a little zaftig » Fruit

Baby Barmbracks with Sherry

Laura — Thu, 10 May 2012 02:30:43 +0000

My Honey Girl and I spent the first week of April together in Ireland. Beneath a cornflower blue sky and tucked into the soft Connemara mountains, celadon in sunlight, black in shadow, we settled into the Cashel House where Mrs. McEvilly and her soft-spoken staff surrounded us with their incomparable care, tucking hot water bottles into our beds on chilly evenings and placing our pajamas on top so they were warm, too, bringing us pots of tea and biscuits, and glasses of champagne, and books to read in comfortable chairs before turf fires, poached rhubarb for our morning porridge, and sandwiches and slices of rhubarb tart when we arrived back too late for dinner. Without an itinerary we set about a proper vacation, that is, a week to do nothing but what suited us in the moment and focused primarily on total relaxation. We took out our battered little rental car to wind through Connemara, north and south, east and west, as interest and whim took us, past wooly sheep doused in the pink and blue dyes used in this part of the world since Adam was a boy, past the blooming gorse, brilliant yellow, past men hunched to cut bricks of peat in the ancient bogs, and Irish gardens in bloom: daffodil and tulip, heather and camellia, crocus and rhododendron and azalea, hyacinth, narcissus, agapanthus, vinca and spring gentian. In fact, I felt all week like a flower myself, with my own personal sunshine, my Honey Girl, beside me, waking from the long, grey dream of winter. Through the windshield: the savage beauty of the landscape (curtsy here to Oscar Wilde), the barren loveliness of the Burren, its limestone softened by wildflower, the sea with all its shades of blue, its rock, its draped grass, thatched cottages walled with stone, and the odd shaggy cow. We slept and hiked and lolled and ate and drank until we were so content we couldn’t wish for more—except perhaps that our time together wouldn’t end.

One of our favorite discoveries of the week was a barmbrack we ate at the Burren Perfumery, a charming spot with an herb garden, tea room, still room, and shop where they sell lovely wild-crafted perfumes and body products. Barmbrack is a fruitcake, a keeping cake, perfect with a cup of strong tea. The recipe I developed is a one-bowl stir-up. I soaked raisins and sultanas and currants overnight in black tea and added homemade candied orange peel, big candied cherries, dark muscovado sugar, and sherry the next day. The cake is dense and moist with pops of cherry and sherry against the earthiness of the tea and spice. I made a big batch so I could share some with my pantry exchange group and the rest with family. If you’re not keen on fruitcake, this one might change your mind. I’m most happy that whenever I bake it or eat it, it will return me to the memory of first sharing it with my Honey Girl in the little oasis of our week together.

Baby Barmbracks with Sherry
Yield: ten mini loaves

Ingredients:
1 c. raisins
2 c. golden raisins
1 ½ c. currants
3 c. strong black tea, preferably Irish
1 c. whole candied cherries
½ c. diced candied orange peel
1 ½ c. muscovado sugar (or substitute dark brown sugar + 2 T molasses)
1 ½ c. sugar
1 c. sherry (I love Lustau East India Solera.)
2 eggs
2 ½ c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
2 ½ c. whole wheat pastry flour (or substitute all purpose flour)
½ t. baking soda
1 t. cinnamon
¼ t. ground cloves
½ t. ginger
½ t. freshly ground nutmeg
½ t. salt

Method:

The night before you wish to bake the cakes, in a large mixing bowl, stir together the raisins, golden raisins, currants, and tea. Cover the bowl and refrigerate it overnight.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Add the cherries, orange peel, sugars, sherry, and egg, and mix until well combined.

Place a sieve over the bowl and add the flours, baking soda, spices, and salt. Shake the ingredients through the sieve and stir the batter gently until it is uniformly mixed. Do not overmix.

Place ten mini loaf pans onto a large jellyroll pan and divide the batter evenly into the pans, about one scant cup of batter per pan.

Bake for 30 minutes. Rotate the pan 180 degrees in your oven. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cake comes out clean or nearly clean, about an additional 30 to 35 minutes.

When they have cooled completely, the cakes may be wrapped tightly in cellophane and then aluminum foil and frozen. They will also keep wrapped this way at room temperature for about one week.

Serve with a nice cup of Irish or other good black tea.

Pink Grapefruit Curd with Honey

Laura — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 00:32:52 +0000

This pink grapefruit curd is buttery and silky and pleasantly piquant with a strong note of honey. Eat it smeared on toast, biscuits, or scones; stirred into plain yogurt or oatmeal or porridge; rolled up in a jellyroll or between cake layers; or piped into plain cookies.

Pink Grapefruit Curd with Honey
Yield: 1 ¼ cup

Ingredients:
1 c. freshly squeezed grapefruit juice (from about 2 grapefruits), strained through a fine mesh strainer
1 egg
5 egg yolks
½ c. honey
6 T. unsalted butter
a little pinch of salt

Grapefruit Curd Tips

I am a no-net kind of cook, but if you’re wary of curdling, you may do one of two things: cook the curd over a double boiler set-up over barely simmering water, or fill a sink with ice water and plunge your pan into it and whisk madly until your curd recovers.

The points at which you are most vulnerable to the dreaded curdle are when you add the grapefruit juice and as the cooking process reaches its peak. Be sure not to add the hot grapefruit juice until the butter is fully melted and the mixture is quite hot to the touch. Heating eggs gently in this manner is quite fine, but if you shock them with the hot juice you will be tossing out a pan of scrambled eggs. As you near the end of the cooking time, just stir vigorously.

I do not use a whisk, as I feel it adds too much air to the curd.

Focus your stirring towards the center of the pan, working to the outside occasionally. This will help to prevent curdling and burning.

If you have just a bit or two of solid egg protein, fear not, it will be strained out in the last step.

Method:

In a small pan over medium heat, bring the grapefruit juice to a simmer and reduce it by half.

In a large saucepan over low heat, stir the whole egg, egg yolks, honey, and butter together until the butter has melted.

Slowly add the grapefruit juice, stirring vigorously.

Continue to stir the curd until it thickens and a finger run across your spatula or wooden spoon creates a separation that does not close, about five minutes. The curd will continue to thicken as it cools.

Press the curd through a strainer into a medium bowl. At this point you may divide it into a jar or jars with tight-fitting lids and store it in the refrigerator for a month.

Eat it smeared on toast, biscuits, or scones; stirred into plain yogurt or oatmeal or porridge; rolled up into a jelly roll or bewteen cake layers; or piped into plain cookies.

Apple and Lingonberry Upside Down Coffee Cake

Laura — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 00:22:53 +0000

It’s been a pallid winter. I don’t mind. The fog that’s wrapped the house today is lovely and soft and has lingered nearly ‘til midday. And the mild temperatures have made everything here easier. I can scamper out to the chicken house in my nightgown and bare feet, across the bit of dry land under the eaves of the house and around the corner, when Beatrice is squawking in the middle of the night in alarm and needs a whispered word or two to calm her. I haven’t needed to put on a coat to tend the hens and gather eggs in the morning or to bring them vegetables in the early evening. And it’s nice to spend a bit more time with them, though Florence shrieks if I pop my head into the coop to say ‘hello’ when she’s in her nesting box. Little Annie, our terrier, is happy to romp and sniff in the backyard, oblivious to the hens and their antics. And there’s been little shoveling to do and little ice to melt or remove from the walk up to the house. It feels more like early spring than winter, really. We get a dusting of snow every now and then, lingering for a day on branches, not enough to plow, and the temperature dips just low enough to feel like it’s a proper winter before it climbs back up and the roof begins dripping again. I miss the snow, the bright skies that accompany deep cold. But I can wait for another year.

I have a container of fresh lingonberries and another of crème fraiche in my refrigerator and every morning for the last week, as I spoon some plain yogurt and a spoonful of jam into a bowl for breakfast, I have felt a little niggling guilt about not putting them to good use. So I decided to make them into a tender almond-scented coffee cake. Warm from the oven and flipped onto a plate to reveal tart apples and lingonberries in caramelized sugar, it seems like a nice way to wake up, and my Sweet Boy is home from school today.

Apple and Lingonberry Upside Down Coffee Cake
Yield: one ten-inch cake, eight to ten servings

Ingredients:
2 tart apples (such as Haralson)
½ c. fresh lingonberries (or substitute dried cranberries)
½ c. sugar

5 T. unsalted butter, soft but cool
¾ c. sugar
2 egg yolks (reserve the whites)
1 t. almond extract
½ c. crème fraiche (or substitute sour cream)
¾ c. cake flour
1 t. baking powder
a good pinch of salt
3 egg whites

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Peel the apples, cut them into quarters, cut out the core, and slice them into ¼” slices.

In a large skillet over medium heat, cook the apples, stirring them periodically, until they are soft and the sugar is melted.

Gently stir in the lingonberries or dried cranberries and remove the pan from the heat.

In a large bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the butter and sugar until they are pale and fluffy. This will take several minutes.

Add the egg yolks and mix well.

Add the almond extract and crème fraiche and mix well.

Scatter the salt and the baking powder across the top of the batter and mix well.

Add the flour and mix gently just until incorporated. Do not overmix.

In a medium bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the egg whites until they are glossy and stiff.

Gently fold the egg whites into the batter until they are uniformly incorporated.

Butter a 10” springform pan and pour the apples and lingonberries into it. Spread them into an even layer.

Pour the batter over the fruit and spread it gently and evenly into the pan.

Bake the cake in the lower third of your oven until the center springs back when lightly pressed and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about 35 minutes.

This cake is best served warm. If you wish to serve it later, do not invert it immediately. After it has cooled on the counter, cover it tightly with aluminum foil. When you wish to serve it, remove the foil and warm it in a 350 degree F oven for ten minutes.

To invert the cake, place a serving plate slightly larger than the cake over the top and center the cake. With one quick and sure movement, flip the two so that the plate is upright and the cake pan upside down on top. Release the springform. The cake will drop onto the plate. Then, using a thin spatula, slide the bottom of the cake pan off the fruit topping. Pretty up any fruit that has been dislodged in the process and serve immediately.

Feather Pillow Pancakes with Warm Lingonberries

Laura — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 21:50:58 +0000

My Honey Girl flew back to college tonight. Everywhere now, throughout the house, there are reminders of her, and of our last week together: a scarf hanging to dry after a walk in the snow, boots tossed in the hallway, the last blueberry pancake from our breakfast this morning wrapped in foil in the refrigerator, her gym thingamabob on my key fob, a tin of British baked beans in the pantry which she bought while home and never ate, the smell of her lovely perfume on a scarf she borrowed.

When she was a baby, and my Dear Husband was completing a graduate program in England, I walked with her every day. We didn’t have a car, so I’d take her out in our Emmaljunga buggy, whatever the weather. We’d stroll to the shops–to the butcher or fishmonger, the bakery, or the grocer—for a bit of fresh air and sunlight, or to look at the hoarfrost or the landscape drenched in rain, and on the way I’d talk to her. I’d wonder out loud to that little, smiling face wrapped in a pale blue hood, what would she look like at five, at ten, at fifteen, at twenty? What would she like, and dislike? What would her voice sound like? What would interest her? As I said goodbye to her across the airport security lines, blowing kisses and catching a glance of her face one last time, I realized that this was it, my Honey Girl at twenty. I’d never wondered beyond this age. It seemed so far off, so impossibly distant. And it’s here, so quickly, much too quickly. Here she is, all of those mysterious details filled in. She is such a lovely person.

The transition when she leaves is always difficult; this one especially so. There are mothers who would sing Alleluia when the summer ended and school resumed, who sang the praises of summer camp, and nights with babysitters, and playdates at others’ homes. I never felt that way. I loved having her around—at every age—and her friends, too, their voices, their talk, their laughter filling up the house. It’s hard whenever she leaves because I treasure her so, because we’ve always had such a nice day together—every day, whatever the circumstances or season or age. My Dear Husband says that we’re entering a new phase: the adult friendship stage, one of true independence and an end to active parenting. That sounds nice, I suppose. But I think of it this way: she’s a cooked egg now, and she did such a good job of growing up.

I used to make these pancakes with warm lingonberries when she was a little pip. She and my Sweet Boy would eat them up as quickly as they came off the griddle. In fact, I made pancakes of one variety or another so many mornings together before school that I couldn’t possible count them. I can see them now, toothy grins over the edge of our tall table, my Honey Girl in a printed dress and my Sweet Boy trying to press down a rippling shirt collar, or both of them still in winter pajamas with fuzzy hair.

These pancakes are tender and remarkably light. If you can’t find fresh lingonberries, serve them with maple syrup, fruit preserves, or confectioners’ sugar. And if you want to squeeze making pancakes into a busy morning, mix together the dry ingredients and wet ingredients in separate bowls the night before, and refrigerate the wet ingredients. In the morning, heat up a griddle, stir them together, and fry up the pancakes. These are even easier. The batter can be made the night before, excepting the egg whites, and refrigerated. In the morning, beat and fold in the egg whites. By the time little teeth are brushed and buttons buttoned, you’ll have breakfast nearly ready.

Feather Pillow Pancakes with Warm Lingonberries
Yield: about 20 4-inch pancakes

Ingredients:
½ c. crème fraiche
1 ½ c. buttermilk
2 egg yolks
the zest of an orange and a good squeeze of the juice from each half of the orange
a little dribble of almond extract
1/3 c. unsalted butter, melted
1 t. baking soda
a pinch of salt
1 c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
2 egg whites
butter for the griddle
fresh lingonberries
a bit of sugar for the lingonberries
confectioners’ sugar for dusting the pancakes

Method:

In a large bowl, whisk together the crème fraiche, buttermilk, egg yolks, orange zest, orange juice, and almond extract.

Gently stir in the butter.

Sprinkle the baking soda and the salt evenly across the bowl and stir to combine.

Add the flour and stir until well mixed.

In a medium bowl, or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the egg whites until they are stiff and glossy.

Gently fold them into the batter.

Heat a griddle to 312 degrees F, or until a bit of batter dropped on its buttered surface sizzles gently.

Butter the griddle. (I use a stick of butter and rub the griddle directly with it.)

Spoon ¼ to 1/3 c. of the batter onto the griddle for each pancake.

Fry the pancakes until the edges appear crisp.

Flip them and fry the other side.

In a small pan over low heat, warm the lingonberries with a bit of sugar to taste, perhaps 2 T to ¼ c..

Serve the pancakes with the warm lingonberries and a dusting of confectioners’ sugar.

Five-minute Cranberry Schmutz

Laura — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 15:38:22 +0000

Alongside a Thanksgiving or Christmas turkey or smeared on sandwiches, this five-minute, four-ingredient cranberry schmutz is a little tart, a little sweet, and exactly perfect. I’m putting a little on a pumpkin muffin for breakfast, too. If there were ever a reason to stop sliding that factory cranberry sludge out of a can, this is it.

Five-minute Cranberry Schmutz
Yield: 1 cup

Ingredients:
2 pints fresh cranberries
½ c. sugar
juice of 2 tangerines
1 large cinnamon stick, broken

Method:

In a large pan over medium low heat, stir together the ingredients. Allow them to cook until the cranberries have burst and the sugar has caramelized, about five minutes.

Fish out the cinnamon stick and serve hot, room temperature, or cold.

Seriously Simple Apple Tart with Hot Buttered Rum Raisin Sauce

Laura — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 16:52:58 +0000

Oh my, this is good. Our Honey Girl’s dear friend from college, Vickie, wrote to me to ask if I could suggest a recipe or two to use up apples that she had picked this fall at an orchard. After a little dance of joy around the kitchen, and with a dorm kitchen and limited supplies in mind, this is the recipe I baked up for her. The tart takes all of ten minutes to mix up and requires very little kitchen equipment or finesse. Four diced apples are tossed together in a single bowl with a handful of ingredients to bind them, and there’s no crust to fuss over. The fruit is the star here, so choose tart apples with great flavor. I made the boozy sauce a week later for my book group as an accompaniment. It’s forgiving, equally simple, and seriously delicious. If you’re not up to the tart, make the sauce. And smear it straight from the refrigerator onto scones or French toast, or rewarm it gently to pour over ice cream.

Simple Apple Tart
Yield: one nine-inch tart

Ingredients:
soft butter for the pan

½ c. sugar
½ c. whole wheat pastry flour (or substitute all purpose flour)
½ t. baking powder (skip it if you have to buy it specially)
good pinch of freshly grated nutmeg (optional)
good pinch of ground cloves (optional)
good pinch of salt
1 egg (I use jumbo.)
1 T. spiced or dark rum (or substitute vanilla extract)

4 medium tart apples (such as Haralson), peeled, cored, and diced

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Generously butter a 9″ tart pan (or substitute a pie plate or cake pan).

In a large bowl, stir together all of the ingredients except the apples. The batter will be rather unwieldy, but just give it a good stir until it all comes together.

Add the apples and stir vigorously until the batter loosens and is distributed evenly.

Pour the mixture into the pan and spread it out.

Bake until golden brown, about 30 to 40 minutes.

While it bakes, make the hot buttered rum raisin sauce.

Hot Buttered Rum Raisin Sauce
Yield: enough for the tart, plus a little leftover

Ingredients:
¼ c. spiced or dark rum
1 c. golden or Hunza raisins (or substitute dark raisins)
½ c. salted butter
1 c. sugar
1 c. heavy cream

Method:

In a large saucepan, combine all of the ingredients except the cream.

Bring to a simmer over medium heat, stirring, until the butter is melted and the sugar, dissolved.

Light the sauce aflame in the pan so that the alcohol burns off, if desired.

Cook, stirring, until the sauce begins to caramelize and darken a bit.

Stir in the cream and warm through. If the sauce is a bit thicker than desired, stir in an additional ¼ c. of cream.

Serve the sauce warm. It may be kept covered in the refrigerator and rewarmed gently. Add a bit of cream if it is a bit too thick.

Cranberry Tart with Cognac-soaked Raisins, Tangerine Zest, and Dark Chocolate

Laura — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 14:00:13 +0000

If you, by chance, bought a couple of pints of fresh cranberries too many, or your market still has a stash, this tart is quite simple, and a lovely way to liven up Thanksgiving Day leftovers. Apart from warming some cognac with star anise in which to soak a handful of raisins, all of the ingredients are tossed in a bowl and spooned into a simple and buttery press-in shortbread crust made with ground almonds and whole wheat pastry flour, no blind baking required. It bakes up beautifully, jewel-like, with sharp, sweet, smoky, and tart notes. And it’s kind of a perfect foil for the creamy richness of all that gravy-laden turkey, stuffing, and potatoes. If you like, gild the lily with whipped cream–plain, spiced, or spiked.

Cranberry Tart with Cognac-soaked Raisins, Tangerine Zest, and Dark Chocolate
based on my friend Michele Byfield Angell’s Classic Cranberry and Walnut Tarte
Yield: one nine-inch tart

Ingredients:
1 recipe whole wheat almond shortbread crust (below)
3 T. cognac
1 star anise
1 ½ c. large raisins (I like Thompson or flame.)
2 c. fresh cranberries
the finely grated zest of 2 tangerines
½ c. good quality bittersweet chocolate chunks or chips
1/3 c. dark brown sugar
¼ c. sugar
¼ t. salt
1 t. vanilla extract
unsalted butter to dot the top of the tart, about 2 T.

Method:

Prepare the shortbread crust and press half of it into a 9-inch tart pan. Chill it in the refrigerator while you make the tart filling.

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees F.

In a small saucepan (or in a small bowl in the microwave), warm the cognac with the star anise. Add the raisins and stir them to coat. Allow them to soak up the cognac while you prepare the rest of the tart filling, giving them a stir now and then.

In a large bowl, mix together the cranberries, tangerine zest, chocolate, brown sugar, sugar, salt, and vanilla.

When the raisins have absorbed nearly all the cognac, remove the star anise and stir them into the cranberry mixture.

Pour the filling into the shortbread crust and distribute it evenly. Dot the top of the tart with little cubes or very thin slices of cold butter.

Place the tart pan onto a baking sheet (to catch anything that might bubble over) and bake it for 10 minutes.

Reduce your oven temperature to 350 degrees F and bake it until the shortbread crust is golden brown and the cranberry filling is bubbling, about an additional 30 minutes.

This tart is nice served with whipped cream—plain, spiced, or spiked.

Whole Wheat Almond Shortbread Crust
Yield: enough for two 9-inch tarts, or one tart and a small batch of cookies

Ingredients:
1 c. unsalted butter, softened a bit but still cool
½ c. sugar
½ t. almond extract
1 c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
½ c. whole wheat pastry flour (or substitute all purpose flour if you don’t have it)
½ c. almond flour (or almonds ground finely in a food processor to equal ½ c.)
a pinch of salt

Method:

In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter until it is smooth.

Add the sugar and almond extract and beat to combine. Scrape down the bowl of your mixer.

Add the flours and salt and mix only until incorporated. Do not overmix or your crust will become tough.

Scrape down the mixer and gather the dough. Divide the dough in half. It’s enough for two 9-inch tart shells or one shell and a small batch of cookies.

Press half the dough into the tart pan with your fingers, working it into the corners and up the side of the pan. Trim off any excess dough at the top of the pan with a sharp knife.

To bake the dough into cookies, heat your oven to 350 degrees F. Roll out half the dough to about ¼” thick and cut out shapes with a knife or cookie cutters. Transfer them gently to a baking sheet and bake them until they are pale golden brown at the edges, about 10 to 15 minutes.

English Summer Strawberry Trifle

Laura — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 14:58:16 +0000

When the house is helter-skelter, the list is too long, and my energy is flagging, the best thing I can do for myself is to invite friends for a meal. The cleaning and the cooking have to be done anyhow, I figure, so why not have the happy reward of their company at the end? Step one for a summer supper: make trifle. If you’re unfamiliar with trifle, it’s a quintessentially English dessert: layers of sturdy sponge cake soaked with sherry, lush custard, bright jam, and fresh fruit, all topped with a crown of softly whipped cream. This one is the epitome of an English summer afternoon. In fact, when I moved to England the first time, I arrived at the end of summer, to hot afternoons, sherry in the garden as the sun waned, and strawberries with a pour of cream. I’ve made dozens of trifles, but it’s never occurred to me to translate those afternoons. I’m so happy I finally did.

English Summer Strawberry Trifle
Yield: about 12 servings (plus delicious leftover custard and jam)

One recipe génoise (below)
1/3 c. good sherry
A double recipe of vanilla custard (recipe here)
One recipe of strawberry lemon verbena refrigerator jam with candied lemon slices (recipe here)
Two pounds fresh strawberries, washed, hulled, and sliced
One cup heavy cream, softly whipped with 2 T. sugar

Make the jam first and get it chilling in the refrigerator.

Make the custard and chill it.

Make the sponge cakes and allow them to cool.

Take a little break. Trifle is a bit of a project, but you’ll be so happy you made each element when you’re tucking in later with gusto.

With a long serrated knife, trim the edges from your cakes and slice off a thin layer of the top. This will pretty them up and allow the sherry to soak in.

Place one cake layer in the bottom of your trifle bowl, trimming the cake if necessary to snuggle in nicely.

Pour half of the sherry onto the cake, distributing it evenly.

Spread the cake layer with jam, a fairly generous smear.

Top it with a pour of custard, perhaps about ¼ “ deep.

Top it with half of the strawberries.

Repeat the process once again: cake, sherry, jam, custard, berries.

Cover the trifle with cellophane and keep it in the refrigerator until it is time to serve.

Whip the cream, spoon it over the top, and serve.

Génoise
Adapted from Larousse Gastronomique
Yield: two 8-inch cake layers

Ingredients:
½ c. unsalted butter
8 eggs
1 1/3 c. superfine sugar
¼ t. salt
1 t. vanilla extract
2 ¼ c. all purpose flour

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F and butter two 8-inch cake tins.

In a small saucepan over the lowest possible heat, melt the butter and set it aside.

Bring a large pan or the base of a double boiler filled with water to a simmer over high heat. Lower the heat so that the water is not actively simmering.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, the top of a double boiler, or a medium heatproof bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, salt, and vanilla.

With a glove-style hot pad on one hand, place the bowl over the barely simmering water. If you are using a double boiler, the hot pad is unnecessary.

Whisk the egg mixture vigorously, taking care not to tip the bowl, until it is voluminous, pale, and thick, about 30 minutes. You may need to wrap your whisk handle with a towel or hot pad as it heats up, so keep one nearby.

Wipe the bottom of the bowl with a towel.

If you are using the bowl of an electric mixer, hook it up and continue to beat it using the wire whip.

If you are using a double boiler or other bowl, transfer the egg mixture to a bowl in which you can continue to beat air into it with an electric mixer or handheld mixer.

Beat the egg mixture continuously until it reaches room temperature, about 15 minutes.

Ever so gently, fold in the flour using a spatula.

Pour the tepid butter gently into the side of the bowl, and ever so gently fold it in.

Divide the batter into your cake tins and give the tops a bit of a smooth if necessary.

Bake until they are golden and they spring back when pressed lightly in the center, about 10 to 15 minutes.

Strawberry Lemon Verbena Refrigerator Jam with Candied Lemon Slices

Laura — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 15:23:31 +0000

Yesterday morning I went out to the hen house in my pajamas at six o’clock in the morning to open the door to the coop. Instead of the usual parade, Beatrice emerged first. She needs a minute or two, thank you very much, to sort out this whole business. When you’re second to last to come down the ladder, well, you can take your time. Florence who comes last is happy to have company a little longer before she has to face the whole teeter, crouch, falter, fall, and recover. But when you have Edna, Clementine, and Edith waiting, well, you had better get yourself moving. There was a hubbub in the coop as they waited and then, one by one, four heads popped out around Beatrice, the center of a parti-colored chicken flower. “Go!” they peeped and clucked and nudged, until Beatrice had no choice but to wobble forward. Of course, once Edna and Clementine got out they overtook her, knocking her sideways off the ladder; patience is not one of their strong suits. Edith came behind, sweetly happy to wait for this slow driver. And Florence waited at the top to watch it all unfold, and then a bit longer; no need to rush these things. Morning with the chickens is one of my favorite parts of the day now, a few quiet minutes just watching them and talking to them. Little Annie, our terrier, curls up in the grass under a chair and waits for me until it’s time to head back into the house to start the day properly, to make oatmeal and a pot of coffee for my Dear Husband. Of course, I planned the placement of the hen house so that its entrance is the shortest path possible from the house when it is 30 degrees below zero with a howling wind that’s even colder. That seems a long way off now, though.

Yesterday it was a beastly hot day here, but somehow I couldn’t resist making jam. We cranked up the air conditioning for a couple of hours and made a big batch. In truth, it’s one of the few days it has really felt like summer here this year, so making jam felt like a long overdue ritual. We skipped the hot canning process and just made a refrigerator jam. It will keep for a couple of weeks, but it will be long gone by then at our house. The best part of this recipe is the candied lemon slices. I love candied fruit and make it quite often, but I was quite surprised by it in this jam: not a trace of bittersweetness, just summer sweetness and light. I think it’s cooking with the strawberries and all that sugar. It’s brilliant, really.

Strawberry Lemon Verbena Refrigerator Jam with Candied Lemon Slices
Yield: 2 quarts

Ingredients:
3 lemons, sliced as thinly as possible (lop off and discard the ends)
1 c. sugar
½ c. water
¼ c. fresh lemon juice

3 pounds strawberries, washed, hulled, and sliced
1 c. loosely packed lemon verbena leaves tied with string into a cheesecloth bundle
3 c. sugar

Method:

In a small saucepan, stir together the lemon slices, 1 c. sugar, water, and lemon juice.

Bring it to a simmer over high heat. Then lower the heat and simmer gently until the lemon slices are soft and translucent, about 10 minutes.

Place the strawberries, lemon verbena, 3 c. sugar, the candied lemon slices and all of their cooking liquid in a large pan.

Bring it to a simmer over high heat. Lower the heat and simmer gently, giving the lemon verbena pouch a good bashing with a wooden spoon, and skimming the foam from the top and discarding it.

Cook the jam until the fruit is soft, the liquid syrupy, and a small amount placed a cool saucer gels nicely, about 30 minutes.

Fish out and discard the pouch of lemon verbena. Using a funnel, ladle the jam into clean quart jars and top them tightly with lids.

Allow the jam to come to room temperature. Then store it in the refrigerator. It will keep for a couple of weeks.

Rhubarb Baked Oatmeal

Laura — Thu, 26 May 2011 13:17:39 +0000

It has rained and rained and then rained some more here this spring. So it’s put us in the mood for something warm and comforting for breakfast. I sweetened my version of baked oatmeal with rhubarb sauce, and then a couple of days later with rhubarb conserve, and scattered the top with diced rhubarb, which roasts as the oatmeal bakes up. If you don’t have rhubarb sauce or conserve, substitute an equal amount of sugar or any other sweetener you like.

Rhubarb Baked Oatmeal
Ingredients:
butter for the baking dish
2 c. rolled oats
1 t. baking powder
½ t. salt
½ c. milk
½ c. half and half
1 egg
½ c. rhubarb sauce (recipe here) or substitute rhubarb compote or conserve or an equal amount of sugar
¼ c. melted butter
1 c. diced rhubarb
2 T. sugar

Method:

Generously butter an eight-inch square baking dish and preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Toss the oats, baking powder, and salt together in the baking dish.

In a medium bowl, mix together the milk, half and half, egg, rhubarb sauce, and melted butter until they are well combined.

Pour it over the oats and toss them together.

In a small bowl, toss together the diced rhubarb and sugar.

Scatted the rhubarb over the oats.

Bake until the oatmeal is toasted on top and creamy in the center, about 30 minutes.

Serve warm with a pour of cold cream, half and half, or milk.

One-pot Rhubarb Cordial, Sauce, & Compote

Laura — Tue, 24 May 2011 13:05:44 +0000

I really should have posted this as the three-in-one it is in the first place. So here it is, in all its glorious simplicity. You start with a three and a half pound bouquet of rhubarb. Once you have it diced, 15 minutes of cooking yields three cups cordial, three cups compote, and two cups sauce. Your refrigerator will be stocked for just about any rhubarb dessert you might fancy in the next couple of weeks. And you will find yourself reaching over and over again for these three condiments, bright yet soft, sweet and softly tart.

One-pot Rhubarb Cordial, Sauce, & Compote
Yield: 3 cups cordial, 2 cups sauce, 3 cups compote

Ingredients:
3 ½ pounds rhubarb, diced into ½“ cubes to yield 9 c.
4 ½ c. water
3 c. sugar

Method:

Place the diced rhubarb, water, and sugar in a large pan and bring it to a simmer over high heat, stirring briefly until the sugar is dissolved.

Reduce the heat to low and simmer until the fruit is breaking down and any remaining pieces are very soft, about 15 minutes.

Allow the rhubarb to cool in the pan.

Reserving two cups, strain it over a large bowl or pan. Be gentle here and allow the rhubarb to drain naturally. If you smash or try to rush it, you will end with rhubarb pulp rather than rhubarb compote. Stop the draining process when the rhubarb remaining in the strainer is still appealingly juicy. This is your rhubarb compote. The liquid that has drained is your rhubarb cordial. If you would like an especially clear cordial, strain it again through a jelly bag.

Using an immersion or conventional blender, puree the two cups of rhubarb that you reserved before draining. This is your rhubarb sauce.

Using a funnel, pour the cordial into clean bottles or jars with tight-fitting corks or lids. Spoon the sauce and compote into clean jars with tight-fitting lids. The cordial, sauce, and compote will keep in the refrigerator for about two weeks.