Beyond Cheese

Daring Baker's Challenge: Cookies!

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 23:57:00 +0000

Not just any cookies, people, but two recipes for homemade versions of store-bought favorites. The July Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Nicole at Sweet Tooth. She chose Chocolate Covered Marshmallow Cookies (aka Mallomars) and Milan Cookies (aka Pepperidge Farm Milanos) from pastry chef Gale Gand as featured on her Food Network show, Sweet Dreams.

I may get in trouble for using their real names, but we can't go on pretending we were preparing something else here. While the challenge allowed for us to chose one or both of the recipes, I went with both: Milanos because they were a beloved childhood treat, and Mallomars because of the challenge in making marshmallow topped cookies dipped in chocolate.

Unfortunately, I found the "Milan" cookies a disappointment. They had a considerable amount of lemon extract in the recipe, and it proved too much for me. Not only did the cookies taste unlike their paper-cupped cousins, but they were texturally off - too chewy. While I probably wouldn't make these again, I wouldn't necessarily suggest that you shouldn't, I would only advise not to enter into the task expecting a certain kind of result. Let these cookies be what they are, not what you want them to be.

Now, as for the Mallomars, I had a completely different experience. Fun, challenging (but not too challenging), pretty messy (in a good way), super-cute and delicious. How can you not love all of that?

If you've ever made marshmallows before, you know they can be quite a task. Let me be specific, if you've only ever made marshmallows with egg whites (like myself), they can be extremely temperamental. I first made marshmallows many years ago, after catching some inspiration off of a Gourmet magazine cover and deciding to make a slew of cookie and candy treats for friends and family as holiday gifts. I think back then I was a bit less confident and followed recipes quite well; the marshmallows came off without a hitch. But since, every attempt at marshmallows, (among a few other things, let's be frank) has been hit and miss. I typically make them twice on every occasion because inevitably, on the first go, I overheat the sugar syrup and it won't blend properly (ahem, at all) into the whipped egg white, yielding lumps of hard candy in curdled egg foam rather than the anticipated sugary white fluff.

So imagine my delight when I found this recipe had no egg whites at all. And what a difference it makes! Not to mention, there is a touch of corn syrup in the melted sugar base that makes it next to impossible to crystallize the sugar when melting - another "issue" I've experienced from time to time. I dare call this marshmallow recipe infallible!

Now, piping the marshmallows on the cookies is where the messy part begins. All I can tell you is work quickly, 'cause the marshmallow starts to set fast, which means it just keeps getting stickier. And be prepared to get into things when it's time for dipping the cookies in chocolate, maybe I should say this is where the messy part begins. But it is fun, and quite simple, thought somewhat time consuming; and they're just so darned cute once sprung from their chocolate bath.

I made the cookies 1-inch rounds as the recipe specified, and I ended up with more than 6 dozen little cookies rather than "about 2 dozen" as the recipe stated. I must have rolled them thinner than recommended, which I must say, was just perfect, so if you're in a take-my-advice kind of mood, then halve the cookie recipe and roll them to about 3/16 of an inch. I know, so technical of me, and yes, that still gives you about three dozen cookies - which is fine because that's just about how many marshmallow kisses you'll have, too. Better still, at that size, they're poppers, as in, one bite, as in, you can eat half a dozen without blinking, as in, don't worry there's more.

Just what I need.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Bakewell Tart

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 13:38:00 +0000

Or is it a pudding? That's the great debate here with month's Daring Bakers' Challenge, the Bakewell Tart. The June Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar. They chose a Traditional (UK) Bakewell Tart... er... pudding that was inspired by a rich baking history dating back to the 1800's in England.

Bakewell Tart History and Lore

Flan-like desserts that combine either sweet egg custard over candied fruit or feature spiced ground almonds in a pastry shell have Medieval roots. The term “Bakewell pudding” was first penned in 1826 by Meg Dods; 20 years later Eliza Acton published a recipe that featured a baked rich egg custard overtop 2cm of jam and noted,

“This pudding is famous not only in Derbyshire, but in several of our northern counties where it is usually served on all holiday occasions.”

By the latter half of the 1800s, the egg custard evolved into a frangipane-like filling; since then the quantity of jam decreased while the almond filling increased.

This tart, like many of the world's great foods has its own mythic beginnings…or several mythic beginnings. Legend has it in 1820 (or was it in the 1860s?) Mrs. Greaves, landlady of The White Horse Inn in Bakewell, Derbyshire (England), asked her cook to produce a pudding for her guests. Either her instructions could have been clearer or he should have paid better attention to what she said because what he made was not what she asked for. The cook spread the jam on top of the frangipane mixture rather than the other way around. Or maybe instead of a sweet rich shortcrust pastry case to hold the jam for a strawberry tart, he made a regular pastry and mixed the eggs and sugar separately and poured that over the jam—it depends upon which legend you follow.

Regardless of what the venerable Mrs. Greaves’ cook did or didn’t do, lore has it that her guests loved it and an ensuing pastry-clad industry was born. The town of Bakewell has since played host to many a sweet tooth in hopes of tasting the tart in its natural setting.

"Bakewell Tart History and Lore" is courtesy of Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict, and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar, where you can find even more juicy bits on the Bakewell Tart... er... Pudding.

Now, fortunately for me, I was ready to make this tart. I had just recently spent another day in Brentwood, picking cherries and apricots for jams, sauces, and the like, when along comes this challenge requiring, ahem, jam. Kismet, people.

The hard part became deciding which kind of jam to use. I had white cherry, black cherry, and vanilla apricot. All of which would be perfect with almond, I might add. But wait, I just happen to have 4 mini springform pans that were given to me as a gift so many years ago I couldn't even tell you (not out of embarrassment but simple forgetfulness), that I've never before used. I know, shameful.

But it is my lucky day. And as such, I even had a relatively successful crust experience. (Me + crust usually = unhappy face.) I don't know that I would use these particular vessels for this purpose again (the crust was very difficult to arrange in such small, high-sided pans) but they did come out quite dashing if you don't mind me going English on you for a spell.

In the given recipe, the quantity of jam used was up to the user. I added the greater quantity recommended (1 cup - split between 4 tarts in my case) and must say that I would have liked a tad more. As pointed out above that even throughout the history of the recipe, the jam to almond filling ratio dwindled, I think I would have preferred the olden days. Yes, more jam, please. I found the filling to be quite sweet and jam provided the perfect foil.

Thank you ladies, for another delicious challenge!

Please see Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Ambrosia and Nectar for the Bakewell Tart... er... Pudding recipe.

Apricots in Vanilla Honey Syrup
inspired by Christine Ferber

1 pound ripe apricots
1/2 cup sugar
2 oz honey
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

Wash apricots, cut in half and remove pits. In a large bowl gently combine apricots sugar, honey and vanilla bean. Cover with plastic wrap and allow to macerate under refrigeration at least 2 hours or overnight.

Drain apricots, reserving liquid. Heat liquid in a large non-reactive pot and boil gently until the syrup reaches 220 degrees. Add apricot halves and vanilla bean; bring to a boil and cook for approximately 5 minutes. Pack in jars and seal according to your preferred method, or transfer to a medium bowl and store in the refrigerator. Makes approximately 1 pint (16 ounces).

These apricots are delicious as a jam or could be used in myriad baking applications.

Sweet Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 01:39:00 +0000

Sometimes it's hard to remember. For me, I should say. But then there are some things that just stick. I, for one, have limited reserves up there in the ole noggin; I suppose not everything keeps because I'm holding on to some of that space for those memories that are lasting.

I don't remember when I tasted my first fresh apricot, but I always remembered not to buy them at the local grocery store, no matter how good they looked. It must have been something about that first one. (Now, dried apricots are a different thing. They're around at any time of year, and given the right kind - I prefer the tart, chewy California apricot halves over the sweet, squishy, whole Turkish apricots - they are utterly delicious.)

But then, only about a year ago, I found myself face to face with fresh apricots; this time, hanging from a tree. Now, those I do remember. And when I told a dear someone about these ambrosial stone fruits, her memory swept away to the childhood friend and afternoons roosted in an apricot tree; but by the end of the story, all I remembered was the part about the pie. During that time of year, when not lazily feasting on the sticky sweet bounty of that tree in which she was perched, her great-grandma (I guess that would be my great-great-grandma) made an apricot pie with halved apricots, face-up in milk, with maybe only a little flour and sugar to set things just right. Though she didn't remember the recipe, only watching it being made, she most certainly remembered loving everything about it.

I'm fortunate enough to have a history of some amazing cooks and bakers in my family lines. You haven't heard of any of them, but if they can create those kinds of memories in the minds of their children, grandchildren, and so forth, then that's all that matters. I have a few raggedy cookbooks filled with old recipes of ladies such as these, so naturally, I referred to them when trying to recreate this apricot milk pie. No luck, I have to say, but it seems the Pennsylvania Dutch have a milk pie within their culinary annals; just what I was looking for. Sometimes called Stingy, Flabby, or Poor Man's Pie, it is said to be a pie often made for children as a way to utilize leftover scraps of pie dough. Depending on the recipe, it is little more than milk, flour and sugar.

Pie crust and I don't really get along, so when I saw this recipe for "The Great Unshrinkable Sweet Tart Shell," I jumped on it - it was just perfect for me, as shrinking is probably my greatest ruin. I don't remember if I've ever had a crust shrink on me to such a degree as this. But I can't fault the recipe, I didn't follow it exactly I must say, I did rush things a bit, so here I would have to lay the responsibility on my impatience. But that's a whole 'nother story. The next time I make this pie, and believe me, there will be a next time, I would go with an unsweetened dough and I might even throw an egg yolk in there to make this more of a custardy pie (do watch the baking time and temperature if you decide to run with that one). Be sure to use ripe apricots; I leaned toward the less-ripe side because I love the tartness of apricots in that state, but I found that they were a bit too sour to marry well with the flavor of the milk custard.

Apricot Milk Tart
with help from Teri's Kitchen

1 unbaked 10" tart shell (use your favorite recipe)
14 perfectly ripe apricots (wouldn't hurt to have a few more for sampling purposes)
1 1/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
Fresh nutmeg

Preheat oven to 400°

Wash and gently dry apricots. Cut them in half and remove the pits; arrange the apricots face up in the tart shell.

In a medium bowl wisk together milk, flour, and sugar. Pour mixture over and around apricots to fill the tart shell.

Bake for 20 minutes. Reduce oven to 350° and bake an additional 35 - 40 minutes. Remove from the oven and grate fresh nutmeg over the tart. Tart will appear wet in the center, but will set as it cools. Serve at room temperature.

At its best eaten within a day or two, and completely appropriate for breakfast.

Old Yeller

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 04:59:00 +0000

You must think the worst of me. I can't seem to keep up with you, and when I do stop by, I'm just recycling old recipes. Wait, I haven't been doing that, I don't think. But it's never too late to start, right?

If it wasn't convincing enough the first time I mentioned it, that chocolate beet cake I made a not so long ago is well worth the effort. So much so, that when I got yellow beets in my veggie box last week, I thought they should have their fair shake at something sweet just the same. Actually, the whole thing was born out of the fact that the beet flavor in the chocolate cake was nearly undetectable. I began to wonder if it was because the chocolate covered something up, or simply that beets are meant to be used in cake. Obviously, I dreamt of the latter.

If you've been with me this whole time now (and, Thank You), you know that I've been trying (sort of) to restrain the creative impulses that lead me to abject failures. All I needed was one glint, one half spark, a little eek of hope that this yellow beet cake thing could be done. And there it was, a recipe for Golden Beet Cupcakes with Dulce De Leche Buttercream. Hooray!

Now, I didn't use that recipe, you should know; it only inspired me to go on with my own show. Here, I went for a plain golden vanilla cake, sans frosting. This cake is even better, more moist, and less beety on the second day, thought I would not think poorly of your impatience. (Admittedly, when warm, the aroma enhances the beet flavor, perhaps too much if not for a serious beet advocate.) A generous scatter of powdered sugar gives this cake a near-powdered-donut character, and you'll be pleased to know that beets just might be meant for cake.

Vanilla Beet Cake
inspired by Red Devil Cake and No Recipes

3 medium yellow beets
3 eggs
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
¾ cups sugar
¾ cups light brown sugar
6 tbsp butter, melted
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups flour
1½ teaspoons baking soda

Preheat oven to 350°. Butter a 9 in square or round pan.

Place beets in a small pot with and add cold water to cover; cook until fork tender (beets can be lifted, but easily fall, from a fork when pierced). Allow beets to cool until able to handle; cut ends from beets and slip skins off beets to peel. Puree beets in a food processor, and set aside (you will need 1½ cups of the puree).

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and Kosher salt. Add the sugars, butter, vanilla, and 1½ cups of beet puree; whisk until thoroughly combined.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour and baking soda; stir well with a whisk or fork. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients a little at a time, whisking until smooth.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out nearly clean; the cake may look slightly underdone. Cool for at least 20 minutes before removing from the pan. This cake is best if cooled completely before serving, or even the next day.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Strudel

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Thu, 28 May 2009 03:15:00 +0000

The May Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Linda of make life sweeter! and Courtney of Coco Cooks. They chose Apple Strudel from the recipe book Kaffeehaus: Exquisite Desserts from the Classic Cafés of Vienna, Budapest and Prague by Rick Rodgers.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I went to culinary school. In everyday life, I try to avoid this topic of conversation; my boastfulness is most enjoyed over imaginary accomplishments. Nonetheless, I did spend a few good years attempting to hone my craft. Or something like that.

Anyhow, I did have a few classes in the pastry wing during my tenure and within the dining hall of that building, only windows separated noshing students from a particular class of aspiring pastry chefs. Now, all cooks took a short class on baking, mine taught by a small, charmingly grumpy old Frenchman who muttered "I hate cooks" under his breath just often enough to keep everyone on their toes. And while we learned to make sponge cake, dinner rolls, and cookies, the class beyond that glass wall made puff pastry, yeasted doughs, and on one notable occasion, skillfully stretched dough tissue thin across two 6 foot tables joined end to end. It was truly impressive; I never before would have imagined such a thing possible.

Leave it to the Daring Bakers to bring it all back with strudel, May's challenge brought to us by Linda of make life sweeter! and Courtney of Coco Cooks. While we were given free reign with the filling, the strudel recipe itself is taken from Kaffeehaus: Exquisite Desserts from the Classic Cafés of Vienna, Budapest and Prague by Rick Rodgers.

Strudel is actually quite simple. The dough is little more than flour, water, and vinegar, and to my surprise, quite easily stretches to a paper thin sheet. True, I wasn't attempting a 12-foot length, but I did manage a fourth of that with no trouble. If you've stretched pizza dough before now, you can do this.

In the strudel recipe, it is recommended that you allow the dough to rest 30-90 minutes, but due to time constraints, mine rested overnight. It didn't seem to make any difference in flavor, though it may have added to its manageability. All in all, I find it simply an argument for patiently awaiting the 90 minutes to pass. It was suggested that we double the dough recipe in order to allow for some trial and error, but I got along so well, I ended up with two strudels. (Lucky me!) The original recipe contained an apple filling, though I chose to do both a cherry and a cannoli-like filling. While I felt that the ricotta filling was not nearly as successful as the cherry (the ricotta, in my opinion, became a tad rubbery), there were some huge advocates, and, at the very least, it would make a killer filling for (no mystery here) cannoli, but that's a different challenge.

For the complete strudel recipe, check out make life sweeter! and Coco Cooks. Thanks again, Ladies!

Cherry Lime Filling
inspired by cherry season

3 cups cherries, pitted and halved
½ cup sugar
Zest and juice of 1 lime
¼ tsp almond extract
Dash ground ginger
¼ cup walnuts, chopped fine
½ cup dry breadcrumbs

In a large nonstick pan, cook cherries and sugar until juice becomes very thick and syrupy (it should bubble vigorously and seem as if there is little juice left). Remove from heat and stir in lime zest, juice, almond extract, and ginger. Allow mixture to cool.

Combine walnuts and breadcrumbs; set aside.

Sweet Ricotta Filling
inspired by epicurious.com
and Daring Cooks’ May Challenge

1½ cups fresh ricotta
¼ cup sugar
½ tsp orange flower water
¾ cup bittersweet chocolate chips
Dash cinnamon

Combine all ingredients; mix well, set aside at room temperature until needed.

Do chill if you plan on using this filling for cannoli.

Daring Cooks' Challenge: Ricotta Gnocchi

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 18 May 2009 01:46:00 +0000

It seems the Daring Bakers have decided look beyond their ovens and hit the stovetop. Yes, we now have Daring Cooks out there, each ready and willing to tackle a monthly challenge. For the inaugural challenge, Lis and Ivonne, the founders of Daring Bakers, and now Daring Cooks (which have joined forces in the Daring Kitchen) have decided on Ricotta Gnocchi from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers.

I am a huge fan of gnocchi, whether potato, semolina (double yum) or ricotta. So this challenge was a great pleasure to take to. On top of it all, I saw this as an opportunity to revive my currently defunct (but never forgotten) tribute to cheese, Serious Cheese. While I can't say that was successful (you haven't seen any new posts lately, have you?), it did get me thinking about how much I've missed making cheese.

Making ricotta is quite simple. It is the first cheese I ever made, way back when before I really even seriously dabbled in cheesemaking. It doesn't require any fancy equipment or ingredients, just milk, acid (lemon juice, vinegar, or citric acid) and heat. Oh, you will need some cheesecloth; but there are so many more uses for cheesecloth than cheese alone, and it's reusable, so a little goes a long way.

As for the ricotta gnocchi, they too are quite easy; here the trick is starting with a well-drained ricotta (Ms. Rodgers suggests testing the ricotta by placing a teaspoon or so on a paper towel; if after a few minutes you notice a large ring of dampness around the ricotta, it will need to be drained further). Beyond that, it could be that the most complicated part of this recipe is shaping the dumplings themselves.

While the recipe called for hands as the tool for the job, I chose to go with spoons. Okay, I'm gonna get all French on you now: quenelles. While many of you, I'm sure, know what a quenelle is, allow me to educate those who don't. Traditionally, a quenelle is a poached dumpling based on a forcemeat (finely ground mixture, typically of fish or meat), shaped into a three-sided oval using two spoons. More often than not, in the present, a quenelle refers to the oval shape itself, not the ingredients being manipulated.

Rooted in classical French cuisine, I'm sure you could imagine making a quenelle is no easy task. And I don't recommend you go into this quenelle thing thinking they'll look like they should, either. After some practice I'm still, well, practicing. But I can tell you it's worth the try; broaden your horizons and at the very least, you'll get beautiful dumplings, with or without sides.

Homemade Ricotta Cheese recipe via Serious Cheese

Please check out Lis or Ivonne's blogs to get the full recipe for Ricotta Gnocchi from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook.

Daring Baker's Challenge: Abbey's Inspiring Cheesecake

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 04:01:00 +0000

The April 2009 challenge is hosted by Jenny from Jenny Bakes. She has chosen Abbey's Infamous Cheesecake as the challenge.

Ahhh, cheesecake. And not just any cheesecake, but any cheesecake. Yes, Jenny from Jenny Bakes brought us her friend Abbey's cheesecake recipe, and allowed us to play with it. (Thanks Abbey! Thanks Jenny!) And if there's anything you've learned about me, it's that I love to play with my food.

One of my all-time favorite desserts hails from Thailand: mango with sticky rice. I first met up with this idea while working at a Thai restaurant, quite a few years back, and have been obsessed ever since. It is, on its own, in and of itself, quite perfect.

I am fortunate to live not far from a favorite Thai restaurant offering the most sublime adaptation I've tasted yet. Soft, sweet, sticky rice, steaming hot and topped with just a dab of salty coconut sauce, sesame seeds and chilled slices of the most faultlessly ripe mango. It really is something else. Knowing I could never recreate this dish with such exacting detail (I'm really bad at choosing mangoes, for one), I have always dreamed up ways to bring these flavors together in a different expression.

And here we are, Coconut Mango Cheesecake. I chose a neutral crumb (Nilla Wafers) so as not to compete with the addition of sesame seeds. I also chose to use mangoes at a time when they're not yet at their best. (The favorite Thai restaurant won't even serve the favorite Thai dessert when the mangoes aren't just right.) I originally intended to somehow incorporate sticky rice into this cheesecake, though I never quite figured out how. I didn't give up, see, I just put a reign on the wild ideas this time around. That happens, every once in a while.

Sometimes I'm just so impatient for the right season to roll around. So, if you do what I did (and don't be coy, I know it happens from time to time), seek out The Perfect Purée of Napa Valley, they produce some of the finest fruit purees you can find. Obviously, in season fruit is best, but in a pinch or on the outskirts of that season, these purees are a great substitute. Just so you know, if I could have a do-over, I would've tried a little harder to get my hands on some.

Coconut Mango Cheesecake

Crust:
1¾ cups Nilla Wafer crumbs
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
4 oz (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted

Cheesecake:
3 – 8 oz packages cream cheese
½ cup sugar
1½ cups coconut cream (Coco Lopez or the like)
4 large eggs
1 teaspoon salt

Mango swirl:
1¼ cup mango puree (approx. 2 mangoes)
1 egg yolk
½ cup sugar

Preheat oven to 350°

Mix together the crust ingredients until uniformly moist. Press into an even layer across the bottom and roughly halfway up the sides of a 10” springform pan. Set crust aside (in the freezer if you can).

Combine cream cheese, sugar, and coconut cream and beat together at low speed until smooth. Add eggs, one at a time, fully incorporating each one before adding the next. Be sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl in between each addition, this helps prevent lumps within the mixture. Set cheesecake filling aside.

Peel mangoes, and cut flesh away from the pit; puree in a food processor until smooth. Measure (roughly) 1¼ cups of the puree into a small bowl and add to it 1 egg yolk and ½ cup sugar; whisk together until fully incorporated.

Pour cheesecake batter into prepared crust. Dollop large spoonfuls of the mango puree over the surface of the cheesecake. To swirl: carefully dip the bowl of the spoon in and out of the cheesecake, pushing the mango puree slightly into the batter. Next, place the spoon, tip first, down into the batter, and swirl back and forth in circles. All the while, take care not to scrape the crust up into the cheesecake.

Bake for 55-65 minutes. It should still be rather wobbly, but not evidently liquid in the center, and it should not be firm at this point. Turn the oven heat off and allow the cheesecake to rest in the oven for another hour. After removing from the oven, allow the cheesecake to cool completely before refrigerating. Serve chilled.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Lasagne of Emilia Romagna

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 23:58:00 +0000

Here I am, with yet another Daring Bakers' challenge, overdue. Not out of idleness or neglect, no, this time it was the oven. (I swear.) And while I managed to bake a cake without one, this challenge was one project I couldn't tackle in its absence.

The March 2009 challenge was hosted by Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande. They have chosen Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna from The Splendid Table by Lynne Rossetto Kasper as the challenge.

Fresh pasta is something that I love, but don't make...ever. I don't have a pasta machine, and while I am inclined to change that, I must admit there are quite a few other limited-use gadgets that I would prefer to find within the spatial limitations of my own kitchen. In other words, I was very happy to take on the challenge of making fresh pasta, completely by hand.

Yes, I know, I say that as if such a thing is a wondrous accomplishment, as though I have discovered the newest source of renewable energy or solved one of those mathematical equations that stumped everyone but the young, disgruntled janitor in that movie that everyone seems to love. And while it might be the everyday for some, and surely was for many more in the past, it is quite a feat for someone (me) who has adapted quite well to these times of convenience. I'll say it again, I made fresh pasta completely by hand. Now I'm just bragging.

Have I even told you how much I love this lasagne, specifically? Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna is over-the-top rich meets down-to-earth comfort. Imagine sheets of fresh spinach pasta layered between bechamel (a creamy white sauce) and a hearty meat ragu, finished with a browned and bubbly crust of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. Try this once and you, too will understand.

This time around, I decided to put a twist on an old favorite. (Sure, this may have been the first time I've made this dish, but not the first time I've eaten it.) I went all vegetarian. I know, I know I talked all about meat sauce, and the meat sauce is part of what makes it in some ways, but this one turned out pretty darn alright if I may say. Still hearty, still decadent, and maybe even a little better for you. Believe you me, I'm no vegetarian, but taking a break from meat every now and again isn't such a bad thing.

But enough of that. Make this. Eat this. Love this. You will.

Thanks to Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande, for testing the Daring Bakers' boundaries and getting me to make fresh pasta. (Please check out their blogs for the recipe for this challenge.)

Vegetable Ragu

1 yellow onion, finely diced
2 medium carrots, finely diced
1 bulb fennel, finely diced
2 celery ribs, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups vegetable broth, low sodium (or homemade)
29 oz can petit diced tomatoes
Flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add olive oil, onions, carrots, fennel and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are caramelized and begin to soften. Add celery and garlic and continue to cook until aromatic.

Add broth and reduce heat to just above a simmer. Add tomatoes and keep just at a simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook until the sauce is very thick or has reached the desired consistency.

Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the chopped parsley. Serve over polenta or with tender, homemade pasta.

You Devil

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 03:41:00 +0000

While elbow deep amidst several components for a baking project I had planned last weekend, our oven decided to take a little vacation. I can't be too upset, the task could easily be put on hold, and the stove top works just fine, so this little interruption was simply nothing more. But then, the beets in my fridge started to call out for help; they were losing their muscle.

Now, I love beets. I haven't always, in fact, I think I hated them as a kid. More accurately, I avoided them. I'd like to think of myself as someone who will try anything, but I wasn't always that way (though I tell myself I was). So when I finally gave them a chance, I fell in love, with dirt (and that I did eat as a kid). I think beets taste more like the earth than anything else, and that is what I love, so much. A gift from the earth, and a sweet one at that. So kind of the earth to think of us, wouldn't you say? I love them most oven roasted in their skins, rubbed with oil and salt beforehand. Boiled beets just won't do.

Then what to do with a few sad, lonely beets and no oven? I was at a loss, so I turned to the website of the farm from whence I adopted these garnet jewels. And there it was, a recipe for chocolate beet cake. I had heard of this before, beets in cake. Carrots aren't unheard of, so what could be so wrong with beets?

Peel the beets, boil the beets, puree the beets. Mix together some eggs, sugar, oil, salt and vanilla, then add the beets. Now for the dry ingredients. Oh wait, I forgot to preheat the oven and prepare my pan.

Oh wait, I don't have an oven. This is what got me here in the first place.

Prepare the dry ingredients, don't combine just yet. Bring wet ingredients, dry ingredients, and cake pan to work tomorrow. Combine at work, pour into prepared pan, bake, cool, and enjoy.

While I don't suggest you follow the preceding method, I do suggest you give the following recipe a try. Simply delicious, decadently moist chocolate cake, with a dense crumb, yet light enough to enjoy more than one piece without pause. I may have found a new favorite way to have my beets.

Red Devil Cake
adapted “from a Mollie Katzen book”
via Mariquita Farms

3 medium red beets
3 eggs
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
1½ cups sugar
½ cup canola oil (or other neutral tasting oil)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1½ cups flour
¾ cups cocoa powder
1½ teaspoons baking soda

Preheat oven to 350°. Oil a 9 in square or round pan.

Peel and halve beets. Place in a small pot with and add cold water to cover; cook until fork tender (beets can be lifted, but easily fall, from a fork when pierced). Puree beets in a food processor, and set aside (you will need 2 cups of the puree).

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and Kosher salt. Add the sugar, oil, vanilla, and 2 cups of beet puree; whisk until thoroughly combined.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, cocoa, and baking soda; stir well with a whisk or fork. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients a little at a time, whisking until smooth.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan.

While delicious on its own, it would equally benefit from copious amounts of softly whipped cream.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Chocolate Valentino

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 16:13:00 +0000

Ahh, chocolate. If there was one month I would expect to do something with chocolate, it's February. And this month, we're having a go at flourless chocolate cake. The February 2009 challenge is hosted by Wendy of WMPE's blog and Dharm of Dad ~ Baker & Chef. They have chosen a Chocolate Valentino cake by Chef Wan; a Vanilla Ice Cream recipe from Dharm and a Vanilla Ice Cream recipe from Wendy as the challenge. (Though, truth be told, the ice cream flavor was less important to the challenge than the fact that it be homemade. Score!)

Now, I must say, this was quite a simple recipe, only three ingredients required. Does it sound like I'm complaining? Clearly, you misunderstand. I have confessed to a certain level of sluggishness before now, I believe. So yes, three ingredients, right up my alley. But here, as with any recipe lacking a laundry list of components, quality and technique are key. The chocolate has not a thing to hide behind, it is the recipe. And while chocolate may be the star, it wouldn't amount to much of anything without a stellar supporting cast. Butter and egg yolks provide moisture and richness in texture, as whipped egg whites provide the lift for this decadent chocolate creation.

For the ice cream, well, let's just say I'm going through a caramel (ahem, carmel) phase. Since the Caramel Cake of November's challenge, I have had this uncontrollable need to play with caramel. At times a loveless venture, occasionally afflicting a blind rage, I have become obsessed with caramel in general. (I haven't even told you about the Caramels from Alice Medrich that were an optional part of that November challenge. I've attempted them, twice, and while I haven't been successful, this is one challenge I plan to master. Someday.) And then there's the Salted Caramel ice cream at Bi-Rite Creamery in the Mission District of San Francisco. This frozen sweet makes silent all who hold it and jealous those who don't.

It's true the ice cream at Bi-Rite Creamery inspired the decision to go with this particular flavor. Unbeknownst to me, I was not alone in this love for salted caramel ice cream, and I'm late to catch on as well. I decided to go with a milk-only ice cream, rich with egg yolks. As if sparing the cream somehow made up for the highly indulgent flourless chocolate cake it would accompany. Ignorance is bliss.

Check out the blogs of our fearless hosts this month for the Chocolate Valentino recipe. As for the ice cream: if you don't have an ice cream maker (and simply don't live near Bi-Rite) you can still enjoy this frozen treat, and once again, for all things ice cream, David Lebovitz is your man.

It is important to use good salt in this recipe. Try fleur de sel or Maldon sea salt (or other mild-tasting sea salt); and even Kosher salt will do in a pinch, but ordinary fine table salt is far too harsh. If you don’t have salted butter, just use a little extra salt. Don’t forget, saltiness diminishes in foods as they get colder, so don’t be afraid that you’ve ruined anything if it tastes too salty before it’s frozen. That being said, don’t go crazy.

Salted Caramel Ice Cream

inspired by Bi-Rite Creamery and David Lebovitz

3 cups (750 ml) whole milk, divided evenly

1½ cups (300 gr) sugar

4 tablespoons (60 gr) salted butter

scant ½ teaspoon sea salt

5 large egg yolks

¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

Add sugar to a medium saucepan in an even layer. Heat the sugar over moderate heat until the edges begin to melt. Use a silicone spatula to gently stir the liquefied sugar from the bottom and edges towards the center, until all the sugar is dissolved. Continue to cook, stirring infrequently until the caramel starts smoking and begins to smell like it's just about to burn. Don’t worry about any undissolved lumps, what doesn’t dissolve will eventually or be strained out later.

Once caramelized, immediately remove from heat and stir in the butter and salt, until butter is melted, then gradually whisk in 1½ cups of milk (keep the other 1½ cups milk refrigerated until needed). The caramel may harden and seize, but return it to the heat and continue to stir over low heat until any hard caramel has melted.

Whisk the yolks in a small bowl and gradually pour some of the warm caramel mixture over the yolks, stirring constantly. Scrape the warmed yolks back into the saucepan and cook the custard using a silicone spatula, stirring constantly (scraping the bottom as you stir) until the mixture thickens. If using an instant-read thermometer, it should read 160°-170° F.

Pour the custard through a fine mesh sieve set over a medium bowl (1 qt or larger). Stir in the reserved cold milk and the vanilla. Refrigerate at least 8 hours, stirring occasionally, or until thoroughly chilled.

Freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Eat right away, or chill in the freezer until firm.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Tuiles

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 06:16:00 +0000

Ahhh. A new year, a new challenge. This time around, we're talking the whisper thin lightness of tuiles. French for "tile," tuiles are traditionally thin, crisp cookies with a gently curved shape resembling that of, you guessed it (Didn't you?), a roofing tile.

This month's challenge is brought to us by Karen of Bake My Day and Zorra of 1x umruehren bitte aka Kochtopf. They have chosen Tuiles from The Chocolate Book by Angélique Schmeink and Nougatine and Chocolate Tuiles from Michel Roux. These lovely ladies were also kind enough to allow for a savory option with a recipe from Thomas Keller. And me being me, I resolved to go with a savory tuile, and beat my own drum while I was at it.

Years ago, a friend gave me a recipe for panelle, aka fabulously amazing chickpea fritter-like things. While very popular as Sicilian street fare, these were, for me, a new found food so delicious, I wondered what took me so long to find them. Then tuiles came to be the challenge du mois (of the month, people). The light bulb over my head burst and I decided on chickpea flour, the primary ingredient in panelle. And while I was unsure it would work, I couldn't stop myself from this possible brush with disaster.

So, imagine that (and my surprise). An actual experiment that did not go horribly South! Never mind that I yielded less than half of what I should have - I ate the "bad" ones (oops, that's broken, oops that's broken). Simple to make, delicious to eat, and so thin and light, you can hardly tell you're eating buttered chickpea flour. Now that's amazing.

Thank you Daring Bakers for another fabulous discovery in the world of baking! If you'd like to see the recipes, head on over to Bake My Day and take a look! If you'd like to know what I did, keep reading...

Savory Chickpea Tuiles
inspired by The French Laundry Cookbook

65 g/2.25 oz chickpea flour

1 Tbsp + 1 tsp sugar

1 tsp kosher salt

8 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened but still cool to the touch

2 large egg whites, cold

Preheat the oven to 400°

In a medium bowl, mix together the flour, sugar and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk the softened butter until it is completely smooth and mayonnaise-like in texture. Beat the egg whites into the dry ingredients with a whisk until completely incorporated and smooth. Whisk in the softened butter scraping the sides of the bowl as necessary and whisking until the batter is creamy and without any lumps. Transfer the batter to a smaller container, as it will be easier to work with.

Make 3, 2-inch hollow circular stencils spaced ½ inch apart (I used a thin plastic organizing folder). Place a Silpat (or similar) on a cool baking sheet. (If your baking sheet has raised edges, leave the Silpat on your counter and move it to the baking sheet just before baking.) Have a rounded surface such as a large-handled whisk or rolling pin clean and standing by.

Place the stencil in one corner of the sheet and, holding the stencil flat against the Silpat, scoop some of the batter onto the back of an offset spatula and spread it in an even layer over the stencil. Run the spatula across the surface of the stencil to remove any excess batter. Be sure not to leave any voids in the batter.

Lift the stencil and repeat the process, filling the Silpat while leaving about ½ inch in between the rounds.

Bake for approximately 3-4 minutes (watch the first couple of batches carefully to get the timing right), or until the batter is set and you see it rippling from the heat. There should be very light browning.

Remove the pan from the oven and, using a thin knife, transfer the tuiles to rest on the rounded surface. As the tuiles cool, they will lose their ability to bend, so work quickly.

Wipe the Silpat clean and allow it and the pan to cool before continuing with the next batch. Cooled tuiles may be stored in an airtight container for up to 2 days.

Promises, Promises

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 05:52:00 +0000

I feel like we've been here before. I went away. Disappeared. No note, no phone call, nada. Then, I come back, tossing apologies, promises for a new, different, more attentive person, and hoping that you'll stick around to see it.

Now, I won't blame you if you decide that it's just time for us to say goodbye, because, really, that would be, well, let's just say I'd understand. And I'm not going to say "But this time..." because I can't promise there won't be a next time.

But this time, I see so much in our future together. In fact, I even have some things to tell you about that I just couldn't seem to get to at the time. I've been stuck, you see, and not the kind of stuck that happens when you throw yourself against a velcro wall while wearing a velcro suit, but...come to think of it, that might be fun, in the beginning, anyway. And who could argue with that?

"Where have you been?!"

"Stuck on a velcro wall."

"Oh."

So, please. Do as you will, and I'll do as I do, and maybe we'll meet again, somewhere in the middle.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Caramel Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 19:23:00 +0000

Talk about creating a monster. This month, the focus is sugar. Caramelized sugar, to be exact. Now, sugar is an amazing thing. Despite the fact that it has a certain power over many of us, albeit subconsciously, the true power lies in its ability to change. Cooking sugar causes numerous changes to its molecular structure, and the changes continue with rising temperatures. At 235°, sugar is just right for fudge. At 270°, you're ready to make pulled taffy. At 300°, it's all about brittle.

But that's just sugar. What happens when you start adding things? Butter? Milk? Cream? Well, that changes everything. And thankfully, we had a real expert guiding us through this one. Our hosts this month, Dolores of Chronicles in Culinary Curiosity, Alex (aka Brownie) of Blondie and Brownie, and Jenny of Foray into Food got ahold of Shuna Fish Lydon (of Eggbeater among many others) for this challenge. Not only is Shuna's recipe (Caramel Cake with Caramelized Butter Frosting) the challenge, she was gracious enough to hold our hands through this otherwise trepidant world of sugar. In fact, if you ever need to know something about baking, chances are, Shuna has talked about it on Eggbeater. Oh, and PS: Natalie of Gluten a Go Go provides the gluten free expertise for this challenge.

Thanks to Shuna, I followed directions this time around. Primarily because she said so. I don't know why this was different. A book says so, and I don't seem to listen, as if I seem to know better than that book. That tested book, that written by some culinary heavyweight book. I know better, sure. But when Shuna speaks, it's gospel, people. Yes, I'm being overly dramatic (but you wouldn't have it any other way).

Caramel (or, carmel - with some part of me still in denial that the proper is car-a-mel) is browned, cooked sugar often provided the addition of some sort of dairy. For this cake, and its cover, a caramel syrup was required. The syrup did not rely on the addition of dairy to stop the caramelization of the sugar, but water instead. So even if you decide that this cake is not for you, I implore you to make this syrup. It is essentially caramel simple syrup (though decidedly less simple than its antecedent) and would do well in anything from cocktails to fruit syrups to meat glazes.

But enough of that, back to the cake. It's only one layer. It doesn't need two. Okay, who doesn't need two, but the fact of the matter is, this cake, in two layers, may cause some sort of frenzied commotion amongst guests. So, for the sake of yourself and your loved ones, you may want to stick to just one. It is rich, buttery, and so, so moist. Strikingly moist. It almost didn't need the caramelized butter frosting.

What, what am I saying? Of course it needed the frosting. Browned butter sweetened with powdered sugar and more caramel syrup? What cake wouldn't love that? It was so good, I ate it by the spoonful, and there was still plenty for its intended use. Not to mention, it would be a great filling for sandwiched cookies or used just as butter on toast or pancakes. Or, as I said, it's just perfect on a spoon.

Please check out Shuna's post on Bay Area Bites, for the recipes used in this callenge.

Daring Baker's Challenge: Lavash Crackers

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 00:31:00 +0000

I have a few confessions to make here: a) this challenge actually took place in September, 2) this is the inaugural gluten-free/vegan challenge for the Daring Baker's, and lastly) I am so not good at following the directions. Not only am I late, but I'm also not prepared to talk gluten-free or vegan. This time around I have to work with what I've got.

And what I've got is wheat flour, yeast, salt, honey, and oil. The makings of a cracker, I'd say (or at least according to Peter Reinhart in The Bread Baker's Apprentice). In fact, these crackers are just plain simple. Easy to make, no question. Something I'd make again, and intend to, especially the gluten-free version.

In a mixer with a dough hook, you'll hardly break a sweat. But, if I may, 10 minutes (or so) of kneading the old fashioned way, let me just say, Zen! Meditation with the reward of food; exercise and relaxation, wrapped into the same ball of dough. And truly, time isn't your guide here, it's in the windowpane test. After about 8 minutes, when I felt I just couldn't knead any more, the windowpane test failed (I couldn't stretch the bread without it breaking), and I knew I had to go on. That's when I relaxed, lost myself in the process, and continued to knead. Clears the mind, really.

I topped these lovely crackers with seeds of poppy, cumin, caraway, sesame, and nigella, even found some dukkah (not a bad word, doo-kah, but an Egyptian nut, seed and spice blend) hiding in my cupboard. All delicious, but the dukkah did win me over (there's a great recipe for this blend over at 101 Cookbooks).

So where's the vegan part of the challenge? In the accompaniments, of course. What would go better with a crisp flat bread than some hummus, baba ghanoush, or in this case, a little mock Boursin? Yes, in my non-vegan, casein-loving ways, I went cheese spread. Please forgive me, 'cause this stuff is damn good.

And so many thanks to this month's challenge makers Natalie of Gluten A Go Go (with the full gluten-free recipe) and Shelly of Musings from the Fishbowl (with the part gluten-free, part non-gluten-free recipe). Without them, I may never have discovered this simple and delicious recipe that helped me knead away my woes. And don't forget to check out all those other Daring Bakers...with their crackers and dips. Good stuff, I tell you.

And I soon as I can remember how I made it...I'll tell you all about the cheese.

When Life Gives You Sour Grapes

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 05:47:00 +0000

Welcome back. Or rather, sorry to keep you waiting. I won't mince words here: August was a tough month. And who am I kidding, where has September gone? In these past weeks, with many things to say, and no time to say it, came failed attempts at cooking up something worth talking about. There may have been a success (or two?), but we'll get into that another time.

As for the now, it's sour grapes. I have one rule when it comes to produce: if you've never before seen it, buy it. And that's how I came up with sour grapes. Clusters of firm, bright green jelly beans, they were. I snuck a taste; they snapped open between my teeth, quickly sending an acid-induced shock throughout my body. Good grief, what could I possibly do with these? Actually, I kinda liked it. Okay, I really liked it. They tasted like unsweetened sour candies in need of...sweetness.

After a brief investigation of these sour grapes, I found that they must have been none other than under ripe wine grapes, with which one could make verjus, a flavorful alternative to vinegar for use in savory sauces and the like. Still, sweeter is what I searched for, and I found not a shred of evidence that such a thing could be accomplished. And after these past months, I wasn't up for any more disappointments in my experimental efforts.

Jelly. I could do something with jelly. A cookie, a jelly-filled shortbread cookie, maybe a tart. Oh wait, I know, pâte de fruit. Sure, maybe it had taken a couple of days, and countless hours searching for the appropriate cookie recipe before it even dawned on me. But why not those jewel-like candies of firm fruit jelly dusted in sugar? Tart and sweet and not too firm by the end of it all (overly toothsome pâte de fruit I find unappealing, you should know). Perfect. Life's not so sour after all.

The sugar used for dusting is important. I used evaporated cane juice. Don't make the same mistake, it melts on the surface of the candies within minutes; use regular white cane sugar. And if you prefer, many pâte de fruit recipes out there call for pectin rather than gelatin (like this, and that).

Sour Grape Gelées
adapted from epicurious.com

½ pound sour grapes
4 (¼ ounce) envelopes unflavored gelatin
1 cup water
2 cups sugar plus additional for tossing

8-inch square nonstick baking pan, lightly oiled

Wash and stem grapes. Puree sour grapes in a food processor and transfer to a fine meshed strainer; press on solids to extract as much pulp as possible, leaving only skins behind. You should have ¾ cup of pulp in the end (add water or applesauce/apple puree to supplement if necessary).

Add the water to a 2-quart heavy saucepan; sprinkle the gleatin evenly over the surface of the water and let stand several minutes to soften. Heat gelatin over medium-low heat, stirring, until dissolved; add sugar and stir until dissolved.

Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat again to medium-low and boil, uncovered, without stirring, 13 minutes (watch carefully so that mixture does not boil over). Remove from heat and allow the mixture to stand for 5 minutes, skimming and foam that may remain on the surface. Stir in sour grape puree (do not scrape up any bits that may have settled on the bottom of the pan), and pour into the prepared baking pan. Let stand at room temperature until set, at least 12 hours.

Run a sharp knife around the edge of the gelatin and invert onto a cutting board. Cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips, then cut strips into 1-inch pieces. Just before serving, gently toss gelées in a bowl of sugar to coat, brushing off excess.

Gelées, without sugar coating, keep in an airtight container at cool room temperature 2 weeks.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Chocolate Éclairs

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 06:22:00 +0000

Yes, it's that time again. Another Daring attempt at something I think I already know. I do not intend to imply that I'm an expert of sorts, but I do tend to approach these things with the old hat mentality - will I ever learn? But, I was thrilled to see this month's Daring Bakers' Challenge, selected by Meeta of What's for Lunch, Honey? (with a little help from Tony of Olive Juice): Chocolate Éclairs from Chocolate Desserts by Pierre Hermé.

Éclairs, mmmm...oh, and profiteroles, cream puffs and gougères. Whatever your pleasure, they all have a common thread: choux pastry, or pâte à choux. I love this stuff; it's a buttery, floury paste that bakes (and poaches, and fries) up into a big puffy vessel for myriad filling choices, and in this case, a rich chocolate pastry cream.

One side of me (I don't know which) is a traditionalist, and really felt that only a vanilla pastry cream would do. But the other side convinced me that just sticking with the provided recipe was the way to go on this particular occasion. And so I did...and it turned out the most decadent chocolate pastry cream, I think ever. Not only that, but this recipe provided little fuss, which is great because the real fuss came later.

But let's go back to the choux pastry. I have made it before. I don't remember when, or how, or why, but I also don't remember having problems with it. And I didn't at first, this time around, until they were done, or should I say, until I thought they were done. They puffed up beautifully, I was so proud. When I took them out of the oven to admire them (and let them cool), they sank rapidly; their domed tops caving into deep crevices. What did I do? Well, with hindsight, I'm certain I didn't cook them long enough; though I did cook them longer than the recipe called for, they were still slightly doughy inside. After consulting various other recipes for choux pastry, I found that the requisite times and temperatures vary greatly; apparently, I'm just supposed to know. And I thought I did, which once again, is my Achille's heel. Okay, okay, next time I'll know everything.

And then (always a then) the chocolate glaze; I won't bore you with the details, save a few. To start, the chocolate glaze that tops the éclairs called for a chocolate sauce in the recipe. Seriously? I have to make a chocolate sauce, just so I can use a tiny bit of it in the glaze? Now, now, I'm following the recipe, remember? So I did it; I made the chocolate sauce to go in the chocolate glaze. And then the glaze turned into this mucky, broken, buttery mess. I ended up using the chocolate sauce alone to glaze the éclairs. See? Good thing I followed the recipe, or I wouldn't have had anything to fall back on.

How did they turn out, you ask? Aside from having only a small handful of éclairs that actually turned out to be attractive specimens (the profiterole-style puffs turned out much better), they tasted just as they should. They make for messy eating (as I think all éclairs do, see below), and would give any chocolate fiend their fix. Though in my case, as someone who eats her mistakes, it's safe to say I've completely OD'd.

For the recipe, take a look at What's for Lunch, Honey? To see more Daring Bakers in action, check out the Daring Bakers' Blogroll. Until next time...!

How not to eat an éclair...

A coworker with whom I shared an affinity for pure, unadulterated evil (baked goods) once brought me an éclair from a local bakery she had been raving about. Now, I did not work a desk job, but I did have work at a desk from time to time. So after the rush of the day had passed, I retired to said desk, closed the door to my shared office, and sat down to enjoy this, some might say gargantuan, éclair.

I raised it to my lips and bit into just the very tip; at once the entire contents of the pastry shot out of the other end and onto the lapel of my suit. While another might take pause to clean the offending filling from their clothing, I did not. The damage had already been done, I thought. So I changed position, leaning further out of my chair to take a second bite. Still, more (How can there be more?) pastry cream shot out of the back end, falling through my outstretched fingers and onto my shoe. I will not be done in by an éclair, I thought. And with the third, showstopping bite, I had pastry cream on both hands, my face, suit, shoes, desk, and computer. Attempting to clean oneself and their surroundings when covered entirely in stickiness is quite a feat. Oh, I am so thankful I was working alone that day.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Filbert Gâteau

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 14:07:00 +0000

And this month, brought to us by the Daring Mele Cotte, we have a Filbert Gâteau with Praline Buttercream from Great Cakes by Carol Walter. Layers of nutty cake and sweet buttercream enrobed in dark chocolate ganache; this cake is similar in technique to the Opera Cake we made just a couple of short months ago, with a few steps more.

Take one look at the recipe, and you just might run screaming from the kitchen. It is a rather daunting task, this cake. So many components, each prepared on their own. And, wait a second, I have to make my own praline paste? Not to mention, I see another scuffle with buttercream coming on, only this time I will win.

Oh, buttercream. I was ready to fall back on the cooked sugar syrup version of a Swiss buttercream that I have executed in the past. For some reason, I was weary of the cooked egg white and sugar technique of this recipe, but I resigned myself to it and carried on. And with hindsight (always so clever, that hindsight): much easier, I must say. In this method, egg whites are beaten until foamy, sugar is added, and the mixture is cooked over a hot water bath just until it reaches 120 degrees. Don't make the same mistake I did; when it comes to temperature, remove it from the heat immediately once it reaches the correct temperature (in fact, it may behoove you to remove it from the heat perhaps one or two degrees short of that), as the egg whites will continue to cook before cooling by way of being whipped into an airy fluff.

Now, the making of hazelnut praline is an entirely different story. While I am happy to say I have done so, I probably would not choose to again. There is a certain sense of accomplishment in something such as a praline paste (toast and skin hazelnuts, make a caramel, add hazelnuts, let it cool, puree it forever, and call it done - not exactly simple), but I have to say I've had much better. Commercially available praline paste has a much smoother, richer texture, like a super sweet, caramelized peanut butter, or in this case, hazelnut butter. Mine came out more like a nutty sugar paste. I was nervous; would this ruin my buttercream? Thankfully, no, the sugar in the praline paste actually dissolved away in the mix, resulting in the toasty sweet nutty buttercream I hoped for.

The cake itself was not as challenging as it was messy. Again, this is similar in technique to the almond sponge of the Opera Cake, only, you guessed it, hazelnuts instead. This requires toasting hazelnuts, rubbing the skin from the toasted hazelnuts, and processing them with a small amount of flour and cornstarch. Then you beat together egg yolks and sugar, then you beat together egg whites and sugar, and clarify some butter while you're at it. (How many bowls is that so far? I dunno, don't lose focus!) Now combine the eggs, then quickly sprinkle in the nut meal (Work fast! Use a whisk! Don't deflate the batter!), add the clarified butter, pour the batter into the prepared baking pan, and get it in the oven, all within a few minutes. Phew. Needless to say, cleaning up the remains of the process was a project in and of itself.

I didn't have a round cake pan, so I used a springform pan with excellent results. And then I had to cut the cake. Yes, it's time to assemble all of these components. Some said twine was the answer, others said that toothpicks could be your guide. But stubborn me thought I could split the cake into three perfectly straight and level layers, no problem. I just didn't know I needed a practice cake first. The first slice, a bit wobbly; the second cut, some improvement shown. Where's that practice cake?

Now: cake, sugar syrup, buttercream, repeat. This recipe did call for a layer of whipped cream after the buttercream, but I am terribly forgetful, and I wasn't about to take my cake apart to remedy the situation. Next would be the ganache coating. For this step I was most excited. The result is a beautifully shiny, perfectly enrobed cake. I've never executed a successful ganache coating (chocolate and cream, mostly) and, well, I still haven't. In this instance, I let the ganache cool too much before pouring it over the cake; it became a spreadable chocolate coating. Sure, it looked nice and shiny, until the cake was fully chilled, that is.

Well, it's been fun. Yes, frustrating, and I dirtied every bowl and kitchen appliance several times over, but still fun. I tried something I haven't before, and though I didn't succeed (ahem, ganache) I wouldn't have given it a shot otherwise. Thanks again, you Daring ones.

If you'd like to see the actual recipe, take a look at Mele Cotte. And, if you'd like to see some other great cakes, check out the Daring Bakers' Blogroll, where you'll find hundreds of other participating bakers.

An Incredible Egg

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 03:31:00 +0000

I want to tell you a story. It's about a farm with stretching pastures, rolling hills, and wandering chickens. Happy chickens, I'll bet. Here, they scratch and peck, feeding off the fresh green shoots of the newly grazed grass left behind by their neighboring cattle.

It's Marin Sun Farms. A little utopia of a farm where the land and animals are treated as precious rather than commodity. It's the kind of place I simply wish there were more of.

Fresh eggs from Marin Sun Farms are among the most beautiful I've ever seen. Colorful, hardy shells give way to show a rich golden yolk, so thick and rich in flavor. And to David and his chickens, I say thank you for your gift.

Plum Puckered

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 04:56:00 +0000

What does one do with a prolific plum tree? If only I had one to tell you about. Oh, but I do know someone who does, and with those plums, I made jam. I have been in quite a jammy mood lately, I have.

Turning fruit into jam is one of cooking's greatest permutations. Though not the same, the fresh sort and its simmered variant, neither is any less delicious. True, you can not mimic the flavor of a fresh, perfectly ripe, still warm from the sun specimen that dribbles juice down your chin if you're not careful, but there is something to be said for trying to hold on to that perception beyond the summer months.

But now, what to do with this jam? Its bittersweet, translucent jewel-like quality should not be limited only to toast; not that toast is unworthy, or a lesser vessel. What I mean is, few things celebrate a lovely jam better than the thumbprint cookie. Buttery, shortbread rounds with a dimple full of tart jam. Can't think of a better way to use up those plums.

And with what's left, I highly recommend trying the plum sorbet. Delicious.

This was so simple...plums, sugar, heat, and voila. Such sweet and juicy fruit; what remained was so very little (be prepared). I left the skins out for fear the jam too bitter, and to my surprise, it was still very much so. And what a sweet surprise, it mellowed after a few nights rest.

Plum Jam
yields about 1 ½ cups

3 cups plums, peeled and pitted
½ - 1 cup sugar (or to taste)

Simmer fruit and sugar in a medium pot over low heat, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until the fruit has thickened well enough to round up on a spoon.

Enjoy fully with warm toast or in your favorite thumbprint cookie.

Buttery Thumbprints with Plum Jam
adapted from marthastewart.com

1 stick unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 Tbsp all-purpose flour
2 Tbsp cornstarch
1/2 cup plum jam (any flavor jam will do)

Preheat oven to 350°

Combine butter and sugar in a medium to large bowl; beat together until light and fluffy. Add egg yolk and vanilla; beat well. Whisk together flour, cornstarch, and salt; add to the moist ingredients and mix just until combined.

Roll dough into ½ -inch balls; place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Make a deep indentation in the center of each ball with your thumb.

Bake for 10 minutes, remove from oven, and lightly press the centers down again. Fill the center of each cookie with about ½ - 1 teaspoon of jam. Return to the oven and bake about 10 to 12 minutes more. The cookies should only show signs of light browning on the bottom and still remain a golden buttery color atop.

Place on a wire rack to cool. While it is tempting to sample cookies fresh from the oven, the jam will be screaming hot, so give them a few moments. This recipe makes about 3 dozen, depending on the size of your thumbprint.

Midnight Canning

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 01:14:00 +0000

So much fruit. Pounds and pounds of fruit. At the time, I was simply relishing the joy of finding yet another "one" on the tree. How did it become so much?

Years ago, I entertained the notion of canning. It sounded like such a grand idea, preserving the best of the season to be enjoyed year round or, even better, being able to give the gift of jam. That was ages ago. But today, I have over 30 pounds of fruit (it seems) on my kitchen countertop. I'd better get started.

Blenheim apricot jam. Sweet little apricots, they are; even moreso in the jar. White nectarine preserves, stone fruit butter, peaches and more peaches, what about the rest? Looks like I'll need more jars.

Preservation is an art, somewhat lost. But really, it is so simple, I don't know what took me so long to come around. And I have so much to look forward to, lovely summer fruit for months to come.

As (surprise!) I was not prepared to preserve such a mountain of fruit, I wasn't able to find all of the accoutrements (aside from lids and jars) at the last minute. While I got by with a pair of tongs and crossed fingers, I highly recommend, at the very least, scoring an actual jar lifter that is intended to do the job of lifting hot jars in and out of boiling water. Also, if you only have one large pot, you can get by: after filling jars, return to the same pot, crank up the heat, and start the timer after the water comes back up to a boil.

For more information, please refer to the veritable authority on American home canning at freshpreserving.com. Or, for truly extensive information, including a completely different take on the role of sugar in canning, take a look at this from Colorado State University.

Stone Fruit Butter
yields about 2 pints

4 pounds stone fruit (such as peaches, apricots, and nectarines), peeled and sliced
½ cup sugar
Juice of 1-2 lemons

Simmer cut fruit and sugar in a medium saucepot until fruit has softened; puree fruit.
Continue to cook over low heat, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until the fruit has thickened well enough to round up on a spoon. Add lemon juice (to taste) to brighten the flavor.

Enjoy fully with warm toast.

For preservation:

Fill a large pot with enough water to cover jars by at least 1-2 inches.

In a second pot, fully submerge 2 clean pint jars (or 4 x ½ pints), and new, unused lids in 180° degree water for at least ten minutes prior to filling; keep the bands clean and to the side. Remove jars from hot water as needed.

Ladle warm butter into hot jars, leaving ¼” headspace at the top of the jar. Remove any air bubbles by sliding a plastic (non-metal) spatula between the jar and the fruit; clean away any fruit butter from the rims of the jars. Set the lids onto the jars and screw on the bands just until firm and snug, do not try to make it as tight as you can. Carefully lower jars into pot of boiling water, cover and process for 10 minutes.

After 10 minutes has passed, take the pot from the heat and allow the jars to rest for 5 minutes before removing, this will help with any temperature shock that could potentially damage the jars.

Remove jars, set upright with 1-2 inches of space between the jars; allow to cool for 12-24 hours. After cooling, check for a seal by removing the bands and attempting to pop off the lid with your hands; you should not be able to do so. Upon passing the seal-check, replace band and store jars in a cool, dry place for up to 1 year. If instead the lid pops open, all steps, including reheating the butter, should be repeated.

Daring Bakers Challenge: Danish Braid

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 13:01:00 +0000

For this, my second Daring Bakers Challenge, it has come to laminated dough. Roughly defined, laminated dough is multiple layers of fat and dough; puff pastry, croissant and Danish dough all fall into this category. Essentially the rising or puffing action is a result of the fat melting between the layers of dough, creating a space between said layers that is then lifted by the steam released from the fat. Simple, huh?

Now let's talk Danish. Danish (and croissant, incidentally) dough is a little different in that it contains an additional leavening agent: yeast. This component will produce a pastry that is soft and tender rather than crisp like puff pastry. Let's begin, shall we?

Okay, I won't go into too much detail about the dough. It's quite repetitive (as is the nature of laminated doughs), and I wouldn't want you getting sleepy now, would I? I have had the privilege to work with laminated dough before, so this was not uncharted territory I must say, but for me, the myriad filling options became the challenge.

The original recipe was an apple Danish braid, its crust flavored with orange and cardamom. As exotic as that sounds, I felt the dough flavoring limited me to sweet applications (not that I know what I'm talking about) and I was far more interested in using something a) savory, and b) if fruit, a more seasonal choice. I'm not very good at following recipes, as you can tell. (That is my biggest challenge, telling the cook in me to sit down and shut up while the baker in me tries to flourish.)

So, I left out the flavorings, reduced the sugar in the dough just a touch, and carried on. There were two fillings I had in mind, a savory and a sweet, and then I spied The Silicone Spatula creating a tomato, basil, and cheese filled braid. Okay, duh. I love cheese. And I love cheese with tomatoes and basil. How awesome is that? (Thanks, bel!) Now I would have to make three. Rosemary ham and Gruyere cheese (love cheese), Caprese-style, and something peachy.

The recipe would produce two large braids; while I aimed for three medium sized ones, I ended up with three larger ones. Turns out, I rolled the dough much thinner than I should have (Did I mention the whole following-the-recipe-is-difficult thing?). And I was supposed to let the braids proof far longer than I had (Where is that recipe?).

So how did they turn out?

Ham and Gruyere. So simple, almost boring. I added a sprinkle of caraway seeds; it seemed so naked. Out of the oven, cool for a stint. Um, WOW. Boring, no way; this stuff sang. The tender, buttery, slightly sweet dough was the perfect compliment to the gooey, nutty Gruyere and that hint-of-rosemary ham.

Sure, the dough didn't rise quite as it could have, it was too thin and under-proofed, but the dough to filling ratio was perfect, not too much of anything. And the caraway, "Good call," I was told. Yeah, sometimes I get it right.

Now the one I was ready to love (and inhale), the Caprese-style. I love the flavor combination of tomatoes, basil, and fresh cheese. It began with a layer of tomato jam (whole canned tomatoes slowly baked for several hours in olive oil), topped with basil and fresh ricotta from Belfiore Cheese, then oven-dried heirloom tomatoes, and finally, thick slices of Belfiore's fresh mozzarella. Goosebumps, people.

Unfortunately, this one fell short for me. I didn't season it well enough, and the dough was too sweet and buttery (what?!) for this type of filling. This pastry begged for a few slices of pepperoni; that would have been something. Danish a la Hot Pocket, anyone?

And finally there was the Frog Hollow Farm peach. I read about these peaches years ago, before ever imagined I would be living in the same state as this magical place. A place where the peaches were so sweet, juicy, and delicious you could cut them in half, place a nub of butter where the pit once laid, bake it in the oven, and have peach pie. Yes, at Frog Hollow Farm, the peaches are legendary for their sugar content. So how trilled was I to see them in a local market? Kismet, I tell you. These were eat over the sink peaches, lick your elbows when you're done peaches, like the ones I ate off the tree as a kids peaches. I was a pretty lucky kid.

I made an almond filling for the base of the braid, sliced up some peaches, skin on, and arranged them over the almond mixture. A little sprinkle of superfine sugar and cinnamon over the top of the braid, and I'm ready for the most amazing peach pie Danish I'll ever eat. But alas, it was not so. The almond filling was a bit too toasted and took away from the delicate peaches, and really, it just wasn't sweet enough. It is a little early for that famous Frog Hollow peach, I suppose.

I can't complain one bit. I've made something I probably never would have, if not for the inspiration from the Daring Bakers and this month's hosts, Kelly of Sass & Veracity (and you can get the recipe here), and Ben of What’s Cookin’? And I had great fun doing it, despite any impressions of disappointment I may have allowed. (Just ignore that.) Life is good.

Getting Picked up in Brentwood

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 02:03:00 +0000

I should be keeping this a secret, but it's just too good. And it was passed down to me, after all, it would be selfish not to fess up. I went picking in Brentwood, a small town in the California Delta graced with fruit trees, corn fields, and a farmstand on every corner, once you get past the newly planted suburbia, that is.

Not having been there before, I wasn't quite sure what to expect; it is, or so I thought, that awkward time when the bounty of spring is long gone, and the fruits (and vegetables) of summer are not quite ready.

What seemed roughly 20 pounds of fruit plucked by hand from the first farm turned out to be closer to 40; apricots, peaches and nectarines, oh my! Some so ripe, they began to split and burst before even making it to the car. Could these beauties survive the long trek home, I wondered? At that, not before a few more stops out of town; there are berries, corn, beans, and tomatoes to be had.

And in answer to my question: barely. Such tender little babies, a good third of them destined for cobbler and sorbet before nightfall. I'm hoping the rest might stick around for at least a few more days. I've got plans for them.

There is nothing that compares to ripe fruit from the tree. Nothing. And these days, there's really no other way to get it than to do it yourself. They may have suffered bruises along the way, but the beauty here is on the inside. They are fresh, juicy and delicious. Nectar dripping to the toes. Eat these in the kitchen, it's easier to clean up afterwards.

A Lazy Day Dessert

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 00:21:00 +0000

I have a sweet tooth. I didn't actually, for quite some time, but when it found me again, it had become insatiable. In order to keep this part of myself under a certain control, and let me start by saying will power is not involved here, I tend to limit my purchases of those things sweet. By this I mean all of the wonderful little snacky things you might buy from the bakery down the way or the candy maker across the street (fortunately, or not, as the case may be, I do not exaggerate).

So when the sweet tooth does rear its ugly crown, I turn to my own creative efforts. And not because I can not justify buying myself a confectionary treat; but because often, my pajama-bottomed bottom just doesn't want to go anywhere.

On this particular day, I was inspired by a recipe I happened to find in a book all about small plates. Normally, I eschew this kind of cooking, as it is something I enjoy eating much more than taking the trouble to prepare. But this recipe was just as easily made in a baking dish (as opposed to individual ramekins) and I just happened to have all ingredients on hand (I knew I had that buttermilk in the fridge for something).

I had some blackberries, nearing their end, and decided they would be the perfect addition to this simple lemon pudding cake. The cake, leavened by whipped egg whites, is so light and airy that you can hear little bubbles bursting with each nudge of your fork. Such a lovely, bright dessert, reminiscent of a luscious lemon curd. And, oh, how the soft, silky richness melts in your mouth; when I say cake, I really do mean pudding.

The lemon flavor in this cake is not for the faint of heart; it is very tart. If you prefer sweet over sour, substitute Meyer lemons or add another tablespoon (or two) of sugar to the batter. The berries may be omitted all together if you prefer a plain lemon pudding, and if you have no interest in turning the berries into sauce, simply scatter fresh berries across the bottom of the baking dish before adding the batter.

Berry Bottomed Pudding Cake
adapted from Big Small Plates

6 oz. fresh blackberries, rinsed
¼ cup water
2/3 cup + 1 Tablespoon sugar
½ cup fresh squeezed lemon juice (approx. 3-4 lemons)
Zest from juiced lemons
1½ cups buttermilk
4 Tablespoons butter, melted
3 large eggs, separated

This recipe requires a water bath for a small baking dish (8 x 8 or 9 x 13, for example) or eight 4 oz. ramekins.

Preheat oven to 350°.

1. Combine blackberries, water, and 1 Tbsp sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Smash berries with a potato masher or slotted spoon; cover and cook until slightly thickened. Remove from heat and strain berries through a fine meshed strainer, pressing on the solids to push as much through the strainer as possible. Pour berry sauce into the bottom of a 9 x 13 (or similar) baking dish.

2. In a large bowl, combine the 2/3 cup sugar and flour. Add the lemon juice, zest, and buttermilk.

3. In a separate bowl, combine the egg yolks and melted (but not hot) butter; add this to the buttermilk mixture.

4. With a stand mixer (or by hand) whip the egg whites until soft peaks form. Fold the egg whites into the batter with a whisk.

5. Pour the batter into the baking dish straight away (the egg whites will begin to deflate as soon as they are added to the batter).

6. Place the baking dish in a water bath (the water should come at least halfway up the sides of the dish). Bake for 25-30 minutes; the cake should just begin to crack yet still be jiggly. Cool to room temperature.

Serve with fresh whipped cream if desired.

Daring Bakers Challenge: Opera Cake!

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Wed, 28 May 2008 12:58:00 +0000

Woo-hoo!

I am thrilled to be a part of this group of Daring Bakers! Allow me to elaborate: every month, the Daring are given a challenge (in secret) of the baking sort. It could be savory, it could be sweet. There's a place where everyone can meet and trade secrets or horror stories. And then, all at once, we tell the world all about it. (This is my first one, can you tell?)

In the short time I've been a part of this group, I have only emailed the founding members (Lis and Ivonne), I dunno, too many times to count, so I would like to thank them for their time, as I can't imagine what else they would have time for. If you are interested in learning more, details abound at the Daring Baker's Blogroll.

I'm so enamored with the whole thing, in fact, that I've written all about it. If you care to read on, I must say I appreciate your tenacity. If you just want to make this cake, check out Cream Puffs in Venice.

Now, back to the nitty gritty. Opera Cake. And light Opera Cake, at that (light flavors and colors, no dark chocolate here). I was a little taken aback by the first challenge I'm getting my hands on, here. Buttercream, almond sponge, not easy stuff.

I had lofty aspirations, I was getting all carried away with my ingredients. I would buy almond meal (not make it), only the best butter (for the buttercream), and nothing but pure white chocolate would do (for the glaze). Then I went shopping. I'll make the almond meal (no time to run all over town), the butter I normally use is just fine (no need to be fussy), and white baking chips are a reasonable substitute (white chocolate is how much per pound?).

Once I got over that part, I needed equipment. Any excuse to go to the restaurant supply store is a good one; my answer to the kid in a candy store. Seriously, I could spend all day there. And no, I don't really need a Robot Coupe (ultra-duty food processor), a Vita-Prep (ultra-duty blender), or a portable nacho cheese cart. But, I do need a 1/2 sheet pan, a cake spreader, and some pastry tips (you never know when you might need a pastry tip).

First, I went with the buttercream. (Oh yeah, the flavor of my cake will be lemon.) So, there was some mention in the recipe about the sugar temperature being too high (a buttercream consists of a meringue, which is eggs beaten with a heated sugar syrup, then plenty o' butter beaten into the meringue), but I didn't let that stop me. I made the buttercream, no problem. It was actually quite easy. "What's all the fuss about?" I wondered. But it didn't make very much; and then my eye caught the singled-out egg yolk that didn't find its way in there (which is maybe why it didn't make so much). Drats.

Then I made buttercream again, and again, and again. Yes, my second and third time were complete failures. And the third time, I did exactly what I did the second time (overheated the sugar syrup). Nope, didn't learn anything that last time, apparently. Oh wait, now I get it, it's not that easy, quit being a show-off (yes, inner dialogue). So the fourth time went okay. And it was better than the first. The end result, luscious lemon buttercream so good I ate it by the spoonful. Good thing I made more.

Then came the joconde. Fancy name, no? It is essentially an almond sponge cake, wherein the almonds take place of most of the flour. Because this cake depends on egg whites to do the leavening, and fat deflates egg whites (which almonds have plenty of) this is a challenging cake. Everything must be ready to go, ingredients combined quickly, and into the oven before the cake has time to settle into the pan. Phew.

Mine did come out a bit lopsided, but I was happy with it overall. After cooling, it was time to assemble. This is the dreadful part, for me, anyway. I sat there staring at each piece of the puzzle, hoping I would like it just the same when it was all put together.

For three layers of cake, the first was brushed with a lemon syrup (simply sugar, a touch of water, and fresh lemon juice in at the end), reminiscent of lemonade itself. I skimped a bit, not sure if I really wanted a lemonade cake, but in the end, I should've been more generous (note to self). Then a layer of buttercream. Buttercream is not easy to spread, people! Seriously, when did this happen; it's icing for goodness sake. It's just cake and icing. Hah!

Another layer of cake, some syrup, more buttercream, repeat. Okay. Now the glaze part. The glaze was essentially a white chocolate ganache (white chocolate with enough cream added to keep the chocolate soft after setting). Well, as I said, I had white baking chips, more of a white chocolate substitute, you could say. Actually, I have to give this one the thumbs up, the coco-nutty notes (hello, palm oil) really complemented the intense lemon flavors in the cake.

Warm = fluid. This is how ganache works. Now put that on butter. Hmm. So, yes, I chilled the cake, I waited as long as I could to let the glaze cool, and most of it ended up on my kitchen counter. Good thing, 'cause it would have been too thick otherwise. Charmed life, eh? I usually realize this after the panic.

I brought the finished cake to work, couldn't bare to let it win multiple staring contests at home. One of my colleagues had a piece for breakfast. Probably the greatest compliment I've ever had. Me eating it for breakfast doesn't count.

100 Degrees before the Fog

noreply@blogger.com (Jasmine) — Mon, 19 May 2008 03:39:00 +0000

It felt wrong to do what I was doing, Simmering a pot on the stove whilst one baked away in the oven. It was nearly 100 degrees outside. Unspeakable heat, especially for these parts. What was I thinking?

And then came the fog. The temperature dropped faster than seemed possible. Suddenly, it was downright cold. Hmph, I knew what I was doing (after all).

Polenta is one of those things, I love it, but I don't make it often, though it's easy enough; I don't have an excuse, really. It is so comforting and warms me to the core. And having been treated to fresh pasta and Bolognese sauce during a recent lunch, I was still hungry for it; a perfect accompaniment for my polenta, I figured.

This slow-cooking fare is perfect to prepare when your space needs some warmth from the kitchen. And while it may be fit for a different time of year, I'm sure for someone, somewhere, it's just the thing.

As much as I love to cook, I don't do it every day, and when I do, I often prepare enough to get me through to the next opportunity. That being said, these recipe portions are large though well suited to paring down. For the polenta, use whatever grind suits your taste, from fine to coarse; I used regular old cornmeal. I happened to have egg yolks in the fridge, so I threw them in, but they're certainly not necessary to the success of the dish, it simply adds richness.

Basic Polenta

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
½ yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups chicken broth
2 cups yellow cornmeal or polenta
4 egg yolks, room temperature (optional)
½ lb Parmigiano Reggiano finely shredded, ½ cup reserved
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 325°

1. In a Dutch oven (with a lid), sweat the onions and garlic in oil; do not allow any browning.

2. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil.

3. While whisking constantly, pour the cornmeal in a thin stream into the pot. Once the cornmeal is fully incorporated, the mixture will begin to bubble vigorously and can be dangerous, so use caution. Cover the pot, and place in the oven for 1 hour. Stir the mixture about every twenty minutes during baking.

4. Remove the polenta from the oven and whisk in the Parmigiano Reggiano and egg yolks (if using). Season with salt and pepper to taste after the cheese has been added to ensure proper seasoning.

5. Serve immediately (garnished with more fresh grated cheese) as a side dish or on its own with a simple tomato sauce.

Hearty Meat Sauce

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 lb ground bison (or whatever you prefer)
½ yellow onion, finely diced
2 medium carrots, finely diced
2 celery ribs, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups beef broth, low sodium (or homemade)
29 oz can tomato puree
Flat leaf parsley, finely chopped (optional)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add olive oil, onions and carrots and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are caramelized and begin to soften. Add celery and garlic and continue to cook until aromatic. Add ground bison and cook, stirring and breaking up the mean as it begins to brown.

2. Once the meat has browned sufficiently, add broth and reduce heat to just above a simmer. Allow liquid to reduce by half.

3. Add tomato puree and reduce heat to a low simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook until the sauce is very thick or has reached the desired consistency.

4. Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the chopped parsley. Serve with polenta or a tender, flat pasta.