From Sunday Suppers at Lucgues (Knopf)

Several Sundays ago what had been planned as a simple meal at home for Alfredo and me turned into an impromptu dinner party for six—a last-minute gathering calling for that additional flourish known as dessert. Time was limited, though, and so I turned to one of my favorite dessert-in-a-pinch options: clafoutis. Let’s start by addressing that name, which most people aren’t familiar with, and which always makes me feel like an ass when it comes out of my mouth (instead I usually describe it as “a French pancake/flan-like thing,” which does a better job of summing up what it’s all about). The other thing to know is that the dish originated in the southwestern region of France (Limousin, to be exact), and was created as a kind of baked pudding to showcase the region’s summer cherries. All of which is great, except I’ve never actually made it with cherries, in part because I’m such a fan of the variety made with apples. For years that’s been my clafoutis standard, and one I would probably not have deviated from, except for the fact that I happened upon this recipe for a cranberry-walnut version in Sunday Suppers at Lucques (a great cookbook, by the way, for anyone not familiar with it). Now I’m not a huge walnut fan (in their raw form they make the back of my throat itch), but I do love cranberries and thought the combination had a festive, holiday quality to it. So I decided to mix things up a bit and give it a whirl, though with a few small alterations—namely fresh cranberries instead of dried, and pecans instead of walnuts.

The results were wonderful, with the chewy, airy cake offset by the mellow tang of the cranberries and the satisfying crunch of the nuts. That sponge-y quality is one of the pleasures of any clafoutis, and it’s on vivid display here, with the texture recalling that of a thick crêpe (as opposed to the density of a traditional pancake, or the slippery quality of a flan). And during its forty-five minutes in the oven, the dish turns a beautiful shade of honey-brown and puffs up like a Dutch pancake, which means that despite the cake’s appealing chew, it’s feather light as well. Having said that, like a soufflé this high-flying quality dissipates quickly (as my photos reveal; one must shoot fast to capture this dish in all its puffed-up glory), but the good news is that it’s just as appealing when it flattens out a bit. In fact, when chilled the cake takes on a denser, more custard-like quality, which is delightful, particularly in the company of the nuts and cranberries. I cut into the leftovers the next morning for breakfast and I couldn’t stop myself from slicing just a little more, then a little more still.

And, as intimated earlier, it’s a breeze to assemble, with most of the ingredients likely already lurking in the cupboard. To start you assemble the batter, first heating the milk along with two tablespoons of butter then whisking the results into a previously combined mixture of a ½ cup of sugar, ¾ cup of all-purpose flour (sifted), and a ½ teaspoon of kosher salt. Once everything is combined, this is set aside and allowed to rest for an hour or so—plenty of time within which to toast the nuts (ten minutes on a cookie sheet in a 375˚ oven), then to coarsely chop them. I should mention that as someone who typically avoids cooking with nuts, I was unprepared for the warm, homey smell that within minutes overtook the kitchen—a scent that was nutty (of course), but also a little sweet, like baking cookies. This was my first hint that we were in for something special.

Once the batter has been given sufficient time to rest, pour it into a well buttered, ten-inch round baking dish (I like using a cast-iron skillet, for no other reason than it just looks so good), and scatter the ½ cup of cranberries and the chopped nuts on top. Forty-five minutes (or so) in a 375˚ oven is all it takes for the batter to take on a beautiful golden color, and to rise up out of its pan like a crown—just make sure there are no racks above the baking dish that might impede the clafoutis’ inflation.

The Lucques’ recipe suggests serving the dish with a dollop of whipped cream spiked with a little bourbon, though I prefer it without, letting the egg-y/fruity-y simplicity of the flavors take the spotlight without any distractions. (The whipped cream recipe is included below.) And in case you’re curious about that apple variety I mentioned at the outset, instructions for this are listed below, as well. Either way, this is a wonderful dessert—perfect for the colder months with the two varieties listed here, or for the warmer ones with fresh berries or those traditional Limousin cherries that started the whole thing.

Ingredients:
—1 cup plus 2 tbs whole milk
—2 tbs plus 1 tsp unsalted butter
—3 extra-large eggs
—1/2 cup plus 2 tsp granulated sugar
—3/4 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
—1/2 tsp kosher salt
—3/4 cup walnuts (I swapped out the walnuts for pecans)
—1/2 cup dried cranberries (I swapped out the dried for fresh)
—1 cup heavy cream (for optional topping)
—1½ tsp bourbon (for optional topping)

Note: For an apple version of the above, swap out the walnuts and cranberries for the following:
—4 tbsp butter
—4 tart apples, peeled, cored, and sliced
—1/2 cup plus 2 tsp sugar
—2 to 3 tbs brandy
—Ground cinnamon to taste

Directions:
—Heat the milk and 2 tbs butter in a small saucepan over medium heat until warm but not hot.
—In a large bowl, whisk the eggs together. Whisk in ½ cup sugar, the flour, and the salt. Add the warm milk, whisking well to incorporate completely. Let the batter rest 1 hour at room temperature.
—Preheat oven to 375˚.
—Spread the walnuts (or pecans) on a baking sheet and toast about 10 minutes, until they’re golden brown and smell nutty. When the nuts have cooled, chop them coarsely.
—Butter a 10-inch round or oval baking dish (TRG note: a cast-iron skillet is fine) with the 1 tsp butter. (You can also make six individual clafoutis if you like.) Sprinkle the remaining 2 tsp sugar in the dish, and tip to coat the bottom and the sides (TRG note: you might need a little more sugar to do this). Pour the batter into the dish. Scatter the nuts and cranberries on top (most of them will sink). Bake about 45 minutes, until the clafoutis puffs up and turns golden brown.
—While the clafoutis finishes baking, whip the cream and bourbon to soft peaks (if using).
—Serve the clafoutis directly from the baking dish, with the whipped cream on the side, if desired.

Directions for the apple version:
—Follow the directions above, up to the point that the batter is assembled and resting.
—Melt the 4 tbs of butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the apples, ½ cup sugar, and the brandy, and cook until apples are glazed and heated through, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat.
—Proceed with the original recipe as written above, substituting the cranberries and walnuts for the sautéed apples.

Makes eight servings

The post 12/12/13 • CRANBERRY-WALNUT-CLAFOUTIS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the March, 1999 Gourmet

I’ve made a lot of Thanksgiving dinners over the years, enough to know the importance of pre-planning and not being overly ambitious with the menu—something I’ve struggled with given my weakness for many of the dishes associated with this favorite meal. Practice has made me pretty good on the planning and strategizing end of things—I now know to cook, chop, shred, slice, and purée as much as possible in advance of the big day—but things have proven more challenging when it comes to determining which dishes will be included; I always seem to over-do it. Of course, part of the traditional Thanksgiving experience is having too much to choose from, and therefore too much on your plate, and I’d be the last one to suggest changing that. But each year I feel as though I could have done with maybe one less dish… or two. Certainly it would help where the time and labor is concerned, and maybe I wouldn’t end the day with a stomach ache! So lately I’ve been giving some thought to where I might trim the lineup, and the one area I keep landing on is dessert. Seriously, does anyone really have room for multiple slices of pie after eating several platefuls of turkey, cranberry sauce, and all those sides?

Okay, the answer from some of you may well be a resounding yes! But for others who feel as I do, a bite or two of a pecan or pumpkin something-or-other may well be all you need to cap off the meal. Which brings me to this week’s posting, for pecan shortbread bars. In concept they’re exactly what I want after an overindulgence of turkey—a concentrated shot of chewy, buttery sweetness that’s gone in two big bites. And, of course, for those of you whose cravings veer to the sweet side of the spectrum, there’s nothing to stop you from grabbing a second or a third bar. Which is, in fact, a risk here, since these little treats are kind of like a Thanksgiving candy bar, if such a thing existed. In other words, they have an addictive quality that makes them hard to stop eating.

The recipe involves two relatively simple steps—preparing the shortbread base, and assembling the pecan topping. If you’ve never had the occasion to make shortbread (I hadn’t) it couldn’t be easier and in this case involves nothing more than placing 1½ sticks of chopped butter (cut into ½-inch pieces) in a food processor along with 2 cups of flour, a ½-cup of packed light brown sugar, and a small amount of salt. All of this is whirred together until the mixture begins to form small clumps and then is turned out onto a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan, where it’s pressed down with the help of a spatula (compacting the mixture is key as it gives the shortbread its signature dense quality). This is then slipped into a 350˚ degree oven for about 20 minutes, or until the dough has turned a golden brown. (I ended up giving it an additional five minutes to achieve the desired color.)

While the shortbread is doing its thing in the oven you can address the topping—which is just as simple. There’s the chopping of the nuts in the food processor (a few pulses will do as you want these to be coarsely chopped and not transformed into pecan powder—something that can happen very quickly), and the assembly of the honey/brown sugar mixture, which once baked functions as a chewy vehicle for the nuts. This latter element involves melting the butter in a saucepan, adding the cup of brown sugar, the 1/3-cup honey, and the two tablespoons of heavy cream, then simmering the mixture for a minute until it’s well blended. Once this step is complete, in go those chopped nuts, which are folded into the honey/brown sugar mixture so everything is well coated, with the resulting mixture then spread across the surface of the warm shortbread, using a spoon or spatula to make sure it’s evenly distributed. 20 minutes in a 350˚ oven (the surface should be bubbling) and the confection is ready—though be sure to allow the baked shortbread/pecan mixture an hour to cool completely before slicing it into 24 bars.

I did make one addition to the recipe, in the form of a chocolate drizzle. While the bars are plenty wonderful without it, I figure if I’m going to eat pecans and brown sugar I might as well go for the gusto and do it with a little chocolate. If you feel the same then melt a bar of semi-sweet chocolate in a double boiler (break the bar into small pieces first), stir in a few teaspoons of unsalted butter, and once melted drizzle the results across the surface of the baked pecan mixture. (I drizzled horizontally, starting in one corner of the pan and moving towards the opposite, then doing the same from the other side—an approach that resulted in a nice diamond pattern.) And to make sure the chocolate hardens up sufficiently, once the pan is cool to the touch, place it in the freezer for five minutes or so.

Supposedly the bars will keep for five days at room temperature, though I haven’t put this to the test as mine were gone in just twenty-four hours. Whether you include these in your Thanksgiving dessert lineup, or make them for some other occasion (they’d make a great Christmas cookie) I suspect the same will be true for you. The combination of chewy and crunchy with sweet and a little salty is just too good to resist.

Have a great holiday everyone.

And on a side note, many thanks to all of you for your warm wishes regarding our baby news. Two months and counting!…

Ingredients for the pecan bars:
—8 oz. pecans (about 2 cups; TRG note: I increased this by a ½ cup)
—1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
—1 cup packed light brown sugar
—1/3 cup honey
—2 tbs heavy cream
—3.5 oz. bittersweet chocolate (broken into small pieces), plus 2 tsp unsalted butter (both optional)
—Shortbread base (see ingredients and recipe below)

Ingredients for the shortbread base:
—1½ sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter
—2 cups all-purpose flour
—1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
—1/2 tsp salt

Directions for the pecan bars:
—Preheat oven to 350˚.
—In a food processor coarsely chop pecans.
—In a heavy saucepan melt butter and stir in brown sugar, honey, and cream. Simmer mixture, stirring occasionally, 1 minute, and stir in pecans.
—Pour pecan mixture over hot shortbread (see instructions below) and spread evenly. Bake in middle of oven until bubbling, about 20 minutes.
—Cool completely in pan and cut into 24 bars.
—Bars keep, covered, 5 days at room temperature.
—TRG Note: If you want to add a chocolate drizzle to the bars, melt chocolate and butter in the upper portion of a double boiler. With a teaspoon, drizzle baked and cooled bars with the melted chocolate. Place in freezer for about five minutes for chocolate to harden before proceeding with slicing.

Directions for the shortbread:
—Preheat oven to 350˚.
—Cut butter into ½-inch pieces. In a food processor process all ingredients until mixture begins to form small lumps.
—Sprinkle mixture into a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan and with a metal spatula press evenly onto bottom. Bake shortbread in middle of oven until golden, about 20 minutes.
—While shortbread is baking, prepare topping.

Makes 24 bars

The post 11/20/13 • SHORTBREAD PECAN BARS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Wed., Aug. 21st edition of The New York Times

This past weekend got off to a sweet start with a visit to Briermere Farm in Riverhead, NY, a farm stand on the north fork of Long Island with a well-deserved reputation for turning out some of the East End’s very best pies, as well as for having one of the largest pie selections anywhere. On the day we visited I counted 27 varieties displayed in several large cases, including one case that I estimate to be about 6 feet high and that was filled to the top with different fruit pies. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience of standing in front of that many pies, but it can take your breath away… at least it did me. And, not surprisingly, it also made choosing just one pie a difficult process. So after multiple false starts (and some frustration from the growing line of patrons behind us) we finally decided on two: a strawberry pie, and a raspberry cream variety, and at the last minute threw in a still-warm-from-the-oven blueberry muffin and a cinnamon roll for good measure. But Briermere isn’t just about baked goods—they’re also a farm stand in the classic sense, which this time of year means a bounty of locally grown fruits and vegetables to choose from. So in addition to those pies and other goodies, we left laden down with tomatoes, avocados, nectarines (the best I’ve had all summer!), several types of greens, and two pints of figs that, though small (and, it must be said, probably not local), were perfectly ripe and wonderfully sweet.

Under any circumstances those figs were something I would have had a hard time passing up, though the fact that I was haunted by the fig and almond cake recipe I’d seen in The Times a week earlier meant that I was buying with a definite purpose in mind. In other words, despite having already committed to the purchase of two pies, there would also be a freshly baked cake in our weekend lineup. That’s a lot of dessert even by my glutinous standards, but it proved the perfect antidote to a cloudy Labor Day weekend, when neither the sun, nor the rain, ever actually made much of an appearance.

Aside from the pleasure of cooking with figs at the very height of their season, one of the things that appealed to me most about the Times’ cake recipe (which I’ve reproduced for you here) is that it paired the fruit with a batter infused with freshly ground almonds and almond extract. I’m a fan of almonds in almost any form, but in the context of baking, something truly miraculous happens with them, perfuming the various other ingredients with a whiff of the exotic. That’s certainly the case here, though those freshly ground almonds also lend the cake a rustic, crunchy texture that’s a nice counterpoint to the floral character offered by the extract. And all of those qualities offer the perfect counterpoint to the subtle, yet concentrated flavor of the fruit. As such, it makes for a not-too-sweet cake that works as well at breakfast time as it does for a low-key dessert.

It’s a lovely combination of qualities made even more so by the ease with which the cake is assembled. To start you grind a cup of raw almonds with a ¼ cup of sugar in a food processor until it’s coarse and powdery—sort of the consistency of wet sand. To this you add a ¼ cup of all-purpose flour, and small amounts each of baking powder, cinnamon, and salt. In a separate bowl whisk together three eggs, half a stick of melted butter, 2 tablespoons of honey, and ½ teaspoon of the aforementioned almond extract. Once combined, add this to the almond mixture until just incorporated and pour into a well-buttered pan. All that remains is to stem and slice your figs in half (12 should be sufficient, though if you’re using small sized ones as I did here you’ll need to increase the number to 20 or so), lay them cut side up across the surface of the batter, sprinkle with a few tablespoons of sugar, and slide into a 375˚ oven for thirty minutes. Almost immediately the batter begins to rise around the sliced fruit, with the juice and sugar ultimately combining to create a a shimmering glaze across the golden surface of the finished cake.

As tempting as it is to slice into the cake as soon as it exits the oven, it’s best to allow some time for it to cool down, as it will likely fall apart if you move in too soon. That being said, this is a cake best enjoyed the day it’s made, when the nutty crumb still retains a maximum of moisture. In fact, it’s that damp, grainy texture that’s one of the highlights here. Serve each slice with a dollop of whipped cream if you wish, but in my book this is one of those desserts that’s at its best when allowed to shine all on its own, without any embellishments.

Ingredients:
—4 tbs butter, melted, plus more for greasing pan
—1 cup natural raw almonds (not blanched)
—1/4 cup sugar, plus 2 tbs for sprinkling
—1/4 cup all-purpose flour
—1/2 tsp baking powder
—1/8 tsp cinnamon
—1/8 tsp salt
—3 eggs, beaten
—2 tbs honey
—1/2 tsp almond extract
—12 to 14 ripe figs (more if small)

Special equipment:
—A 9-inch fluted tart pan or pie pan.

Directions:
—Heat oven to 375˚.
—Butter a 9-inch fluted tart pan or pie pan; set aside.
—Put almonds and ¼ cup sugar in a food processor and grind to a coarse powder. Add flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt; pulse to combine.
—In a mixing bowl, whisk together eggs, melted butter, honey, and almond extract. Add almond mixture and beat for a minute until batter is just combined. Pour batter into a pan.
—Remove stem from each fig and cut in half. Arrange fig halves cut-side up over the batter. Sprinkle figs with sugar and bake for 30 minutes, until golden outside and dry at center when probed with a cake tester. Cool before serving.

8 servings

The post 09/03/13 • FIG AND ALMOND CAKE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the July, 2013 Bon Appétit

For a multitude of reasons I won’t bore you with, the last few weeks have slipped into hyper-drive, making it difficult for me to sit down and write a proper posting, much less get home in time to turn on the oven. My hope is that in the coming days there will be some sort of planetary realignment and I’ll begin to see a few rays of light peeking through my over-committed days. Because it sure would be nice to get back to doing some serious cooking! And the good news is that I’m finally off the crutches, which means moving around the kitchen is doable again. In the meantime, please continue to bear with me as I scramble to meet my various deadlines, self-imposed and otherwise. And please know that if I fail to make an appearance now and then (as I did last week… sorry!) it’s not for waning interest or a lack of trying. There just don’t seem to be enough hours in the day at the moment.

In any case, this week I’ve come offering blueberry hand pies, which should make up for any recent lapses in scheduling (not that I’m trying to bribe you or anything). I pulled the recipe from the July issue of Bon Appétit, in part because I was overdue to get my hands into a bowl of blueberries, but also because I found the self-contained nature of this dessert irresistible, much the way I do an empanada. Because of their size and easy to grab nature the magazine suggests these as a kid-friendly dessert, and while I’m sure that’s an accurate description (they’re reminiscent of those Hostess fruit pies I always hoped my mom would slip into my lunchbox and never did), I can’t imagine an adult who wouldn’t be just as delighted by them.

And if that happens to occur at a picnic (for which they’re ideally suited, naturally) all the better. Still, I wouldn’t limit your enjoyment of these little pies to those occasions when you plan to forgo cutlery. In fact, they may even be better when accompanied by a scoop of vanilla ice cream and few spoonfuls of berry sauce (my addition, not the magazine’s). The blueberry sauce can be assembled easily enough by using the same proportions of berries, sugar, lemon zest, and lemon juice listed in the filling recipe, then warming it over medium heat until the berries begin to break down and become syrup-like (about five minutes or so; precise ingredients and instructions are listed below). In addition to looking delectable on the plate, this slight modification also has the benefit of offering a little more fruit and berry syrup to balance out the pastry dough—something I found myself wishing for as I bit into the drier edges of the pie. What’s more, that berry/sugar/lemon combination makes for one of the best blueberry fillings I’ve ever tasted, so if you’re like me you’ll want to make sure you have plenty to go around.

That said, one reason I experienced a berry shortage may have been the fact that I was using particularly large blueberries—a reality that limited the number I could fit into the center of each pie. (Since the recipe calls for folding the pastry dough over the berries, too large a mound can cause the dough to tear—a discovery that caused me to be a little more parsimonious with my berry allocation than I might have been otherwise). So use smaller berries if you can find them and avoid this problem altogether. And one other piece of advice: although the recipe calls for a baking time of between 35 and 40 minutes, I found more like 50 minutes was required to achieve the desired golden brown exterior. That color is key to achieving both the look and consistency critical to this dish’s success, so definitely keep an eye on the oven once you reach the final minutes of baking time.

With or without the sauce and ice cream addition, however, and regardless of the size of berries you use, what you can count on here is a wonderful berry filling infused with lemon, and wrapped by a buttery, flaky crust. In a word: delicious. Who says you can’t grab ahold of summer?

Ingredients for the filling:
—All purpose flour (for dusting)
—2 cups blueberries (about 10 oz)
—1 tsp finely grated lemon zest
—1 tbs fresh lemon juice
—1/4 cup sugar
—1/4 tsp kosher salt
—1 large egg, whisked with 1 tsp water
—1 tbs raw sugar

Directions for the filling:
—Preheat oven to 375˚. Roll out dough on a floured surface to a 15 x 12-inch rectangle. Cut into six rectangles.
—Toss blueberries, lemon zest, lemon juice, sugar, and salt in a medium bowl. Brush edges of rectangles with water; mound some blueberries in center of each. Fold dough over and press edges to seal. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, brush with egg wash, and sprinkle with raw sugar. Cut three to four slits across the tops.
—Bake hand pies, rotating sheet halfway through, until juices are bubbling and pastry is golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes (juices will run onto parchment). (Note from TRG: I found it took an additional ten minutes to achieve the desired golden brown color)
—Transfer to a wire rack. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Ingredients for the crust:
—1½ cups all-purpose flour
—1/2 tsp sugar
—1/4 tsp kosher salt
—1/2 cup (one stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces

Directions for the crust:
—Pulse flour, sugar, and salt in a food processor. Add butter; pulse until the texture of very coarse meal. Add ¼ cup ice water; pulse, adding more water if dry, until dough comes together in clumps.
—Form into a square, wrap in plastic, and chill until firm, about 2 hours.
—Note: Crust can be made 3 days ahead. Keep chilled. Let stand at room temperature 15 minutes before rolling out.

TRG’s Ingredients for berry sauce:
—2 cups blueberries (about 10 oz)
—1 tsp finely grated lemon zest
—1 tbs fresh lemon juice
—1/4 cup sugar
—1/4 tsp kosher salt

TRG’s Directions for berry sauce:
—Toss blueberries, lemon zest, lemon juice, sugar, and salt in a medium bowl.
—Place in a small sauce pan and heat over medium heat, until berries break down and become syrupy, about 5 minutes.

Makes 6

The post 08/06/13 • BLUEBERRY HAND PIES appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the June, 2013 Food & Wine

A few weeks ago I had a misshap while playing tennis: I lunged for a ball, felt a pop in my right calf, fell, and limped off the court trying to convince myself that I’d simply pulled a muscle. But after several days of dragging my leg around like a piece of lumber, I was forced to confront the reality that it was something more serious—an instinct confirmed by several professionals (first a podiatrist, then an orthopedist), both of whom immediately diagnosed the problem as a tear in my Achilles’ tendon. Naturally this has put a major crimp in my summer plans. Aside from the things that must now be eliminated from my activities list (swimming, running, and riding my bike to name a few), what with the ensuing doctors visits, equipment hunting (for crutches and for the Darth Vadar-like boot I’ve been wearing this past week), and all the arrangement-making (phone-calls, paperwork, more paperwork, more phone-calls) associated with the surgery I must now undergo to repair the problem, the news has pretty much sucked up every waking minute. It’s been a frustrating experience to say the least, and although I’m trying not to get dragged down by self-pity (people deal with so much worse, I know), I won’t pretend this hasn’t been a massive headache, or that I’m not dreading the months of healing and physical therapy that lie ahead. But there you go—that’s life. And in the meantime, there are still lots of things to be happy about… like sweet summer peaches for one.

I’m not kidding. A truly sweet, juicy peach is one of the very best things about summer—and also, at least in my experience, one of the most elusive. Which is why when I went to the market in search of the ingredients for those brown butter pistachio financiers I keep mentioning and caught of whiff of the fragrant white peaches piled in the produce section, it prompted an immediate change of plans. (A good peach can do that—and should.) Of course, it didn’t hurt that I also had a recipe for peach olive oil cake that I’d been wanting to try, or that it came from the same individual who’d written that financier recipe I’ve been so obsessed with—namely Kristen Kish, the chef de cuisine at Menton in Boston, and the winner of Top Chef Season 10 (both recipes can be found in the June issue of Food and Wine). In fact the recipe is a riff on the dessert that helped Kish win the cooking competition in the first place, though simplified so the cake is one any home chef can assemble in just thirty minutes or so.

That was certainly one of the appealing things to me about the recipe, which sounded as enticing as it did straightforward. And I was intrigued by its being an olive oil cake, something I’d never made before and that I’d long been curious about—specifically how the earthy quality of the oil merges with the various other ingredients (in this case flour, sugar, and peaches) so that the end result still lands squarely in the dessert category. In fact, as I got busy making the cake and tossed the sliced peaches with their ¼ cup of olive oil (along with some sugar and a small amount of salt), and then whisked the eggs with their 1¼ cups of olive oil (and still more sugar) I began to wonder if this was even a possibility, especially since my samplings of both the peach and the egg mixtures presented a flavor that was decidedly olive oil-like. Maybe once the flour mixture is added to the egg the flavors will balance out, I mused, but no—even in its thicker, more batter-like state, and even after the peaches had also been added, the olive oil was still the dominant flavor.

But with nothing to lose except a half hour of my time and three extraordinary peaches, I proceeded with the recipe anyway, transferring the combined egg, flour, and peach mixture into the prepared pan, and sliding it into a 350˚ oven for 35 minutes or so. Miraculously, however, during its relatively short stay in the oven, the cake not only took on a beautiful golden hue (similar, in fact, to the skin of a ripe peach) but the grassy flavor of the oil disappeared entirely, replaced by the subtly powerful perfume of the fruit—essence of peach, if you will. What’s more, the oil transformed the cake itself into something dense, moist, and pudding-like. In a word, delicious.

Served with a dollop of Greek yogurt (Kirsh suggests sweetened vanilla, but I found the tang of the unsweetened variety to be the perfect accompaniment) and a few additional peach slices tossed with a little sugar and allowed to sit for a few minutes, it’s everything you could ask for in a summertime dessert. But like summer, the pleasures here are ones that must be enjoyed at once, ideally while the cake is still warm. In fact, a return visit to the finished cake the next day revealed it to be a little soggy in spots, and a little dry in others. I’m sure there’s some clichéd metaphor in all this about the importance of enjoying summer while you can. But let’s skip all that and instead just close by saying: Make this cake, and devour it at once!

Ingredients:
—3 ripe peaches, thinly sliced
—1½ cups extra-virgin olive oil
—1 cup plus 2 tbs sugar
—1/2 tsp kosher salt
—3 large eggs
—2 cups all-purpose flour
—1/2 tsp baking powder
—1/2 tsp baking soda
—Sweetened vanilla Greek yogurt or vanilla ice cream, for serving (TRG note: plain, unsweetened Greek yogurt is also excellent, as are some additional macerated peach slices.)

Directions:
—Perheat the oven to 350˚. Line a 9-by-13-inch baking pan with parchment paper and coat with vegetable oil spray.
—In a bowl, toss the peaches with a ¼ cup of the olive oil, ¼ cup plus 2 tbs of the sugar, and the salt. Let stand until juicy, about 15 minutes.
—In a bowl, whisk the eggs, the remaining ¾ cup of sugar and 1¼ cups of olive oil.
—In another bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder, and baking soda. Whisk the dry ingredients into the egg mixture. Fold in the peaches and juices.
—Scrape the batter into the pan; bake for 35 minutes, until golden and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.
—Let cool slightly, then serve with Greek yogurt.

12 servings

The post 06/18/13 • PEACH OLIVE OIL CAKE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the April/May, 2013 Fine Cooking

Ninety-nine postings ago—back when I first started this blog to be precise—I’d often define my vision for the site by jokingly telling friends the one thing it would never include: a scone recipe. (I know; hilarious.) At the time I genuinely felt like scones were overplayed in the U.S. (I still do, actually), which wouldn’t have mattered much except for the fact that I never found them to be particularly pleasant or satisfying either. Maybe I was missing the good butter or clotted cream that traditionally shows up beside them at tea-time in England, or maybe the various examples I’d sampled in recent years were simply poor American imitations of the Scottish standard, but scones always struck me as, well, kind of dry and heavy. In other words, there was a reason they rhymed with stone. All of which makes it a little surprising that in flipping through the April/May issue of Fine Cooking it would be a scone recipe I’d zero in on—and not just zero in on, but keep circling, and returning to. Almost immediately it was a recipe I wanted to try. But I also knew I couldn’t… because I’d already said I never would! And then finally I gave in and decided to eat my words. I’m glad I did.

What I realized as I studied the recipe and the accompanying photos (and by the way, it was definitely not the photos that enticed me; I may be a fan of the occasional recipe in Fine Cooking, but their pictures rarely inspire me to take action) was that I hadn’t always felt this way about scones. In fact, many years ago, while visiting Edinburgh, I had one of those food/travel experiences that stay with you forever and change the way you feel about a particular item—in this case, establishing a scone standard that no subsequent experience ever equaled. And so I kept the memory intact by staying away from the disappointing examples that are now a staple of virtually every American coffee bar (a concept that didn’t even exist when I had my big scone moment in Scotland—which should give you an idea of how long ago it was).

But as I read through the recipe and the brief piece of writing that ran alongside it, I was reminded that dry and heavy are not necessarily qualities that need to be associated with scones. (Certainly, they hadn’t been part of my Edinburgh experience.) In fact, one of the things that jumped out at me about this recipe was the writer’s strategy (or strategies; there are several) for ensuring a light, flaky, buttery result—the intersection between cake and piecrust, as she puts it.)

The first and most critical of these has to do with the heavy cream that’s a standard ingredient in most scone recipes. Here, that cream is whipped into soft peaks prior to being folded into a mixture of the dry ingredients and the butter, a trick that ensures the finished product will be flaky and soft. What’s more, by chilling the mixing bowl and the beaters for 15 minutes or so prior to mixing, the cream is able to stay chilled during whipping, thereby allowing the maximum amount of air to be trapped.

Those two steps alone are probably enough to ensure a better scone than most you’ll find at your local coffee bar, but the tips don’t end there. Of these additional suggestions, some may seem self-evident to anyone who has done some baking (don’t overwork the dough when kneading; use a sharp knife when slicing the uncooked dough), though others were ones that would never have occurred to me. To this last group I include suggestions like using a mixture of honey and sugar (needed to achieve the proper balance between lightness and color—the sugar being lighter than the honey, the honey delivering the all-important golden hue to the cooked dough), and wrapping the just-out-of-the-oven scones in a clean tea towel to trap the steam (which makes them that much more tender). In total, all of these suggestions combine to produce something that is remarkably soft and flaky—still with that signature buttery, floury flavor, but with none of that stick-in-the-back-of-your throat quality that’s so often a part of the scone-eating experience.

Add a handful of currants as I did here (instructions for this and a few other flavor variations are included below) and I’m willing to bet that whatever your present feelings may be about scones, they’ll grow that much stronger after giving these a try. For myself, all I can say is I’m through with sweeping food pronouncements.

Ingredients:
—1 cup plus 2 tsp chilled heavy cream
—2 1/3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour; more as needed
—3 tbs granulated sugar
—1 tbs baking powder (preferably aluminum-free)
—3/8 tsp fine sea salt or table salt
—10 tbs chilled unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch cubes
—1 tbs plus 1 tsp honey
—1 tbs turbinao sugar (such as Sugar in the Raw) or granulated sugar
—Butter, clotted cream, and jam (optional, for serving)

Note: See “variations” below, for optional flavoring ingredients.

Directions:
—Chill a medium metal mixing bowl and the beaters of an electric hand mixer (or the bowl and whisk attachment of a stand mixer) in the refrigerator for at least 15 minutes. (Note: beating the cream in a chilled bowl with chilled mixers help to keep the cream cold so it can trap the maximum amount of air as it’s whipped.)
—Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and heat the oven to 400˚. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
—Beat 1 cup of the cream in the chilled bowl on medium-high speed just until soft peaks form, 1½ to 2½ minutes; refrigerate while you mix the other ingredients.
—In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, and salt. Add the butter and toss with your fingers to coat. Press the butter between your fingers to form very thin flakes, tossing them back in the flour mixture between passes until all of the butter is pressed into dime-size flakes.
—Make a well in the center of the mixture and add the whipped cream and honey. Use a silicone spatula to fold the ingredients together until incorporated.
—Lightly knead the dough in the bowl just until it holds together. Turn it onto a lightly floured counter. Gently knead it a few more times, then transfer it to a 9-inch cake pan lined with plastic wrap and pat it into a flat disk (or shape it by hand on a cutting board into a 9x¾-inch disk). Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 10 minutes.
—If the dough was shaped in a cake pan, invert it onto a cutting board. Remove the plastic.
—With a sharp knife (note: a dull knife will seal the edges and inhibit rising), cut the dough into 8 even wedges. Arrange the wedges 2 inches apart on the baking sheet. Brush the scones with the remaining 2 tsp cream and sprinkle with the turbinado sugar.
—Bake the scones until lightly browned on top, 15 to 20 minutes.
—Spread an unscented, lint-free linen or cotton towel on a large wire rack and put the baked scones on top. Fold the towel over loosely and allow the scones to cool until warm or at room temperature before serving. (Note: wrapping the scones traps the steam, which keeps them soft.)

Note: The scones can be stored in an air-tight container at room temperature for 2 days or frozen for 3 months. Reheat room-temperature scones in a 350˚ oven for 10 minutes. Reheat frozen scones in a 300˚ for 20 minutes. The scones are ready to serve when the outside is crunchy and a wire cake tester inserted in the center feels warm.

Variations:
To make flavored scones, mix any of the following in with the dry ingredients.
—For currant scones, add ½ cup dried currants.
—For cranberry-orange scones, add ¾ cup dried cranberries and 1 tbs finely grated orange zest.
—For lemon-poppy scones, add 1½ tbs poppy seeds and 1 tbs finely grated lemon zest.
—For ginger scones, add 1 tsp powdered ginger, 1 tsp finely grated lemon zest, and 2/3 cup candied ginger cut into 1/8- to ¼-inch pieces.

Makes 8 scones

The post 03/29/13 • CREAM SCONES appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the Sept./Oct., 2012 Fine Cooking

I’ve been waiting months for the right moment to make this cake, and a few days ago the opportunity finally presented itself. Waiting, of course, is a little uncharacteristic for me in matters such as these; when a recipe speaks to me as loudly as this one did, I tend to go directly from page to kitchen (or at least to the market to purchase the necessary ingredients). But this was for a fruit-based cake, and since I know such things have a tendency to turn soggy fast, more mouths than just mine and Alfredo’s would be needed to properly enjoy it—numbers I only recently found myself with. The interesting thing, though, and the point of this preamble, is that I continued to think about the recipe long after I came across it. That’s notable because fruit-based desserts don’t usually have that effect on me. I like them fine (as witnessed by the number presented here over the past year) but they’re not generally the sort of thing to get under my skin. What haunted me about this dessert, though, was the description of its texture: custardy at the base, a layer of light, airy cake floating above. That cakey/custardy combo struck a chord, and though I couldn’t say precisely what or when, it recalled for me a vague memory of the pastries I’d sampled (and marveled over) at my local patisserie many years ago when I was a student in France.

That French connection is no surprise, as it was the experience of biting into a slice of apple cake in a Paris bistro that inspired the writer of the recipe to create it in the first place (the restaurant’s owner refused to share either her own recipe, or the secret for achieving those contrasting layers, leaving him no choice but to figure it out for himself). What is surprising, however, is the force with which that college era memory came rushing back once I read the recipe. And to compound my reaction, the creamy quality described in the text recalled for me another French dessert I have a weakness for, clafoutis—a dessert that’s part custard, part puffy pancake, and wholly delicious. In short, the apple cake was something I had to try.

Like so much of what’s found in Cook’s Illustrated, one of the satisfactions of this recipe—not to mention the accompanying narrative—is the knowledge that the writer left no stone unturned in his effort to deliver a dish that satisfies on every level. That came down to resolving two principal challenges: 1) finding a way to cook the apples so they came off as neither tough nor soggy in the finished product, and 2) unlocking the secret for baking a single layer cake that somehow manages to comprise two distinct textures.

The apple issue he resolved by giving the fruit (peeled, cored, and carved into bite-size slices) a quick spin in the microwave, just long enough for it to become pliable and nearly translucent. According to the recipe this should take about three minutes, though I found four minutes to be more like it. Either way, once the desired degree of doneness has been achieved, the apple slices are given a quick toss with some lemon juice and Calvados (a.k.a. apple brandy), a combination that helps to round out the flavors. This last addition also saves you from having to use a range of apples—something that’s good for taste but which can compound the sogginess issue, as different varieties release varying amounts of moisture.

And the mystery of the dueling textures he sorted out not by creating two different batters (a time consuming process no one would want to take on), but by simply dividing one basic batter into two parts. Once divided he could then add different ingredients to each portion to achieve the desired consistency—extra egg yolks for the custard layer, extra flour for the cakey-er top portion. And as for that base batter, this is nothing more complex than a mixture of dry ingredients (a cup each of flour and granulated sugar, plus a little salt and baking powder) combined with the wet items (an egg, a cup each of vegetable oil and whole milk, plus a teaspoon of vanilla). In other words, simple steps for a complex finish.

Since it’s the custardy bottom layer of the cake that holds the fruit, once the cup of batter has been measured off and set aside, it’s time to beat in the egg yolks and fold in the apple slices. This mixture is then poured into a 9-inch spring form pan (well-coated with vegetable spray to ensure your baked cake won’t cling to the side of the pan) and smoothed with an offset spatula (a standard variety spatula will work fine too, just proceed with caution). Next up is the reserved, flour-enhanced batter, which is poured across the surface of the more custardy variety. And no, you needn’t worry about the two types of batter merging in the pan—obviously you want to be gentle as your spread the second batter across the surface of the first, but the different densities of the two types seems to ensure the layers stay nicely distinct, even in their uncooked state.

All that remains at this point is to sprinkle the surface of the cakey-er layer with a tablespoon of granulated sugar (an addition that ensures the baked top will have a nicely browned and crackly exterior) and to slip it into a 325˚ oven for an hour and fifteen minutes. That may seem an eternity to wait, especially given the rich buttery smells emanating from your kitchen, but gird yourself because once out of the oven, the cake still requires several hours more to cool completely. (Such is the nature of that custard/fruit combo that if sliced too soon the cake risks collapsing into a gloppy mess). Still, the reward for patience here is well worth it: lots of bright apple flavor delivered in a tidy package offering a miraculous combination of textures. And easily achieved too—literally a piece of cake!

One final thought: as I savored the cake on multiple occasions (hey, I’d waited a long time for this) my taste buds kept looking for a hint of almond. Was this simply an echo of yet another dessert I’d sampled years before in France, or was it a flash of inspiration? I can’t say for certain, but what I can say is that the next time I make this cake I’ll be substituting a tablespoon of Amaretto for the Calvados listed in the recipe. Something about the perfume-y flavor of the almond liqueur merging with the mellow sweetness of the apples strikes me as a combo that can’t miss, and it’s one that again has me pacing the kitchen, waiting for my opportunity to strike.

I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Ingredients:
—1½ lbs Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, cut into 8 wedges, and sliced 1/8” thick crosswise
—1 tbs Calvados
—1 tsp lemon juice
—1 cup plus 2 tbs all-purpose flour
—1 cup plus 1 tbs granulated sugar
—2 tsp baking powder
—1/2 tsp salt
—1 large egg plus 2 large egg yolks
—1 cup vegetable oil
—1 cup whole milk
—1 tsp vanilla extract
—Confectioners’ sugar

Directions:
—Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position and heat oven to 325˚. Spray a 9” springform pan with vegetable oil spray. Place prepared pan on rimmed baking sheet lined with aluminum foil. Place apple slices into microwave-safe pie plate, cover, and microwave until apples are pliable and slightly translucent, about 3 minutes. Toss apple slices with Calvados and lemon juice and let cool for 15 minutes.
—Whisk 1 cup flour, 1 cup granulated sugar, baking powder, and salt together in bowl. Whisk egg, oil, milk, and vanilla together in second bowl until smooth. Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients and whisk until just combined. Transfer 1 cup batter to separate bowl and set aside.
—Add egg yolks to remaining batter and whisk to combine. Using spatula, gently fold in cooled apples. Transfer batter to prepared pan; using offset spatula, spread batter evenly to pan edges, gently pressing on apples to create even, compact layer, and smooth surface.
—Whisk remaining 2 tbs flour into reserved batter. Pour over batter in pan and spread evenly to pan edges and smooth surface. Sprinkle remaining 1 tbs granulated sugar evenly over cake.
—Bake until center of cake is set, a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, and top is golden brown, about 1¼ hours. Transfer pan to wire rack; let cool for 5 minutes. Run paring knife around sides of pan and let cool completely, 2 to 3 hours. Dust lightly with confectioners’ sugar, cut into wedges, and serve.

Serves 8 to 10

The post 01/31/13 • APPLE CREAM CAKE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the Dec., 2012 Food and Wine

It’s hard to know how to write about food—holiday food no less—after a week like the one we’ve just witnessed. “Unspeakably tragic” is the phrase I keep hearing in connection with the sickening events that unfolded in Newtown, Conn. last Friday, and while I can fully appreciate that response, “speak” is exactly what we all must do—about the need for gun control, for a better system of dealing with (and identifying) the needs of the mentally ill, not to mention the heartache and confusion an event like this can’t help but bring up in any thinking, feeling person. Still, this isn’t exactly the right forum for a diatribe against government inaction or the power of the NRA (not that I’m at all certain I have anything new to add to the conversation), so for now I’ll just stick with this holiday cookie recipe, in the hopes that making—and eating—them will somehow render everything a little less bleak. That’s a tall order for a little cookie, I realize (and one that’s obviously of no use to those directly affected by the tragedy), but for the rest of us who are simply trying to sort through the powerful and competing emotions brought on by the tragedy, nothing quiets the brain—and its various ancillary parts—quite like some grandmotherly goodness.

And grandmotherly is exactly the word I’d use to describe this week’s posting, though that may well have to do with the German origins of my own maternal grandmother (see last week’s goulash posting ), and with the fact that these spice cookies are a riff on the traditional German holiday treat known as “lebkuchen.” I don’t know that my grandmother actually made these for me (that distinction may have come from other German or Austrian adults I knew growing up, of which there were several), but the yin/yang quality of these sweet and spicy cookies is one I can’t help but credit my Nanna with introducing me to. As has been well covered in these pages, it’s a flavor profile I have a particular weakness for and one that has a lot to do with the powerful pull gingerbread has for me—another holiday favorite with more than a passing similarity (in both texture and flavor) to the spice cookies I bring you here.

That similarity is due in large part to the two signature ingredients featured in both confections—candied (or crystallized) ginger, and molasses. Each is an ingredient I love, particularly when introduced to large quantities of sugar and flour and eggs, as is the case with these cookies. Of course, this being a spice cookie, there is also an array of other components called into play, specifically cinnamon, ground ginger, ground cloves, allspice, and freshly grated nutmeg, all of which coalesce to imbue the finished product with a fragrant, undeniably Christmas-y quality—sweet, to be sure, but never cloying or monotonous, the way (dare I say it) I find so many other holiday cookies to be.

What’s more, this isn’t just some ordinary flour-based cookie, but rather one that begins with almonds, specifically a cup and a half of the blanched variety, toasted for ten minutes in a 350-degree oven, and once cool, coarsely chopped in a food processor. When you’re satisfied that the nuts are of a consistency that will provide some textural interest without calling attention to themselves (i.e. “Big almond chunk here!”) it’s time to introduce the various other ingredients—first the light brown sugar, followed by the finely chopped ginger, the molasses, and a ½ cup of sweet marmalade (these last three items all at once), pulsing the mixture after each addition until everything is well integrated. Next come the eggs (all five of them), another round of pulsing, and then the dry ingredients—previously whisked together and comprising the sifted flour, the baking powder, the salt, and all of those spices mentioned earlier. This too is pulsed with the other ingredients, a process that may make you worry you’re on the verge of burning out the motor on your food processor, since the mixture will now be very thick and heavy. (If you find things aren’t moving properly, shut off the motor and redistribute the contents of the bowl with a wooden spoon before starting up again—something I had to do several times before I was satisfied that everything was fully incorporated).

Up to this point, aside from the chopping of the ginger (a time-consuming process given the sticky nature of this ingredient), none of the above is particularly challenging. That changes once the batter is complete, since instead of proceeding directly to cookie-baking as you will no doubt want to do, the dough must be transferred to a bowl, covered with plastic wrap, and placed in the freezer for a minimum of four hours. Let me repeat that: A MINIMUM OF FOUR HOURS! Now perhaps this won’t prove the challenge for you that it did for me, but it bears emphasizing because it’s an important step—necessary even—since the gloppy, sticky nature of the batter is such that if placed in the oven before having had a chance to harden up sufficiently, the cookies will collapse into a pancake like shape, robbing them of their distinctive cake-like quality. Moreover, they will fail to bake properly, producing a cookie with a slightly raw, uncooked quality. In other words: Yuck!

I am, of course, speaking from experience here, having jumped the gun at the three-hour mark (we had friends over to decorate our Christmas tree, and I wanted to get some cookies on the table). My belief—or hope—was that trimming sixty minutes off the total freezing time couldn’t possibly make that much of a difference. I was wrong; it does. So after an initial misfire I placed the cookie dough back in the freezer for another hour, as directed. Lesson learned (and now shared).

The other directive worth paying attention to is the use of a 2-tablespoon ice cream scoop (the kind used for gelato) when scooping up the batter and transferring it to your cookie sheet. I’ve never owned a proper ice cream scoop, not even the standard size, and figured for this recipe I could make do with a regular old teaspoon. Wrong again. In addition to creating the properly mounded quality you need in order for the baked dough to retain its chewy, cake-like quality, the little clearing mechanism within the scoop helps to get the dough from scoop to sheet with a minimum of meddling—meddling which will also get in the way of your ability to form the proper shape. I came to this realization shortly after my misguided attempt to bake the cookies at the three hour mark, at which point the batter went in to the freezer, and I went to the store to buy an ice cream scoop!

Once those four hours are up, however, the baking is fast enough—just 20 minutes in a 350-degree oven, with the cookie sheets rotated (top to bottom and front to back) halfway through the allotted time. You do want to keep any unused dough in the freezer between batches, and to allow the cookies and the trays time to cool before removing the one from the other, a task I was able to complete after twenty minutes or so (i.e. not completely cool, but cool enough). And generally, three rounds of baking, using two cookie sheets for each batch, will be sufficient to move through all of the batter. So yes, this cookie is a bit of a project, but the good news is that it’s one that doesn’t require constant monitoring or involvement by the chef. And the results are truly wonderful—crisp around the edges, moist and chewy on the inside, and overflowing with the sort of flavors that scream: “It’s Christmas!”

Plus there’s icing! (This part is easy, I promise). For this you simply whisk together a staggering (as in three cups plus two tablespoons) quantity of confectioner’s sugar, a small amount of milk, and three tablespoons of softened, unsalted butter until it’s creamy, then carefully apply two teaspoons or so to the top of each cookie, using the back of your spoon to smooth and spread. Of course, there’s nothing to stop you from layering the icing on a little thicker if you like (you’ll have more enough in your mixing bowl), just beware this stuff is toothache sweet, so a little goes a long way. That said you want to make sure it’s spread thick enough that the golden brown of the cookie cannot be seen through the white of the icing. And there’s one final waiting stage: 30 minutes or so for the icing to harden up (it can be eaten wet, but won’t be as good without that added crunch). All tolled, a lesson in delayed gratification, but one that’s well worth it.

And with that I wish you a fantastic holiday, and best wishes for 2013! I’ll see you all back here the week of Jan 7th.

Ingredients for the cookies:
—1½ cups blanched whole almonds
—2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted
—1¾ tsp baking powder
—2 tsp cinnamon
—1½ tsp ground ginger
—1 tsp ground cloves
—1 tsp ground allspice
—1 tsp fine salt (TRG note: I used standard table salt)
—Pinch freshly grated nutmeg
—1½ cups light brown sugar
—1/2 cup sweet orange marmalade
—1/4 cup finely chopped candied ginger (also known as crystallized ginger)
—1/4 cup unsulfured molasses (not blackstrap)
—5 large eggs

Ingredients for the icing:
—3 cups plus 2 tbs confectioners’ sugar
—1/4 cup whole milk
—3 tbs unsalted butter, softened

Special equipment:
—2 tbs ice-cream scoop (aka a gelato scoop)

Directions:
—Preheat the oven to 350˚. Spread the almonds on a rimmed baking sheet and toast for about 10 minutes, until fragrant and lightly golden. Let cool completely. (Oven can be shut off at this point, reheated prior to step #4.)
—In a medium bowl, whisk the flour with the baking powder, cinnamon, ground ginger, cloves, allspice, salt and nutmeg. Set aside.
—In a food processor, pulse the cooled almonds until coarsely chopped. Add the brown sugar and pulse until incorporated. Add the marmalade, candied ginger, and molasses and pulse until the mixture is well blended and the nuts are finely chopped. Add the eggs all at once and pulse until just incorporated. Add the dry ingredients and pulse until incorporated and the batter is uniform in color. Scrape the batter into a bowl, cover, and place in freezer until very firm, at least 4 hours.
—Preheat the oven to 350˚. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper. Using a 2 tbs ice cream scoop, scoop 8 level mounds on to each baking sheet, about 3 inches apart. Freeze the remaining batter between batches. Bake the cookies in the upper and lower thirds of the oven for about 20 minutes, until risen and slightly firm; shift the pans from top to bottom and front to back halfway through. Transfer the sheets to racks and let the cookies and pans cool completely before removing and placing on another pan to await icing. Repeat with the remaining batter.
—While the final batch of cookies is cooling, in a bowl whisk the confectioners’ sugar with the milk and butter. Ice each cookie with several tsp of icing, using the back of the spoon to spread the icing, and let dry completely before serving or wrapping.

Note: The cookies can be stored between sheets of wax paper in an airtight container for up to 5 days.

Makes about 3 dozen cookies

The post 12/20/12 • HOLIDAY SPICE COOKIES appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen

Although this posting is nominally about banana bread, in a larger sense it’s also about cravings, since that’s the category for me in which this particular item falls. Of course, we all have certain foods we find ourselves yearning for from time-to-time, it’s just that some of us (arrow pointed to self here) seem to have more cravings than others—a list that includes everything from deviled eggs, to spaghetti and meatballs, to really sour pickles. Each of those foods are ones that on occasion have temporarily taken over my life, hijacking a meal or activity in the interest of satisfying some powerful hankering, though currently none seems to exert the pull that banana bread does for me, . . . and not just any banana bread—banana bread with the added element of chocolate chips. Now in general I’m not much focused on the cake/bread confluence in which banana bread resides (though a gingerbread sighting does tend to make me slow down), but all that changes when I find myself in the presence of a baked good featuring anything banana and chocolate. It’s something that occurs with less frequency then you might expect—a good thing for my waistline perhaps, but one that tends to make me that much more susceptible when I do come across the combo.

Still, either out of a lack of imagination or a sense of dietary self-preservation, trying my hand at this favorite item never really occurred to me. That is until a friend came to dinner a while back bearing a loaf of banana bread he’d made at home earlier that day. It was a perfect specimen of the confection, all golden brown and seductively shingled with caramelized banana slices. And though there weren’t any chocolate morsels embedded in its moist interior, what it did have was the unmistakable taste of real banana (not to be confused with the artificial variety found in mass-produced banana flavored baked goods). Even without the chocolate, the bread was compulsively eatable—sweet without being cloying, moist without being soggy, dense without being heavy. In short, it was the consummate banana bread. And as for those chocolate chips, that would be easy enough to introduce once I got my hands on the recipe.

So a few weeks later, with the recipe in my possession (I should have known; it came from that ever reliable resource, America’s Test Kitchen) I assembled the various ingredients and set about making my own version of the bread. And, as is typical with any ATK recipe, I learned a few things along the way: namely, that a very ripe banana (i.e. a heavily speckled or even black one) contains more fructose than the un-ripened variety, which is starchier. In other words, when baking with bananas, ripe equals moist and sweet, while the opposite will deliver something dry and flavorless. Since the goal here is to create something that’s packed with flavor and moisture, you obviously want to use the most heavily speckled fruit you can get your hands on (and if the yellow variety is all you have on-hand, see my tip below for speeding up the ripening process). But since ripe can also mean a soggy final product, the recipe suggests an additional step—namely placing 5 of the recipe’s 6 peeled bananas in a heat proof bowl, covering them with plastic wrap (a few openings made with a sharp knife will allow the steam to escape), and giving the whole thing a 5-minute spin on high power in the microwave.

Once the 5 minutes are up, peel away the cellophane and what you’ll find is perfectly softened banana that’s begun to release some of its liquid. To continue this critical process, transfer the banana to a fine mesh strainer, place it over the same bowl in which you zapped the fruit, and allow the warm banana to drain for another 15 minutes or so, giving it an occasional stir to encourage the release of whatever moisture remains. At the appointed time you should have between a ½ and ¾ cup of juice—in other words, the element that risks making your bread soggy will have been successfully separated from the pulp that delivers the bread’s signature dense crumb and banana flavor. Of course, that juice has lots of flavor too, so rather than just pouring it down the drain, the recipe suggests reducing it over medium-high heat for five minutes or so, a step that serves to further intensify the flavor. This reduced juice is then reintroduced into the banana pulp and pulverized together with the help of a potato masher until it’s relatively smooth and paste-like. Finally, your bananas are ready for baking.

I say “finally” but the truth is that all of these steps are both fast and simple, and the payoff—intense banana flavor held within a cake that is moist but never soggy—is well worth it. What’s more, all that remains after these preparatory steps is to whisk the fruit with the butter (one stick, melted and cooled slightly), the eggs, the light brown sugar, and the vanilla, and then to introduce this mixture into the dry ingredients (the flour, the baking soda, and the salt), stirring until just combined, but with some streaks of flour still remaining in the mixture. At this point you can fold in the ½ cup of toasted and chopped walnuts if you’re using them, or you can do as I did (no big surprise here) and replace them with a ½ cup of bittersweet chocolate morsels. Pour the batter into a loaf pan that’s been coated with nonstick cooking spray, place overlapping banana slices along either side of the loaf’s surface, sprinkle with granulated sugar, and bake in a 350˚ oven until a toothpick inserted in the bread’s center comes out clean (start checking at 55 minutes but it may take up to 20 minutes more—mine did). Once it’s done, the bread should be given 15 minutes or so to cool before being removed from its pan.

Undoubtedly, the addition of those chocolate morsels ratchets up the sweetness quotient here, something that may not be to everyone’s liking. For me, though, it proved the perfect counterpoint to the warm flavor of the banana, while also introducing a pleasing textural component into the finished product (seriously, is there anything better than biting through the wonderful density produced by baked flour, sugar, and eggs only to meet a pocket of soft chocolate?). But even without the chocolate addition this banana bread is the sort of thing you can’t stay away from—something I discovered the first time I sampled it and kept returning for another slice, and then another. If you have a weakness for banana bread of any kind this is the last recipe for it that you’ll ever want.

TRG’s modified ingredients:
—1¾ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
—1 tsp baking soda
—1/2 tsp table salt
—6 large very ripe bananas (about 2¼ lbs), peeled (see notes, below)
—8 tbs (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
—2 large eggs
—3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
—1 tsp vanilla extract
—1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped (optional)
—1/2 cup bittersweet chocolate chips (Note: this is a TRG addition and also optional)
—2 tsp granulated sugar

Note #1: Be sure to use very ripe bananas or the loaf will be bland.

Note #2: This recipe can be made with thawed frozen bananas; since they release a lot of liquid naturally, bypass the microwaving in step 2 and go directly into the fine-mesh strainer. Do not use a frozen banana for the topping in step 4, however, as it will be too soft to slice.

Note #3: If using a slightly larger pan than the one called for in the recipe (like a 9- by 5-inch variety) start checking for doneness five minutes earlier.

Note #4: The loaf can be stored (cool completely first), covered tightly with plastic warp.

TRG note: If you don’t have any ripe bananas on hand try placing the unpeeled bananas on a cookie sheet and place in a 300˚ oven for one hour. Do this only for the bananas being used in the batter, and not the one for the topping.

TRG’s modified directions:
—Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350˚. Spray 8½ by 4½-inch loaf pan with nonstick cooking spray. Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt together in large bowl. Set aside.
—Place 5 bananas in microwave-safe bowl; cover with plastic wrap and cut several steam vents in plastic with paring knife. Microwave on high power until bananas are soft and have released liquid, about 5 minutes. Transfer bananas to a fine-mesh strainer placed over medium bowl and allow to drain for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally (you should have ½ to ¾ cup liquid).
—Transfer liquid to medium saucepan and cook over medium-high heat until reduced to ¼ cup, about 5 minutes. Remove pan from heat, stir reduced liquid into bananas, and mash with potato masher until fairly smooth. Whisk in butter, eggs, brown sugar, and vanilla.
—Pour banana mixture into flour mixture and stir until just combined with some streaks of flour remaining. Gently fold in walnuts and/or chocolate chips, if using. Scrape batter into prepared pan.
—Slice remaining banana diagonally into ¼-inch-thick slices. Shingle banana slices on top of either side of loaf, leaving 1½-inch-wide space down center to ensure even rise. Sprinkle granulated sugar evenly over loaf.
—Bake until toothpick inserted in center of loaf comes out clean, 55 to 75 minutes. Cool bread in pan on wire rack 15 minutes, then remove loaf from pan and continue to cool on wire rack.
—Serve warm or at room temperature.

Makes one 9-inch loaf

The post 11/29/12 • BANANA BREAD UNBOUND appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the Sept., 1997 Gourmet

Several months ago, back when the AC was set to “high” each day and the sun was still out when I’d tuck into dinner, I stumbled across this recipe for a plum and hazelnut torte. It’s a dessert with a decidedly fall flavor, in large part because it calls for Empress plums—which are only available in the very early autumn—but also because it just looks the part. And yet despite the fact that we were in the midst of summer and all of its bright, happy foods, it was a recipe I just couldn’t get out of my head. So even as I was shucking corn or whipping up batches of tomato butter (which I made a lot of this summer; for more on this see quickie recipe at the very bottom of this posting), my mind would momentarily switch over to that nutty brown cake with the glaze of baked plums seemingly smeared across its surface, and with it the cooler season. Such is the power of food, and a good recipe, but then even as a kid in the middle of summer vacation, the smell of a new book could propel me to the start of the coming school year.

The recipe with these transportive powers first appeared in the Sept., 1997 issue of Gourmet, and, based on the many enthusiastic reviews I found posted on various online bulletin boards, it quickly found a following—one that it’s managed to maintain. Having sampled the cake on several occasions myself now, it’s not hard to see why, though I must also acknowledge that it’s a dessert unlikely to suit all tastes (as opposed to something like, say, carrot cake, which has an undeniably broader appeal). For one thing the dessert in question is a torte and not a cake, which at its simplest tends to mean something a little heavier, and a little more rustic, as it often calls for ground nuts or breadcrumbs in lieu of traditional flour. And for another there’s just not all that much sugar involved here (just a single cup, plus whatever the plums bring to the party), so we’re not talking about a super sweet experience. Those factors, plus the presence of sliced fruit instead of icing, can tend to raise objections from your inner eight year-old, no matter how committed you might be to eating healthy.

Which is not to say that this cake is some sort of flourless, joyless, granola-like experience either—far from it. In fact unlike some tortes, there’s plenty of actual flour in the mix here (1¼ cups to be exact), not to mention a quantity of butter, allspice, and vanilla, the latter two ingredients lending the mixture a fragrant, slightly spicy quality—like a gingersnap cookie or a mug of mulled cider. Taken in combination with the cake’s dense nutty crumb (this from ¾ of a cup of lightly toasted hazelnuts that are ground fine in a food processor then mixed with the flour and allspice, along with some salt and baking powder), and you have the sort of comforting, not-too-sweet dessert experience that’s perfect for the snap of an early fall day.

Nor does it hurt that once out of the oven, the cake—all tans and purples by this point—is transformed into something quite magnificent, with the skin of the quartered plums now baked into its surface broken down to such a point they could be mistaken for dollops of some sort of dark jam. In fact, between the sugary glaze of the fruit, and the bronzed crust that surrounds it, the top of the cake recalls the latticework of another, more famous torte—the Linzer—known for its strips of cooked dough framing gobs of raspberry jam. And these visual pleasures only continue once the cake is sliced into, an act that reveals not just the moist nutty interior lurking beneath the crust, but also the smaller bits of plum that have been added to the batter pre-baking, injecting another shot of fall color, not to mention a subtle hit of sweetness, into each forkful and mouthful.

What’s more, none of this is particularly taxing or time-consuming, calling for just a little roasting (the nuts), a little cutting (the plums), and a little mixing (the batter, which is brought together by first whisking the majority of the dry ingredients, then by combining the butter, a portion of the sugar, the eggs, and the vanilla in an electric mixer, and then finally by merging the wet with the dry). At which point half of the plums—the chopped portion (tossed with two tablespoons of sugar, then drained)—are folded into the batter, and the resulting combo is poured into a 9-inch springform pan, which has been generously buttered and floured. Smooth the top, drain the remaining half of the plums (these still in quarters, also sugared and drained as above), and arrange skin sides up on top of the batter. Slip into a 350˚ oven and eighty minutes or so later your cake is done—though cooling time (30 minutes in the pan, followed by however long is needed out of it to bring the cake down to room temperature) must also be factored in.

That said I found the hour and 20 minutes baking time called for by the recipe to be more than needed, and would caution to start checking for doneness 10 or even 15 minutes early, as there’s nothing more disappointing than dried out cake—especially with a nutty variety such as this one. Also, although the recipe doesn’t suggest it, I found a little sweetened whipped cream, and even a light dusting of powdered sugar across the surface of the cake, to be a good addition. It’s just the thing to round out the torte’s nutty, mellow sweetness, and to quiet those little voices that keep screaming for more sugar. But either way, it’s the flavor of the fresh fruit and the just-ground hazelnuts that dominate: just the thing to ease you into fall.

Ingredients:
—1½ lbs Italian prune plums (see note, below)
—1 cup sugar
—3/4 cup hazelnuts
—1¼ cups all-purpose flour
—1½ tsp baking powder
—1/4 tsp salt
—1/2 tsp ground allspice
—1½ sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, softened
—3 large eggs
—1 tsp vanilla

Note: Italian prune plums, also known as Empress Plums, are generally available for a few weeks in the early fall. They’re small and egg-shaped, with a bluish, purple skin.

Directions:
—Preheat oven to 350˚. Butter and flour a 9-inch springform pan.
—Quarter and pit plums. Coarsely chop half of plums and in a bowl toss with 2 tbs sugar. In another bowl combine remaining plums with 2 tbs sugar. On a baking sheet in middle of oven lightly toast hazelnuts until fragrant and insides are golden, 10 to 15 minutes. Cool nuts and grind fine in a food processor.
—In a bowl whisk together hazelnuts, flour, baking powder, salt, and allspice. In a bowl with an electric mixer beat butter and remaining ¾ cup sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating after each addition, and beat in vanilla and flour mixture until batter is just combined.
—Drain chopped plums in a sieve, pressing on fruit, and pat dry with paper towels. Stir plums into batter and spread evenly in pan.
—Drain quartered plums in sieve, pressing on fruit, and arrange, skin sides up, over batter. Bake torte in middle of oven for 1 hour and 20 minutes, or until golden brown and a tester comes out clean (see TRG’s note, below).
—Cool torte in pan on a rack for 30 minutes. Remove side of pan and cool completely.

Note: I found the one hour and 20 minute baking time to be too long, resulting in a cake that was just this side of dry. Somewhere between an hour and ten minutes and an hour and fifteen proved better with my oven, so be sure to keep a close eye on things after the one-hour point.

12 servings

SIMPLE TOMATO BUTTER
A number of you have reached out asking for more information about the tomato butter mentioned above, so here’s the incredibly simple recipe (adapted from the August, 2012 issue of Bon Appétit):
—Broil 1 pint cherry tomatoes until the skins blister and the juices are released.
—Let cool completely (this is very important or the butter won’t have the right consistency).
—Place tomatoes in a food processor with salt to taste, and blitz until coarsely puréed.
—Stir tomato purée into two sticks softened butter.
—Spread onto grilled chicken, steak, or crostini.

The post 10/04/12 • PERFECT PLUM TORTE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.