It's the Season

Compote.  [kämˌpōt]  fruit preserved or cooked in syrup

Don't let the stodgy image that comes to mind when I say "compote" discourage you from reading on, because folks this compote is as lively as food gets.  One of my favorite things each season is finding (some might say obsessing over) a recipe for a homemade sauce or condiment to keep in the fridge for when you need to liven things up.

Summer is up next, and that means my favorite tomato "vinaigrette" is on deck.  Fall and winter -- all about the roasted pears or some luxurious chocolate sauce.  And, right now, there's spring in all its glory:  think peonies in a vase, buying and eating too much asparagus, sneezing constantly, white jeans and, since we are reaching the zenith of in-season-ness for strawberries and rhubarb, a spritely compote.

For me, the word "compote" brings back bad memories of canned pears for some odd reason.  Is that because canned pears are part of the mix of chopped up mystery fruit in a canned fruit compote?  You know the kind.  A staple of dorm cafeteria meals and always including those super slippery canned peaches as part of the mix with the occasional maraschino cherry added for a festive touch.

Well this is nothing like that.

This dead simple recipe comes to you from Thomas Keller's Bouchon cookbook, via Smitten Kitchen, and even has a clever little twist to brighten things up.  You set aside some of the fresh strawberries and stir them into the cooked sauce as it cools.  In a word....genius.  And here are two more words...SO EASY!

Here’s how it goes:
You chop some rhubarb stalks and halve a couple pints of strawberries. Cook down that mix (reserving a cup or so of the berries to stir in later) with lemon or orange zest and sugar while you listen to some music or read the latest plot summaries for Game of Thrones. When it’s at a jammy sort of compote consistency you like take it off the heat and stir in the remaining fresh berries. Oooooh, now that was complicated.

For this minimal effort, you are rewarded with a compote that’s a sunshiny, sweet-tart of a sauce with many uses. Personally, I would like to bathe in it but you could spoon some over your morning yogurt, play the hero and bring it to your friends’ barbeque with some store-bought pound cake or simply liven up your oatmeal or pancakes one Sunday morning thereby declaring that spring has sprung. 

Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote
approx. 4 cups of compote

1 lb strawberries
1 lb rhubarb
1 lemon
1/2 cup to 3/4 cup sugar

Separate out about a quarter of your smaller berries.  Trim and quarter them and set aside to add to the compote later.

Trim the remaining berries and halve or quarter them, depending on their size.  (You should have about 2 1/2 cups.)  Place in a medium saucepan.

Trim ends of your rhubarb and chop into 3/4 inch pieces (about 3 cups).  Add to the pan with the berries.

Grate zest of lemon with a microplane and add to the pan with berries and rhubarb.
Mix in the sugar and stir to combine.

Cook fruit over medium-high heat, stirring often, until everything is soft and stewy, about 5 minutes.  The fruit will release some juice as it cooks.  Continue to cook for another 5 minutes or so to reduce and the rhubarb is soft.

Remove from heat and stir in the reserved fresh berries and let cool to room temperature. Refrigerated, the sauce keeps for a few weeks.

Let Them Eat Cake...on a weeknight

Let's talk about cake.
I don't like cake, said no one, ever, right?

When I was a kid, cake only made appearances for very special events... birthdays, weddings and the like. Everyday desserts were store bought, and they were usually some kind of packaged cookie. There was the classic pack of Archway oatmeal cookies, my father's favorite. (BO-ring.) Or a mixed selection of boxed “butter” cookies (and yes, the quotes mean I seriously doubt any butter came within a mile of these) that my brother and I would fight over and then ration in a very specific order...first the chocolate-vanilla pinwheels, followed by the shortbready spritz cookies topped with a tough, dehydrated blob of red jam, after which it didn't much matter what was there because now the “good” ones were gone.

Visits from my aunt usually included an eagerly awaited large box of Hostess Twinkies or Ho Ho's meaning my brother and I would perch at the window like two Pavlovian dogs, awaiting the arrival of our relations, only to bolt once said box of Twinkies was safely in hand. And right now, I have to think long and hard about what made the tubes of factory-processed yellow cake piped with sugary white frosting so great. I'm not entirely sure, so we'll chalk that one up to what was an evolving palate.

Actual home baking rarely happened at our house and, if my mother was in charge, convenience was fully embraced in the form of tubes of pre-made cookie dough, boxed cake mixes and pre-made frosting in small, round tubs.
I don't know that I really understood that one could make a cake or dessert from scratch until I was well into my teens and saw a friend of my mother's actually making a batter for a cake, from scratch. Like, with eggs and butter and sugar! Talk about a young mind being blown. Incidentally, this is the same person who told me she was making tomato soup one day and I was puzzled by her term “making”. Like, what's there to “make” with a tomato soup? Pick up can opener. Attach to can of Campbell's Tomato Soup. Open. There's no “making” tomato soup. Come to find out, you can “make” tomato soup ,and it's quite good!

Come to find out, one could “make” cookies... cakes... and all kinds of desserts from scratch with the added bonus that people were disproportionately impressed with you if you did!

Baking has never been my event though. It took a while, but I finally figured out that it had to do with my, ahem, imprecise nature. I'm not a big stickler for measurements, and in regular, savory cooking you can get away with a dash of this, or a splash of that...and follow it all up with a sip of wine. But bakers... sigh...they are sticklers for detail...the detail that makes up the complex chemical reactions which help souffles puff or cakes rise. So if you want success, you must be precise. Once I understood this, and applied it, my ratio of things-you-might- actually-want-to-consume to baking wreckage went way up.

So there's detail, and then there's process...and there is something very pleasing to me about the process part. Following the specific steps of a recipe can be very soothing at times. After we had to put Henry down, I was a walking, talking zombie. Going to work, apparently functioning, but draped in sadness that seemed to touch everything. My friend, C. suggested that I do some serious baking. The process: buttering pans, measuring, sifting, whisking...gave me refuge from the sad. Maybe it was the basic requirement to focus my mind on the task at hand that freed me from “thinking”? C. calls it “butter therapy” and for me it was an antidote for grief.

But the thing I love most about baking is the fragrance. It's hard to beat that cozy feeling that comes from the smell of a cake in the oven. I've read that the smell of baking cookies is often used by realtors when showing a home, so consider yourselves warned. People get all warm and fuzzy about things when the smell of chocolate chip cookies is wafting about. I know I do. And, really, to be honest, all I want in life right now is to enjoy the delicious fragrance of a cake baking in the oven on a weeknight. So, my life's mission has focused on finding a weeknight cake to do just that.

Home baking comes with varying levels of difficulty. And there will always be people who are drawn to recipes that are the Mt. Everest of baking. You know them...the show offs who are creating croissants or macarons at home. Let it be known: I am not one of these people. And, clearly, none of these items will make the cut in my quest for a weeknight cake. Neither will pie. Pie is not weeknight cake. Tortes are not weeknight cake. Nor are cookies.

Weeknight cake is all about ease. And simplicity. It needs to be something you can whip up in one bowl, pour in a pan and toss in an oven, so you can swiftly move to that delightful warm-and-fuzzy-cake- in-the-oven fragrance part.
Voila! Say hello to your new weeknight cake. Tested and approved, by yours truly.

This is the real deal, and it's called Raspberry Ricotta Cake.

From the current issue of Bon Appetit, the cake was featured in a photo that caught my eye initially. Raspberries? In a cake? But it's “winter”! Raspberries are sent to us from the southern hemisphere at this time of year. They travel great miles and (here's where I will go all locavore on you) I won't touch them. It's simply not their season, BUT, frozen raspberries or blackberries are another thing entirely! Easily obtainable at Trader Joe’s for a modest price, they're local, and actually quite good in a cake like this, where they add additional moisture to the surrounding cake batter. The cake batter itself is surprisingly ricotta- based, but don’t let that fool you into thinking this is some kind of icky cheesecake. The ricotta here gives this cake a beautiful rich texture making it easy to love with just a light dusting of powdered sugar. 


I could even see this being a big hit at a brunch, so let's not restrict it to just weeknights. It's a win-win for everyone!

So, let’s say it's a Wednesday night. Maybe you ordered some Thai takeout or brought home a pizza and are planning to catch up on the most recent episode of The Good Wife. Measure out your ingredients, carefully, and follow the instructions for a moment of zen. 

Sit back and let that golden smell of baking cake envelop you in a warm embrace.  And then, go ahead and enjoy a moment of smugness. It’s ok. That’s what comes with having baked a weeknight cake.

Raspberry Ricotta Cake
(adapted from Bon Appetit)
8 servings

1-2 tablespoons softened butter, for brushing the cake pan
1 1⁄2 cups all-purpose flour 1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder 3⁄4 teaspoons kosher salt
3 large eggs
1 1⁄2 cups ricotta
1⁄2 teaspoon vanilla
1⁄2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 1⁄2 cups frozen raspberries or blackberries, divided

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Brush a 9” cake pan with softened butter and line with parchment paper round. Brush the parchment lightly with butter.

2. Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a large bowl.

3. Whisk eggs, ricotta and vanilla in a medium bowl until smooth. Fold into dry ingredients just until blended. Then, fold in melted butter, bollowed by half the raspberries, being careful not to crush the berries. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Scatter the remaining berries across the top.

4. Bake the cake until golden brown and a tester comes out clean, about 45 to 50 minutes. Start checking at 40 minutes. Let cool at least 20 minutes before unmolding.

Store cake up to two days, tightly wrapped at room temperature. 

Blondies Have More Fun

Snooping has its merits.
As a kid, I was a voracious reader.  So voracious, in fact that I became a nuisance to my first grade teacher who couldn't find enough reading material to keep me occupied as my classmates trudged at a maddeningly slow pace through the reading workbooks featuring the antics of Sam and Ann and their poodle, Nip.  (Eye roll.  Blew through that, was ready for more, and this lady can't find anything else for me to read?!  Really?!)

It wasn't until the sixth grade when I was placed into an advanced reading class that wanting to read more was not considered troublesome.  Oh Happy Day!  IN the meantime the library became like a second home and I took to prowling my parents bookshelves at home.  The books they had collected provided a reading potpourri that was duly noted by my teachers at school.  One English teacher was especially fascinated by my choice of Gone With the Wind for a book report (fantastic read, by the way) after gently steering me way from For Whom The Bell Tolls.

It was while snooping through a stack of vintage dime store paperbacks (can you even imagine?!  TEN CENTS...for a book!  Egads!) shoved into the opening between a shelf and more books that I discovered a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie.  Jackpot, I thought!  The title alone felt like some kind of magic recipe book for potions that would guarantee mass adoration.  Flipping through the book, I was mesmerized by the chapter headings.

Three Fundamental Techniques in Handling People.
(ha, ready to spring on my bratty little brother!)

Six Ways to Make People Like You!
(I tried these on my childhood crush, Scott D.  And then he suggested marriage when we were on the swings one day, and TOTALLY freaked me out.  The power of this book was not to be underestimated.)

Twelve Ways to Win People to Your Way of Thinking!
(Bwahh, haa haaaaa....perfect for influencing my parents in the campaign for my own room.)

Nine Ways to Change People Without Arousing Resentment!
(Could it be?!  A way to make Ramona, the bully at school, leave me alone?)

Despite its bold promise, How to Win Friends ended up being like most of the self-help books I came across later in life when I worked at The Oprah Show...a couple of good nuggets of advice wrapped in a heap of general bullshit.

Over time, and with some life experience, what I've come to realize is that one of the easiest ways to Make People Like You or Win People to Your Way of Thinking is to cook for them.  It's not too difficult to establish with some trial and error, the recipe that is guaranteed to make people adore you.  Aside from my sparkling wit and vivacious personality, for some years now, my secret has been a brownie recipe that's worded wonders for me.  Guaranteed to win anyone over, the brownie recipe includes a swirl of dulce de leche to counterbalance the fudginess of the brownie with caramel goodness.  David Lebovitz, creator of said brownie recipe used it to win over grumpy Parisian bureaucrats, shopkeepers and the like when he moved to Paris years ago.  I rest my case.

But, I am happy to announce, (trumpets play and a drum roll, please) I have a second option!
The Browned Butter Blondie.

If you're French, go ahead and give me that perfect I-don't-give-a-fuck Gallic shrug at which your people excel, because, mon dieu, browned butter has been around for ages in French cuisine.  But if this is the first you've heard of it, well, you are welcome.

Never a fan of blondes, as evidenced by my slavish loyalty to that brownie recipe, I thought I'd give these a whirl as dessert for my little Super Bowl get together a couple weekends ago.  I'm not even sure what traditionally goes into a regular blondie, but these golden, nutty beauties include toasted pecans, both swirled into a brown butter laden batter that runs throughout and as a topping for some extra crunch.  It's as if a gorgeous pecan pie had a one-night stand with a bar cookie and this is the resulting golden child.  I intend to make more...and then, look out people!
World domination is within my grasp!  Bwaaaahhhh hahahahahaaaaaaa!

Brown Butter Blondies with Pecans
adapted from Bon Appetit magazine
makes 24

Photo Note:  We all got a little giddy as I served these up so I didn't have a chance to take a photo.  I could have taken a photo of the empty plate with some crumbs left, but then thought better of it.  All I have is the photo from my copy of the magazine and yes, mine looked every bit as delicious as theirs!

And, let me just say these actually improved the next day, which is hard to even fathom, but it's true.
Finally, most definitely gild the lily and serve with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.

Brown Butter Mixture
1 stick unsalted butter
1 large egg
3/4 cup (packed) light brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1/3 cup all-purpose flour

Blondie batter
2 sticks unsalted butter (room temp)
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1 3/4 cups (packed) light brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract

butter + flour for buttering and dusting the pan

Toast your pecans
1.  Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and spread the pecans on a small baking sheet.  Toast for 7-10 minutes, until pecans barely darken and are fragrant.  Let them cool.

Make the Brown Butter Mixture
1.  Cook butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat, stirring frequently, until butter foams and browns.  (about 5-8 minutes...and don't take your eyes off this for a minute...butter can go from beautifully nutty brown to black and ruined in the blink of an eye!)

2.  Transfer butter to a medium bowl and let cool slightly, before adding egg, brown sugar, vanilla and salt.  Beat (by hand) until mixture is light and falls back onto itself in a slowly dissolving ribbon, about 3 minutes.  Fold in the flour and set aside.

Make the Blondie batter
1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter and flour a 13" x 9" baking dish.

2.  Whisk baking powder, salt and 2 1/4 cups flour in a medium bowl.  Using the stand mixer on medium-high beat brown sugar and 2 sticks butter in a large bowl until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes.

3.  Add eggs, one at a time, beating between additions; mix until pale and fluffy, about 2 minutes.  Mix in the vanilla.

4.  Reduce speed to low and mix in dry ingredients.  Fold in half of pecans.

5.  Scrape two-thirds of the batter into the prepared baking dish and smooth the top, pushing the batter to the edges.  Dollop the brown butter mixture across and alternate with the remaining batter.  Swirl a bit with the edge of a knife and sprinkle remaining pecans across the top.

6.  Bake until the blondie is golden brown and firm (a tester will NOT come out clean) 30-35 minutes.  Let cool before slicing and top with vanilla ice cream to serve.

A Staycation

I remember when I first heard the term "stay-cation".  It was not long after the markets crashed a couple years ago.  The news was full of stories of families staying put and economizing by skipping the expensive 'travel' vacation and pitching tents in their backyards, visiting local museums and playing mini-golf in their hometowns.

You have to admit...there is something very appealing about staying put.
No packing a full wardrobe into a regulation size wheelie bag.
No airplanes, airports or awful security lines.
No need to stop the paper or board the dog and you water your own plants.
And you sleep in your own bed!  
I could go on and on... 

After last year's Sicilian extravaganza we thought...why not give stay-cationing a try?
So we spent a week at home last month and I'm happy to report, it was an absolute delight!

Now, granted...we live in a city that is truly lovely.  People from all over the world come to visit
San Francisco and there was no shortage of things to do on our stay-cation.

There was a day trip to Santa Cruz...  (Funny how all oceanside towns are, umm, the same...)
...and an afternoon at SFMOMA ogling the vast art collection accumulated by the Gap founders.  (Why buy one Calder when you can buy 23?)

We breezed in to Bi-Rite Creamery on a Tuesday afternoon and enjoyed our favorite local ice cream.  (And there was no line to wait in!!  Seriously.  NO line!!)

There was a tasty mid-week lunch at Tyler Florence's new restaurant and then... a nap.

(That's what we get for having fried chicken and steak-and-eggs at noon!)

We walked our dog.

We had one of the best meals ever at Ubuntu, a Michelin starred vegetarian restaurant in Napa. (If you live here or visit the area I beg you to go.  It will rock your world.)

We even hiked Angel Island, the small state park in the Bay with gorgeous 360-views.  Something we've always wanted to do.  (Anything that includes a ferry ride is a-okay in my book!)



It was a splendid week, but that's not really what I'm here to tell you.

What I discovered was that the true beauty of a stay-cation is it allows you time to putter.  And that, people...is a glorious thing.  Who has time to just putter around any more?  And I mean really putter.  To spend a lazy morning, sipping (not slurping or slamming) your coffee, flipping through a magazine (yes...a magazine...printed on paper...no laptop required!), listening to music while something bakes in the oven?!  Oh, it's the stuff dreams are made of, I tell you!

So during this stay-cation I spent an hour or so one morning puttering...while making a batch of granola.  Yes...homemade granola.

Now you could say this is one of those things that is fine to just buy pre-made, in boxes at your local supermarket.
And I would tell you that you are wrong.

Homemade granola is an entirely different and much, much more delicious thing.  Sprinkled into yogurt or over pancakes...even eaten out of hand, it is fantastic.
It's like...if there is a choice between pre-made-boxed granola and, well...nothing...
I would choose nothing.
Because homemade granola is totally in-another-stratosphere in comparison.

But let me reassure you...it's not something that you need a stay-cation in order to make.  No, no...not at all.  I'm just saying should you have a weekend morning free or you just want to cheer yourself up some evening after dinner.  The warm, toasty aromas of nuts and oats browning in the oven...wafting through your kitchen as you read a novel or watch a movie or catch up with a friend on the phone. 

It's the perfect way to create a stay-cation frame of mind.

*          *           *

The great thing about homemade granola is that it can be customized to taste with your favorite combination of dried fruits and nuts.  Mine is dried blueberries, golden raisins and almonds, but the possibilities are endless.  Just go and stand in the dried fruit and nut aisle at Trader Joe's and let your imagination run wild.

If I haven't said it before...thank heavens for my SILPAT mats.  The silicone baking sheet liners make things easy when you stir the granola.

Homemade Granola
adapted from Baked
(makes approx. 1 pound)

2 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/3 cup whole almonds
1/3 cup sliced almonds
1/3 cup dried blueberries
1/3 cup golden raisins

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Toss the oats with the cinnamon and salt in a large bowl where everything will end up.
Using a medium bowl, whisk the oil, honey, brown sugar and vanilla until thoroughly combined.

Pour the honey mixture over the oats and using your hands or a plastic spatula or scraper mix everything together until well coated.
(If you like your granola a bit clumpy, squish the mixture into clumps with your hands and make a fist before letting go.)

Pour everything onto your baking sheet.  (If you don't use silicone mats line your baking sheet with parchment paper.  You'll thank me come clean-up time.  Granola is a bit sticky.)

Bake for 10 minutes then stir and turn the granola before adding the nuts -- sprinkle those on top.
Return to bake for another 5 to 10 minutes.
Remove from the oven and add your dried fruit before stirring again.

Cool the granola on the baking sheet completely before transferring to an airtight container.
should last for a week...theoretically...but, it's gone in two days around here.

Bring a Bundt!

We went to a friend's place for a barbecue and some ping pong yesterday afternoon.

What?  Ping pong, you ask?  You didn't know that ping pong is making a huge comeback?!  Well it is.  Or at least I think it is.  If you have a ping pong table hidden away somewhere in the basement or garage, do yourself a favor and bring it out.  It'll take you back.  In a good way.

Yesterday afternoon's get-together was the type where everyone pitched in and brought something, which is always nice.  You know...share the cooking.  The hosts had things set up to grill (and the ping pong table, paddles, etc...ready) and the rest of us brought beverages, side dishes, snacks and dessert.
So kind of a 'retro bbq' with the whole ping pong thing, but so was the dessert I brought:  a bundt.

Now a bundt is one of those things that perhaps doesn't readily spring to mind when you're thinking about what to make for dessert.  If it was 1978 it might, but sadly, the bundt seems to have gone the way of the avocado-colored kitchen appliances and the rotary dial phone.

I've always loved bundt cakes.  As I've said before, I have a tremendous fondness for old-fashioned American desserts.  Maybe you remember this scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding...it had me in stitches.  Let me reassure you that in my experience, this is not the typical reaction you get when you show up at someone's house with a bundt cake in hand.  People love bundt.  Ever hear of the classic self-help book How to Win Friends and Influence People?  Well I'm here to tell you it should include a chapter on the magical powers of The Bundt!  Appear on someone's doorstep with a bundt cake and you will have the world at your feet.  No joke.  It seems the effusive affection for bundt is not mine alone.  Bundt seems to bring back good memories for all.  There's something approachable about a bundt -- it's not complicated and fussy like a layer cake with all that frosting.  I've been bringing bundt cakes to various friends' parties and gatherings over the past year and I've found it's the surest way to achieve universal love and acclaim.  Oh.  And lots of oooh's and aaaah's too.
As a Leo, I like that sort of thing.

Now that I've convinced you to bring a bundt along to your next pot luck (...or what the heck, make one for dessert at home!) go dig around in your cabinets and track down that bundt pan you've got tucked way in the back.  (No judgment there -- I bought mine years ago, with good intentions, and then proceeded to completely ignore it for years.)

I have a wonderful bundt recipe to share.  Previously, I've had great success with an excellent Chocolate Sour Cream Bundt from Cook's Illustrated that's dense and perfectly rich and chocolatey.  (Come now -- who doesn't simply adore a chocolate bundt?!)  But now that summer is here, I highly recommend a recent, smashingly good lighter-style cake:   Lemon Blueberry Buttermilk Bundt.   Perfect on a hot summer day, it actually improves over the course of a couple days and is equally delicious in the morning,  afternoon or after dinner.  (Maybe as a follow-up to grilled burgers?!)  The recipe is adaptable to a variety of berries or fruit, depending on what is in season.  I used blueberries, but the original recipe from Rustic Fruit Desserts, calls for rhubarb and lists cranberries as a good option too.  I think I'll try raspberries next.

The main thing to remember is to grease that pan extremely well with butter (or cooking spray), and then when you think you have every nook and cranny covered, go over the pan again.  EVEN if the pan is "non-stick".   The chocolate bundt recipe tells you to dust the greased pan with cocoa powder (pure genius, but that's those cooking nerds -- they think of everything!) to help with the release of the cake from the pan.  Other recipes call for dusting the pan with flour.  Whatever you do, take the time to be thorough with this step.  There's nothing worse than pulling the cake from the pan, only to feel it tear and pull away, a huge chunk still stuck to the pan.

So I urge you...if you don't already own a bundt pan, start scoping out the garage sales...and if you do...well, go out and spread the word:  Bundt is Back!

Lemon Buttermilk Bundt Cake (with Blueberries)
adapted from Rustic Fruit Desserts by Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson
serves 10 to 12

NOTE:  I don't love a ton of glaze, so I halved the amount and simply drizzled for the look you see here -- for more glaze, double the amounts I have here.

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature, for pan

CAKE
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour (for tossing with the fruit)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoons fine sea salt
1 cup (8 oz.) unsalted butter
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
Zest of 1 lemon
3 eggs
1/2 teaspoon lemon oil
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 pint blueberries (or 1 pound rhubarb, trimmed and very thinly sliced)

LEMON GLAZE
1 cup sifted confectioners' sugar, or more as needed
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 tablespoon soft unsalted butter

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Butter a 10-cup Bundt pan well.

Sift the flour, baking powder and salt together in a bowl.  Using a mixer, cream the butter, sugar and lemon zest together on medium-high speed for 3-5 minutes, until light and fluffy.  Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition, then stir in the lemon oil  Stir in the flour mixture in three additions alternating with the buttermilk in two additions, beginning and ending with the flour mixture, scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally.  The batter will be very thick.

Toss the blueberries (or the rhubarb) with the 2 tablespoons of flour and fold half the blueberries into the batter.  Pour the batter into the prepared pan and sprinkle the remaining rhubarb on top.

Bake for 30 minutes, then rotate the pan and cook for an additional 30 minutes, or until the top of the cake is firm and the center springs back when lightly touched.  Cool the cake in its pan on a wire rack for 30 minutes before inverting and removing the pan.

To make the lemon glaze, whisk the confectioners sugar, lemon juice and butter together.  The mixture should be thick.  If it is not, whisk in another tablespoon or two of confectioners' sugar.  Spread the glaze over the cake as soon as you removed the cake from the pan.

Storage:  Covered with a cake cover or plastic wrap, the cake will keep at room temperature for 3-4 days.

Twist!

Me -- I don't like surprises.  No "surprise" birthday parties, no "surprise gifts"...thank you very much.  There is uncertainty in a surprise.

The occasional 'pleasant' surprise is okay, I suppose.
A bright, sunny day when the forecast was rain.  A ten dollar bottle of wine that's pretty good.
Calculations that show you'll get a tax rebate this year.

Truthfully...I find that things go so much better when there's planning.  And things you can rely on.  Without surprises.  Makes me sound a little stodgy, I know.  What can I say...it's part of my tv producer DNA.  Leave nothing to chance.  Plan ahead.  
So, it's logical that I am a follow-the-recipe girl.  No 'surprise' there, ha ha...
I rarely, if ever, "invent" things in the kitchen.  On occasion, I will adapt a recipe, tweaking or correcting according to my personal taste, but hey...there must be a recipe to start with.
 I figure, leave the experimenting to others.

Typically, when a recipe works out really well (also known as "a keeper") I simply throw it into perpetual rotation.

To know me, is to know my biscotti, my chicken soup, my Bolognese sauce.
And, until recently...my banana bread.

I've been making the same banana bread since the 80s.  Talk about something you can rely on.  The recipe, from my original Silver Palate cookbook, now falling apart and held together with a rubber band, is simple and a real winner.  It comes together virtually on its own and the result is a perfectly moist-not-mushy, rich loaf redolent with vanilla, and sans walnuts.  (I am of the opinion that walnuts have no place in chocolate chip cookies OR banana bread.)  It's homey baking at its best and always leaves me feeling virtuous, having using up the icky, brown guilt-inducing bananas that have been sitting on the counter for days.

So a few months ago, I came across a recipe that stopped me in my tracks:  Chocolate Banana Bread.
Now you may laugh and say you've known all about this twist on banana bread for ages.  Where have you been all this time, Marcia?!  Anyone who has thought about banana bread for any length of time has come to the conclusion that the addition of chocolate would be pure genius.  What can I say?  Late to the party...that's me.

I tried it and am now here to tell you that the addition of chocolate to banana bread really IS pure genius, and if you too had not given it much thought, and have your own steadfast, tried-and-true banana bread recipe, I am asking you, no begging you, to consider giving this one a shot.  It's got the same joy of a banana split (which, you have to admit really does rely on the excellence of the chocolate/banana combination) and the delight of a cake-like texture.  It's super easy to throw together and looks simply gorgeous sprinkled with a bit of powdered sugar.

Trust me on this.  Chocolate Banana Bread is going to be "a keeper".  No surprises...and that's just the way I like it.

Chocolate Banana Bread
adapted from Tyler's Ultimate

Makes 1 loaf

1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened, plus more for the pan
2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, melted
2 large eggs
3 very ripe bananas*
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
NO walnuts (yeaaay!)

*You can mash the bananas, but I did not.  Instead, I simply broke the bananas into large pieces.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan.
Whisk together the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl.
In the bowl of a stand mixer cream the butter until lightened, then beat in the melted chocolate, eggs, bananas and vanilla.  Stir in the dry ingredients just until combined; do not overbeat.

Pour the batter into the buttered loaf pan and bake until a toothpick stuck in to the center of the bread comes out almost clean, 50 to 60 minutes.  Transfer the pan to a rack and cool for at least 15 minutes before unmolding.  Cool completely before wrapping tightly in plastic.  Will keep for several days.

Back Into Battle

Remember Battle Chocolate?

Well, months had gone by and my co-workers and I were feeling spunky enough to proclaim it time for...Battle Citrus.

Yet another happy benefit of living here in California is that citrus season during the deep winter months brings with it an entire rainbow of options in the category known as 'liquid sunshine'.  So, even though it may rain for fourteen days straight, we have the most incredible selection of citrus fruits I've seen anywhere guaranteed to brighten the darkest days.

So... as winner of Battle Chocolate and holder of the tacky whisk trophy...did I have a specific citrus dessert in mind for the competition?  I guess my first thought was to enter my trusty, yet humble, Lemon Poundcake.  Nothing fancy, but it is delicious and I thought maybe I would change it up a little by using Meyer lemons.  A friend who lives in Berkeley has a tree in his backyard and every so often will bring in large grocery bags full to share.  It makes me giddy to even think about such an abundance of this special citrus.  (The anguish of going store-to-store all over Chicago on the hunt for one, single Meyer lemon is still fresh in my mind.)

But then I started to surf the web a bit, searching for different citrus recipes--damn you Internet!  And  this recipe caught my eye.  Tangerine Semifreddo?  With Salted Almond Brittle? 

Oh.  That sounded good.  And looked impressive.

Call it hubris or what you will, but suddenly I was possessed by the intense need to try...and conquer... something new.  Something complicated.  

(Can you say 'show-off'?)   

Semifreddo (so suave!  so sophisticated!)  in Italian means 'half-cold' and then, there was the description I read somewhere that sold me..."half-frozen mousse".  I thought I had another winner on my hands.  I was not going to rest on my laurels.  I was going way out there on that dessert-making limb.  Talk about leaving your comfort zone.

A good portion of the weekend prior to Battle Citrus was spent making the various components.  (One of my all time best tips?  READ the recipe.  Not once.  Not twice.  But, three times.  Seriously.  It will make all the difference in the world.)  

Day One.  There was Salted Almond Brittle to be made.  For heavenssakes, this meant pulling out the damned candy thermometer, so clearly that is no longer the phobia it once was for me.  

Day Two.  The actual 'mousse' part, which would be frozen, included Adventures in Meringue--yikes.  Henry, the dog, offered moral support by not budging from his spot in the corner of the kitchen, while I cursed, holding a borrowed hand mixer in one hand and adding miscellaneous ingredients with the other.  (Multi-tasking, coordination activities make me a little surly and the Lemon Poundcake idea was looking like it would have been a better choice.)

Day Two -- evening.  The creation of the Honey-Tangerine sauce to be served on the side.  Labor intensive supreme-ing and juicing of many, many tangerines followed by a long, long (I mean come-on- how-long-is-this-going-to-take?!) reduction time.  More cursing.  

Day of Battle.   Distracted and running late, I chopped up my semifreddo and dished up the sauce.  (Why, oh why had I NOT taken the time to chill the serving platter?  Or, make a nice sign for my entry? sigh...)  

My colleagues had come up with an impressive array of citrus desserts, ranging from multiple versions of lemon bars, a chocolate-orange mousse, lemon cookies, lemon meringue cake, petits-fours (!) madeleines and adorable key lime tartlets (the winner, as it turned out).

My semifreddo started to melt into a gorgeous creamsicle-colored puddle just minutes after I plated it.  The flavor was wonderful -- all creamy, Dreamsicle goodness--and combined with the crunch of the salted brittle, it was truly unique. There was something really lovely about seeing the genuine excitement and effort my co-workers put into their entries (yes, we are kind of a bunch of foodies, most of us...) and, despite the dessert overload and stomachaches some of us had on that Monday afternoon, everyone agreed:  Battle Citrus was a success.  

As for my slightly bruised dessert-making ego?  It was soothed a bit by the stellar Lemon Poundcake I turned out the following weekend.  

Bring on the next battle.

Final photograph courtesy of V. Simpson.

Tangerine Semifreddo with Salted Almond Brittle recipe can be found here and the link above.

I followed it to the letter.  My only note is:   Serve on chilled dessert plates.  

Leaving Your Comfort Zone

I used to have one iron-clad rule when it came to cooking.

If, when reading through a recipe, I came across the words "candy thermometer"...
well, in the words of 30 Rock's Liz Lemon... "Deal Breaker!!".

My candy thermometer neurosis was not caused by any traumatic event that I can recall.  Candy thermometers are pretty affordable, and even easily found in the cooking utensil aisle of one's local supermarket.   

So what was up?  

By banning any kind of cooking that required a candy thermometer, I figured I was saving myself from certain heartbreak and disaster.  Recipes that require candy thermometers somehow seemed daunting with the odds of success definitely not in my favor.  We're talking about things like caramel and syrups and fudge and things needing to "set"...  Yikes.  If I'm going to be absolutely honest, I should tell you there's something about culinary failure that, unlike in other aspects of my life, really throws me for a loop.  I sulk.  I brood.  I keep going over and over it in my mind...what went wrong?  I boycott the stove.  We eat out for a stretch.  And then gradually, I get back on the horse, so to speak.  So, isn't it understandable if I go out of my way to avoid messing up in the kitchen? 

The thing that initially did me in and led to the purchase of a...(ahem)...candy thermometer (shocking, I know!) was fried chicken. Go figure.  Over the past few years I have been gradually preparing myself to make fried chicken.  This plan was part of my 2007 obsession with Southern cooking--our Christmas meal that year was a full, Southern brunch, which left my Eastern European family, vaguely puzzled, yet amenable to exploring the world of pickled green onions and shrimp-and-grits.  Sigh.  I should also mention, there was ham...welcome and familiar to everyone.  But, I digress...

So...I have yet to make fried chicken.  (Still researching.)  But, get this... I did buy a "deep fry" thermometer, in preparation for said Fried Chicken Experiment, which, lo and behold, is also a "candy thermometer".   Baby steps, people...baby steps...

Just having it in the kitchen drawer somehow made the possibility of using it slightly less menacing. 

It was a simple buttermilk cake with caramel glaze and the encouraging words of fellow blogger Deb, of Smitten Kitchen, that got me to go out on the limb.  (Oh, the beauty of food blogging!  I can't tell you how many times I've been willing to try a recipe based on the honest appraisal of a trusted food blogger.)  The cake worked out like a charm--of course!-- and was incredibly delicious to boot.  And the candy thermometer?  I'm happy to report, it was no big deal!  Ahh, confidence.

This is the path that led me to boldly tear a recipe for panettone from the pages of December's Martha Stewart Living.  Something like panettone would suffice in the 'high-difficulty' category I like to tackle for holiday baking and this looked like an exceptionally delicious version.

You know panettone, right?  Usually mass-produced and kind of blah-tasting, it's an eggy, brioche-type bread that always has golden raisins and some other type of too-chewy candied fruit, sold around the holidays at your local Italian grocery.  It's always packaged in those odd-shaped boxes...essentially, it's the Italian version of fruitcake.  Even Trader Joe's sells a version.  Panettone, I thought, could be like the holiday biscotti I make -- not something I would ordinarily like when someone else makes it, but customized... it could be heavenly. 

The recipe I tore out of the magazine called for candied orange peel, bought ready made, but I was convinced the way to go was to make my own.  Oh dear.  Cocky, no?

After a little internet research, I settled on David Lebovitz's recipe for the orange peel from his ice cream book, Perfect Scoop.   (Candy thermometer alert!!  Candy thermometer alert!!)  Unfazed, Operation Panettone marched onward.

A couple weekends ago it was time to seize the day, or rather, TWO days...step out of my comfort zone and look the possibility of failure straight in the eye.

It was a roller coaster ride that weekend.  The 'candied orange peel making incident' probably shaved a few years off my life, but was at the same time...exhilarating.  I overcooked it, thinking the syrup the orange peel was in was not look quite thick enough, (err, kind of disregarding the target temperature on said candy thermometer) and in the blink of an eye, the orange peel 'syrup' seized up and almost fully hardened.

Much frantic tugging, cursing, and scraping the now-near-taffy-like orange peel ensued, and I finally managed to dump it into the dough.  With a few swirls of the mixer paddle, the orange peel then balled itself up into a bowling ball sized lump in the center.  More cursing... then yanking of the gigantic orange peel ball from the dough followed.  Improvised step:  grab scissors and start snipping up the orange peel ball!  This seemed to work and it was with true relief that I folded the snipped orange peel into the dough and shoved the whole mess into the refrigerator for an overnight rise.

Long story short -- the panettone baked up the next day into two, (and I say this with all modesty) magnificent loaves.  The flavor combination of orange and bittersweet chocolate is one of my personal favorites and incorporated into the lovely moist brioche-style dough it turned out to be blockbuster. I don't know that I've ever had so many compliments on a baked good like this, and I must tell you the pride of seeing those two beautiful loaves resting out of the oven nearly made me burst.

So, heading into a new year, with all the talk of resolutions etc...I'd suggest instead of the usual half-hearted pledges to lose weight, or exercise more, blah blah blah...simply commit to the occasional stepping out of the comfortable, nothing-will-go-wrong routines you trust and do something that just might give you an unexpected outcome...and some thrills along the way.  Whether that does, or does not include a candy thermometer, is up to you.

Happy New Year.

*          *          *

NOTES:
1)  Recipe for homemade candied orange peel is below, although that's what I started working on first, during Operation: Panettone--Day One.

2)  I just might try soaking some golden raisins in hot water and adding them to the mix next time.

3)  Pretty (and festive) paper panettone molds with cardboard bottoms can be found at Sur La Table for 50 cents each, but my colleague and fellow baking afficionado, Mike G. suggested the option of a brown lunch sack, rolled down to about half height.

4)  The flour's weight is more important than its volume, so the recipe suggests using a kitchen scale for measuring your flour.

5)  A sturdy, stand mixer is a must with this recipe and get that dough-hook attachment ready! (This was my first-time-ever using it, since I'm not really a bread-baking type.

Panettone
adapted from Martha Stewart Living and John Barricelli, host of Everyday Baking From Everyday Food
Makes two 5 1/4 inch round loaves

1 tablespoon plus 1 1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast (two 1/4 oz. envelopes)
1/3 cup whole milk, warmed
14 oz. unbleached bread flour (about 3 cups), plus more for surface
1/4 cup granulated sugar
4 large eggs, lightly beaten, plus 1 large egg (for glaze)
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
10 oz. (2 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
5 1/2 oz. bittersweet chocolate -- coarsely chopped -- about 1 1/4 cups (Valhrona is my favorite)
1 cup diced candied (glazed) orange peel)
1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract
1/2 teaspoon pure orange extract
Vegetable oil -- for the bowl

For the top: 
2 teaspoons best-quality unsweetened cocoa powder
Pearl sugar, for sprinkling (I couldn't find this anywhere, so didn't use it)
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons sliced almonds, for sprinkling

1.  Sprinkle yeast over milk in the bwl of a mixer fitted with the dough-hook attachment.  Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes.  Sprinkle 2 ounces flour (about 1/2 cup) and 1 tablespoon granulated sugar over top.  Cover with plastic, and let stand for 1 hour.

2.  Add remaining 12 ounces flour and 3 tablespoons granulated sugar, the beaten eggs, and the salt.  Mix together on medium speed until dough forms a smooth, stiff ball, about 5 minutes.
Add butter, 1 tablespoon at a time, mixing well after each addition.  (this takes a while, and there are moments where it almost seemed that the mixer was going to give out on me!)

3.  Switch to paddle attachment, and mix dough on medium-high speed for 5 minutes.  Reduce speed to low, and add chocolate, orange peel, and extracts.  Mix until combined.

4.  Turn out dough onto a clean surface, and form into a ball.  Transfer to a lightly oiled bowl.  Cover with plastic, and refrigerate overnight.

5.  Bring dough to room temperature, and divide in half.  Form each half into a ball; place each in a 5 1/4-by-3 3/4-inch paper panettone mold.  Transfer to a baking sheet.  Let stand in a warm place until doubled in volume -- about 2 hours.

**by this time it will feel like you have been making panettone for an eternity...but do not lose hope -- write some holiday cards... have a glass of wine... the fun is only getting started.

6.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees (finally!!).  Lightly beat remaining egg and the cocoa powder together.  Brush glaze mixture onto panettone dough, and sprinkle with pearl sugar (if you've got it) and sliced almonds.  Bake until golden brown, about 50 minutes.

7.  Remove molds from oven, and run a wooden skewer horizontally through the bottom of each panettone loaf.  Hang loaves upside down (wacky, I know!!) by propping ends of each skewer on 2 large heavy cans, or your flour/sugar cannisters.  Let cool completely.

Step back and admire.  You've done it!!

Panettone can be stored, wrapped in plastic, at room temperature for up to 3 days.
(I've been told it makes tremendous base for bread pudding, but alas, ours did not last that long.)


For the bold and unafraid -- 
Candied Orange Peel 
adapted from The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz

(makes about 1 cup)

4 large oranges, preferably unsprayed--washed
2 cups water
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
Pinch of salt

With a vegetable peeler, remove strips of peel 1 inch wide from the oranges, cutting lengthwise down the fruit.  Remove just the colorful outer peel, leaving behind the bitter white pith.  Using a very sharp knife, slice the peel lenghtwise into very thin strips no wider than a toothpick.

Put the strips of peel in a small, nonreactive saucepan, add enough water to cover them by a few inches, and bring to a boil.  Reduce to a gentle boil and cook for 15 minutes.  Remove from the heat, strain the peel, and rinse with fresh water.

Combine the 2 cups water, sugar, corn syrup and salt in the saucepan.
Fit the pan with a candy thermometer (!) and bring to a boil.  Add blanched peel, reduce the heat and cook at a very low boil for about 25 minutes, until the thermometer reads 230 degrees F.  Turn off the heat and let peel cool in the syrup.

Once cool, lift peel out of syrup and snip into small pieces with scissors before adding to panettone dough.

Pan cleaning note:
This was a great tip I got from my aunt after I told her of the disastrous, sticky mess left behind in my fancy All-Clad saucepan.
Add tablespoon of Cascade dishwasher liquid to the pan with hot water and place over very low heat.
Stir and voila -- watch as the glued particles pull away from the pan.
Probably the best advice I've received in years!! Thank you!