a little zaftig » Kaffeeklatsch

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.

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.

Jacques Torres’ Chocolate Chip Cookies

Laura — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 14:48:14 +0000

Can three weeks really have passed? My goodness. I have been busy building a twenty by eight foot hen house and coop in the backyard, walking several hours a day in preparation for the Susan G. Komen 3-day 60 mile walk, and, well, I’ll spare you the rest of the dizzying list. After I finish painting, hanging window boxes, planting perennials, building and mounting a roof structure, and hauling in another 600 pounds of pea gravel, the hen house will be finished and I will have a lot more time for cooking (and posting). It has been a labor of love and, aside from moments when I’m aching and an unusually stubborn douglas fir board won’t take a nail for all my strength, it has been a pleasure to plan and build. In truth, as it’s come together and I’ve moved my growing hens into it, it’s like the biggest outdoor fishbowl I could have imagined: endlessly entertaining and relaxing. There is now a row of chairs along its front, and in groups of two or three we have taken to wandering out to watch the chickens with morning coffee, afternoon tea, or, recently, one of Jacques Torres’ beautiful big cookies in hand. Beatrice, Clementine, Edna, Edith, and Florence seem to be very happy in their new home. They are grazing and scratching and, with a little coaxing and demonstration, learning to use the ladder up to the coop, and to roost on the bars inside. Edna and Clementine march down first in the morning, surefooted and confident. Edith follows next, a little timid but steady. Then comes Beatrice, careful with each step and rather wobbly. And last is Florence, who inevitably falls off the ladder as she trembles her way down. Sweetest of all is that they know me, something I didn’t expect. They all run over when I enter the house and peep and cluck at my feet, gathering and vying for some time to be petted. “Hello, chickens,” I call as I approach. And they perk up and walk over, some scuttering, others dawdling, all heads bobbing. It’s quite endearing. Eggs or not, I’m hooked.

Amongst all of the hen house work, I have been making quick suppers with our farm share and the herbs from the new garden box my Dear Husband bought for me this spring. They are thriving in the cool, damp weather we’ve had, and I am thrilled. The cornmeal pizzas I made tonight with a quick red sauce, some sausage, and pearls of fresh mozzarella were so much more delicious with handfuls of fresh oregano and basil. I haven’t had much time to bake, but on Fathers’ Day I baked these cookies. I resolved some months ago now to only post original recipes on the blog, but this recipe merits an exception. Leave it to charming and ever cheerful Frenchman and master pastry chef and chocolatier Jacques Torres to create the most heavenly version of the all-American chocolate chip cookie. (I adore Jacques and, to be perfectly cheeky, think that if Fred Rogers and Willy Wonka had a love child, he would be Jacques Torres.) I knew my Dear Husband had printed his recipe for chocolate chip cookies a few years ago and I had stashed it somewhere. A little digging produced the 2008 printout from the New York Times. My body-as-temple mate has one true weakness: a great chocolate chip cookie. So I thought I would try Jacques’ version, if a few years behind schedule. Oh my. Just make them. We’ve made our way through three batches in under a week. And don’t skip the resting step. We rushed into baking a tray of five cookies immediately, and have returned to quiet restraint. This is deferred gratification worth every hour of waiting. I think descriptions will fall short here, so I’ll just say that a kind of magic happens during the resting period. All of that creamy butter absorbs the flours to create a fantastic texture. Jacques’ recipe calls for discs of bittersweet chocolate. We’ve done that: Amen! And also made a version with discs and chips. And a version with both bittersweet and milk chocolate discs of single origin chocolate. All were stellar. But we’ve settled on Jacques’ original suggestion as our favorite. The discs are spendy, but worth a splurge here; if that’s not possible, they are wonderful with plain old chips, too. Bake some and send a love note to Jacques. He’s some kind of genius. I’m off to settle into a chair to watch the hens for a few minutes with one of his homey cookies, a perfect way to enjoy the last minutes of this perfect summer day. I’ll tuck into the cookie, and then tuck the hens snugly into their coop.

Jacques Torres’ Chocolate Chip Cookies
By Jacques Torres, adapted from the New York Times
Yield: 20 5-inch cookies

Ingredients:
1 ¼ c. unsalted butter at room temperature
1 c. plus 2 T. sugar
1 ¼ c. brown sugar
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla extract
1 ¼ t. baking soda
1 ½ t. baking powder
1 ½ t. coarse salt (or half the amount if you only have conventional salt)
2 c. less 2 T. cake flour
1 2/3 c. bread flour
1 pound bittersweet chocolate discs or feves or 1 12 ounce bag of bittersweet chocolate morsels*

*I like Belgian Belcolade chocolate discs or Valrhona chocolate fèves, both available here. Belcolade discs are also sold through King Arthur Flour should you wish to place a baking order, as well.

*Here is a link to Jacques’ site, mrchocolate.com.

Method:

In a large bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and the sugars until they are light and fluffy.

Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well between additions.

Add the vanilla and mix well.

Sprinkle the baking soda, baking powder, and salt across the mixture, distributing them as evenly as possible. Mix them into the dough.

Add the flours and mix slowly until just combined.

Gently stir in the chocolate so as not to break the pieces.

Scrape down the dough neatly down into the mixing bowl and press cellophane directly onto it. Refrigerate the dough for 24 hours.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Scoop the dough into balls just between the size of golf and tennis balls, righting any protruding chocolate discs so that they are horizontal in orientation.

Bake them until they are pale golden brown, about 20 minutes.

Pour a tall glass of milk and enjoy.

Rhubarb Compote-swirl Cornmeal Coffee Cake

Laura — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 16:17:42 +0000

The specter of spring cleaning has filled me with a certain dread this year, but I am coming around slowly and with much coaxing. The days when our home was deeply clean and organized feel like a phantom life to me. I still open closets with expectation, a clear vision of their former lives. But they are now in chaos, crammed and choked full with items jammed and shoved in or tossed on top. There is luggage teetering on top of a pyramid of canning jars in the storage room, and so much dust surrounds the 1990s collection of children’s VHS tapes huddled at the back of our armoire that I cringe at the thought of disturbing any of it, the old cameras, the chintzy mementos, presents bought too early and forgotten. Where did this cast plastic angel—Good Lord!—even come from? I stand akimbo peering into one closet and then the next, not sure whether to throw any energy at all into these lost causes, and entertaining silly fantasies of the Rube Goldberg devices they might make, these helter-skelter and precarious arrangements. I know that as soon as they are gleaming, veritably twinkling with order, grinning back at me in gratitude, someone will upend their organization, and by this time next year, oh the horror. But I am proceeding in the hope that rescuing our home from one year’s worth of shoving is certainly better than two. How did it get so bad? When did we stray so far from a place for everything and everything in its place? I used to deep clean one room per month, such a civilized plan in retrospect. But it feels so far gone now that my Honey Girl, someone who has a rather casual relationship with personal organization, suggested a kind of purging fire would be more manageable and appealing than trying to sort through it all.

It’s my Honey Girl, too, though, there to help. And I’ve realized that sometimes all you need is a helpmeet, someone on the sidelines saying, “So, what’s next on your list?” or, “Yes, donate. No, keep.” Someone who says, “Time for a break!” when you would keep pushing and should stop. Or who chirps, “Almost done!” when you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed. I can hear her, keyboard clicking, as she catalogues old games and DVDs and too-small coats online, and wrapping items sold in brown paper; a tall stack of them waits near the back door now to be mailed off. We’ve made a good team, balancing practicality and emotion. And it’s so effortless with such an aide to move forward when you might otherwise be stalled by memory or doubt: is keeping something because it triggers a memory a good reason to hold onto it, or has the item has so clearly outlived its useful life that it is time to pass it to someone who would find it useful now? I drift off often. But when I am motionless in indecision or dallying or lingering in memory, she stirs me, and I return the favor when she is at a standstill. Together we’re making our way through the house, closet by closet, cabinet by cabinet, room by room, one small decision at a time. When we’re finished, the house will be clean and smiling a house kind of smile. And for those ten minutes I want to eat this coffee cake and relish our work.

This coffee cake is gluten free. There is the little grit of the cornmeal in each bite softened by the lushness of the rhubarb compote, it’s impossibly light from the egg whites, and it is moist with a soft almond note. We have a coffee cake in our repertoire which is stellar, but since our Honey Girl has begun eating gluten free, this was an out-of-the-park first attempt at creating a coffee cake that she can enjoy too. That’s almost as exciting as the prospect of finishing our spring cleaning. Well, maybe not quite.

Rhubarb Compote-swirl Cornmeal Coffee Cake
Yield: one eight-inch square coffee cake; six to eight servings

Ingredients:
½ c. unsalted butter, melted
1 ¼ c. confectioners’ sugar
¾ c. whole blanched almonds
½ t. baking powder
¾ c. cornmeal
6 egg whites
1/3 c. sugar
¾ c. rhubarb compote (recipe here)

Method:

Butter an eight-inch square baking pan and preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the butter.

In the bowl of a food processor, combine the almonds, cornmeal, confectioners’ sugar, and baking powder. Process until the almonds are finely ground, about one minute.

In a medium bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the egg whites until they are quite stiff, about three minutes.

Ever so slowly add the sugar. Beat for one additional minute.

Add the tepid melted butter and beat gently to combine.

Add the almond and cornmeal mixture in two batches and mix gently only until combined. Do not overmix.

Spread the batter in the baking pan, and dollop the rhubarb compote on top. With a spoon, press down through the rhubarb compote gently to swirl it into the batter. Be gentle, as you do not want to deflate the egg whites. It only needs a little coaxing partway down into the batter.

Bake the cake until it is golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean, about 30 to 35 minutes.

Serve warm with more rhubarb compote.

A Banana Bread Spectacular :: From Plain Jane Loaf to Homey Dessert: Banana Bread Sautéed in Clarified Butter with Caramelized Bananas & Flaming Whisky Sauce, Tea Cake with Celtic Crossing Frosting, and More!

Laura — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 22:31:03 +0000

Our Sweet Boy Freddy woke up to a happy surprise. His friend Carly came over to bake with me Sunday morning. Much silliness ensued.

I told my friend William yesterday that I suffer from recipe brain. It’s a blessing, until it isn’t. It wakes me up, keeps me up, and seldom lets me rest. I see images, literally, of recipes, ideas for any ingredient I see, and how to take something I’ve made, a custard or a jam or a loaf of bread, say banana bread, and turn it into something else. So that’s what I’m up to today, sharing some of the thoughts that popped into my head when I used up some overripe bananas with Carly.

I think everyone should have one really good recipe for all of the basics. This banana bread is the best I’ve ever had. I may be a bit biased since it’s my great aunt’s recipe, which I’ve tweaked just a little over the years, but when I made it for a friend some years ago, she hunted all over the Twin Cities for it, thinking it had come from a pastry shop. It’s ultra moist—almost bread pudding-esque—sweet and homey.

This is how I remember my great aunt, whom I called Grandma Sherry: sweet, old school Catholic, the kind of person who dreamed of having a grand stone fireplace and who painted one on the wall of her modest house with little pots of color from the craft store. When she was older and I lived nearby, I used to bring her dinner every afternoon and then we’d have cocoa and a little chat. I learned that she was a feisty, daring young woman—a kind of uber-cool ingénue. She changed her name from Kaye to Sherry because she thought it more sophisticated, dropped out of school, and met her then-boyfriend Mac who worked on the railroad for late-night dates in the city. She’s pictured above on the right with my grandma. And here, the two of them off to my grandma’s wedding in St. Paul.

I like this bread best unadorned with a cold glass of milk. It’s the perfect after school nibble or mid-afternoon pick me up.

But it’s also nice as a simple teacake with a little Celtic Crossing frosting. (We added a few chocolate chips to a couple loaves just for Carly.)

And if the loaf has lasted more than ten minutes, it’s also delicious sliced and toasted with a bit of mascarpone laced with powdered sugar and Celtic Crossing liqueur.

When I’m feeling fancy, I might caramelize some bananas slices, add some whisky and extra butter to the pan and light it ablaze tableside to be spooned over the sautéed slices of bread. (Pyrotechnics not pictured.) A little plain whipped cream or whipped crème fraiche on top would be nice, too. If you refrigerate the banana bread before you make it this way, the contrast of temperatures is appealing, and the bread has an exceptionally creamy texture. Serve with a dram of whisky and toast to Grandma Sherry!

Banana Bread
Yield: two loaves (I like to eat one loaf and pop the other in the freezer so that I can make an impromptu dessert later.)

Ingredients:
¼ c. shortening (Don’t overthink it. Just plop it in.)
½ c. unsweetened applesauce
2 c. sugar
2 eggs
3 c. all purpose flour
1 t. salt
1 t. baking soda
1 c. milk (I use whole milk but any milk you have will work.)
1 t. vinegar
2 t. vanilla extract
3 large overripe bananas, mashed until they are liquid

Method:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Grease and flour two bread pans.

Mash the bananas until they are liquid.

Cream the shortening and the sugar.

Add the applesauce and mix thoroughly.

Add the eggs and mix thoroughly.

Sift the flour, baking soda, and salt.

Add the vinegar to the milk and allow it to sit for a few moments.

Add the dry ingredients alternately with the milk to the batter, mixing gently between additions. I add half the flour, then half the milk, then half the flour, then half the milk.

Add the bananas and the vanilla and mix gently.

Divide the batter evenly into two loaf pans and smooth the tops.

Bake for 40 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out nearly clean. Do not overbake.

Cool in pans for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the breads and remove them from their pans. Finish cooling on a rack. When cool, wrap tightly in cellophane and then foil.

This bread may be stored at room temperature, wrapped well, for several days. It is also delicious served cold from the refrigerator.

The bread may be wrapped in cellophane and then foil and stored in the freezer. Bring to room temperature on the countertop.

Celtic Crossing Cream Cheese Frosting

Ingredients:
8 ounces cream cheese
½ c. unsalted butter, softened
¼ c. Celtic Crossing liqueur
1 1/3 c. powdered sugar

Method:

Mix all ingredients until creamy and smooth.

Sautéed Banana Bread

Ingredients:
1 loaf banana bread, sliced
a knob of butter (or clarified butter if you have some), about 3T.

Method:

In a large sauté pan, melt the butter over medium heat.

Add the banana bread slices in a single layer and fry lightly until golden brown.

Flip the slices and fry the other side until golden brown.

Serve immediately.
This is delicious topped with Sweet Mascarpone with Celtic Crossing Liqueur or with Caramelized Bananas with Flaming Whisky Sauce and Whipped Cream or Whipped Crème Fraiche, all below. If you don’t want to fuss with these, it’s nice with a dusting of powdered sugar. I could go on all day, but let me just add that it’s also wonderful as the basis for bread pudding.

Sweet Mascarpone with Celtic Crossing Liqueur

Ingredients:
8 ounces mascarpone
powdered sugar to taste, about ½ c.
a little dribble of vanilla extract, about 1 t.
a good dribble of Celtic Crossing Liqueur, about 3 T.

Method:

Mix all ingredients until creamy and smooth.

You may substitute any liqueur that appeals to you, of course. A bit of orange zest might also make a nice addition.

Caramelized Bananas with Flaming Whisky Sauce
Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients:
2 bananas, sliced
a good knob of butter, perhaps 3 T.
a generous sprinkle of brown sugar, about ¼ c.
a few glugs of whisky, about ¼ c.

Method:

In a large sauté pan, melt the butter.

Add the banana slices and the sugar.

Cook until the sugar melts and the bananas take on a nice bit of color.

Add the whisky and ignite it. (Be careful!)

Continue to cook after the flames die down until the sauce is a nice syrupy consistency.

A few toasted pecans or walnuts or spiced nuts might make a nice garnish.

Simplest Whipped Cream or Whipped Crème Fraiche

Ingredients:
1 c. cold heavy cream or crème fraiche
sugar to taste, perhaps ¼ c.
a little dribble of vanilla extract, perhaps 1 t.
You may add a dribble of any complimentary liqueur, too.

Method:

Add the cream or crème fraiche, the sugar and the vanilla to a cold metal bowl.

Whip the cream or crème fraiche until soft peaks form.

Homemade Cultured Butter Pressed with a Hand-carved Butter Mold

Laura — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 17:26:26 +0000

My Norwegian grandfather had something of a love affair with butter; he loved a pool in which to cook an egg or some hash, or a thick smear on toast. But mostly, it was his tableside companion at every home-cooked dinner I can remember eating with him, and he was not shy with it. A dinnertime ritual, stick of soft butter at his side, he would take a swipe of butter for his roll, cloverleaf or farmhouse, a drag through the gravy, pheasant or duck, and pop the mouthful into his gob, happy as a lad. He ate the better part of the stick. I always had the chair next to him, and I can remember being acutely aware of the butter, the generous sweep, his mouth full of butter, and another dip, and another, the roll disappearing, and the butter stick a little smaller with every bite. He would have loved this recipe.

I haven’t made butter since I was a schoolgirl, and I can remember the first time I did quite vividly. We shook little jars filled with cream until it separated into butter and buttermilk, and I was spellbound. It’s funny, really, the small moments that we remember. I can tell you the rules around the graham crackers and milk we ate at nursery school, about the details of the first fig cookie I ever ate, too.

I was ordering some cookie molds last month, to use next Christmas, when I saw this butter mold. It was so charming, and brought back memories of the excitement of making that butter. Gene Wilson hand-carves each of his beautiful wooden molds, and they are quite simple to use. I highly recommend them. Their details are lovely.

You could make butter by simply separating cream in a food processor, or even in a jar shaken vigorously. But I decided to try cultured butter after seeing it on the Playing With Fire and Water blog. There are excellent step-by-step photos of the process on Chef Linda’s blog. Cultured butter is made by introducing a culture, here the live culture in buttermilk, and by ripening the cream. Culturing creates a subtle flavor profile which intensifies the taste of the butter and creates a lovely, creamy mouthfeel. As it has a higher percentage of butterfat and no added water, it ideal for pastry such as laminated doughs. Of course, I think it’s ideal on a piece of toast or a stack of hot pancakes, too. I think I’ll make some tomorrow! Mmmm.

Note: These photographs are unaltered. I used Cedar Summit Farms’ incredible cream, and the resulting butter really is this lovely soft yellow.

Cultured Butter
Adapted from the Playing With Fire and Water blog
Yield: about one cup of butter and two cups of buttermilk

Ingredients:
3 c. heavy cream (not ultrapasteurized) (I love Cedar Summit Farms.)
1 c. buttermilk with live cultures

Method:
Day one:

Pour the cream and buttermilk into a medium bowl and cover loosely with a draped piece of aluminum foil.

Let the cream sit at room temperature until thickened, about 12 to 24 hours

Day two:

Cover the bowl tightly with cellophane and refrigerate for 8-12 hours.

Day three:

Chill the bowl and blade of a food processor in the refrigerator for an hour.

In the bowl of a food processor, process the cream until the butter separates from the buttermilk. Pay close attention to the process, and stop as soon as you see the buttermilk separate.

Separate the butter from the buttermilk by pouring it through a fine-mesh strainer placed over a medium bowl.

Fill a large bowl with ice and water.

In a medium bowl, place one cup of ice-cold water and the butter. Press the butter to remove as much buttermilk as possible.

Pour off the milky water and replace it with another cup of ice-cold water.

Continue this process until the butter is creamy and the water is increasingly clear.

Pour off the last of the water.

With a wooden spoon or paddle, work the butter in a folding motion until it is smooth and creamy.

Place the butter on several layers of cheesecloth or an immaculately clean and tightly woven kitchen towel. Press the butter once or twice.

Your butter is ready to be used or molded. It will keep in the refrigerator for about five days.

Butter Mold Tips

To mold the butter in a hand-carved wooden mold, place the mold into the freezer for 30 minutes.

Line a shallow container or a very small bowl with cellophane. I used a glass dessert cup.

Press the butter into the container and press the mold into the butter.

Refrigerate or freeze the butter and mold for about 30 minutes.

Using the point of a sharp knife, pry the mold from the butter.

Remove the butter from the container and pull away the cellophane. You may smooth any rough edges with a knife warmed under hot water.

Fennel & Almond Pound Cake with Sambuca Syrup

Laura — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 20:51:14 +0000

I used to love that little pinch of fennel seed and rainbow-colored licorice candy as I paid the check at our favorite Indian restaurant. Rory Gilmore ruined it for me with her, well, I’ve posted it below for those willing to risk never being able to enjoy his or her little pinch again.
…
From The Gilmore Girls
Mother and daughter Lorelai and Rory Gilmore discuss the progress of Rory’s date…
Lorelai: So the guy’s a dud?
Rory: Trevor’s fine, I’m moronic, I bring the conversation to a crashing halt every time I speak.
Lorelai: Where is he now?
Rory: In the bathroom, probably pondering my brilliant anecdote about urine mints…
Lorelai: What?
Rory: You know, when people go to the bathroom and they don’t wash their hands and they come out and take a mint.
Lorelai: [gasp] Oh my God, I’ve been eating those mints for years!

(See what I mean?)
…
I love all things licorice, so I always looked forward to it. I suppose I could go out and buy myself a box of Good & Plenty, but I never have. And I never buy licorice either, don’t know why. My Dear Husband has a theory about time and place and the pleasure of serendipity. We didn’t grow up in the digital age, so if you missed the A Charlie Brown Christmas because you were naughty or because your mom talked too long at church on Wednesday night (ugh), it was over. Over. You had to wait a year to see it again. Today, you could pull out your DVD copy and watch it any night, and, sadly, it’s not quite as magical anymore for just this reason. Stumble on something, or wait for it, and it’s imbued with a little magic. So, even though I knew that I could always have that little pinch of candy every time we went out for Indian, it was still a taste I had to wait for, and one made special by time and place. My Dear Husband still throws back a handful at the little hostess desk, but I just can’t. (Did you read the scene? You know it’s true.) Well, I was sipping a little glass of sambuca recently, the Italian anise-flavored liqueur, thinking about how madly in love with licorice I really am, when it occurred to me to drown a pound cake in the stuff (not really). The beauty of the Indian candy is the pairing of the fennel seed with the licorice, so I decided to grind some fennel seed for the cake. Ooh, it’s good. (Little dance here.) Now I (and you) can enjoy a slice of this cake, which has its own little bit of magic: dreaming it up, making it myself, and remembering the seven years my now-all-grown-up Honey Girl and I watched Gilmore Girls together.

Pound Cake Tips
This pound cake recipe does not include a leavening agent, such as baking soda or baking powder, which acts to make cakes rise as they bake. Beating air into the butter and sugar creates volume, but it takes time. The butter and sugar will be nearly white when ready and very fluffy. This takes perhaps five to ten minutes depending on the power of your mixer.

Don’t be afraid to really poke this cake all over, and spoon the syrup over it very, very slowly so that it soaks in.

Inexpensive kitchen scales are available now at discount stores such as Target. If you’re on the fence about buying one, take the plunge. Whenever you have the option to weigh your ingredients for baking, your final product will be better. Totally worth the $20.00!

When I use my kitchen scale, I like to place a sheet of waxed paper or parchment paper in the bowl. Lift two or three of the corners and easily transfer ingredients to your mixing bowl. No need to clean up between ingredients in the scale, too.

If you don’t want to bother making the sambuca syrup, just pour two shots of sambuca over each cake. Yummy, too, just a little stronger.

Fennel & Almond Pound Cake with Sambuca Syrup
Yield: two loaves

Ingredients:
1 pound of unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 pound of sugar
2 T. fennel seed, ground finely in a mortar and pestle or in a dedicated spice grinder
1 pound of eggs
a pinch of salt
2 t. almond extract
1 pound of all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Prepare two standard loaf pans by buttering them generously and dusting them with flour. (I use the butter wrappers to grease the pans.)

In an electric mixer, cream the butter, the sugar, and the ground fennel seed on high speed until they are very light and fluffy. Scrape down the bowl frequently.

Add the eggs, one at a time, beating between additions. Scrape down the bowl frequently.

Add the almond extract and mix.

Add the flour and salt and mix gently until it is just incorporated.

Divide the batter into your two pans and bake for 55 minutes, or until a toothpick pressed into the center of a loaf comes out clean.

While the cake bakes, stir up the syrup.

Allow the cakes to cool slightly. Then remove them from their pans by running a knife around the edge and inverting the pan gently into your towel-covered hand. Place the cakes on a cooling rack over waxed paper or a paper bag.

While the cakes are still warm, poke them all over with a toothpick or wooden skewer and pour the syrup slowly over the cakes.

Sambuca Syrup

Ingredients:
¼ c. sugar
¼ c. water
4 shots sambuca

Method:

Bring the sugar and water to a simmer in a small saucepan.

Remove from the heat and stir in the sambuca.

Kouign Amann

Laura — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 22:12:12 +0000

I don’t know whether to write a love poem to the Breton people, to David Lebovitz, or to kouign amann itself. Oh, I love you, all three of you! I have been daydreaming about a homemade kouign amann since I found out this week that a long lost friend from childhood has been living in France for the last 13 years. And then I found, serendipitously, that David Lebovitz, of pastry cheffing blogging book fame, had posted recently about kouign amann and had done the homework on perfecting a home recipe for them. (Curtsy now to David.)

Kouign amann, pronounced quinn ahmahn, means butter cake in the Breton language. It is a laminated dough laced with sugar and baked until it emerges from the oven, gloriously caramelized. If you’ve made Danish pastry, it’s a snap. If you’ve never made a laminated dough before, don’t be intimidated. It’s not difficult, it just requires that you set aside a morning or an afternoon to wait while it rises and rests between turns. And, let’s face it, the messiest attempts at laminated dough are pretty spectacularly delicious. Nom nom. Give it a try.

Kouign Amann Tips
Lamination is a baking term that refers to creating layers of pastry and butter. Butter is enclosed in an envelope of pastry. When the pastry is rolled and folded repeatedly, a process referred to as turns, it creates layers which rise during the baking process. Lamination is used to create puff pastry, Danish pastry, and croissants.

David recommends French butter. I used Plugra European-style butter with happy results. He also recommends adding some additional grains of coarse salt to the butter. It helps to approximate the flavor of Breton salted butter.

To knead dough, grasp the dough with your fist and press it down and away from you with the heel of your hand. Lift the dough and continue this motion, grabbing the dough, and pressing it away from you. The dough will become increasingly smooth and elastic.

David recommends keeping a bench or pastry scraper nearby in case your dough sticks to your countertop as you’re working. A bench scraper is basically the culinary version of a paint scraper. If you have one of those, and it’s immaculately clean, use it here in lieu of a bench scraper.

If you’re looking for a warm place in your home in which to rest dough, consider a closet through which a heating duct runs. A high shelf in such a closet is a very toasty place.

I used a 10-inch springform pan, which I wrapped tightly in aluminum foil. I placed it on a foil-lined baking sheet, as well.

Kouign Amann
From David Lebovitz
Yield: about eight to ten buttery servings

Ingredients:
1 T. dry yeast (not rapid rise)
¾ c. tepid water
2 c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
½ t. salt
1 c. sugar, divided, plus additional for rolling the pastry
½ c. salted European-style butter, such as Plugra, cut into ½ “ pieces and chilled
2 to 3 T. salted European-style butter, melted

Method:

In a medium bowl, stir together the yeast and the water with a pinch of sugar. Let the yeast rest until it blooms and becomes foamy, about 10 minutes.

Slowly add the flour and salt, stirring to combine. You are aiming for a soft dough that is not too sticky. If the dough is quite sticky, add a tablespoon of flour at a time until it is workable.

Dust your countertop lightly with flour and transfer the dough.

Knead the dough until it is smooth, about 3 minutes.

Brush a medium bowl with butter and place the dough in the bowl. Cover it and place it in a warm place for an hour.

Lightly dust your countertop with flour again and roll out the dough into a large rectangle 12” x 18,” short sides to your right and left.

Scatter the slices of butter across the pastry and sprinkle the dough with ¼ c. of the sugar.

Fold the short sides of the pastry in to the center, as you would fold a brochure.

Sprinkle the dough with sugar again and fold it as you would a brochure once again.

Wrap a plate in cellophane and place the dough on it. Refrigerate the pastry for one hour.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and sprinkle your countertop liberally with sugar. Place the dough on the sugar and top it with another ¼ c. of sugar.

Roll it into a large rectangle again.

Fold it as you would a brochure again, in thirds with short ends towards the center, and allow it to rest for another hour in the refrigerator.

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees F (220 degrees C) and brush a 9” pie plate with melted butter.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and roll it into a circle about 9” in diameter.

Use a bench scraper or two spatulas to transfer the dough to the pie plate.

Sprinkle the dough with ¼ c. sugar and 1 T. melted butter.

Bake 40 to 45 minutes, or until the pastry is deep golden brown.

Allow the finished cake to rest briefly. Then run a knife around the edge of the pan and transfer the cake to a cooling rack.

Heart-shaped Jam Doughnuts Rolled in Pink Sugar

Laura — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 02:47:37 +0000

It doesn’t happen to me very often anymore—the last time was a disastrous shepherd’s pie over which we spent half an hour literally doubled over in laughter while making up alternate names for the recipe before we chucked it in the bin and headed to a restaurant for dinner—but I still have flops here and there. I have never made yeast doughnuts before, and perhaps this is what a homemade yeast doughnut is supposed to taste like, but I had higher hopes. When I began making the dough, I was envisioning a pillow of pastry, light and airy and almost weightless, the kind of doughnut that defies the logic of its size. These are dense and a little chewy, somewhere between a deep-fried ciabatta and a Pullman loaf. They taste nice, but they don’t belong in a Krispy Kreme lineup.

I thought these might be sweet for Valentine’s Day, a breakfast-in-bed surprise for someone who loves doughnuts. So I used a small heart-shaped cutter, filled them with good seedless raspberry jam, and rolled them in pink sugar. They are awfully sweet. Serve them warm with a cup of strong coffee or a glass of ice cold milk. And if you give them a whirl with loftier results, send me your tips.

Heart-shaped Jam Doughnuts Rolled in Pink Sugar
Yield: about ten doughnuts

Ingredients:
Ten yeast doughnuts (recipe below) made using a 3-inch heart-shaped cookie cutter
½ c. sugar
3 drops pink food color
6 ounces good seedless raspberry jam (or other jam)

Method:

Place the sugar and pink food color into a kitchen storage bag and massage until the sugar is uniformly pink.

Pour the pink sugar into a bowl and roll the doughnuts in the sugar while they are still warm.

Fill a piping bag fitted with an open tip with the raspberry jam.

Twist the bag tightly at the top and insert the tip into the side of each doughnut. Apply gentle pressure at the twist to pipe jam into the center of each doughnut.

Yeast Doughnuts
From Donuts by Elinor Klivans
Yield: about 10 3-inch doughnuts

Ingredients:
¾ c. whole milk
3 T. unsalted butter
3 ¼ c. all purpose flour
1/3 c. sugar
½ t. salt
1 package (2 ½ t.) rapid rise yeast
2 large eggs
½ t. vanilla extract

Method:

In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the milk and butter and heat, stirring, until the butter is melted and the mixture is hot but not boiling (about 125 degrees on an instant read thermometer). Remove from the heat.

Fit a stand mixer with the paddle attachment. In the mixing bowl, combine 2 ½ c. of the flour, the sugar, salt, and yeast and beat on low speed to mix.

Add the hot milk mixture, raise the speed to medium, and beat until well blended.

Add the eggs and vanilla and beat until fully incorporated, about two minutes.

Add the remaining ¾ c. flour and beat until the dough is well blended and smooth, about one minute longer. The dough will not pull away from the sides of the bowl and will still be somewhat sticky.

Scrape the dough into a large bowl and cover with a clean kitchen towel. Let stand in a warm place until well risen and increased in bulk, about 45 minutes. (It may almost double in size.)

Line a baking sheet with waxed paper or cellophane and brush it with oil. Line a second baking sheet with paper towels.

Turn the dough out onto a generously floured work surface. Using a 3-inch pastry cutter, cut out as many rounds as possible. Use a wide spatula to transfer the doughnuts to the oiled paper. Gather up the scraps and repeat rolling and cutting out doughnuts.

Cover the doughnuts with a clean kitchen towel and let rise for 30 minutes. The doughnuts should look soft and puffy, but will not double in size.

Pour oil to a depth of 2 inches into a deep fryer or deep, heavy sauté pan and heat until the oil reads 360 degrees on a thermometer.

Carefully lower two to five doughnuts into the hot oil and deep fry until dark golden brown in color, about 1 ½ minutes. Turn over and cook until dark golden on the second side, about one minute.

Transfer to the towel-lined baking sheet.

Repeat to fry the remaining doughnuts, allowing the oil to return to temperature between batches.

Bostock

Laura — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 15:58:37 +0000

When my Honey Girl was home for her long winter break, we went to Rustica, our favorite bakery in Minneapolis. If you’re ever in Minnesota, it’s a must-stop, the kind of place that makes you wake up, shake a bit, and utter your equivalent of Jenkies. This is a bakery with some serious magic; the pastry is so good that it could stand toe to toe with many Parisian pâtisseries. I have some vivid taste memories from a trip to Paris last spring, and I don’t think I’m exaggerating. I was at Rustica again tonight, without her and missing her, and remembering the bostock we shared the last time we were there. Since it was a Tuesday, the day they make loaves of brioche, I decided to buy one and to recreate bostock at home. A little chat with the counter girl revealed that Rustica soaks slices of stale brioche in a simple syrup flavored with orange flower water and bakes them, then tops them with frangipane and bakes them a second time. The bostock my Honey Girl and I had was quite dry, in fact it was dry all the way through, drier than a homemade biscotti. We loved dunking it into our coffees, but we mused together that if we ever made our own version at home, we would soak, top, and bake just once in the hopes of a creamy-on-the-inside-toasty-on-the-outside bostock. Straight from the oven this morning, oh my goodness it’s good. The interior is almost custardy and it’s faintly perfumed by the orange flower water and vanilla bean. The golden frangipane is rich. And the brioche, well, what toasts better than butter-rich brioche? Here is my version. I only wish my Honey Girl were here to share it with me.

Bostock Tips
If you would like to make this in the morning, the night before set out a loaf of brioche so that it will become stale. Then make the simple syrup and refrigerate it overnight. In the morning, slice the brioche, make the frangipane, and assemble and bake the bostock. It took me about 25 minutes from start to finish.

Bostock

Ingredients:
1 recipe orange flower water simple syrup (recipe below)
1 recipe frangipane (recipe below)
thick slices of stale brioche, as many as you would like to serve
a little butter for the pan

Method:

Butter a sheet pan and preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Dunk the slices of brioche in the simple syrup and squeeze out the excess.

Spread the brioche with a nice layer of the frangipane.

Bake for about 15 minutes, or until the tops are golden brown.

Serve warm, perhaps with a dusting of powdered sugar and some toasted sliced almonds.

Orange Flower Water Simple Syrup
Yield: enough for perhaps a dozen slices of brioche

Ingredients:
1 c. sugar
1 c. water
a dribble of orange flower water to taste
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

Method:

Bring the water and sugar to a boil, stirring until the sugar is dissolved.

Remove from the heat and add the vanilla bean and the orange flower water.

Cool to room temperature.

The remaining syrup may be stored in the refrigerator. Use it to flavor drinks, perhaps an orange flower water iced tea or a margarita made with orange liqueur, lime juice, the syrup, and tequila.

Frangipane
Yield: enough for perhaps a dozen slices of brioche

Ingredients:
7 ounces fresh, soft almond paste
½ c. unsalted butter, softened
1 t. vanilla extract
1 egg
¼ c. all purpose flour

Method:

Place all of the ingredients into the bowl of a food processor and mix until well combined and smooth.

The remaining frangipane may be stored in the refrigerator. Use it in a tart or Danish pastry.

Sugar Cakes

Laura — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 13:44:24 +0000

I first made these big, delicate sugar cookies for a candidate meet-and-greet a few years ago. The event was a success, but from the cookies’ perspective it was kind of a disaster. My wonderfully feisty friend Bonnie had asked if I would make some cookies for the event, so I made ten kinds. I delivered the cookies early in the day and came back toward the end of the event. There sat the enormous cookie tray, as big as a wagon wheel, virtually untouched. I was happy that the political chatter was so engaging that they had gone unnoticed, but I was a little disappointed for the cookies’ sake. As I began packing them all up, a few people asked about them—first about where I had bought them, and then about how I had gotten them to look so perfect It’s that kind of recipe. And they are rather perfect looking—perfectly round, perfectly puffed and sugared, and pretty in a prim way with their dainty little raisin. Among the ten kinds I made, these were a standout. They are a truly soft sugar cookie, with just a little crackle from their sugar tops, the slightest toasty edge, and a lovely flavor with plenty of vanilla, a hint of bright lemon zest, and rich sour cream. I shared these with my Kaffeeklatch this afterrnoon. Make them, share them—or keep them for yourself—and add them to your list of keepers.

Music for baking sugar cakes
Where the Earth is Round by Minnesota native Ann Reed

Sugar Cakes Tips
Making this recipe has reminded me of an important lesson, namely, the importance of recipe notes. I usually scribble notes whenever I cook or bake so that I’ll remember what I did. I think that since I was in a baking frenzy when I made these the first time, I didn’t make my usual notes, except to dash “delicious and pretty” at the top of the page. The second time around was not quite as perfect. So…I don’t recommend buttering your baking sheets. I believe I used parchment the first time around and I followed the recipe this time. The butter browned and spattered all over many of the cookies. They still taste nice, in fact they have a little brown butter thing going on, but they aren’t very pretty.

I found that there is no need to continue to chill the dough between rolling batches and no need to grease your hands when you roll them.

Sugar Cakes
From Nancy Baggett’s excellent The All American Cookie Book
Yield: two dozen saucer-sized cookies

Ingredients:
3 1/3 c. all purpose flour
½ t. baking soda
½ t. cream of tartar
½ t. salt
1 ¼ c. (2 ½ sticks) unsalted butter, slightly softened
1 2/3 c. sugar
1 ½ t. finely grated lemon zest
2 large eggs
2 ½ t. vanilla extract
1 c. sour cream
3 to 4 T. sugar for topping the cookies
about 20 raisins for topping the cookies

Method:

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt; set aside.

In another large bowl, with an electric mixer on medium speed, beat together the butter, sugar, and lemon zest until light and well blended.

Add the eggs and vanilla and beat until very smooth and fluffy.

Beat in the sour cream, then the dry ingredients, until evenly incorporated. It’s all right if the dough seems too sticky; it will firm up when chilled.

Freeze the dough until thoroughly chilled and firm, and least three hours or overnight. If necessary, allow the dough to warm up slightly before using, but it is easier to work with when very cold.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Grease several baking sheets.

Working with about a third of the dough at a time and keeping the remaining dough chilled, divide into seven or eight portions.

With well greased hands, shape and roll the portions into balls.

Transfer the balls to baking sheets, spacing about three to 3 ¼ inches apart.

Let the balls stand to soften just slightly. Then grease the bottom of a large, flat, wide-bottomed glass with vegetable oil.

Dip the glass bottom into a shallow saucer containing the sugar, shaking off the excess. One at a time, press down on the balls with the glass until they are about three inches in diameter, dipping into the sugar before flattening each cookie. (If necessary, wipe buildup from the glass bottom, oil again, dip into the sugar, and continue.)

Press a raisin into the center of each cookie.

Bake the cookies one sheet at a time, in the upper third of the oven for eight to 11 minutes, until just tinged with brown at the edges and barely firm in the centers; for very moist cookies, be careful not to overbake.

Reverse the sheet from front to back halfway through baking to ensure even browning.

Transfer the sheet to a wire rack and let stand until the cookies firm up slightly, one to two minutes.

Using a spatula, transfer the cookies to a wire racks. Let stand until completely cooled.

Store in an airtight container for up to one week or freeze for up to one month.