a little zaftig » Recipes for Easter

Maple Pudding Cakes (Pouding Chomeur) + Sugarbush Spring

Laura — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 19:44:52 +0000

Spring came in with such a rush this year. By mid-March—mid-March!—the snow had receded, the grass greened, the buds burst, the crocuses bloomed, and people were out swilling cold beer on patios, the smell of charcoal grills in the air. A week later now, the ice on Lake Minnetonka has gone out, the first vinca bloom has appeared, and bleeding hearts and sedum and hyacinth are up from the ground. We are known to have snowfall in late April and even early May here.

I find myself in the market feeling like something of a lost child. I should be making all the dishes in my head: a pork loin roast rubbed with juniper and ginger and stuffed with prunes, a choucroute garnie with the last of the sauerkraut in my refrigerator, or an enormous cassoulet, bubbling in the oven with a hairy piece of pig skin, magret de canard, thick tight-skinned sausages, and white beans. But it’s been 80 degrees, and humid to boot. I’m not ready for salads. It’s too early even for asparagus, and I don’t want the Mexican asparagus they have displayed like daffodils anyway. I stand amid the produce so long, looking charily, that eventually my Sweet Boy asks me what I’m doing. I have cooking cognitive dissonance.

But there are signs of our old winter, of winter’s routine here. The earth is holding back a full bouquet of spring shoots and flowers, and, until yesterday, the trees were waiting, too. And last week the taps began to appear on the maple trees as we drove through neighboring towns. The sap is running and soon people will be boiling down in their sugar shacks and on backyard fires, and about a month from now the year’s new maple syrup will be ready.

One of those neighbors is Marsha Wilson Chall, in theory anyway. We haven’t met, but I know we live in the same town, and according to the dust jacket of her storybook, Sugarbush Spring, she grew up keeping this tradition. The book is a lovely way to connect with the rituals of sugaring: the snowy woods, the perfume of the fire and its wood smoke and the sugared steam of the syrupping pan, the first syrup poured into the snow and eaten as sweet streams of maple candy, the long hours tending the fire, the woolen filtering stockings, the glow of the first jars filled. If you have a maple tree, you can make your own maple syrup at home, too. Taps are inexpensive, if you don’t go in for the whole kit, and available at the charming Egg Plant Urban Farm Supply store, if you live within driving distance of St. Paul, Minnesota. Or you can order online here. You may read more about the process of maple sugaring in my article for Honest Cooking here.

Maple pudding cake, or pouding chômeur, was originally a poor man’s dessert, first made in Canada during the Depression era with brown sugar and water, but it has evolved to ubiquitously include pure maple syrup, thus upending its humble roots. It’s still a homey dessert, but one that’s rather dear. I bake my nutmeg- and vanilla-scented cakes in a bath of maple syrup and heavy cream and finish them in a hot oven until they are bubbling and caramelized. They’re a nice way to make a bridge at the table from winter to spring. And a cure, for now, for my cognitive dissonance.

Maple Pudding Cakes (Pouding Chômeur)
Yield: 4 servings (or more if you’re willing to share)

Ingredients:
½ c. unsalted butter, softened but still cool
½ t. freshly grated nutmeg
1/3 c. sugar
1 egg plus 1 egg yolk
½ t. vanilla extract
another pinch of salt
½ t. baking powder
1 c. cake flour
…
1 c. pure maple syrup (Don’t substitute the fake stuff here.)
¾ c. heavy cream (Cedar Summit Farms’ is fantastic if you live locally.)
pinch of salt
…
a spoonful of unsweetened softly whipped cream or crème fraiche or sour cream for serving, if you wish

Method:

Make sure your oven is free from drips and char from past baking and wipe it out if necessary. This recipe finishes at a high temperature, and your oven will smoke if it is not clean. Place a rack in the upper third of the oven and preheat it to 400 degrees F.

In a large bowl, or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the butter and sugar and grated nutmeg until they are well combined and smooth. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

Add the egg and egg yolk and vanilla and beat to combine. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

Scatter the pinch of salt, and the baking powder evenly over the butter mixture and beat to combine.

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

Divide the dough into four even portions and pat them into four buttered ramekins (or into a buttered small glass or cast iron baking pan about 8 inches in diameter).

Place the ramekins onto a baking sheet.

In a large bowl, whisk together the maple syrup, cream, and pinch of salt until they are combined.

Pour ½ c. of the maple cream into each ramekin (or pour all of it into the baking dish).

Bake the cakes until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean, about 20 to 25 minutes. (I rotate the pan halfway through baking for more even results.)

Increase the heat to 450 degrees and bake the cakes until the maple tops are caramelized, about an additional five minutes.

Serve hot with a spoonful of unsweetened softly whipped cream, crème fraiche, or sour cream, if you wish. The pudding cakes are also delicious unadorned.

If you wish to make the cakes ahead of serving, don’t caramelize them. You may keep them at room temperature for about an hour or so and then finish them in the oven at 450 degrees.

Italian Cream Cake

Laura — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 00:09:02 +0000

Work is so engrossing for me that, when my Sweet Boy is away, I often realize I am sitting in total darkness, the sun has set, the black sky has swallowed up the day, and the moon has appeared out my window. The television set in my neighbor’s window flickers across the way and lights up the bare branches as they sway in the wind. It’s time to cobble together a dinner for one, tonight tuna with olive oil and mayonnaise, picholine and nicoise olives, little cubes of feta, whole pink peppercorns, thyme, and a little lemon zest. And then to bake a cake, for when the house is full and lively again.

This cake has made so many appearances at our table in the last 14 years since I first made it that I couldn’t count them. My friend Diane made it for my 30^th birthday party and shared her recipe, but it always brings to mind my Honey Girl now, who loves it best. And since I’m missing her and anticipating our quiet week together in Ireland, I’ve been thinking about it, and about her smiling face across the table, at all of her ages, eating it, with and without front teeth. This is for you, my Honey Girl.

Italian Cream Cake
Yield: one three-layer 8-inch cake, about ten to twelve servings
From Dianne Libero, Tokyo, 1998

Ingredients:
1 c. buttermilk
1 t. baking soda
5 eggs, separated
½ c. unsalted butter
2 c. sugar
½ c. shortening
2 c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
1 t. vanilla extract
7 oz. angel flake coconut
1 c. pecans, chopped (optional)
additional coconut or white chocolate shavings or whole pecans for garnish (optional)

Method:

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Lightly butter and flour three 8” cake pans.

Mix the buttermilk and the baking soda in a small bowl and set it aside.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff and glossy and set them aside.

In another large bowl, cream the butter, shortening, and sugar.

Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating each thoroughly.

To the butter and sugar, add the flour and the buttermilk alternatively, mixing gently.

Add the vanilla, the coconut, and the pecans if you are using them.

Fold the egg whites in gently with a spatula as not to deflate them.

Divide the batter evenly between the three cake pans and smooth the tops.

Bake until the cakes are golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out nearly clean, about 35 minutes. I rotate the position of the cakes halfway through baking so that they bake evenly. This cake is incredibly tender and moist, a real charmer, when it’s perfectly baked, so don’t wait for a perfectly clean toothpick. You don’t want wet batter, but don’t be afraid of a few moist crumbs clinging.

When the cakes are cool, make the frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting

Ingredients:
12 oz. cream cheese at room temperature
¾ c. unsalted butter at room temperature
1 ½ pounds confectioner’s sugar, sifted or whisked to remove any lumps
1 ½ T. vanilla

Method:

Beat all of the ingredients together until smooth and creamy.

To frost the cake, place a dab of frosting on a cake plate and place the first cake layer on top, flattest side up.

Smear about ½ c. of frosting on the layer and spread it evenly. An offset spatula works best here, though any knife will do.

Continue stacking and frosting the next two layers, always placing the flattest side of the cake up.

When your stack is finished, put a very thin layer of frosting on the top and sides of the cake and place the cake in the refrigerator for 15 minutes. Keep the remaining frosting at room temperature.

Remove the cake from the refrigerator and frost the sides generously.

You may cover the cake with coconut or with shavings of white chocolate or stud it with whole pecans if you wish. A combination is also nice.

The cake should be refrigerated. You may bring it towards room temperature before serving if you wish, but don’t let it sit out too long. It cuts best if it’s cool.

Braised Lamb Shanks

Laura — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 00:16:43 +0000

My grandma was a letter writer. I have sheaves of her letters, all typed and on thin, pale green paper. They detail the buses she took, and in what weather, to the bank, to Mass, to help with the church rummage sale; the breakfasts and lunches and dinners she ate—toast with butter or peanut butter, an egg over easy, a half sandwich, coffee with sugar. I can see her at her desk in my grandparents’ little den, typing quickly and with erect posture, slipping in a piece of correction paper for a letter mistyped, sipping weak coffee from a Corian cup. It seemed natural to me, then, to begin writing letters when I was 18 and starting college. I wrote to my extended family here and there, and then, with some gusto, to my husband’s after we met and married, to friends, and then to my daughter when she went away some eleven hundred miles to college. In the years we lived in England and Japan there were sometimes pages and pages, unopened and sitting on the coffee table when I visited my parents-in-law months later. I didn’t mind. I was happy to record those details, to remember, and to send them off. And sometimes, over years collected in order and tucked away, the letters have become such a lovely record. I have a friendship in letters with my dear friend Susie, another letter writer. We lived in the same building in England for four short months, but we’ve written to each other for twenty-five years. In our house, now, I have a file of my grandma’s letters, and one for Susie’s, lined up like paper soldiers, and a box of all the correspondence between me and my husband—from the first birthday cards we exchanged 27 years ago to long letters written while we were apart: funny, romantic, newsy, the details long forgotten until I open one and am surprised by them and by our youth. And last year my Honey Girl published a book of the letters I wrote to her during her first year of college, more than 200 pages of long-distance love, equally surprising in its bound state. I started this blog as a kind of letter, too.

It occurs to me that letter writing is an old fashioned thing now. I suppose my style of cooking is, too. These lamb shanks are in our regular rotation and one of my favorite things to cook and eat, but it seems they have gone out of fashion, despite the seeming trend in countrified food styling and farmer-centric cooking. When I made these most recently, I had to go to three butchers to gather five shanks. “No one buys them anymore,” all three butchers told me with varying degrees of sadness. If you have never braised lamb shanks, bookmark this and drive wherever you need to to procure some. They are some of the best eating, relatively simple to cook, impossible to spoil, cook largely unattended until you are ready for them, and reheat beautifully.

Because I’m loath to interrupt my life for the blog, I don’t often post savory recipes. Once dinner is ready, I don’t want to wait to share it. I can’t imagine puttering around while the food gets cold. Cooking, for me, is an act of service. It’s pleasurable, sure, but in the end it’s about the people I love. And food photography is a tinkery little beast—a quarter inch here, a quarter inch there—and I don’t have a permanent set-up. I lug a little table in from the backyard, wipe off the snow or rain or dust, and pull out my tripod and camera and mat boards from the office whenever I want to photograph something. I can make breakfast while my family are sleeping or fry up a handful of pancakes after we’re done eating together. And I can bake up a dessert while everyone is away at work and at school or in the evening while homework is tended to. A stack of crispy French toast or a coffee cake already photographed and ready as you walk in the door after school? Well, that’s usually greeted with a certain amount of glee. And I never have to delay shared pleasure for the tedium of photography. So I feel I should offer a little apology to this lamb, which is so poorly represented by these photographs, and to you. These shanks are beautiful when they emerge from the oven. But I ate most of my shank and what remained sat, lonesome in the pot, until I photographed it today. All of the gorgeous brown bits of meat have been picked off and eaten greedily. It looks rather sad today. So imagine a lovely, browned shank with lots of tender meat. In short, don’t let these photographs put you off the dish. Like old letters, it’s a keeper.

Braised Lamb Shanks
Yield: 5 generous servings if you serve the shanks whole, or about 8 servings if you separate meat from bone and serve the dish as a soup; both are equally nice, though the soup makes for a more casual meal

Ingredients:
5 lamb shanks*
3 medium fennel bulbs, diced
4 medium carrots, peeled and diced
2 medium leeks, white and pale green parts diced and rinsed thoroughly
5 large cloves of garlic, minced
2 medium fresh tomatoes (in late summer) or 14 ounces drained whole plum tomatoes, seeded, and diced
28 ounces great northern beans, drained and rinsed or 2 c. dried beans soaked overnight in cold water and drained
6 c. chicken stock (homemade or Swanson’s organic)
salt and pepper

*If you can find pasture-raised lamb, it’s worth the price.

Method:

Preheat your oven to 300 degrees F.

Dry the lamb shanks well and season them fairly generously with salt and pepper on all sides.

Heat a large enameled cast iron pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat.

When it is hot, drizzle in a bit of olive oil.

Place the lamb shanks into the pan and allow them to sear and brown. If they do not fit without crowding, you will need to sear them in batches. Do not crowd the pan. Do not disturb them or be tempted to peek at them as they brown. They will pull away easily when they are ready.

Rotate the shanks, allowing them to brown well before turning again, until all sides are nicely seared and deep brown. This will take about 30 minutes. Time invested in browning enriches the broth and adds tremendous flavor.

Remove the shanks from the pan and place them on a large dinner plate. Allow them to rest at room temperature.

Pour off almost all of the rendered fat from the pan.

Add the fennel, carrot, and leek and season them with a bit of salt and pepper. Saute the vegetables, stirring them occasionally, until the fennel has given off some liquid and the liquid has evaporated, and until the vegetables are beginning to soften and take on a bit of color. As they sauté use a wooden spoon to scrape the browned bits from the bottom and sides of the pan.

Add the garlic and stir for one minute.

Add the tomatoes and beans and stir them into the pot.

Nestle the lamb shanks into the vegetables. This works best if they are placed in a tight row with the narrowest side up.

Cover the shanks with stock. It’s okay if a couple of inches of meat remain above the line of the stock. Season the stock with a bit of salt and pepper and cover the pot.

Allow the stock to come to a simmer.

Transfer the covered pot to your oven. Braise the lamb shanks in the oven until the meat is extremely tender and pulls easily or falls from the bone, about two hours.

Taste the stock and adjust the seasoning, if necessary.

At this point you may either serve the lamb shanks whole or as a soup.

To serve the shanks whole, place a shank on a soup plate for each diner and ladle over some of the stock, beans, and vegetables. To serve as a soup, allow the dish to cool a bit until you are able to handle the meat without getting burned. Transfer each lamb shank to a large cutting board; one with a well at its edges is most convenient for this task. Pull the meat from the bone, pull away any sinew and fat, and cut or pull the meat into smaller pieces. Transfer the meat back to the pot and stir it into the soup.

This dish may be prepared a day or two before you wish to serve it. Warm it on the stove over low heat until the stock comes to a simmer before serving.

If I prepare this for the family, we inevitably have leftover lamb on each of our shanks. I pick the meat from the bones and add it to the soup for the next day.

A Warren of Bunny Cakes

Laura — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 20:17:40 +0000

There are bunnies in these woods…

I woke to hoar frost this morning. (Is there anything lovelier?) And the first daffodil of the spring, nestled in a bed of snow not yet melted. Spring and winter are currently colliding in Minnesota in a month-long tug of war. I know spring will prevail eventually, but right now winter’s fans have seen it holding on for dear life. I don’t mind. I love winter cooking, and spring crops haven’t yet begun appearing in Minnesota markets, so I’m happy to wait a big longer. When spring comes roaring in, I think I’ll finally be ready to stop making warm, hearty meals. I have been hoping, however, that the weather would cooperate long enough for me to photograph this warren of bunny cakes for Easter. Today, the hoar frost and the snow retreated, the sun made a too-brief appearance, and the ground seemed just dry enough for me to crawl around the marshlands behind our house. I used to see cakes molds like the one I used for these and think, pretty, but too much fussy decorating. Especially tiresome was the idea of trying to elegantly pipe icing into all of those awkward nooks and crannies. Perhaps that’s why I found this mold in a stack on super clearance a few years ago. Instead, I kept things simple and quick by lining up a number of siftables and toothpicking in some sliced Dots and Crows for eyes. In practically no time at all, I had eight cakes, white, vanilla-flecked, cinnamon, chocolate, dark chocolate, and black cocoa. Simple and charming, check and check. Happy Easter! Happy Spring!

A Warren of Bunny Cakes
Bake up any cake recipe(s) you like in a rabbit-shaped mold. When the cake is cool, dust it with one of the siftables below, turning it ever so gently from side to side. Attach sliced Dots, Crows, or other similar candy, with a toothpick for the eyes, and brush the eyes with a bit of corn syrup, if you wish, for a more lifelike effect.

Siftables:
Confectioners’ sugar
Cinnamon
Confectioner’s sugar mixed with any of the cocoa powders
Cocoa powder
Dark cocoa powder
Black cocoa powder

Coffee Custard Tart

Laura — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 16:34:38 +0000

I baked eight cakes yesterday, but I couldn’t resist making something for Food52’s coffee-themed contest last night, too. I made a thin, crisp shortbread crust flavored with concentrated coffee, whole wheat pastry flour, and turbinado sugar and filled it with a barely sweet, egg-rich, coffee scented custard. Since there are only two tablespoons of sugar in the custard, I think it might be equally nice for dessert or as part of a brunch. It’s a bit like eating the creamiest cold café crème atop a toasty, nubbly, cookie that tastes faintly of wheat and more coffee. And since it’s the shortbread that adds the sweetness, the custard is pure, creamy coffee. If you like your coffee with a pour of cream, I suspect it’s right up your alley.

Coffee Custard
Ingredients:
1 ½ c. very strong coffee
7 egg yolks
2 c. heavy cream (I love Cedar Summit Farms.)
2 T. sugar
2 T. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)

Method:

Start with very strong coffee. I use ¾ c. ground dark roast coffee to 4 c. water and use a French press. Any method will work, but the stronger the coffee the better, I think, here. Take 1 ½ c. coffee and simmer it in a small saucepan over medium heat until it is reduced to about ½ c.

In a medium saucepan, whisk the egg yolks. Whisk in the cream, sugar, and ½ c. concentrated coffee, reserving 1 T. of the coffee for the crust.

Bring to a simmer over low heat and cook, stirring constantly, until it is beginning to thicken and coats a wooden spoon.

Whisk in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, until thickened. The custard will thicken slightly as it cools, too.

Sieve the custard if you fear you have lumps. Set it aside until it is time to fill the tart crust.

Coffee Shortbread Crust
Ingredients:
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/4 c. turbinado sugar
1/2 c. all purpose flour
1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1 T. concentrated coffee
1 pinch sugar

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

In a medium bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar.

Add the flours and mix only until incorporated.

Stir in the coffee concentrate.

Transfer the shortbread dough to a 9″ tart pan, and pat it out. Sprinkle it with a pinch or two of sugar to make the job a bit easier. Using your fingertips, press the crust evenly into the tart pan and up its sides.

Place a sheet of parchment paper into the tart shell and fill it with pie weights or dried beans.

Bake the crust for 15 minutes.

Remove it from the oven and gently remove the parchment and pie weights or beans.

Bake the crust for an additional 10 minutes.

Cool the crust slightly and then pour in the coffee custard. Spread it with a spatula. Chill in the refrigerator to set and until serving time.

Champagne Jelly

Laura — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 20:58:40 +0000

Yesterday a childhood friend from France came for a visit. I served caramel rolls and pecan sticky buns and cinnamon rolls and pots of coffee. And then we moved on to champagne. I had half a bottle left and decided this morning to mold it into a shimmering champagne jelly. I used a small mold, but you could use a couple of bottles of champagne and a standard mold if you were making this with a plan and for a group. It couldn’t be easier. Warmed, with a wee bit of sugar for some added sweetness and some plain gelatin whisked in, it will be set in a few hours. I am going to serve it with some barely sweetened and softly whipped cream tonight. It’s a nice way to use up leftover bubbly and makes a sweet and easy finish for a weeknight supper. It would be lovely, too, on an Easter buffet. I couldn’t resist a tumble of these golden raspberries as a garnish.

Champagne Jelly
Yield: 1 16-ounce molded gelatin, about four to six small servings

Ingredients:
½ bottle champagne
2 T. sugar
2 packets (½ oz.) unflavored gelatin

Method:

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, bring the champagne to a simmer.

Whisk in the sugar and sprinkle the gelatin across the top. Whisk it in vigorously.

Simmer for a minute.

Pour the champagne into a small mold and refrigerate it until it is set, about 3 hours.

To unmold the jelly, pull the jelly gently away from its mold with your fingertips to encourage it to release. Then center a plate over the mold with the serving side of the plate touching the mold. Holding them tightly together, flip them over, so the the mold is upside down and the plate is right side up. Remove the mold. The jelly should be wiggling happily on the plate. If it is being a little stubborn, you may dip the bottom of the mold into hot water for a few seconds until it is willing to slither out.

Boozy Hot Cross Buns with Rum Brown Sugar Butter

Laura — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 03:37:42 +0000

When you’re done with the egg hunt, the Easter bonnet has been pulled off and tossed aside, when churching and snapping pictures are past, and you’re ready for a buttery breakfast roll or something sweet next to your slice of ham, make these. They are a bit on the time intensive side, but nearly all of the labor is done a day in advance, so that all you need to do on Easter morning is roll the buns and bake them. These hot cross buns look a bit more like mini baps than conventional buns, but they are sweet and buttery, with a little pop from the boozy, plump currants and a sweet crisscross of rum and orange liqueur-laced icing. Smear them with a little dark rum brown sugar butter.

Boozy Hot Cross Buns with Rum Brown Sugar Butter
Yield: a dozen buns

Ingredients:
3 T. orange juice
1 ½ T. orange liqueur, such as Grand Marnier
½ c. dark rum
¾ c. currants (or raisins if you can’t find them)
…
2 packages (5 ½ t.) active dry yeast
¾ c. whole milk, warmed until it is tepid
1 ½ c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
1/3 c. sugar
½ t. ground ginger
½ t. ground cinnamon
½ t. freshly grated nutmeg
2 eggs
2 T. of the fruit soaking liquid (rum, orange liqueur, and orange juice)
1 T. vanilla extract
very finely grated zest of one orange
½ t. salt
1 ½ c. bread flour
1 c. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
…
½ c. confectioners’ sugar
1 T. orange liqueur, such as Grand Marnier
1 T. dark rum
…
¼ c. dark rum
6 T. butter
¼ c. brown sugar

Method:

One day Ahead:

In a small pan, or in the microwave, warm the orange juice, orange liqueur, dark rum, and currants. When the liquid comes to a simmer, turn off the heat and allow the currants to soak and plump until they are needed in the recipe. The currants will absorb nearly all of the liquid.

In a small pan, or in the microwave, warm the milk until it is just above body temperature.

Add the yeast and stir briefly. Set the yeast and milk aside and allow it to bloom. It will be foamy in appearance if the yeast has activated properly.

In a large bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, mix together the all purpose flour, sugar, and spices.

Add the milk and yeast and mix on low speed until combined. Scrape the dough into a ball and cover the bowl. Place it in a warm place to rise until it is doubled in size, about 1 ½ hours.

Mix in the eggs, fruit soaking liquid, and vanilla.

Mix in the bread flour and salt on low speed.

Knead the dough until it is silky smooth, about 10 minutes, either by hand or with the dough hook of an electric mixer.

Add the butter and knead until it is fully incorporated. Be patient, it will all be incorporated with time.

Drain any remaining liquid from the currants over a small bowl, reserving the liquid if you wish, and knead them into the dough.

Place the bowl in a warm place and allow the dough to rise until nearly doubled in size, about one hour.

Cover the bowl with cellophane and chill it in the refrigerator overnight, or for a minimum of 30 minutes. I find it’s easiest to chill the dough overnight and to bake the buns the next morning.

You may make the rum brown sugar butter one and the icing one day ahead, as well, if you wish. See below.

On the Day:

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and shape the dough into 12 balls. Place them on a buttered baking sheet, spaced evenly.

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees F.

Cover the sheet of buns and place it in a warm place. Allow the the buns to rise until not quite doubled in size, about one hour.

Bake the buns for 12 to 16 minutes, or until they are golden brown and sound a bit hollow when tapped.

Allow them to cool completely.

Meanwhile, mix the confectioners’ sugar, the orange liqueur, and the rum until it is a smooth icing.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter and brown sugar. Stir in the dark rum. Simmer until it is reduced and syrupy.

Refrigerate the rum brown sugar butter until serving time.

When the buns are cool, pipe two crisscrossing stripes of icing across the top of each bun. (In a pinch, they can be drizzled with the icing while still warm.) Serve with the rum brown sugar butter.

Crustless Quiche with Bacon, Gruyere, Fat Whole Asparagus Spears, and Leeks & Roasted Sugarplum Tomatoes

Laura — Sat, 02 Apr 2011 22:50:15 +0000

I think a lot of people can’t be bothered with making a quiche at home because they don’t want to fiddle with pastry for a crust. Some years ago I discovered that a quiche will bake up beautifully without one. Here’s the latest quiche from my oven, served with a side of sweet roasted sugarplum tomatoes.

Roasted Sugarplum Tomatoes

Ingredients:
1 small clamshell of sugarplum or cherry or grape tomatoes, sliced in half lengthwise
olive oil for the pan
salt and pepper

Method:
Preheat your oven to 275 degrees F.
On a baking sheet, toss the sliced tomatoes in a little olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Bake for one hour, or until the skin is a bit rumpled but the interiors are still juicy.

Crustless Quiche with Bacon, Gruyere, Fat Whole Spears of Asparagus, and Leeks
Yield: one 9-inch quiche, about 4 to 6 generous servings

Ingredients:
Softened butter for the pie plate, about 2 t.
½ pound good bacon, diced
1 small leek, trimmed of its hairy and darker green fibrous ends, diced, and washed well
¼ pound Gruyere or Emmenthaler cheese, grated
1 medium bunch of fat asparagus spears, with their woody ends snapped off and washed
…
5 eggs
1 ½ c. heavy cream
a pinch of salt and pepper

Method:

Increase your oven temperature to 400 degrees F, or heat a second oven to this temperature.

Smear a little soft butter into the pie plate and up the sides.

In a large skillet over medium heat, fry the bacon until it is tender crisp. Remove with a slotted spoon to a piece of foil or a paper plate. Wipe the bacon fat from the pan with some paper toweling.

Add the leek to the same pan and sauté briefly until tender.

Grate the cheese into the bottom of the pie plate.

Scatter the bacon and then the leeks over the top.

In a small bowl, beat together the egg and cream. Season it with a bit of salt and pepper.

Pour the cream and egg mixture over the top of the bacon, leeks, and cheese.

Arrange the asparagus spears over the top and nestle them into the egg and cream.

Bake for 30 minutes, or until slightly puffed and golden.

Serve the quiche in wedges with a side of the roasted tomatoes.