Last month, I wrote about my first experience canning, making Cathy Barrow’s (mrswheelbarrow.com) Strawberry-Rhubarb Sauce, and how gratifying it was to make something that had a shelf life. Here in Santa Barbara, produce traditionally associated with the summer months — cherries, peaches, nectarines, etc. — began arriving in our Farmers Market a few weeks ago. Taking advantage of the abundance of stone fruits, and a steady supply of raspberries, I canned White-Peach Raspberry Jam last week. The recipe? Cathy shared the proportions of fruit to sugar to flavoring (Meyer Lemon juice in my case) via Twitter and off to the kitchen I went. My modest project yielded three jars of this pretty, not-too-sweet, floral-smelling jam, adding to this canner-in-training’s larder.

Matthew suggested I step up my game and give salsa a try. My primary concern was canning safety. After assuring me that cooked fruity salsas are straightforward — similar to jams and preserves — Cathy steered me to her Peachy Spicy Salsa recipe. I’m always drawn to fruit salsas, finding them versatile (a great accompaniment to grilled fish, for example), and complex in flavor — sweet and tangy with a beat or two before the heat kicks in. Cathy noted in her recipe that this salsa is equally satisfying made with a combination of fruit and tomatoes, which is exactly the combination I had in mind.

I know we’re ready for summer when Burkdoll Farms of Visalia sets up its stand at the Farmers Market on Saturdays. Last week, I filled a small bag with fragrant apriums (a cross between apricot and plum) and Brooks Cherries. This week, I couldn’t resist the yellow-and-blush Rainier Cherries and the heavy, red-and-orange nectarines.

I buy my plum tomatoes from Beylik Family Farms of Venture County, fourth-generation farmers who sell their produce from Santa Barbara to Los Angeles. One of the women who works at the market every week told me that plum tomatoes are her choice for roasting as well as for cooking salsa, so I bought a few pounds of the bright red, oval beauties.

While it’s best to set aside about two hours from start to finish for this salsa, all of the steps are straightforward. First, I filled my stock pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. This pot was used to sterilize the jars as well as process the jars of salsa after cooking. I put another pot of water on the stove to boil; this would be used to blanch the nectarines and tomatoes, making it easier to slip the skins off before cooking (after blanching, the fruit is quickly dropped in a large bowl of ice water, before peeling). While the second pot was coming to a boil, I did a rough chop on a peeled, large red onion and a red pepper, and removed the ribs and seeds from one jalapeno pepper (I opted for a mild salsa rather than a fiery one, so I used only one jalapeno). The Bug peeled garlic and picked cilantro from our garden, adding them to the food processor. She pulsed the vegetables in one-second intervals, stopping when she had a fine chop, but not a liquidy mix.

We mixed the fruit, apple cider vinegar, honey, a generous amount of cumin and a modest amount of cayenne in a large pot on the stove and added the onions and pepper mixture to the pot, cooking the salsa mixture at a simmer for 25 minutes. I ladled the hot mixture into half-pint jars, sealed them and then processed the jars for 15 minutes before removing them from the water bath to cool. A few minutes later, I heard one ping after the next, until it was clear all six jars had been processed successfully.

While I made dinner, we dipped salty tortilla chips in the cooled salsa and scooped up the sweet-and- tangy sauce with crunchy carrot sticks as well. The cumin and cayenne add a spicy warmth and heat to the fruity mixture, and we loved the piney, lemony flavors that the cilantro lent to the sauce. We’ve earmarked half of our batch for friends, which means The Bug and I will be back in the kitchen soon to make another variation — spicier, next time — of this versatile, flavorful salsa.

I’ve included my spin on Cathy’s recipe below. Here is a link to her post.

 

 

Ten years ago today, in a high-rise hotel, in a noisy city in southern China, I became a mother. The director of the orphanage, where my baby had spent the last eight months and three weeks, placed The Bug in my arms, and despite the fact that she must have been uncomfortably warm — dressed for a snow storm on a hot and humid day — and had never seen me before, she didn’t resist and she didn’t cry. Her hands rested on my arms as she studied my face with a serious, unblinking expression. Fine, wispy black hair stuck out of her head in all directions. All I could do was stare back into those dark eyes.

My mother and I gave her a bath, dressed her in a comfortable onesie that I had brought with me from California, and we waited for the other families in our travel group to come say hello — she was the first baby to arrive. We heard shy knocks at the door as the other families heard about The Bug’s arrival. As the room filled with my travel companions, she smiled, she giggled, she charmed all of us. The memories are vivid and telling. This happy baby grew into a happy child. Kind and funny, too.

And, what does all of this have to do with a rustic, savory crostada? It is one of those dishes that makes my Bug smile with anticipation. I never make it the same way twice — different cheeses, different varieties of tomatoes, different herbs — but however I make it, she eats it with gusto and happiness. And, when I told her I was thinking about writing a post marking our 10 years together, she suggested I share this recipe.

Whether I’m baking savory or sweet pastry, it always begins with Melissa Clark’s Perfect Pie Crust recipe, which also can be found in her last two books — In the Kitchen with A Good Appetite and Cook This Now. The dough comes together quickly and predictably, rolls out easily, and yields a buttery, flaky crust. For last Friday evening’s crostada, I took inspiration from this elegant puff pastry tart from Martin Picard, featured in the Wall Street Journal Off Duty section in March. While my crostada would be more rustic in feel, I wanted to duplicate the flavors Picard put together: nutty and sharp Gruyere cheese with a pungent Dijon mustard “cream,” that is lightly brushed on the bottom of the pastry. That small amount of mustard deftly tames the richness of the melted cheese layer above it. A thin layer of caramelized onions, one of The Bug’s favorite ingredients, is spread on top of the grated Gruyere.

Plum tomatoes began making their appearance at our Farmers Market last week. While I’m not wild for them raw, roasted in the oven, they deliver a completely different experience, developing an intense flavor as their edges curl inward and juice is released. More importantly, they’re heartier than sun-dried tomatoes that can’t withstand nearly an hour in a hot oven without burning.

After placing the tomatoes on top of the onions, I did a rough chop of fresh basil and scattered it over the tomatoes before baking. I folded the crust over, making sure to pinch any areas that might sprout a leak, and brushed an egg yolk wash over the crust. Then, a quick drizzle of my best, peppery olive oil over the tomatoes, and a sprinkle of salt and pepper, before placing the crostada in the oven to bake for about 45 minutes.

While I typically serve crostada for dinner with a salad, The Bug enjoys the leftovers for breakfast. So, I think this would make a colorful and flavorful savory brunch entree, too. My recipe incorporating elements of Chef Picard’s tart is below.

 

 

 

For the first time this year, I spotted white peaches at the Farmers Market. They weren’t quite ripe, but their familiar scent filled the air.

We’re fortunate to have blueberries in our markets most of the year, and I had picked up my usual supply of three boxes before I came upon the peaches.

A few nights ago, in the middle of pulling a dinner together on a busy weeknight, the sight and intoxicating scent of those newly-ripened white peaches sitting in a bowl on my counter got to me. I felt an urgent need to bake something with them.

I’ve written about Melissa Clark’s recipes regularly. Her books and her weekly column, which appears in The New York Times Dining section, often are the first places I turn when I have an ingredient that I want to showcase in a flavorful and easy-to-prepare dish. This time was no different; I zeroed in on two recipes. Twice late last summer, I baked a plum crostada she created. We loved the grainy, sweet flavor of the whole wheat pastry she developed for this rustic tart. I also remembered a stone fruit cobbler/cake combination. The summer fruit may have been the primary focus, but the cobbler/cake, with its crackling top made a lasting impression, too. In this case — a last-minute weeknight dessert –practicality ruled: I put my spin on Melissa’s irresistible cobbler/cake.

The recipe is comprised of three, components, each straightforward to make. The bottom “layer” is browned melted butter; I used European butter, which becomes a golden yellow as it browns over medium heat. It releases a strong, nutty aroma after just a few minutes. The next layer is the “cobbler/cake” — a mix of flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. It is lightly whisked together with buttermilk (I substituted whole wheat pastry flour for the all-purpose white; going for that whole-grain, lightly sweet, flavor.). The barely-mixed batter is poured carefully on top of the melted brown butter. The third layer is the fruit: I peeled my peaches, as I’m not a fan of that fuzzy skin, mixed them with a bit of a sugar and lemon juice, and cooked the mixture for a few minutes on the stove. Once the fruit is slightly cooked, it’s spooned on top of the batter. At this point, I dropped a handful of fresh blue berries across the batter and sprinkled Demerara sugar and freshly-grated nutmeg on top (This time, I opted to skip the sliced almonds that Melissa’s recipe called for). I placed the dish on a cookie sheet and slid it into the oven.

It emerged about an hour later with a light-brown crust and gently bubbling fruit peeking through the top. I cleaned the dinner dishes as it cooled and when we couldn’t stand the wait any longer, I sliced three wedges. Then, another three. Two more after that. You know where I’m going with this. There was just one slice left. (Here’s the photo that Matthew posted that night before I wrapped it up.)

This cobbler/cake may be rustic in appearance, but it bowls you over with flavor. The crust, crunchy from the whole wheat and the generous sprinkling of Demerara sugar, is a revelation. We all wanted much more of it. The peaches, lightly sweet and still intact, are a perfect match with the slightly tart blueberries. The brown butter gives this dish a surprising intensity.

I wish the photos did Melissa’s dessert justice, but I’ll have another go or two with my camera, as I’ll be baking this cobbler/cake all summer. I think a rhubarb-strawberry version is up next. Here, again, is the link to Melissa’s original recipe in The New York Times and I’ve included my version of the recipe below.

 

This month, as we fast track our way towards Memorial Day and the unofficial beginning of summer, Abby Dodge, our Baketogether May Queen, chose a versatile Cornmeal Buttermilk Muffin for the group. As I’ve written before, Abby encourages participants to use her recipe as a launchpad, and make it their own. In this case, her recipe lends itself to a sweet interpretation– she celebrated the pre-summer season with fresh strawberries folded in — and she baked a savory version with mix-ins of chopped onion, crumbled blue cheese and Dijon mustard.

While I can never get enough of  sweet, cornmeal-based muffins and cakes, I wanted The Bug to feel like this month, the Baketogether project was almost entirely hers to drive. So following her preference, we headed in a savory and spicy direction with our muffins.

Our “mix-ins” made our corn muffins a natural complement to our Sunday dinner of grilled chicken marinated in The Homesick Texan’s marvelous barbecue sauce, a white corn and English Pea saute and a crunchy green salad, featuring lettuce from our garden. We chose an aged cheddar — a three-year rather than a five-year-old cheese — so while the sharp flavor came through, the younger cheese melted softly into the muffin. A heaping teaspoon of finely diced jalapeno pepper provided an unexpected kick, the scallions a mild onion flavor. Fresh California white corn? What can I say, it’s a welcome, sweet addition in every dish where it makes an appearance.

Following Abby’s suggestions, we made a few changes to the original recipe — reduced the amount of sugar, increased the amount of salt — but we also used a mild olive oil instead of the vegetable oil the recipe called for. I handled prep for the mix-ins (too much knife work for my almost-11-year-old), The Bug measured and whisked the remaining ingredients together, and then scooped the batter into the muffin pan. The muffins baked for a little more than 20 minutes until their tops were lightly golden. Underneath their wonderfully crunchy tops lies a tender crumb — buttermilk and The Bug’s light hand when mixing made the difference.

We loved the soft crumb with the savory flavors. The Bug even suggested we increase the amount of jalapeno next time around for extra heat. And, for a match made in heaven, we served our muffins with pats of homemade butter. The Bug learned to make this treat a few months ago on a visit to MrsWheelbarrow’s Kitchen.

Our take on Abby’s recipe for Cornmeal Buttermilk Muffins with mix-ins and a change or two is below. And, here’s a link to Abby’s May Baketogether post with her original recipe and more ideas for making this muffin your own. This recipe is now part of my cornmeal collection and I’m certain that we’ll be making a sweet version of this light-as-air muffin very soon.

 

 

 

I was walking into C’est Cheese after the Farmers Market last weekend, when a salad listed on the “specials” board caught my eye. It was called Spanish Salad and included greens with Jamon Serrano (dry-cured ham), Zamorano Cheese (a sheep’s milk cheese, similar to Manchego) and Marcona almonds. It was dressed with a quince vinaigrette. My curiosity was piqued by the mix of flavors and textures and when the owner of C’est Cheese handed me a spoonful of that unusual vinaigrette, I knew I needed to make the salad for myself, and soon.

Later that day while finishing up my shopping at Whole Foods, I had a quick chat with Elsa, who works in catering. I like to hear about which cheeses, meats and condiments she and her colleagues are eating, and get their recommendations for wine pairings, too. I mentioned the Spanish salad to Elsa, noting that I wanted to make it more substantial, more like the centerpiece of the meal rather than a supporting dish. As she weighed my order, she looked up from the scale and suggested adding caramelized onions, for sweetness and depth, and then she steered me to the olive bar, and pointed to peppadew peppers, a fire engine-red, sweet and piquant pepper about the size of a walnut. With those suggestions, all of the components of the salad were set.

I’ve made the salad a few times and here’s what I’ve learned: mix up your greens. While baby arugula provides a terrific, slightly bitter bite, the leaf is too delicate on its own; it collapsed as soon as the the salad was tossed. The next time, I added my favorite Little Gem romaine to the arugula, which brought a much-needed crunch and heft to the bowl. I also added a couple of handfuls of baby spinach that I had picked up at the Farmers Market.

Don’t skip the Jamon Serrano (I forgot to add it the first time I made it, and it was sorely missed). That salty, meaty bite is the perfect counterpoint to the peppers and the caramelized onions with their sweet undertones. I took the slices of ham, tore them in half lengthwise and then rolled the thin pieces into neat little rolls. That technique made for a toothsome bite.

If you can find Zamorano, a sheep’s milk cheese that is aged for six months, buy it. It has a slightly stronger flavor than Manchego and stands its ground with all of the assertive flavors in the bowl. Shave it in paper-thin shards; they look so delicate resting on the top of the salad, and the flavor is complex — creamy and slightly sweet.

Let’s talk about that quince vinaigrette. It begins with quince paste, which you can find in the gourmet or cheese section of your grocery store. If you can’t locate it, you might substitute a teaspoon or two of fig jam. Season the dressing as you usually do with salt and pepper. I used sherry vinegar and looked for the vinegar that had been aged the longest. Vinaigrette recipes typically call for a bit of dijon mustard; it adds tang and helps emulsify the dressing. I omitted it the second time I made the dressing. It just didn’t play nicely with the sherry vinegar. As you normally do with salad dressing, use your best olive oil. A good peppery swirl in this dressing is terrific.

Finally, Marcona almonds,which are roasted in the oven in a slick of olive oil and tossed in sea salt, are positively habit-forming. Buy more than you need.

I have C’est Cheese to thank for this terrific salad that will play in heavy rotation at our house this spring, and Elsa at Whole Foods, whose suggestions for additional components made this salad an even bigger hit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A couple of weeks ago, The Bug and I were making our way through the Farmers Market when a few dozen baskets of these gorgeous, bright red and orange cherry tomatoes caught my eye. The woman who was setting them out on a table so laden with produce I thought it might collapse, told me that these tomatoes were from last year’s vines and that they were surprisingly sweet. After one taste, I carefully placed two overflowing baskets of the orange tomatoes in my bag.

 

Shortly before discovering the tomatoes, I had stopped at Roots Farm’s stand, which among other products, sells terrific greens such as rainbow chard and tuscan kale. They also sell Little Gems lettuces — Bibb and Romaine — nearly every week, whatever the season. These heads of lettuce are about the size of a softball, slightly milder in flavor than the usual-sized heads of lettuce, and they have tender leaves. I bought a few of each variety and continued on, picking up Hass avocados, too. A salad featuring colorful spring produce was in our near future.

After finishing our shopping at the Farmers Market, The Bug (who had bought two tamales for an impromptu breakfast on the run) and I loaded up the car and drove on to C’est Cheese. In addition to picking up a generous wedge of our favorite aged gouda — Parrano — we bought pancetta and Gorgonzola Dolce. This Italian blue cheese has quickly become one of my favorites; it is creamy, tangy, but milder than its longer-aged gorgonzola cousins. It adds complexity to anything it is served with (a slice of pear, for example, or on a water cracker, drizzled with a little honey).

You know where I’m headed with this salad, right? It is a very loose interpretation of one of my favorite American salad classics, the Cobb Salad. And, while we turned it into an entree, by serving it with grilled chicken that I had marinated, this salad is refreshing, crunchy and terrific on its own.

I tossed it with a very simple dressing: salt and pepper, a few tablespoons of syrupy, thick (well-aged) balsamic vinegar and sun-dried tomato olive oil that I make and store in the fridge. It complemented the mix of ingredients (flavor and texture) without overpowering.

The recipe is below. Stay tuned for more spring salads.

 

I can’t imagine anything lighter or more appropriate for spring than Angel Food Cake, Abby Dodge’s selection for the #Baketogether group this month. Abby baked a cake that is scented with tangerine and served it with a silky Grand Marnier-laced caramel sauce that fell in ribbons across the top of it. She created a show-stopper of a dessert. While the creative bar was set high, half the fun of participating in Baketogether is using the recipe as a starting off point. The Bug and I have enjoyed making the monthly recipes our own, while practicing a new baking technique each month. (My previous Baketogether posts can be found here, here and here.)

While I love the aroma and flavor of tangerine, we had a bowl full of Meyer Lemons, so The Bug and I decided to flavor our cake with zest from a few of those buttery yellow beauties. Cathy Barrow’s intensely flavorful and elegant Strawberry Rhubarb Sauce, which I wrote about earlier this week, was on my mind, in my pantry (!) and in the fridge. The Bug was completely taken with it, and we thought the complexity of the flavors would marry well with the lemon-scented cake.

We were on a tight schedule Saturday afternoon, but with The Bug and I splitting duties, the batter came together very quickly. She weighed and sifted the dry ingredients — three times. Using our stand mixer, I made sure the egg whites were whipped to volume and the sugar, lemon zest and vanilla were incorporated. After showing her how to fold in ingredients without deflating a billowy batter, The Bug carefully finished the process and we filled the pan with the glossy batter, and placed it in the oven. About 40 minutes later we opened the oven cautiously. A sweet aroma greeted us and I pulled the pan with the lightly browned and airy cake out of the oven. We turned it over carefully leaning it against a wire rack to cool.

Because I’ve never baked an angel food cake before, I didn’t appreciate how special a homemade version could be. It’s like eating a meringue: light and sweet and the texture is almost sticky, but pleasingly so.

But, dripping with Cathy Barrow’s elegant Strawberry Rhubarb Sauce, it is transformed into an ethereal experience. I confess that we convinced ourselves that the cake was so light a second slice with sauce wasn’t overly indulgent.

Okay, maybe SOME of us enjoyed a third slice, but a lady doesn’t name names.

For our next go around, it would be interesting to try it with coconut flavoring, serving it with a fresh mango sauce. Or, maybe sauce a slice with warm chocolate ganache, rich with vanilla beans and espresso. Whatever direction we head in, Abby Dodge’s angel food cake is a versatile place to begin.

I’ve included Abby’s recipe below (with my lemon zest substitution) and here’s the link to her post. The recipe for Cathy’s Strawberry Rhubarb Sauce can be found here.