in handy, one does form one's allegiances. H. goes to the same two veggie stalls every week, gets helped by the same man at the cheese shop, who frequently gives her presents and to whom she often brings coffee, gets her fish from only one monger, and while the fish is being prepared has coffee at the same delightful cafe. And they all remember her.

I thought we had a bulk department at the co-op. Having shopped at the shuk, I now know better. Every other stall was stocked with mounds of nuts, dates, raisins, apricots, ten varieties of olives, mountains of spices. Candies and cookies were sold the same way--from giant bins overflowing with product. I would have loved for the phobic among us, those who freak when someone reaches into a bulk bin with his bare hands, to witness the vendor shooing the doves off his almonds or to see the bins of hearts, livers, and gizzards refrigerated, but just barely.

It is a good idea to know what you want before entering the shuk or you might become completely overwhelmed, but if you don't just ask for a taste. A perfect example comes from the cheese shop. Yes, we knew we wanted cheese, but what kind? The cheese man was more than willing to make recommendations and to provide a taste of each. Meanwhile the wine seller behind us was choosing a bottle that matched the cheese. It no doubt helped that we were with H. (protectzia goes a long way in Israel), but showing a genuine interest in food doesn't hurt either. It's common, almost expected, to try a strawberry before buying a whole container, to try a few olives before choosing the ones you're going to walk away with. You certainly won't find any "no grazing" signs.

Another thing you will not find here, or anywhere in Israel as far as I could tell, is a bad cup of coffee. The espresso is made well and served well. At the cafe in the shuk the espresso is served with a tiny glass of seltzer. On our way to the Galilee we stopped at a gas station for coffee and were served at an outdoor table, the coffee in ceramic cups. Baristas across America take note.

Having visited Israel, even for a short time, I realize that I live in paradise and have no room to complain. We could learn a thing or two about the buying and selling of food, however, and how to make a decent cup of coffee.

No-Knead Bread

2010-02-24T09:22:00.004-05:00

I must be the last person I know to (not) try her hand at no-knead bread. Even my sister, who is busier than six people, manages to keep a sourdough and use it to make no-knead loaves. I have no excuse. Better late than never, right?

It really is as easy as they say, although I think it takes a bit of experience to get exceptional results. For a first go I was very happy. My loaf had a nice crust; the interior had the right shine and a good tooth. It had a minor rising issue though, maybe because the dough was too wet, or I didn't let it proof long enough, or possibly because the recipe calls for instant yeast and I used the same amount of active dry and Andrew Whitley says that you need twice as much active dry as instant and twice as much fresh yeast as active dry. So there's something to try next time.

I'm also curious to try adding some vital wheat gluten flour. I read an article about making whole grain no-knead breads and the author suggested adding 1-2 tsp. vital wheat gluten per cup of flour, but I wonder if it wouldn't help a white loaf too.

No-Knead Bread

adapted from Jim Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery

3 cups bread flour
1/4 tsp. instant yeast
1 1/4 tsp. salt

In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.
Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.
Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.
At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Makes one 1 1/2-pound loaf.

This is the recipe as it was emailed to me by Y., who knew J. in his Sullivan Street days. I thank them both.

Anise Biscotti

2010-02-12T12:45:00.003-05:00

These cookies owe their lives to the death of my car, the birth of baby F., and to my father's continued generosity. To the death of my car because had it not died I would have done the milk bottle toing and froing to the farm myself and not relied on my father to do the same. To baby F. because had he not been there to visit I wouldn't have starting baking early this morning in order not to show up at H.'s empty-handed. And to my father's generosity firstly for doing the toing and froing and secondly for secretly leaving Franco Galli's Il Fornaio Baking Book on my table while I was busy decanting the milk. A lucky set of circumstances leading to a most delicious batch of biscotti.

Anise Biscotti

adapted from The Il Fornaio Baking Book

2 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1 heaping Tbs. anise seeds
1 1/2 cups sliced raw almonds
1/2 cup butter
1 1/4 cups sugar
3 eggs
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/4 tsp. anise extract, if you have it (I didn't)

Preheat oven to 375°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment or silicone baking mats.
In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, salt, anise seeds, and sliced almonds.
Place the butter and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer and beat at medium speed until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition then beat in the extract(s). Reduce the speed to low and add the flour mixture a third at a time, again beating after each addition. Continue beating until a smooth dough forms.
Turn dough out onto a floured work surface. Divide in four and roll each portion into a log about a foot long and 1 1/2 inches in diameter. Place logs on baking sheets and gently flatten them until they are only about 1/2 inch thick. Leave a few inches between each log to allow for spreading.
Bake about 18 minutes, placing the bottom baking sheet on the higher rack and vice versa half way through, until logs are golden brown. Remove from oven and allow logs to cool on the baking sheets until they can be handled, about 10 minutes. Leave the oven on.
Transfer logs to a cutting board and, using a bread knife, cut them diagonally into 1/2 inch slices. Arrange the slices on baking sheets with a cut side down and return to oven. Bake until the edges are golden, 8-10 minutes. Transfer to wire racks and allow to cool completely before serving. Store in airtight containers up to 2 weeks.

Franco says to dip them in sweet wine, but tea or coffee will do for me.

Why are they most delicious? Because they have a crunch and stand up to dipping, but they don't break your teeth. Because they're delicately anise flavored (being short ingredients can so often be a blessing). Because the almonds give them that inimitable nutty texture and flavor. Because they're small enough to have two without feeling a single pang of guilt.

Chocolate Ginger Cake with Orange Buttercream

2010-02-11T10:29:00.004-05:00

My copy of Joy of Cooking was given to me by my father, who I suspect got it at William James, one of the best used book stores I've ever been in. The previous owner was in the habit of making small exes in pencil next to certain recipes. I wasn't sure if (s)he was simply marking off the recipes (s)he'd tried or if they meant something more than that. There was one such "X" next to the gingerbread recipe. Having baked the gingerbread, with the addition of a little cocoa powder, I can now say that the exes are reserved for those recipes that bear repeating.

It's a simple cake, a quick cake, a seemingly fool-proof cake. It bakes well at any size--I made half a dozen small heart cakes, a 6-inch round cake, and a loaf cake out of one batch of batter. It is moist and fluffy and gingery and if you don't have quite enough honey or molasses it doesn't seem to mind.

Chocolate Ginger Cake with Orange Buttercream

adapted from The Joy of Cooking

1/2 cup butter, melted and allowed to cool
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
2 1/2 cups pastry flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
3 Tbs. cocoa powder
1 1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup light molasses
1/2 cup honey
1 cup hot water
1 Tbs. orange zest
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1/2 cup plus 2 Tbs. soft butter
2 cups powdered sugar
1 Tbs. milk
1/2 tsp. orange extract

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour the pans you intend to use and set aside (the recipe was intended for a 9 x 9 x 2-inch pan).

In a large bowl combine the melted butter, sugar, and egg and beat well.

Sift the flour into a medium bowl and add to it the baking soda, cocoa powder, ginger, cinnamon, and salt. Mix to combine.

In a quart measuring pitcher, combine the molasses, honey, hot water, and zest.

Add the flour mixture and honey/molasses mixture alternately to the butter mixture blending well after each addition.

Pour batter into prepared pan(s) and bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. If baking all the batter in one pan this will take about an hour. Allow to cool slightly in the pan and, when you see the edges of the cake shrinking away from the pan, turn out onto wire racks to cool completely.

For the buttercream: place all ingredients into the bowl of a stand mixer and beat with the paddle attachment until pale and spreadable.

Leave out the cocoa for a delicious gingerbread.

Since I didn't have as much honey or molasses as the recipe called for, my cake turned out pleasantly not too sweet. The butter cream, then, wasn't gold on the lily, but a nice contrast. I can also see serving this cake un-iced, warmed, with a generous dollop of whipped cream.

Sour Cream Chai Cake

2010-02-05T11:45:00.005-05:00

I wish I could tell you that I've been so slow to post because I was off solving some major world problem. But I wasn't. I wasn't even solving a minor world problem, for that matter. I've just been in a bit of a dwaal, which will hopefully lift as spring approaches. Until then I'll have to find comfort in baking cakes like this rich, moist sour cream chai cake.

You might recognize this recipe. I used a chocolate version of it to make ornaments last December. I noticed last night that a jar of cream had gone sour in the fridge and instead of tossing it I thought I'd make cake. Nigella's sour cream chocolate cake popped instantly to mind, only I didn't want to make chocolate cake. I wondered if I could just leave out the cocoa, so I did, and it worked.

The result was an unbelievably rich, moist, warmly spiced cake. It's the sort of cake that needs strong tea or coffee to cut its richness. I have a feeling it is also the sort of cake that is even better the next day.

Sour Cream Chai Cake

adapted from Nigella Lawson

1 1/3 cups flour
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. ground chai spice
3/4 cup plus 2 Tbs. butter, soft
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbs. sour cream
2 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour cake pans or a ring mold and set aside.

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and chai spice in the bowl of a stand mixer. Add the butter and, using the paddle attachment, combine it into the flour mixture. In another bowl or a quart measuring pitcher, whisk together the sour cream, eggs, and vanilla. Add slowly to the flour mixture and beat until thoroughly mixed.

Bake for half an hour. Allow to cool slightly in the pan then turn out onto a wire rack and allow to cool completely. Transfer to serving dish and dust with powdered sugar.

A good cake for tea or coffee.

I like always to have something on hand to offer in case someone pops over unexpectedly. It will be a lucky popper-over indeed who gets offered this cake.

Anna Belle Babson's 4 Minute Brownie Pie

2010-01-28T10:21:00.005-05:00

Chances are my grandmother got this recipe off a sugar packet, or off the back of a box of cocoa, or out of the Los Angeles Times (the 'ng' in Angeles pronounced as it would be in bang), but the origins are now lost and it has become Anna Belle Babson's 4 minute brownie pie. Or just a brownie. Or, to M. and F. in Oxford, a Babson (the related verb being to Babsonize). By any name it is the perfect last minute dessert, taking more than 4 but fewer than forty minutes from start to finish and delivering all the fudgy, chocolaty goodness you could want without the mess of melting chocolate.

While perfect plain (and perfecter still with ice cream), this recipe is infinitely adaptable. It does just as well with whole wheat flour as white; nuts are an obvious and welcome addition; my sister has had success adding a dollop of yoghurt to the batter; and if you're having one of those days, why not add a handful of chocolate chips.

Anna Belle Babson's 4 Minute Brownie Pie

1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 pinch salt
1/2 cup flour
4 Tbs. cocoa powder

Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter and flour an 8 or 9-inch pie plate and set aside.
Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Andd eggs and vanilla and beat well. Add salt and flour and beat until well combined. Carefully mix in cocoa powder. Beat until batter is beautiful and smooth. Do not worry about over beating this batter. I don't think you can. Add any nuts or chocolate chips or yoghurt or or or at this point.
Bake for about half an hour, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Do be sure that it has cooked all the way through or the center will fall. Allow to cool slightly before cutting.

Delicious served warm with ice cream.

Now go forth and Babsonize!

Truffle Cups

2010-01-25T20:20:00.003-05:00

Some people put all the things that have been hanging around the pantry together and come up with hash. I put all the things that have been hanging around the pantry together and come up with chocolate-raspberry-hazelnut truffle cups. On the whole, I like my pantry better.

Truffle Cups

For the pastry:
1/2 recipe pie crust
less one Tbs. butter
plus 1/4 cup roasted, ground hazelnuts
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For the truffle filling:
1/2 recipe basic ganache
1 Tbs. soft butter
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For the raspberry ganache:
1 1/2 oz. white chocolate
1/8 cup heavy cream
3 Tbs. raspberry jam, strained and seeds discarded

Prepare pastry, wrap tightly in plastic and refrigerate at least a half hour before rolling. Roll out dough, cut out circles using a 2 3/4-inch biscuit cutter, and line the cups of a mini muffin tin. Trim the edges so they are flush with the top of the tray. Preheat oven to 350-375°F. Fill each cup with beans. Bake cups 25-30 minutes, or until edges are golden and dough is cooked through. Remove to wire racks and allow to cool.
Prepare ganache adding the butter once the ganache is smooth. Blend again for a few seconds to incorporate butter. Allow to cool slightly then pipe into cooled pastry cups.
Prepare white chocolate ganache in the same manner as the basic ganache. Once the ganache is smooth transfer to a bowl and stir in the jam. Spoon enough raspberry mixture on top of the chocolate ganache to fill the cup without any spilling over the edge. Allow to set before transporting. Raspberry topping will not harden entirely so don't stack the cups.

Makes 12-15 cups.

I used what I had on hand, and you should feel just as free to experiment--with this, with anything. What's the worst that could happen? You can always chop up any rejects and add them to your next batch of ice cream.

Kulfi

2010-01-18T16:34:00.004-05:00

I have to thank the people at Saveur for including kulfi in the 'Saveur 100' this year. I had never heard of it before and was glad to have an excuse to try this recipe last weekend. This frozen milk dessert was the perfect conclusion to the Indian feast my family (or most of it) enjoyed Saturday night. Made with milk, not cream, it was light and refreshing. The flavors of saffron and cardamom built on themselves with each melting bite. And the pistachios. How can you go wrong with pistachios? One crucial thing: do not try to rush the reducing of the milk. Four hours does seem like a long time to be reducing milk, but what're you gonna do? I was working to a deadline so I turned up the heat, which did help the milk reduce more quickly, but I still have a pot coated with almost burnt milk in the sink. The kulfi, by some miracle, hadn't the faintest hint of a burnt flavor. I was lucky. So, if you find yourself wondering what to do with half a gallon of milk and four plus hours of your time, make kulfi.

Brioche

2010-01-13T12:05:00.003-05:00

I made brioche for the first time last weekend. I wanted French toast on Sunday, but nobody here sells brioche and why would I buy it anyway, because it's dead easy to make and oh-so-delicious. Of course, I did have to decide on Friday that I wanted French toast on Sunday, but nevermind.

I used a recipe from Elizabeth David's English Bread and Yeast Cookery (odd that it should be there and not in Julia's Mastering the Art), which was typically vague. Don't get me wrong, I love Elizabeth. How can you not? But while her writing is captivatingly descriptive, I find her recipes often fall short on detail. My first brioche dough was, as a result, not all it should have been. It was more closely akin to a quick bread dough than to a yeast dough--very soft, sticking to everything, having none of the stretch a brioche dough should. It turns out I added the butter too soon. I learned in The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts that fat interferes with the development of gluten and that your dough should be well developed and stretchy before adding the butter. So I followed that advise this time to stunning results.

Brioche

adapted from Elizabeth David

2 Tbs. milk, warmed
1/2 tsp. active dry yeast
10 oz. bread flour
1 Tbs. sugar
1 tsp. salt
3 large eggs
5-6 oz. butter, tempered
egg wash for brushing brioche

Dissolve yeast in warm milk. Combine flour, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook. Mix in the yeast mixture and then the eggs one at a time. Continue to beat the dough until the gluten is well developed and the dough is very stretchy. To temper the butter, put cold butter between two sheets of plastic wrap and pound it with a rolling pin. Add butter gradually, but steadily, to the dough with the mixer running. Beat until the dough is smooth and silky.
(This can, of course, all be done by hand, kneading where it says 'beat.')
Transfer dough to a greased bowl, cover, and leave to rise in a warm place for about 2 hours. Punch it down, transfer to a cold bowl and leave in a cold place (not the fridge) for several hours or overnight. Punch down the dough again, make it into a ball with a nice tight top, and place in a greased 1 to 1 1/2-quart brioche mold (or several small molds, or a loaf pan). Allow to rise in a warm place until it fills the mold, up to 3 hours (but check before that).
Preheat oven to 375°F. Brush the top with egg wash then make a fairly deep circular incision about 1 1/2 inches from the side of the tin using a very sharp blade held almost flat to the dough. Allow to recover for a few minutes, then bake 25-35 minutes. Cool on wire rack.

Makes excellent french toast.

Elizabeth suggest the dough sit overnight in a cool spot for its second rise, but I'm sure this could be shortened with little negative effect on the finished bread, which means you'd only have to decide you want French toast one day ahead instead of two. Either way, it's worth the wait.

Quail's Eggs

2010-01-06T13:21:00.005-05:00

I was the lucky recipient last night of a coffee cup full of quail's eggs. Said eggs, unluckily, were left to freeze in the quail keeper's truck while he performed snow-related chores. They were still very pretty, but the yolks had become hard and rubbery, rendering the eggs inedible. It is perhaps for the best, though, as I have at present no caviar. I will endeavor to remedy this deficiency in order to be ready for the next unexpected quail's egg delivery.

Madeleines

2010-01-02T13:54:00.006-05:00

The last time Y. was in the city he bought me a madeleine pan, which made it my turn to take a stab at baking the fabled cookie. Or is it a cake? Either way it is a good idea to get one's first attempt at madeleines out of the way. I was pleased enough with my maiden madeleine voyage. Although they sadly did not form the coveted hump on their backs and two batches stuck badly to the molds, the ones that survived were orangey and buttery and delicious.

It might have something to do with the diminutive size of my apartment and the similarly tiny dimensions of my oven, but my baked goods seem to be getting smaller and smaller. Noticing this trend, Y. got me a madeleine pan that produces very tiny cakes. I'm not sure if this could have had an effect on the forming of bumps (or not) on my cakes, but it did cross my mind as a possibility. Or maybe in trying so hard not to incorporate too much air into my batter, I didn't incorporate enough. Who knows? I'm sure, however, that it was not the fault of the recipe and when I next attempt it I will learn more.

Madeleines

The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts way

125 g sugar
110 g flour, sifted
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 pinch salt
zest of one orange
2 large eggs, room temp.
110 g unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled

Combine sugar, flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Add the zest. With a whisk, mix in the eggs until just incorporated, being careful not to add too much air to the batter. Stir in the melted butter. Cover the batter and refrigerate for one hour.

Preheat oven to 400°F. Grease and flour your madeleine molds.

Transfer the batter to a pastry bag fitted with a medium round tip and pipe a dollop of pastry into each mold. Do not overfill the molds.

Bake for about 7 minutes. The cooking time will vary according to how big or small your molds are. Cakes should spring back in the center when lightly touched. Carefully remove madeleines from molds and allow to cool on wire racks.

Enjoy the first one warm out of the oven.

Aren't you proud? I managed to write about madeleines without once mentioning Proust. Oh, dear, I blew it...

Orange Torte

2009-12-31T13:38:00.004-05:00

Here I go again with the oranges and chocolate. It's a good combo, what can I say? I was drawn to this torte in particular because the entire orange is used: peel, seeds and all. Cool, no?

This recipe is for a 9-inch torte, but my new cake stand won't accommodate a cake that big (and I prefer smaller cakes anyway) so I used two smallish blood oranges and halved all the other ingredients. I should have poured all the batter (or most of it) into one 6-inch pan, but, having divided it between two pans, saved the cake (I hope) by going double decker. Then there's the issue of the almonds. I should have blanched and ground my own almonds, but I was lazy and bought almond meal so what should be a lovely cake the color of sunshine is marred by the unwelcome presence of skins. But nevermind.

Orange Torte

adapted from Aaron Maree

3 oranges
6 eggs, separated
180 g sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
280 g ground almonds
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250 g apricot jam
60 ml water
2 tsp. lemon juice
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1/2 recipe basic ganache

Place oranges in a pot, cover with water, and boil them for an hour and a half. While still hot, place oranges in a blender or food processor and blend to a pulp. Set aside.
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9-inch cake pan (or a combination of smaller pans) and line the bottom(s) with parchment. Set aside.
In a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg yolks and half the sugar until yolks are pale and have reached the ribbon stage. Transfer to another bowl and set aside.
Wash your bowl and whisk attachment, then beat egg whites to stiff peaks, adding the remaining sugar in spoonfuls just before it reaches this stage. Add the ground almonds and baking powder and beat until well combined.
Fold yolk mixture into the orange pulp, then fold in the egg white mixture. Pour batter into prepared pan and bake for 30-40 minutes, or until cake is pulling away from the edges of the pan and springs back when lightly touched.
Cool on wire racks in the pan.
For the glaze: Combine jam, water, and lemon juice in a pan. Stir until thoroughly blended. Boil 10-15 minutes then force through a fine strainer.
Once cake is completely cool, turn it out and peel the parchment off the bottom. Coat with warm apricot glaze and place on serving dish. Allow glaze to cool then cover cake with warm ganache. Allow ganache to set then decorate as you wish--not at all, dusted with cocoa, adorned with chocolate curls or chocolate dipped orange segments...

Serve with coffee or, as it's New Year's Eve, with champagne.

It's not at all amazing, but amazingly frustrating, that some weeks you can do no wrong and others it's one semi-success (that is, flop) after the other. Wishing you more successes than failures in 2010 and the good nature to accept both gracefully. Happy new year.

A Festive Loaf

2009-12-23T11:04:00.003-05:00

This is actually a Russian Easter bread called kulich, but the 'panettone' entry in the index of Andrew Whitley's Bread Matters sends you to the same page. It had all the right ingredients--flour, yeast, milk, fruit, peel, nuts, sugar--so I thought I'd give it a try. The result was a very small, but very festive loaf. If you plan to bake this recipe, I suggest making at least two, but more like four or eight loaves at a time. It's just too much work and waiting for only one.

This bread is one of the more wholesome things I've baked this month. The whole wheat flour gives the bread some substance, though it's still very soft and not at all dense, and the sugar is kept to a minimum. I used my quince brandy to soak the fruit and the flavors of cinnamon and star anise came through nicely.

A Festive Loaf

adapted from Andrew Whitley

60 g raisins
50 g slivered almonds
40 g candied mixed peel
quince brandy to cover
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5 g sugar
2.5 g active dry yeast
60 g milk, warm
50 g whole wheat flour
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30 g sugar
70 g white bread flour
40 g whole wheat flour
1 egg, beaten
ferment, from above
50 g salted butter, softened

The night before you're going to bake, combine the raisins, almonds, peel, and brandy (or rum, or vodka, or fruit juice) in a jar. Cover, shake, and set aside.
Get out your paper panettone cases and set aside, or prepare an improvised version. Line the sides of a 5-inch cake pan with heavy brown paper about 6 inches tall. Then line the bottom and (now high) sides of the cake pan with parchment paper.
For the ferment: Dissolve sugar and yeast in the warm milk. Mix in flour to make a paste. Cover and put in a warm place to rise and fall, about an hour.
To make the dough: Combine flours and sugar then add egg and ferment. Mix to form a dough. Knead for a minute or so to fully combine, then knead in the butter. Your dough will become very soft and sticky, but do not add any more flour. Keep kneading and after about 10 minutes you will have a soft, but coherent dough. Alternately, you could knead the dough using the dough hook attachment on you mixer.
Form dough into a ball and place in a small greased bowl. Cover with plastic and leave to rise in a warm spot for about an hour.
Drain any excess liquid from your fruit-nut mixture and gently fold/knead into the dough. Allow the dough to rise for another half hour.
Carefully shape the dough so the top is tight, smooth, and unbroken, removing any bits of fruit or nut that might be sticking through the top. Place in baking case. Allow to rise to maximum expansion, about a half hour longer.
Bake at just over 350°F for 30-40 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned and a thin skewer inserted into the loaf comes out clean.

Spread with butter and eat with tea or coffee.

This slice is pictured plain--I wanted you to see the golden raisins and bits of almond--but it's much tastier with butter. It might be better yet toasted and spread with butter. In any case it's perfect for tea or coffee and I'm sure the loaves wrap quite well in brown paper and string to give to friends and neighbors.

Starry Mince Pies

2009-12-21T09:13:00.006-05:00

Well, it's the Monday before Christmas so if you haven't already made your mincemeat, it's too late. It is the perfect time to start giving pies away, though, so happy baking to those of you who got your mincemeat made in time.

These were made using a mini muffin tin and a small star cookie cutter. No need to wet the edges to stick the stars down as the mincemeat holds them on and the egg wash helps too.

Wishing you moments of calm this week and best of luck in the kitchen.

Meet the Medlar

2009-12-19T15:36:00.004-05:00

Maybe you've seen a medlar before, perhaps even tasted one. I hadn't until a few days ago when a co-worker handed me half of one of these papery, pulpy fruits and said, "here, try this."

These members of the rose family, cousins of the apple, natives of Persia are quite peculiar. They're picked in late autumn, at which point they're green and hard and inedible, then stored and left to go through a process of fermentation and decay called "bletting," during which they turn soft and brown. Now it just remains to tear through the thin, papery skin to reveal the rich, aromatic pulp inside.

It is hard to describe medlars. They're not like anything I've eaten before. If I had to make a comparison, I would say the pulp tastes and feels very much like thick, rich apple sauce. It is subtly sweet and ever so slightly bitter on the aftertaste. A friend tried to compare medlars to persimmons, but I think the only similarity there is the bletting process both fruits go through to become edible. I was not convinced by the first bite, but kept eating and bought several to take home with me.

I enjoy eating them as is--tearing the skin and sucking out the pulp, taking care to spit out the large, slippery seeds. The Oxford Companion to Food said that in Victorian England medlars were brought to table where the pulp was scraped out and mixed with sugar and cream for dessert. Other options for medlars are jelly or medlar cheese, made like lemon curd, or something of your own creation, such as the piece of toast with medlar and stinky cheese Y. just handed me.

It is always a pleasure to try a new food, particularly one as exotic as a medlar. For this I have Scott Farm to thank, and the turns of fate that brought me to Vermont.

Orange Meringues with Chocolate Ganache

2009-12-16T22:07:00.004-05:00

I never think to make meringues. That is, I never think to make meringues unless I've made custard first and have a bowlful of leftover whites staring at me with their big doe eyes daring me to pour them down the drain. But aren't these gorgeous? Wouldn't you love to part the tissue paper and find these inside? They're worth separating eggs for, friends, and making custard with the leftover yolks.

Martha wanted these made with peppermint extract and red food coloring, but I had in my cupboard orange extract and orange food coloring. Orange and chocolate are two flavors I think go together very well and are just as seasonally appropriate as peppermint and chocolate, so I thought the substitution a fair one.

Orange Meringues with Chocolate Ganache

adapted from Martha Stewart

3 egg whites
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. orange extract
orange food coloring
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1 cup heavy cream
6 oz. dark chocolate

Preheat oven to 175°F. Line baking sheets with parchment or silicon mats and set aside. Fit a pastry bag with a small star tip and set aside.
Put egg whites and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer. Place bowl over simmering water and stir until sugar has dissolved and mixture is warm. Fit bowl onto base of electric mixer and, with whisk attachment, beat mixture until whites are shiny and hold stiff peaks, mixing in orange extract just before they have reached this stage.
Paint 3 stripes of food coloring on the inside of the pastry bag. Place stiff egg whites in pastry bag and pipe as many small meringues as you can. Bake for about 1 hour and 40 minutes, or until crisp and dry, but not brown. Allow to cool completely(this doesn't take long).
For the ganache: cut the chocolate into small pieces and then grind into even smaller pieces in a food processor. Bring cream just to the simmer over medium heat. Add cream to food processor and process until ganache is smooth, 20 seconds or so. Transfer to a bowl and allow to cool until it is pipeable.
To assemble: Fit a pastry bag with a small round tip and put ganache in bag. Pipe some ganache on the bottom of one meringue and sandwich it with another, repeat. Place finished meringues on wire racks. Allow ganache to set about 30 minutes. Will keep in airtight containers at room temperature for about 2 days.

Enjoy alongside your next espresso. Wrap in tissue and give away.

Indeed, it was more than fair; it was meant to be. The orange is sweet and high and the bitterness of the dark chocolate brings it back down to earth. This is mimicked by the contrasting textures: the airy lightness of the meringue is countered and complimented by the richness of the ganache. Although the meringue melts almost instantly--disappears well before you've finished the ganache--the orange flavor lingers and mingles with the chocolate, giving your entire mouth something to think about.

I kept the meringues small for several reasons. Mainly I think they're prettier that way. Just as importantly, they're twice as big when two are stuck together and I wanted the finished product to be able to be popped in the mouth and enjoyed in one bite. At this size they're small enough to fit on the saucer of an espresso cup--a nice presentation and an excellent accompaniment. You also get more this way, which can only be a good thing.

Rusks

2009-12-13T17:03:00.004-05:00

I thought maybe you had to grow up dipping Ouma brand rusks in Milo or rooibos in order for them to take over a small corner of your heart, but the ease with which I have been able to distribute the vast surplus of rusks this recipe left me with suggests otherwise.

There isn't a great deal to recommend rusks: they're only very slightly sweet and otherwise quite bland, hard, dry, and a bit of a nuisance to eat--crumbling or, once dipped, dripping tea down your chin. Strangely, none of this keeps them from being completely addictive. Once you start eating them, you won't want to have tea without one. I sent a bag home with M. and she told me this afternoon she's been eating them at breakfast, tea time, and for dessert. If that isn't a recommendation, I don't know what is.

I found several recipes for South African buttermilk rusks by doing a Google search, but have so far only tried the one mentioned above, which I can certainly recommend. I look forward to trying several more recipes, though, in hopes of more closely duplicating the perfect rusk of memory. A fool's errand, maybe as these come very, very close, but one that will always leave me with at least one tin of rusks in the pantry.

Onion Tart

2009-12-10T09:54:00.004-05:00

It seems strange that the first recipe I would try from my new book, The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts, would be a savory dish, but there you have it. A delicious savory dish, though, and one that I've already made twice.

But really, it's about as sweet as savory goes. There's the sweetness of the caramelized onions, the slightly different sweetness of the tomatoes (which I know I should not be buying in Vermont in December), both set off by the tangy saltiness of the cheese and the buttery goodness of the walnuts and the pastry.

Onion Tart

adapted from The Fundamental Techniques of Classic Pastry Arts

1 cup pastry flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/3 cup plus 1 Tbs. (6 1/3 Tbs.) butter, cold
2-3 Tbs. water, very cold
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2-3 large yellow onions, thinly sliced
3 Tbs. butter
2 large, ripe tomatoes, peeled, cored, and sliced
2 oz. blue cheese, crumbled
generous handful walnut pieces, broken
salt and pepper to taste

For the pastry: Combine flour and salt. Cut butter into pieces and drop into flour mixture. Using a pastry cutter or your fingers, work the butter into flour until butter is well incorporated, but there are still visible pieces of butter. (Recipes often say, 'until mixture resembles small peas or coarse meal.') Using a fork, stir in water one tablespoon at a time, being careful not to add too much. When dough begins to from clumps, enough water has been added. Form the dough into a ball. The dough might be somewhat crumbly, but as long as you can make it into a ball it will be alright. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least half an hour before rolling.

Melt butter in a large, heavy-bottomed pan over medium-low heat. Add the onions and stir to coat with butter. Allow to cook very gently, stirring occasionally, until onions have caramelized, anywhere from 45 minutes to over an hour. Don't try to hurry the process. When onions are golden, remove from pan, season with salt and pepper, and allow to cool.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Roll out your dough and use it to line an 8 or 9-inch tart pan. Spread the cooled onions on the bottom of the tart shell all the way to the sides. Fold the edges of the pastry over the onions, creating a border. Place slices of tomato over the exposed onions and slightly overlapping the pastry border. Arrange most of the cheese on top of the tomatoes, then the walnuts, then the rest of the cheese.

Bake anywhere from 20-40 minutes, depending on the type of pan used. A metal tart ring will require less cooking time than the ceramic dish I used. Serve warm or at room temperature, but not hot, hot.

Accompany with soup or salad. Delicious the next day topped with an over-easy egg.

I think this could make beautiful single serving tartlets, with just one slice of tomato on the top and a nice mound of cheese and walnuts (or maybe pecans next time). It seems a third go at onion tart is definitely in the cards for me.

Chocolate Chai Spice Cake Ornaments

2009-12-08T21:42:00.007-05:00

These are bordering on too cute, even for me, but when I saw the mold pan at the hospice thrift for only two dollars, I couldn't resist. My initial thought was to stack the small cakes somehow, or serve them drizzled with custard, but then at work it struck me: stick them together with buttercream and make them look like Christmas ornaments! And I think it worked.

I had some raw cream turning itself into crème fraîche in the fridge so I decided to try Nigella Lawson's Sour Cream Chocolate Cake. I know that sour cream and sour cream are not the same thing necessarily, but the cakes didn't seem to mind. They came out moist and rich and chocolaty and dense enough to really sink your teeth into. I want everything to have a warm, spicy flavor this time of year, so I ground up some of the Chai Walla's chai spice--a mixture of cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and peppercorns--and added it to the batter.

Chocolate Chai Spice Ornaments

cake recipe adapted from Nigella Lawson

1 1/3 cups flour
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. ground chai spice
3/4 cup plus 2 Tbs. butter, room temp.
3 Tbs. cocoa powder
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbs. sour cream
2 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
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1 1/8 cups confectioners' sugar
5 Tbs. butter, room temp.
1 1/2 tsp. milk
1/4 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour small cake molds and set aside.
Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and chai spice in the bowl of a stand mixer. Add the butter and, using the paddle attachment, incorporate it into the flour mixture. In another bowl or a quart measuring pitcher, whisk together the cocoa, sour cream, eggs, and vanilla. Add slowly to the flour mixture and beat until thoroughly mixed.
Half-fill each mold with batter. Bake for about 15 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Turn cakes out onto a cooling rack. Rinse, re-butter-and-flour the molds and bake more cakes if necessary.
For the buttercream: using a fork and then a whisk combine ingredients and beat until smooth and pale.
When cakes are cool, trim the humps off the surface that is supposed to be flat. Spread a heaping teaspoon (or so) of buttercream on the flat side of one cake and then sandwich it with another cake. Press cakes together gently but firmly so the buttercream reaches the edges. Repeat with remaining cakes.
If the buttercream is very soft refrigerate the sandwiched cakes until it is firm. Cut small lengths of satin ribbon and push the ends into the buttercream using a skewer or toothpick or any other small pointed object. Alternately, you could press the ribbon into the buttercream before sandwiching the cakes. If the ribbon is long enough and you let the frosting harden, they might actually be functional. I don't know not having tried, but it's worth a go.
Arrange ornaments on a serving plate and dust with confectioners' sugar.

Makes one dozen ornaments.

I am not a fan of either inedible or nonfunctional decoration, so the ribbons, while pretty, were a bit of a disappointment. Next time I'll either make ribbons out of sugar, or attach the satin ribbons in such a way that they will be able to bear the weight of the cakes. And if it doesn't work, oh well, because the ribbons really are pretty.

You might find that your cakes look a little chewed up when you turn them out of the molds, but don't let this upset you (I almost bagged the project after turning out my first batch of cakes). I find that a dusting of powdered sugar lends seasonal charm and gracefully disguises any number of sins.

Chocolate Hazelnut Cups

2009-12-03T22:10:00.004-05:00

Don't these just say Christmas party all over them!? The golden glow of the candy, the silvery sparkle of the foil--one gets one's light where one can this time of year--the dark, velvety ganache studded with bits of hazelnut all contained in a dark chocolate cup: divine.

Chocolate-Hazelnut Cups

adapted from Farmhouse Cookery, makes 2 dozen

For the cups:
3 oz. dark chocolate
24 1-inch candy cups
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For the ganache:
8 oz. dark chocolate
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 Tbs. butter, at room temp.
2 Tbs. brandy
2 oz. ground hazelnuts
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To decorate:
1 1/2 cups sugar
3/8 cup water
30 (just in case) hazelnuts, toasted and peeled

For the cups: Arrange the candy cups (sweet cases according to the Farmhouse) on a baking sheet. Chop up the chocolate and place 2/3 of it in a double boiler. Melt over simmering water. Just before it is smooth take the chocolate off the heat and add the remaining chopped up chocolate. Stir, off the heat, until smooth. Line the cups with the chocolate by filling the cup up halfway with chocolate and then either swizzling the chocolate around until the entire cup is coated or using a teaspoon to spread the chocolate around and up the sides. Make sure the sides are thick enough or your cup will fall apart when it is unwrapped. Place in the refrigerator until fully hardened.

For the ganache: Chop up the chocolate, then place in a food processor and whiz into very small bits. Heat the cream until bubbles form around the edges. Add to chocolate and process until mostly smooth. Transfer chocolate mixture back to the pan and add butter. Stir until smooth. Add the brandy and hazelnuts and mix until combined. Allow ganache to cool until pipable.

For the decoration: Stick each hazelnut on a skewer with the top of the hazelnut pointing down when the skewer is held parallel to the floor. Prepare an ice bath that can accommodate your pan. Combine sugar and water in a small, heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat, stirring until sugar is COMPLETELY dissolved. Bring mixture to a boil and heat to just below hard crack, about 300°F, wiping the sides of the pot down with a wet pastry brush to prevent crystals from forming and ruining your syrup. When the desired temperature is reached, plunge pot in ice bath to stop the cooking. Remove and let cool until a skewer dipped into and then pulled out of the sugar leaves a thread trailing behind it. One by one, dip the hazelnuts in the syrup and pull them out. Let any excess sugar drip back into the pan. Cut the thread with scissors when it has stopped dripping and secure the skewer with the tip of the hazelnut pointing down between the counter and a breadboard. Allow to cool and harden completely. If the candy in the pot becomes too hard to work with, put it over low heat until it liquifies enough for dipping.

To assemble: Take chocolate cups from fridge. Transfer ganache to a pastry bag fitted with a medium-sized star tip. Pipe ganache into cups and top with hazelnut drops.

Taste one to confirm they're divine and give the rest away as soon as possible.

You might be tempted to make these larger, but in this case more of a good thing would just be too much. Like this they're a single mouthful of heart melting decadence without the sinful edge.

Gingerbread Cut-Out Cookies

2009-11-29T13:57:00.004-05:00

Well, Thanksgiving is over, which means it is officially not too early to start baking Christmas cookies. I'm not of the get-the-tree-up-the-day-after persuasion, I haven't even bought presents in years, but I do love to make cookies and candies and all sorts of pretty confections in the weeks leading up to Christmas. These gingerbread snowflakes were the first of the season--the first cookies and, strangely for Vermont, the first snowflakes.

I've been making this recipe for a few years--since mom and I couldn't resist Martha Stewart's Holiday Cookies special edition in 2006. I often find that Christmas cookies are prettier than they are edible. Not so with these. They're spicy--I particularly like the use of black pepper--and snappy and sweet, though not overly, and take very well to being dunked in a cup of tea.

Martha uses a royal icing for her snowflakes, but I don't really like to eat royal icing so chose this year to use a simple buttercream instead. The advantage of using royal icing is that it hardens well and the cookies are then stackable. The advantage of buttercream is that it tastes good and melts on your tongue in the way that butter will and offers an altogether superior eating experience. If I were to make these cookies purely for visual effect--to use to decorate a tree or window, for example--I would poke a hole in one of the spokes before baking the cookies and go with the royal icing.

Gingerbread Cut-Out Cookies

adapted from Martha Stewart

3 cups flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup dark-brown sugar, packed
2 tsp. ground ginger
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
3/4 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. finely ground black pepper
3/4 tsp. salt
1 large egg
1/2 cup unsulfured molasses
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2 1/4 cups confectioners sugar
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbs. butter, room temp.
1 Tbs. milk
1/2 tsp. vanilla
sanding sugar

Combine flour, baking soda, and baking powder in a bowl and set aside.
Either by hand or in a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter and sugar until fluffy. Beat in the spices and salt and then add the egg and molasses on a slightly lower speed. Add the flour mixture and mix until just combined. It might look like it will never combine, but don't despond, it will. Divide the dough in half (to make it more manageable when you roll it out), form into two balls, wrap well in plastic, and refrigerate for about an hour, or until cold.
Line baking sheets with parchment. Preheat oven to 350°F.
Roll out dough on a lightly floured surface to 1/4-inch thick. Cut out as many shapes as you can and place them on the baking sheets. Feel free to gather the scraps, re-roll the dough, and cut out more cookies. Refrigerate cookies until firm, about 15 minutes, before baking.
Bake 12-14 minutes, or until cookies are firm but not darkening around the edges. Cool on wire racks.
To make buttercream: Combine sugar, butter, milk, and vanilla using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat until smooth and pale, scraping the bowl as necessary.
Pipe icing onto cookies in attractive patterns and sprinkle immediately with dusting sugar. Allow icing to harden, then tap off any excess sugar.

Serve with tea or coffee. Give away to someone who needs cheering.

There is no reason to limit yourself to making snowflakes. What is Christmas without a few gingerbread men? The only other cutter I had readily available the day I made these was a maple leaf and I think they look just lovely. So, let the cookie making commence!

Humble Pie

2009-11-19T12:44:00.004-05:00

Until last Saturday, I thought the expression "humble pie" was purely metaphoric. But, of course, it's not. Y. shot a deer (a 140-pound 4-point buck) on the first morning of the season and that afternoon a short Google search including the terms deer, heart, and liver led me to humble pie. Noone was very specific when it came to recipes; deer heart and liver baked in a crust with apples, currants, and spices was about all I had to go on. It seems that while the lord of the manner was eating the tenderloins (and who can blame him--yum!), the help was given the offal. I cannot claim that the recipe I came up with is authentic. It is, however, very seasonally appropriate, reminiscent of mincemeat, and to my taste buds quite delicious.

This was a new pie making method for me. A few things I learned: use straight-sided jars, or jars with very little taper. The jars I used were angled enough to make the wrapping and tying process more of a bear than it needed to be. Make sure the string is tied tightly enough and that it doesn't slip down. If the string slips too far down, your pie will collapse during baking for not having enough support. This method should not be used for pies without top crusts--the top crust holds everything together and without it the edges would curl down in the oven.

Don't be discouraged, though. I only had one true failure--the rest were beautiful and entirely satisfying. If it does seem like altogether too much bother, just use small pie plates instead.

Humble Pie

makes about 6

1 recipe pie crust
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1- 1 1/2 cups deer heart and liver, chopped into small pieces
2 apples, peeled, cored, and chopped into small pieces
2 handfuls currants
zest of one lemon
1/2 tsp. dried sage
1/2 tsp. salt
1 scant tsp. cinnamon
1/8 tsp. ground clove
1/8 tsp. ground allspice
1/4 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
2 Tbs. brandy
1-2 Tbs. flour
butter for dotting
1 egg plus 1 Tbs. water for glazing

Make the filling the day before you plan to make the pies. Briefly sauté the chopped offal in a mixture of butter and oil in a very hot pan. Remove to the bowl you're going to mix the filling in from pan with a slotted spoon. You might see some juices from the meat at the bottom of the bowl, don't drain them. Add the apple, currants, zest, salt, and spices and mix to combine. Stir in the brandy. Cover and refrigerate until the next day.

On the day of pie making, remove the filling from the fridge to bring it to room temperature.

Make up your pastry dough, form it into two balls, one larger than the other, wrap the two balls tightly with plastic, and refrigerate for at least half an hour.

Have ready 6 straight sided jars inverted on a baking sheet. Roll out the larger ball of dough on a floured surface. Using a small plate (about 6 inches in diameter) as a template, cut out circles of dough. You might have to gather the scraps and re-roll the dough to get 6 circles. Drape the circles over the up-side-down jars, pressing the dough to the side of the jar to get a nicely shaped cup. Once all the cups are formed, place the baking sheet in the freezer for 20-30 minutes.

Have ready six strips of parchment wide enough to support the pie once it's in the oven and long enough to reach around the circumference of the pie and six lengths of string. Remove the baking sheet of pastry cups from the freezer. Free the pastry from the jars while it is still good and frozen, but put the cups back on the jars so they have some support while you're tying them. Wrap a piece of parchment around the center of each cup and secure it well with string. Take the cups off the jars and place right way up on the baking sheet, which you should now line with parchment. Return cups to freezer briefly.

Mix a tablespoon or two of flour into your filling. Have ready a couple tablespoons of butter for dotting on the filling before closing the pies.

Take the cups from the freezer and set aside. Preheat oven to 375° F.

Roll out the smaller ball of dough on a floured surface and cut out six tops with a 3-inch cookie cutter. Fill the pies, leaving enough room at the top to create a nice edge. Dot each pie with a bit of butter. Place a top on each pie. Seal your pies, using a little water if it seems necessary. Crimp the edges. Poke a hole in the top of each pie (I used the back of a paint brush).

Just before they go in the oven brush tops with egg/water mixture. Bake 30-40 minutes, or until crust is golden and filling is bubbling.

Serve warm or room temperature with port/beer/cheese/pickles.

Y. said that his friends usually make some godawful stir fry with the hearts and livers of their deer. This being Y.'s deer, he got to choose the menu. I sensed some initial resistance to humble pie, but I think we won them over.

Apple Cider

2009-11-11T10:47:00.001-05:00

The taste of fresh cider always surprises me. You think you've had good apple juice and then you have a sip of cider straight from the press and you realize you don't know a thing. Now that is apple juice. It's sweet and tart and, being a little bit thick, glides over your tongue in a silky stream of apple essence.

When D. invited me to an apple party, I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but gladly accepted figuring that spending a beautiful fall day outside doing something with apples couldn't be all bad. Having been to parties at D.'s before and having always been unfashionably punctual, I intentionally showed up an hour late, but was still the first to arrive. This meant watching a hungover D. prepare himself a one o'clock breakfast, but also gave me a chance to poke around and take a few pictures.

Shortly after D.'s mom got there we trekked down to the lower pasture to pick apples. They were old, gnarled apple trees bearing small fruit, which were showing a season's wear. They were good apples, though, flavorful and crisp, and the cider press doesn't care about looks.

Each batch of cider tasted slightly different. The one made mostly with the red apples (I'm afraid we didn't know the varieties we were working with) was rich, pleasantly sweet, and quite tart. The yellow apples made a cider too sweet for my taste, with few of the balancing characteristics of the other one. We were especially pleased to see that the cider we pressed from the Hidden Rose apples (sweet, tart, astringent), instead of being golden-brown like most cider, was as pink as--pinker even than the flesh for which the apples are named.

Cider presses are expensive. Apple trees take a long time to grow and mature. Cider is delicious. So when a friend has borrowed a press, has apples to harvest, and asks you to help, just say yes and don't begrudge him his homefries.

Walnuts

2009-11-07T18:02:00.004-05:00

I am of the opinion that perfect fall days--the crisp, clear ones that convince you if hobbits ever came to America they would choose to live in Vermont--should be spent outside. If they can be spent outside in pursuit of a foodstuff, so much the better. Unfortunately, between cooking all morning and working all night, the time I spend outside is often reduced to the seven minutes it takes me to walk to work. It was a pleasure, then, to spend an hour Wednesday morning gathering walnuts in the thicket behind M.'s house.

M. wasn't there, but told Y. he had gathered all the nuts he wanted and to come get the rest before the squirrels did. We followed his directions to the tree, expecting from M.'s description to see nuts littering the ground, but found nothing. At least not right away. I took a few steps toward the stone wall and hiding under some dry, brown leaves were what looked like tennis balls. I immediately heard the voice of HBC saying, "And if Mr. Emerson finds us frivolous, he can go and look for tennis balls. Go and look for tennis balls, Mr. Emerson." After finding the first two walnuts, and confirming with Y. that they actually were what we were looking for, they were suddenly everywhere.

In a little under an hour we gathered four times the nuts that M. thought were still out there. I'm afraid we raided two squirrel caches, possibly dooming two squirrel families, but Y. assured me that squirrels often forget where their hiding places are anyway. If it is any consolation, I promise, in a few weeks when the walnuts have been dried and shelled, to make something delicious with them.

Quince Brandy

2009-11-05T07:30:00.005-05:00

I know I told you it wasn't too early to make up your mincemeat, and it's not. Not if you start giving pies away just after Thanksgiving. But you might want to make more for Christmas and this time you might want to make your mincemeat with quince brandy, which has to sit for at least six weeks, so you'd better hop to.

Quince Brandy

adapted from Nigella Lawson

4-6 quinces
2 litres cheap brandy
4 small cinnamon sticks
4 star anise

Rub the fuzz off your quinces with a kitchen towel. Quarter them, without peeling or coring, and place them in a large (one-gallon), wide-mouth jar. Pour the brandy over the fruit, filling the jar. Plop in the spices, close the jar, and leave it for at least six weeks.

Use for mincemeat and other baked goods, or sip after dinner.

I just saw this in Nigella Lawson's How to Be a Domestic Goddess and put it up because I had four quinces languishing in my fridge, so I can't tell you what it tastes like. She says it's "peachily delicious." She says, "The quinces and aromatic spices mellow the brandy, and their fragrances hover around just enough to let you know they're there." I'm inclined to believe her.

Applesauce Quick Bread

2009-11-02T17:33:00.006-05:00

I could easily have eaten all three cups of applesauce straight from the baking dish along with the entire pint of crème fraîche, but, fortunately, I didn't. I put it, instead, in jars in the fridge and turned to my cookbooks to decide what to do with it. The Joy of Cooking, that stalwart soul of a cookbook, came through with two recipes, both of which I modified to my particular circumstances. The next morning I baked an applesauce quick bread and an applesauce cake, the quick bread beating out the cake for its place in the spotlight.

This is a moist, substantial, not-too-sweet, and entirely satisfying bread. It uses butter instead of oil, which I like, and the mixture of flours gives it a slight heft without the bread becoming dense. The applesauce, cider, and buttermilk provide ample moisture, the walnuts the right amount of crunch.

Applesauce Quick Bread

adapted from the Joy

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups white whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
zest of one orange
3/4 cup applesauce
1/4 cup apple cider
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup walnut pieces

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a 9x5-inch loaf pan and set aside.

Combine the flours, salt, and baking soda and set aside.

In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg and beat until well combined. Add the orange zest, applesauce, and apple cider. Mix to combine. Your batter will appear curdled--don't let this bother you. Add the flour mixture and buttermilk alternately, starting and ending with flour. After the last addition of flour mixture, stir until just combined. Fold in the walnuts.

Pour batter into prepared loaf pan and bake 1 hour 15 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean. Cool in the pan 10-15 minutes, then turn out onto a cooling rack.

Enjoy in thick slices spread with butter.

There is not a bad time to eat this bread. It makes a delicious breakfast, a perfect mid-morning snack, a nice something sweet after lunch, just the thing for tea, and satisfies that craving after dinner. Had I not given the second half of the loaf away, I would be eating a slice right now.

Applesauce

2009-10-31T07:55:00.004-04:00

I told you I would make applesauce before the season was over. If I had known it was going to be this good, I would have made it sooner. But then I only read Elizabeth David's "Big Bad Bramleys" article a few days ago, so had I made it sooner I would have made some stovetop affair and it wouldn't have been nearly as tasty. Timing, they say, is everything.

After nine weeks of fall fruit share I was left with several bags in the bottom of my fridge each containing one or two apple orphans. There was a Honeycrisp, a couple of Macouns, a Black Oxford, an Empire, and three Pinovas. Having just read the aforementioned article, I new exactly what to do with them: make apple orphan applesauce.

You might have a hard time getting excited about applesauce. I've been raving at people about it for the past two days and I think they might worry that I spend too much time alone. I know it's not much to look at. I mean, it's applesauce, right? But this is Apple Sauce. With a difference. This method calls for baking peeled, cored, sliced apples in a covered dish without the addition of water or sugar or anything whatsoever until they are tender enough that "to whisk them into a purée is then the work of less than a minute." You then add a lump of butter and a bit of sugar if you want (I didn't). The result is pure apple bliss.

Applesauce

forever indebted to Elizabeth David

apples, however many of whatever variety
1 knob salted butter
sugar, if desired, to taste

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Peel, core, and thinly slice apples, as if for apple pie. Arrange slices in a baking dish. Six or seven apples will fill a 9-inch square baking dish and yield approximately 3 cups of apple sauce. Cover dish and and place apples in oven. Bake 30-45 minutes, or until apples are burbling and very soft.

Remove from oven and mash apples with a fork. (This should be very easy. The apples should practically mash themselves. If they're putting up a fight, stick 'em back in the oven for a few.) Add the butter and sugar, if using, and mix them in with your fork.

Enjoy warm out of the oven with dollop of crème fraîche. Reserve some for baking.

Because the apples stew in only their juices without being diluted by water, the apple flavor is somehow intensified, concentrated, made more apple than apple itself. I found the addition of sugar to be unnecessary--the apples were sweet enough as they were and I didn't want to risk masking any of the apple flavor. Butter makes everything better--it makes the applesauce velvety, creamy. Elizabeth says it "provides the clue to the excellence of this recipe" and she's right.

I used most of my applesauce for baking, but as soon as I was finished mixing in the butter I helped myself to a cupful of the warm sauce, topped it with a bit of crème fraîche, and was transported.

Fall Pie Primer, Part Four: Pumpkin Pie

2009-10-28T22:46:00.002-04:00

It seems fashionable now to have an aversion to pumpkin pie. All the magazines seem to be offering alternatives to it--take such-and-such or blah-and-dah to your Thanksgiving gathering, a refreshing change from pumpkin pie. Honestly, I don't understand. What could possibly be wrong with silky, spiced, pumpkin custard in a flaky butter crust? And don't give me the evaporated milk answer, because you don't have to use it.

I ran several pumpkin pie trials this week and discovered that there is no reason to use evaporated milk in your pumpkin pie filling. You don't even have to spend hours cooking down your own milk in an attempt to duplicate what comes out of the can. You can simply use a combination of milk and cream instead. You wouldn't think of using canned milk in any other custard, so why in this one? For one pie I took the time to heat the milk and temper the eggs and cook them in a double boiler until the mixture coated the back of the spoon et cetera and so forth, but it was really unnecessary. The one with milk and cream and none of the double boiler hoopla set up just as well. So there you go: no more Carnation! Take that, Libby.

Pumpkin Pie

one 9-inch pie

1/2 recipe pie crust
blank
2 cups pumpkin purée from 1 medium-large pie pumpkin
3 eggs
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/4 tsp. cloves
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
3/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream

Make up the dough, wrap tightly in plastic and refrigerate while you make the filling.
Cut pumpkin in half and remove seeds. Cut the halves in half and place in a steamer basket. Steam until tender, about 20 minutes. Scoop out the flesh and place in a blender. Blend until smooth. Drain purée in cheesecloth in a strainer for 10-15 minutes to remove some of the water.
Preheat oven to 425°F.
Measure out 2 cups of pumpkin purée and return to blender. Add the rest of the ingredients to blender and blend again until smooth.
Roll out your dough between sheets of waxed paper into about a 12-inch round, or until you judge it will fit in your pie pan with about an inch of overhang. Press the dough into the pan starting with the bottom and working up the sides so there is no air trapped underneath it. Crimp the edges, folding the dough over on itself to get a nice thick edge.
Blend filling for another second, then pour into pie shell. Do this on a piece of counter close to the oven so you don't have far to go with it.
Bake at 425°F for 15 minutes, reduce heat to 350°F and bake an additional 45 minutes. The center of the pie should still be jiggly when you take it out of the oven. It will set as it cools. A cracked pie is an overcooked pie. Allow to cool completely before serving.

Serve at room temp with whipped cream.

If you're lucky, you'll have some leftover filling. If you do, I recommend pouring it into a small ramekin, placing the ramekin in a dish of hot water and baking it along side the pie. It might be done a bit sooner than the pie so keep an eye on it. Let it cool, whip up a bit of cream for the top, and call it a treat for the cook (or share it--I did).

I hope at least one pumpkin pie appears in your fall pie rotation. Sure, make such-and-such, bake blah-and-dah, but I'm willing to bet the pumpkin pie disappears first.

Fall Pie Primer, Part Three: Mince Pies

2009-10-24T16:26:00.013-04:00

There are things I really don't like about this time of year: the shortening days, the chilly weather, closing my windows, wearing layers, to name a few. Mince pies are one of the things that make this time of year okay. The buttery, flaky crust. The sweet, spicy, fruity, gooey filling. The port you have alongside. If the tomatoes of summer need long, hot days, the mince pies of winter need cold, dark weather to be fully enjoyed.

It is a bit early yet to be handing out mince pies, but it is most certainly not too early to put a jar of mincemeat in the fridge. Get it done now (it'll keep, the brandy takes care of that) so you don't have to worry about it later. The recipe I use makes a little over a quart, which is enough for maybe 30 pies. Don't feel you have to follow it to a T. You don't like almonds? Use walnuts or pecans. I cobbled together a batch a couple weeks ago with dates, dried apricots, raisins, currants, figs, walnuts, sugar, spices, the zest and juice of an orange and a little brandy, leaving out the candied citrus peel and suet 'cause I didn't have any. Not a big deal and just as tasty. So put in what you like and don't fret--there's plenty of stress to go around this time of year as it is.

Mince Pies

for about 15 pies

1 recipe mincemeat
1 recipe pie crust

Have ready your full reserve of patience, muffin tins, one large and one smaller (the same diameter as the top of a muffin) cookie cutter, a small dish of water, a petal tip from your cake decorating kit and/or a shaped cookie cutter for the tops, a milk or egg wash, a pastry brush, and some coarse sugar. Oh, and your mincemeat and pie dough.
Remove dough from fridge, cut in half, and put the half you're not working with back in the fridge. Roll out the other half and, using the large round cookie cutter, cut out six circles. Ideally, the circles will fit into the muffin tin with enough sticking out the top to fold over the top. If not (mine didn't) you will have to roll the circles a little bigger until they do. Line muffin tin with dough.
Fill shells with mincemeat, pressing it in gently yet firmly so the pie will take on the shape of the muffin tin. If you left the suet out of the mincemeat, put a knob of butter on top of the mincemeat before covering it.
Cut out six smaller circles. While these are still on the work surface, use the petal tip to cut out vent holes in a nice pattern. Cover your pies with their tops and either crimp the top and bottom crusts together as you would for a full-size pie or simply fold the bottom crust over the top, using a little water to seal them. Either way, make sure your pies are well sealed so any bubbling happens through the vent holes and not the sides.
If you are using a cut out shape for the tops, trim the bottom crust so it has an even edge. Fold the edge of the bottom crust about a cm over the mincemeat then put the shape on top.
Repeat with remaining dough. Also feel free to gather the scraps, reroll them and make more pies.
Brush tops with the wash of your choice right before they go in the oven and sprinkle with coarse sugar if you're so inclined. Bake at 375°F for 30-40 minutes, or until golden brown.

Serve at room temp, preferably with a delicious beverage (wine, port, scotch, tea, coffee, milk).

This might help clarify the process.

You will undoubtedly have mincemeat left over if you make only one recipe of pie crust, but by then you will have run out of patience anyway, so save the mincemeat for another day. The holiday season is long enough that by the time you want to make mince pies again you'll have forgotten what a pain they are to put together. But they're worth it. They're delicious and such fun to give away, particularly here because they're still somewhat of a novelty (that is if you live in the back of beyond, as I do).

Fall Pie Primer, Part Two: Apple Pie

2009-10-21T08:48:00.004-04:00

There are a thousand ways to use the thousands of apples that come off the trees every fall. Three are turnovers and tarts, cakes, sauces, baked apples, candied apples. There is also apple pie. Maybe it's because my mother makes the best apple pie in the world, but I've always found apple pie to be one of the most comforting things to eat. There is no reason this comfort should not be available to everyone, so now that you've overcome your fear of pie crust it's time for apple pie.

Apple Pie

one 9-inch pie

1 recipe pie crust
blank
6 cups apple slices (about 6 medium-sized apples)
juice of 1 lemon
scant 1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup flour
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 Tbs. butter

Make up the dough, wrap tightly in plastic and refrigerate while you make the filling.
Peel, core, and cut apples into pretty thin slices. I do this by first cutting the apple into quarters, cutting out the core, peeling each quarter, and then cutting the quarter into slices. You can do what you like.
To the apples add the lemon juice, sugar, flour, and spices. Mix gently, but well so everything is evenly distributed.
Preheat oven to 375°F.
Take the dough from the fridge and cut it in two, making one piece slightly larger than the other. Put the smaller piece back in the fridge and roll out the larger piece between sheets of waxed paper into about a 12-inch round, or until you judge it will fit in your pie pan with about an inch of overhang. Press the dough into the pan starting with the bottom and working up the sides so there is no air trapped underneath it.
Put the apple mixture into the pie shell. Cut the 2 Tbs. butter into small pieces and dot the apples with it. This step has been forgotten so many times in my family that it has become something of a running joke. "Don't forget to dot the butter!," we yell several times during the pie making process. It's a real pain trying to get it under the top crust through the vents, so don't forget to dot the butter!
Roll out the remaining ball of dough and place it over the apples. Crimp the top and bottom crusts together. Trim off any excess dough around the edge, roll it out and make an apple or something else to decorate the top with. Cut several vent holes in the top. You can choose to brush the top with an egg or milk wash or not, as you like.
Bake 40-50 minutes, or until juices are bubbling and the crust is golden. If the edges start to get too dark, cover with tin foil.

Serve warm with cream or ice cream.

A few things I would say about making apple pie: take the time to cut your apples quite thinly. If you don't you'll be left with bits that didn't cook all the way. I do like some tooth left in the apples, but not that much. Try not to overwork the edges while you're crimping them or they'll become tough. And don't forget to dot the butter!

Fall Pie Primer, Part One: Crust

2009-10-19T15:49:00.005-04:00

A good crust is one of the best tricks you can have up your sleeve in the kitchen. I wrote about pie crust last year and my feelings on the subject haven't changed. I thought I'd bring it up again, though, because it is getting to be that time of year again and some poor souls might be eyeing the freezer aisle. Don't do it! You're going to be making your own pumpkin purée, peeling all those apples, making your own mincemeat, so why would you buy a pre-made pie crust. You wouldn't. I know.

Pie Crust

10-inch double crust

2 2/3 cups flour
1 tsp. salt
1 cup butter, cold
7-8 Tbs. water, very cold

Combine flour and salt.
Cut butter into pieces and drop into flour mixture. Using a pastry cutter or your fingers, work the butter into flour until butter is well incorporated, but there are still visible pieces of butter. (Recipes often say, 'until mixture resembles small peas,' but I like to leave slightly larger pieces.)
Using a fork, stir in water one tablespoon at a time, being careful not to add too much. When dough begins to from clumps, enough water has been added.
Form the dough into a ball. The dough might be somewhat crumbly, but as long as you can make it into a ball it will be alright. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least half an hour before rolling.

Use for pies, pasties, and tarts.

I had a bit of a mishap last week: I thought I had a 9-inch pan so made the recipe for an 8 to 9-inch double crust. Unfortunately it was a 10-inch pan. It is no fun trying to eke an extra inch out of too little dough and then having none leftover to decorate the top of the pie. So from now on I'm making enough for a 10-inch pan regardless of what size pie plate I actually have. Wasteful? Maybe, but in this instance I don't care. There is always something to be done with leftover pie dough, but don't make me cobble together another pie without enough.

Leftovers

2009-10-13T22:09:00.009-04:00

Leftovers. Leftovers are great. Leftovers mean quick snacks. Leftovers mean not having to worry about what to take to work for dinner. Some things are better as leftovers--most casseroles, soups, and stews, for instance. I hear some people make hash out of their leftovers. Some people make soup. Dad has a leftovers rule: always add one new ingredient, even if it is just a sautéed onion. Sometimes what you make out of your leftovers is better than the dish was to begin with.

Tuesday morning I took stock of the leftovers in my fridge. I had some dal, which I made the same day I made naan. I had fillo leftover from making baklava and spanakopita on the weekend. I had mincemeat leftover from making stuffed apples baked in pastry. I had a quarter of a bag of frozen peas leftover from making samosas.

The spanakopita triangles I made on the weekend were such a success that I thought anything wrapped in fillo and baked until golden would be good. What about dal wrapped in fillo? What about adding the peas to the dal and wrapping that in fillo? I thought it was worth a try. I had made twelve dal triangles when I thought of the mincemeat. I had planned to make more traditional mince pies with it, but there's plenty of time yet for that, so into fillo it went. (If you want an alternative to the traditional mince pie this holiday season, make mincemeat triangles with fillo. Crackly, crispy, flaky on the outside, pure mincemeat delight on the inside.)

These fillo pockets turned so well that I will make them on purpose in the future. I know they're excellent with a spanakopita filling. I thought they might be good with butternut squash and caramelized onion and feta. Or just feta. Or something and something and walnuts. Or some cooked apple filling. Or a ground lamb filling. You get the idea--whatever you want/have/make will be better stuffed into a fillo triangle.

* * *

If you have ever made a "football" out of a piece of binder paper, you know how to make a stuffed fillo triangle. Assuming 13-by-17 inch sheets of fillo, cut them into thirds along the long side, so you end up with three stacks of 6-ish-by-13 inch sheets of fillo. Keep the sheets between plastic and cover with a damp tea towel so they don't dry out. You'll need at least half a cup of melted clarified butter. Take one sheet from the stack, replacing the plastic and towel before you continue. Place sheet on your work surface with the long side facing you. Brush fillo with butter and fold the sheet so the long sides come together. Brush with butter again. The next step will require some imagination. Looking at the far left side of your strip of fillo, picture a square. Now picture the diagonal line running from the bottom left corner to the top right corner that would cut the square in half. Place about a tablespoon of filling to the right of the diagonal line. Shape filling into the triangle that would fill out the square. The filling can go all the way to the bottom edge and all the way to the edge of the square--all will be sealed in when you start folding. What you should have now, looking left to right, is a blank triangle of fillo, a triangle of filling, and then the rest of the strip of fillo. Fold the triangle of fillo from the top left corner over the filling. This can be a bit tricky depending on how soft the filling is, but now fold the resulting triangle over the short side. It should become clear how to continue folding the triangle. You can press down on the triangle a bit as you go to even out the filling distribution. When your triangle is all folded up, place it on a parchment-lined baking sheet and cover with plastic wrap. Brush tops with butter and sprinkle with sesame seeds or poppy seeds or not just before they go into the oven. Bake for about 25 minutes at 375°F.

Naan

2009-10-08T13:40:00.004-04:00

A lot goes into preparing an Indian feast. None of it is particularly difficult, but it all takes time. Naan is not at all difficult, and is definitely worth making time for. Start your naans about an hour and a half before dinner and you should be serving them hot to adoring fans. Most of the time it takes is in the rising, anyway, so you have an hour to finish up everything else.

My oven is so tiny that the two-step process Madhur describes was unnecessary, not to mention impossible. My naans puffed up enough that the broiler was able to brown them without moving them to the top rack. I couldn't have moved them to the top rack had I needed to, because in their puffed up state there was not enough room for them between the rack and the element. Oh, well, that's Turkey.

Naan

adapted from Madhur Jaffrey

150 ml milk
2 tsp. sugar
2 tsp. active, dry yeast
450 g flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
2 Tbs. oil, plus a little extra
150 ml plain yoghurt, lightly beaten
1 large egg, lightly beaten

Heat the milk til it's slightly more than warm to the touch. Pour it into a small bowl and add 1 teaspoon of the sugar. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Add the yeast, stir gently, and set aside for about 20 minutes, or until yeast is dissolved and mixture is frothy.
Sift together the flour, salt, and baking powder into a large bowl. Add the remaining teaspoon of sugar, the yeast mixture, the oil, yoghurt, and egg. Combine into a ball of dough.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 8-10 minutes, or until dough is smooth and satiny. If the dough is sticky continue to flour the work surface and your hands until it is not. Don't add too much flour, though.
Pour a very small amount (1/4 tsp.-ish) of oil into the bottom of a large, clean bowl and roll your ball of dough in it so it is completely coated, leaving the dough in the bowl. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and leave in a warm, draft-free place for about an hour, or until dough has approximately doubled in bulk.
Preheat your oven to its highest temperature. Place either the heaviest baking pan you have or a pizza stone into the oven while it is preheating. Once it has come to temperature turn on the broiler.
Punch down your dough, and knead it briefly. Divide it into 6 equal parts, keeping all except the one you are working with covered. Roll the ball of dough into an oval or tear-shape about 10 inches long and 5 inches at its widest point.
Slap the naan onto either your baking pan or pizza stone and bake for 3 minutes. It should puff up. Then place baking pan and naan under the broiler for about 30 seconds, until the top of the naan browns slightly. Wrap naans in a clean dish towel as they come out of the oven. Repeat with remaining balls of dough.

Serve hot with your next Indian feast.

(Since we're on the subject of Indian food, I have to report that the apple chutney I made a few weeks ago was a success and went down very well with the Indian meal Y. and I cooked.)

Stuffed Apples Baked in Pastry

2009-10-04T16:55:00.002-04:00

Another week of fall fruit share meant coming up with another way to use apples. A happy problem, if ever there was one. I turned, this time, to Elizabeth David for help and she didn't let me down. In her book, French Provincial Cooking, she offers a couple of paragraphs on Les Bourdaines, or apples baked in pastry. I like baked apples; I love pastry--bringing the two together could only make for something spectacular.

In her recipe the hollowed out apples are filled with plum or quince jam, but I remembered a picture in Farmhouse Cookery in which baked apples are stuffed with mincemeat, so I thought I'd do that instead. You could fill them with just about anything: dried apricots mixed with honey, dates chopped with walnuts and the juice of one lemon, brown sugar and spices, or something of your own device.

I had to try this twice this week, because the first time I forgot to peel the apples before wrapping them. During baking, the pastry simply slid off the apples, leaving them looking more than a little exposed. Peeling the apples gives the pastry something to hold onto and rolling them in the flour/sugar/spice mixture gives you some insurance (and extra tastiness). I didn't seal my seams well enough the second time around, so although the pastry stayed on the apples, the seams did split some, which could be avoided by using a drop of cold water and a bit more care.

This experiment was well worth the effort. The result is part baked apple, part apple pie, part mince pie, altogether delicious.

Stuffed Apples Baked in Pastry

inspired by Elizabeth David

1 recipe pie crust for every 4 apples
1/4 cup flour
1 Tbs. sugar
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
a few grates of nutmeg
as many apples as people you intend to serve
a lemon
2 Tbs. filling (see note above) for each apple
a small knob of butter for each apple
a small egg and a splash of milk

Make your pie dough, wrap tightly in plastic, and refrigerate while you do the rest.
Butter a baking dish big enough to fit all your apples and set aside. At some point, preheat your oven to 350°F.
In a wide, shallow dish combine flour, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and set aside
Cut lemon into quarters. Peel your apples and rub them with lemon juice as you finish each one. That is, don't wait til they're all peeled before coating them with lemon juice. Using a melon baller, remove the core of each apple and scoop out some of the meat so there is room for the filling. Fill each apple with mincemeat, making sure to press it into all the nooks and crannies. Before the apple is entirely full, drop in a knob of butter then put in one more dollop of filling, pressing down firmly. When all the apples have been filled, roll each one in the flour mixture, making sure it is fully coated.
Take your pastry from the fridge and remove a piece large enough for one apple (about 85g for a small-medium sized apple, slightly more for a large one). Put remaining dough back in the fridge while you wrap the apple. Roll out your dough into a circle wide enough to accommodate your apple. Place apple in the center of the circle and begin to gather the dough around it. Where the dough comes together, cut off the excess and with a little water glue the seam together. Be sure your seams are well stuck, or they will split during baking. If, once you have wrapped the whole apple, there is a hole at the top, use some of the extra dough to cover it. Save extra dough for making leaves. Place pastry-encased apple in the baking dish and transfer to refrigerator. Repeat with remaining apples.
Once all the apples have been wrapped, take the extra dough you've been saving from the fridge, roll it out, and cut out a leaf for each apple. Remove apples from fridge, make a dimple in the tope of each, and adorn each with its leaf. Beat together the egg and the milk and brush each apple with the mixture. Bake for about an hour or until the crust is golden.

Serve warm with whipped cream.

Elizabeth, who apparently wasn't much of a fan of cooked apple dishes, offers this bit of advice: "First, choose hard, sweet apples whenever possible instead of the sour cooking variety which are used for English apple dishes. And secondly, if the apples are to be eaten hot, cook them in butter instead of in water. The scent of apples cooking in butter is alone more than worth the small extra expense."

Zucchini Bread ?

2009-10-01T21:53:00.006-04:00

Sometimes when you try something new and strange very good things happen. Other times, not. This time, definitely not. Who ever heard of zucchini bread taking 24 hours, anyway? It's supposed to be a quick bread, right? You see slightly shriveled zukes in the fridge and for tea time there's warm zucchini bread. None of this soak your flour in yoghurt overnight and leach your zucchini for an hour. I don't care how much easier it is to digest. And then for the loaf to collapse in a partially done mess after an hour and a half in the oven!? I am not impressed. So next time I will find Grandma Reedy's tried and true recipe in my mom's recipe book under either 'B' for bread, 'Z' for zucchini, or somewhere else entirely for reasons known only to my sister who put it together lo those many years ago. I guess I learned, again, that wheels (and quick breads) need not be reinvented.

Potato Leek Soup

2009-09-29T10:22:00.003-04:00

Last night, while dinner was burgling on the stove, Y. and I realized that almost all of it had come from his garden. The chicken was his; the parsley, beans, garlic, lettuce, and tomatoes were his. So were the leeks and potatoes. The cream came from down the road and the apples, onion, and shallot were local too. The only things that were not local were the wine, oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper. We decided, once again, that we were very lucky people.

This soup has to be one of the easiest things to put together. You think it's going to be bland: veg boiled in salted water, mashed up, and reheated. But when you start with good veg and add a dollop of crème fraîche, you really can't go wrong. The sweetness of the apples and onions plays nicely against the tartness of the crème fraîche and they both go very well with the velvety potato-leek purée.

Potato Leek Soup with Crème Fraîche and Caramelized Onions and Apples

adapted from Julia's Potage Parmentier

1 pound potatoes, peeled and diced
1 pound leeks, thinly sliced
2 quarts water
1 Tbs. salt
6 Tbs. crème fraîche
1 sweet onion
1 apple

Bring leeks, potatoes, water, and salt to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 40-50 minutes, until vegetables are very tender. Purée in batches, transfer to the pot in which you will reheat soup, and set aside.
Cut your onion in such a way that you are left with long pieces. Cut your apple in half and remove the core with a melon baller. Cut apple into slabs from the top to the bottom, then cut the slabs into small wedges. Heat a couple tablespoons of butter in a small, heavy skillet. Add the onions and apples and stir so everything is coated in butter. Spread the apples and onions so they form a single layer in the pan and reduce heat to low. Let them do their thing for about half an hour, stirring occasionally. Flip the apples so both sides caramelize. If things start to look dry, group onions and apples in the middle of the pan. Once onions and apples are beautifully browned and caramelized transfer to a small dish and set aside.
To serve: reheat soup. Ladle into bowls. Top each serving with a tablespoon each of crème fraîche and caramelized apples and onion. Sprinkle with coarsely chopped parsley.

A good first course.

You can, of course, make this soup even if you don't have a wonderful boyfriend who showers you with fresh produce, but it certainly helps.

Apple Chutney

2009-09-22T10:13:00.007-04:00

You might not think it, but there is a considerable amount of responsibility associated with a fall fruit share. Every week I am gifted with apples and it is my responsibility not to let them shrivel in the fridge. The first week I didn't make anything with them, just ate them out of the bag and I think there is still one Sansa left. The next week I made a tarte Tatin with the Ginger Golds. Last week we got Galas. The note from the farm said that the Gala is good for just about anything--it keeps well, it is a good eater, and a good cooking apple. I briefly considered making applesauce, and I'm sure I will before the season ends, but the Galas became chutney.

This is supposed to be quite a spicy chutney. Mine came out on the milder side because, unfortunately, I couldn't find any small, red chiles and used jalapeños instead. In an attempt to give it a bit more heat I added most of a teaspoon of dried, crushed red pepper. I worked with what I had, and it turned out just fine. Although the recipe didn't call for it, I added several small handfuls of currants to my chutney. Just, because, well, yum.

I am used to a thick, almost jam-like chutney, but am learning to appreciate its runnier cousin. A more pourable chutney is great with pocket-y foods, like pasties or samosas. Instead of the chutney lasting only one bite, the juices seep in to the filling and meld with the other flavors, and you do still have the chunks of fruit for texture.

Apple Chutney

adapted from Jan Berry's Art of Preserving

2 pounds cooking apples
2 large onions
2 small, red chiles
3 cups brown sugar
2 tsp. ground allspice
2 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. sea salt
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
2 Tbs. ginger, chopped
3 cups cider vinegar

Peel, core, and chop apples. Finely chop onions and chiles. Place in a nonreactive pan along with the rest of the ingredients and bring the lot to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and cook 30-40 minutes or until mixture thickens, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and ladle into warm, sterilized jars. Seal jars by boiling for 25 minutes in water that covers them by at least an inch. Cool on racks and hear the lids pop.

A good accompaniment to samosas or pasties.

Chutney turned out to be the right choice. Y. and I are making an Indian feast for some friends on the weekend and applesauce just wouldn't have gone nearly as well.

Honey Cake

2009-09-19T11:31:00.005-04:00

I'm sure I must've eaten honey cake before. One doesn't attend Jewish schools for four years, make yarmulkes for the boys every Friday, sing songs about apples dipped in honey, dress up as Queen Esther (a character from another buba meis) without, at least once, eating honey cake. But I don't remember so, although I thought this sweet, moist, spiced confection was something worth eating and making again, I had nothing to compare it to. Y., on the other hand, has eaten his fair share of honey cake, so I couldn't help but take his request for a second piece as a compliment.

And it is a good cake. It's moist without being oily; sweet without being saccharine; substantial without being dense; spiced without being cloying. The crushed toasted, sliced almonds give it a nice bit of texture and a good excuse to decorate it with more of the same.

Honey Cake

adapted from Carole Walter's Great Cakes

1 Tbs. instant coffee
2/3 cup boiling water
3/4 cup honey
2 Tbs. Grand Marnier or the like
1 Tbs. dark molasses
2 cups sifted pastry flour
1 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 cup cup sugar
3/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
1/4 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
2 large egg yolks
2 Tbs. vegetable oil
zest of one orange
2 large egg whites
1/4 tsp. cream of tartar
3/4 cup lightly toasted sliced almonds, plus a few more for decorating.

Position rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat to 350°F. Generously butter an 8-inch ring pan or Bundt pan or a couple of loaf pans or cake tins, dust with flour and set aside.
Dissolve coffee in the boiling water and set aside. In another bowl combine honey, Grand Marnier, and molasses. Add coffee to mixture, stir well, and set aside.
In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and spices. Give mixture a whisk or two to get everything evenly distributed. Make a well in the center and add the yolks, oil, zest, and honey mixture. Whisk until very smooth.
By any means that work for you (e.g. in a stand mixer or in a bowl with a whisk or egg beater or electric beater), beat egg whites until frothy. Add cream of tartar and continue to beat until whites hold firm, moist peaks. Gently and briefly fold 1/4 of the whites into the batter. Sprinkle toasted, sliced almonds over the batter, crushing them with your hands as you do so. Add remaining egg whites and fold into batter (Carole suggests about 40 turns).
Pour batter, which will be very runny and cause you to wonder if you read the quantities right and make you fret that it will never form something even vaguely resembling a cake, into prepared pan(s). Bake 45-55 minutes, or until cake begins to pull away from the sides of the pan and a tester comes out clean.
Remove from oven and allow cake to cool in the pan for 10-15 minutes. Turn cake out onto a rack and allow to cool to room temperature. Transfer to serving dish and sprinkle with extra toasted, sliced almonds. Best if made the day before you plan to serve it.

Delicious with good, strong coffee.

I was surprised by how runny the batter was. I thought maybe I'd misread the recipe or done an exceptionally lousy job measuring out the flour and had little confidence that 50 minutes in the oven could possibly turn it into cake. But it did, and a tasty one at that, so let my panic be your panic and save yourself to fret about something else. Like whether or not the cake is going to stick in the ridges of your Bundt pan.

Oh, and happy new year.

Samosas

2009-09-14T23:21:00.017-04:00

My love of the samosa goes back to my childhood. I'm sure I had them before this, but there was this place in Ballito up some cement stairs, next to the parking garage through which was the laundromat, which always reminded me of the soundtrack to Phantom (my, how one's geography becomes dreamlike twenty years after the fact), which sold the most delicious Indian food including samosas and bunny chow, a curry affair served in a hollowed out half-loaf of government bread, the bread innards left from the hollowing out process on the side. But the samosas. Mmm, the samosas.

I hadn't made samosas myself in five years and I thought it was about time. I had to make something for a potluck and I used this week's apples in a tarte Tatin when I had friends over for dinner on Saturday, so the apple pie I had planned to take was no longer an option. Besides, I always takes sweets and wanted to take something savory for a change. Somehow samosas popped to mind, and I wasn't one to argue. Samosas; yum. But lots of work so allow yourself several hours and be on your best kitchen behavior, getting everything in order before you start. It will save you time, frustration, and burned pans.

Samosas

adapted from the one, the only Madhur Jaffrey

225 g flour
1/2 tsp. salt
4 Tbs. vegetable oil
4 Tbs. water
break
725 g potatoes, boiled in their jackets and allowed to cool
4 Tbs. oil
1 medium onion
175 g peas, fresh or frozen
1 Tbs. ginger, finely grated
1 fresh, hot green chili, finely chopped
3 Tbs. cilantro, finely chopped
3 Tbs. water
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. ground coriander
1 tsp.garam masala
1 tsp. ground, roasted cumin seeds
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
2 Tbs. lemon juice
oil for deep frying

For the dough: Sift together flour and salt. Add 4 Tbs. vegetable oil and rub it in to the flour with your fingers until mixture resemble coarse bread crumbs. Add the 4 Tbs. water a little at a time, adding a little more if necessary. Form the dough into a stiff ball. Knead on a clean, unfloured work surface for about 10 minutes or until dough is smooth. Form dough into a ball, rub with a bit of oil and place it in a plastic bag. Set aside for at least half an hour.
While the dough is resting make the filling: Before you even consider turning the fire on under the pan, get your ingredients together. Start by putting the potatoes on to boil. While the potatoes are boiling grind your garam masala. There are endless possibilities with garam masala, but the one Madhur suggests on page 21 of Indian Cooking is this: 1 Tbs. cardamom seeds; one 2-inch cinnamon stick; 1 tsp. black (or regular) cumin seeds; 1 tsp. cloves; 1 tsp. black peppercorns; 1/4 of an average-sized nutmeg. Place all ingredients in an electric coffee grinder (or spice grinder or whathaveyou) and grind for 30-40 seconds or until spices are finely ground. This makes more than you'll need for the recipe, so keep the remainder in an airtight container away from heat and sunlight for the next time or another recipe.
As long as you're getting your spices ready, you may as well roast your cumin seeds in a dry pan over medium heat until they turn a few shades darker and emit a nice roasted aroma and grind them, cleaning your grinder before you do this. Or, if you're really thinking, doing the cumin seeds before the garam masala, because I don't think it would mind.
On a small saucer measure out the salt, ground coriander, garam masala, ground, roasted cumin seeds, and cayenne. Set aside. On another saucer have ready the finely grated ginger, and finely chopped chili and cilantro. Measure out water and set aside. Measure lemon juice into another vessel and set aside.
Once the the potatoes are cool, peel and cut them into a 1/4-inch dice and set aside. Have the peas ready to go in their own bowl. Finely chop onion.
Heat 4 Tbs. oil in a large pan over medium heat. Saute onions until they start to brown at the edges. Add peas, ginger, green chili, cilantro, and water. Cover, reduce heat, and allow to simmer until peas are cooked (not very long if using frozen peas, so be glad you got everything all ready to go). Stir occasionally, adding more water if the pan looks too dry. Add potatoes, spices, and lemon juice. Stir to combine and cook for 3-4 minutes over low heat. Check seasoning and adjust as necessary. Remove from heat, transfer to a bowl that will hold filling, and allow to cool.
To assemble: Knead dough again and divide into 8 equal (I find it easiest to this by weight) balls. Keep 7 covered while you work with the eighth. Roll ball out into a circle with a 7-inch diameter. Cut it in half with a sharp knife. With one half of the circle form a cone, the rounded edge forming the top of the cone and the straight edge coming together. Use a little water to glue the seam together, making sure there isn't a hole in the bottom. Fill cone with about 2-1/2 Tbs. of potato mixture, starting with a very little to make sure it gets down to the point of the cone. Once the cone is full, seal the top by brushing one side with water and pinching dough together. Repeat with the other half of the circle and remaining seven balls of dough.
Put about 2 inches of vegetable (I highly recommend grape seed) oil in a small, deep frying pan and set over medium heat. When the oil is medium-hot, put in as many samosas as will fit in a single layer. Fry slowly, turning frequently, until golden brown and crisp. Drain on paper towels (or newspaper).

Serve at any temperature but cold with homemade chutney.

They turned out well, I have to admit. And why wouldn't they? Madhur wouldn't lead you astray. The only thing I might do differently in future is to cook them in slightly hotter oil, because they weren't quite as crisp as I might have hoped. They went down awfully well, though, with a bit of Y.'s peach chutney and a nice glass of beer.

Rose Geranium Infused Simple Syrup

2009-09-11T11:13:00.007-04:00

I did this far too late in the season. What does one do with infused simple syrups? Make cocktails. When does one most want to drink sweet cocktails? In the summer. Like I said, my timing is off, but nevertheless I think this syrup has potential.

Besides, I had to make it. My mom's geranium was dying after a summer spent in almost constant precipitation on the shady side of the house so she gave me the leaves, making me promise to put them to good use. My first idea was to make this apple geranium jelly I saw, but then the apples I got were so good straight out of the bag that I couldn't bear to make jelly out of them. I briefly considered geranium ice cream, but my freezer is still full of the basil and maple walnut ice cream from a couple weeks ago, so that was out. The leaves were starting to wilt in their plastic bag in the fridge so yesterday I decided I would just use them to flavor a simple syrup.

Geranium Infused Simple Syrup

1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water
1 large handful scented geranium leaves

Place all ingredients in a saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar has COMPLETELY dissolved. When syrup begins to bubble, reduce heat, cover, and allow to simmer for 5 minutes. Allow to cool in the pan. Once cool, strain syrup and discard leaves. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator. Should keep for two weeks or so.

Use in cocktails or to sweeten lemonade or iced tea.

Mom wasn't sure what kind of scented geranium she had, but scented it certainly was. After tasting the syrup, I can say with near certainty that it was a rose geranium. At first it is just sweet, but then you get a very distinct rose flavor. It reminds me of the Persian desserts my parents' Iranian friends used to serve us in South Africa.

I don't know what sort of drink I would put it in, but it would have to have some fizz, maybe some citrus, and a flower to garnish. Or rose geranium lemonade could be tasty. Or you could incorporate it somehow into a grilled fruit affair. Possibilities. Definite possibilities.