My birthday is this month, so I have requested a luscious and rich home-baked chocolate cake. And by chocolate cake I mean the kind you can put candles on, not the flourless variety. My husband has gallantly offered to make it, but if he gets too busy, I have no problems getting in the kitchen and whipping it up myself: my birthday, my cake, my prerogative.
I have tried many chocolate cake recipes over the years, always searching for the perfect one. But as with a search for anything great (say a life-changing novel or the perfect kiss), so much can go wrong. Some had a deep chocolate flavor, but were a little dry, while others just weren't chocolaty enough. Worst of all were the cakes the barely held together. Like sloppy kisses, they were well meaning, but a little too wet.
After many calorie-filled attempts, I have settled on a recipe that I feel is truly the ultimate for chocolate cake. Beatty's Chocolate Cake is made with good cocoa powder, buttermilk and freshly-brewed coffee. With an intense chocolate flavor that is both nuanced and bold, this flirt of a cake teases out its flavors and leaves you wanting more. I didn't create this recipe. Ina Garten, aka The Barefoot Contessa, gets all the glory; or, rather, her friend Beatty for whom the cake is named. Take note that the coffee makes the batter a bit soupy (which worried me a little), but in the end, its flavor accents the chocolate nicely and gives the cake a velvety richness it wouldn't have had otherwise.
Although I love Ina and Beatty's cake, I veer from their advice when it comes to the icing. Skipping the chocolate frosting Ms. Garten pairs with her cake -- as I find a chocolate on chocolate combo a bit overwhelming -- I instead went with a vanilla cream cheese frosting. I have found over the years that vanilla makes chocolate taste more robust, and this is definitely the case here. The frosting has the added bonus of having a thick but not stiff texture, so it lays evenly on the cake. It also takes only about three minutes to make and is delicious.
I can't disclose the cake's recipe here -- it isn't mine, after all -- but can share my frosting recipe. So if you're having a birthday soon, or are just in the mood for a good old-fashioned chocolate cake, it's time to indulge.
Vanilla Cream Cheese Frosting
Makes: Frosting for one cake
Ingredients:
8 oz cream cheese
1/4 cup softened butter
1 box of powdered sugar
2 tsp vanilla
Preparation:
1. Combine all ingredients together in a bowl and mix with an electric mixer until smooth.
2. Frost cake and devour.
So you thought you could put away the sweaters and pull out the tank tops, did you? Well, no whining. Remember all that basking you did in January? We need this rain, and it's also the last wintery chance to hunker down inside with a fat book and something really good burbling away on the stovetop. Something belly-filling and sturdy, like lentil, black bean, or split-pea soup, all started with a little pancetta or a chunk of ham hock.
Or, for oomph without the oink, a spoonful of Spanish pimenton (smoked paprika) and a handful of Tierra Vegetables' dried smoked onions--what they've dubbed "vegan bacon" for their savory, smoky punch. (Look for them at their farm stand in Santa Rosa or at their booth at the Ferry Plaza farmers' market on Saturday.)
Once you've got your soup, of course, you need bread. Now, the Bay Area is just lousy with fabulous bread. All by itself, the counter of Acme Bread can bring tourists to tears, or at least pitch them into a levain-noshing frenzy. But for the sweetest, most warming, baby-it's-cold-outside experience, you have to make your own. Now, in a future post, I'm going to tell you about baking locavore bread, using a levain starter made from Eatwell Farm's locally-grown wheat, with all the ingredients, even the salt, easily sourced from not too far away. But my starter is still a baby, only a few dozen hours old, its yeasty colonies not tough enough to lift even a little tiny pancake yet.
Until then, what you want is something distinctly non-local, as East Coast as a Red Sox cap or a lobster roll spilling from a toasted Pepperidge Farm bun. Yes, I'm talking about Boston brown bread. Hardly any of my San Francisco pals know from this old-fashioned treat; they're too busy chomping asparagus foccacia or folding injera around their spicy doro waat. By comparison, Boston brown bread is homely, a little dumpy, even. Like any recipe that uses an empty coffee can instead of a baking pan, it has an undeniable whiff of 1950s Fannie Farmer to it.
But you know what? It's good. In fact, it's really, really good, and good for you, too, packed with whole grains and rich in iron and fiber. Because it's steamed, not baked, it comes out completely moist without any added fat. A good thing, too, since the best way to eat it is slathered in cream cheese. Think of the best bran muffin you've ever had, then think of Amy Adams curled up in your lap, laughing at your jokes and feeding it to you bite by bite.
And did I mention that it's completely easy? Seven ingredients, one bowl, one spoon, and a couple of coffee cans. Actually, the hardest part may be getting the coffee cans, now that nothing but Peets/Blue Bottle/Four Barrel/Ritual Roasters will pass our lips. Then again, haven't you heard that Cafe Bustelo is the new PBR?
Admit it: you liked it back in your five-roommates-in-a-drafty-Victorian days, brewed up strong and cheap so you could make it onto the 33-Stanyan at any hour, day or night.
So drink up, then grease up. And remember to top each filled can with a little shower cap of foil or waxed paper, so it can rise without getting wet from the steam drips inside the pot.
Boston Brown Bread
Well wrapped, this stays tasty and moist for several days. It also freezes very well.
Makes: 2 loaves
Ingredients:
1 cup corn meal
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup rye flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 cups buttermilk
3/4 cup molasses
1 cup raisins
Preparation:
1. Generously grease 2 clean 12-oz coffee cans. Fill a deep pot (big enough to accommodate both cans) approximately 1/3 full with water. Bring to a boil over high heat.
2. While water is heating, stir dry ingredients together. Add buttermilk, molasses, and raisins. Stir gently until you have a thick, smooth brown batter.
3. Divide batter between prepared coffee cans. Top each can with a sheet of buttered aluminum foil or waxed paper, and tie down firmly with string or a rubber band. Put cans into pot of boiling water; water should come about half-way up cans.
4. Lower heat to a simmer, cover, and steam for 1 1/2 hours.
5. To test for doneness, remove 1 can from pot, remove foil, and stick a toothpick into the middle. Toothpick should come out nearly clean-if not, re-cover and steam for an additional 10 -15 minutes. When done, remove cans from water with tongs or two pot holders, remove foil, and let cool on a rack for at least 15 minutes before unmolding.
Wedding season is upon us! Well, almost. When it comes to wedding cakes, there are lots of choices starting with the type of cake. According to wedding cake specialist Gabrielle Feuersinger of Cake Coquette, there are several different major categories to choose from.
1. European cakes
These cakes include the very traditional fondant wrapped cake with a bow, Princess cakes with marzipan and St. Honore cakes with pate a choux puffs. Most standard bakeries can do these cakes. Plan on spending at least $4-5 per slice.
2. Art cakes
These cakes feature painting, fondant cut-outs, piped buttercream and other elaborate types of decoration. They are more likely to be unique. Popular sources of inspiration for these cakes comes from the venue, dress details, or the theme of the wedding. At a minimum expect to pay $7 per slice and up.
3. Sculpture cakes
The popularity of these cakes has grown, due to television shows like the Ace of Cakes. What sets these cakes apart is their 3-d structures made to look like almost anything imaginable from the Eiffel Tower to a high heel shoe. Prices are $8-10 per slice, minimum.
4. Alternative cakes
When is a cake not a wedding cake? When it's a stack of cupcakes, doughnuts, or even individual cakes for each guest. The prices for these can vary greatly. Some options are less expensive than a traditional cake, some are more.
Wedding planners suggest contacting a bakery or baker at least five months before the wedding. Popular bakers like Feuersinger often get booked six to nine months ahead and say for popular dates such as New Year's Eve, three day weekends or auspicious Chinese dates, plan a year ahead.
Tips:
Make sure the cake tastes as good as it looks. Fondant will create a smooth finish but is not as tasty as buttercream. Plan on about an hour for your cake tasting, and be sure to bring fabric swatches, photos of cakes and anything else that will help your cake designer get a feel for what you'd like.
Decide on a theme for the wedding before deciding on the cake. This will make it easier to design the perfect cake. The trend in wedding cakes is personalization, a cake like no other. Find an architectural element, a special cake topper or even a monogram.
Got a wacky idea for a cake? Consider using it for the groom's cake, a Southern tradition that has been growing in popularity.
Find out what the cake cutting fee is before finalizing your budget. Many venues charge between $5 and $10 just for cutting and serving.
Two cakes are more economical than one. Get the wedding cake of your dreams in a smaller size and have a back up sheet cake for up to half the guests. Sheet cakes can cost as little as $2.50 per slice and no one will know the difference.
Another money saving tip: Make your own cake stand and work with a florist to decorate the area around the cake.
A cake with columns for height, filled in with flowers, is impressive but likely to be less expensive than a heavily decorated cake.
The Bay Area is full of beautifully baked fresh bread. From small operations like Tartine and La Farine, to bakeries with larger distributions, freshly baked bread can be found in almost every neighborhood. Even Cotsco has an aisle selling fresh Acme bread. I cannot stress enough how lucky we are. When I was growing up in North County San Diego, crunchy fresh bread was an exotic treat, only obtainable when we traveled to New York or sometimes Los Angeles, but nowhere to be seen in the near vicinity of my house. Yet although a fresh loaf can be found within a five-minute walk from where I live now, I still like to occasionally bake my own bread.
Like most people, I love the smell of freshly-baked bread. I'm a smelly person. Not smelly, as in I smell bad (at least I hope not), but smelly, as in I am very olfactory-driven. This is both a blessing and a curse. While I am able to smell hints of lavender or citrus not always discernible to others, smells I hate – such as disinfectant or what it disinfects -- seem to shoot through my nasal passages and into my brain (right below my right eye). So making bread is an act to not only feed my family and myself, but to nourish my nose as well. Homemade bread fills the house with the most wonderful lingering aroma, and as a bonus I also get to eat it.
One bread I enjoy making at home is focaccia. In addition to thinking it's one of the easier breads to bake, I also love that it can accommodate a variety of toppings. Although it is most often baked with sea salt and rosemary, you can easily add thyme or sage instead, not to mention goat cheese, caramelized onions, olives, garlic, nuts, anchovies, and fresh tomatoes.
Focaccia is a traditional Italian bread; its recipe dates at least as far back as ancient Rome, when it was called panis focacius. Like pizza, it is made from a simple yeast dough that is often cooked with olive oil. The dough is pretty straightforward and easy to make. Best of all, making focaccia at home will fill your kitchen with warm and comforting smells, which is something you can't buy at Costco.
Following is my recipe for caramelized cipollini onion focaccia. The onions add a sweet flavor that plays off the salt nicely. Feel free to use chopped kalamata olives instead, add goat cheese, or just use herbs and salt. Whatever you do, your house will smell delicious.
Caramelized Cipollini Onion Focaccia
Makes: one loaf
Ingredients:
2 packages of active dry yeast
1 ½ cups warm water
1 tsp sugar
4-5 cups of flour
1 ½ tsp sea salt
5 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp coarse sea salt
1 Tbsp chopped fresh rosemary, thyme, or sage
1 cup carmelized cipollini onions (see recipe below)
Preparation by Hand:
1. In a large bowl, dissolve yeast and sugar in the warm water. Let sit for five minutes or until the mixture becomes foamy.
2. Stir 4 cups of flour, 1 ½ tsp salt, and 3 Tbsp olive oil into the yeast mixture and then stir thoroughly until you can make a rough ball. You will probably need to use your hands.
3. Sprinkle flour onto a work surface (either a solid countertop or large wooden board) and turn the dough out onto the floured surface.
4. Knead the dough for at least five minutes, adding the last cup of flour as needed to prevent the dough from getting too sticky. You may not need the full cup. Continue kneading until the dough is smooth.
5. Set the dough in large bowl coated with olive oil. Cover with a dish towel and set in a warm draft-free spot for at least an hour or until the dough doubles in size.
6. After the dough has risen, coat the bottom of a large cookie sheet with the remaining 2 Tbsp olive oil.
7. Turn the dough onto the oiled cookie sheet and press down so it fits into the pan. If the dough does not stretch, let it rest another five or 10 minutes covered with the dish towel.
8. Cover with a dish towel and let rise for another hour.
9. Press your fingers into the dough to dimple it. This will help the dough bake evenly and prevent it from inflating too much when baking.
10. Sprinkle the course salt, herbs, and onions onto dough.
11. Set dough in a preheated 450 degree oven.
12. Bake for about 15 – 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Note: Be sure to check the bread after about 10 minutes if using a convection oven.
Preparation with a Stand Mixer Using the Bread Dough Attachment:
1. In your mixer's bowl, dissolve yeast and sugar in the warm water. Let sit for five minutes or until the mixture becomes foamy.
2. Add 4 cups of flour, 1 ½ tsp salt, and 3 Tbsp olive oil into the yeast mixture. Using the bread dough attachment, mix until a rough ball forms.
3. Sprinkle flour onto a work surface (either a solid countertop or large wooden board) and turn the dough out onto the floured surface.
4. Knead the dough for at least five minutes, adding the last cup of flour as needed to prevent the dough from getting too sticky. You may not need the full cup. Continue kneading until the dough is smooth.
5. Set dough in large bowl coated with olive oil. Cover with a dish towel and set in a warm draft-free spot for at least an hour or until the dough doubles in size.
6. After dough has risen, coat the bottom of a large cookie sheet with the remaining 2 Tbsp olive oil.
7. Turn the dough onto the oiled cookie sheet and press down so it fits into the pan. If the dough does not stretch, let it rest another five or 10 minutes covered with the dish towel.
8. Cover with a dish towel and let rise for another hour.
9. Press your fingers into the dough to dimple it. This will help the dough bake evenly and prevent it from inflating too much when baking.
10. Sprinkle the course salt, herbs, and onions onto dough.
11. Set dough in a preheated 450 degree oven.
12. Bake for about 15 – 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Note: Be sure to check the bread after about 10 minutes if using a convection oven.
Preparation:
1. Heat olive oil in a medium to large pan.
2. Add onions and sauté on medium low for about five minutes.
3. Add the sugar and stir.
4. Cook the onions until they are soft and a light golden color.
With winter's pantry almost empty and the green promise of Persian New Year just days away, it was time for a trip to Fremont's Little Kabul to stock up on Near/Middle/Far Eastern supplies.
It's a ritual now.
1. Get up early on a Saturday.
2. Clear out the back of the station wagon to make room for bread.
3. Call fellow eater-travelers to make sure they're awake.
4. Decide which bridge to cross this time around.
5. Stop first at De Afghanan Kabob House for slabs of potato-filled bolani, each huge round rolled and cooked to order under a battalion of bacon weights. Order juicy lamb chops and chicken kebabs along with a minced chapli patty. Load leftovers into car.
6. Shop at the farmers market for real cilantro, the kind with purple stems and small, sweet leaves and every thick, gnarly root intact. (The leaves become chutney; roots go into the freezer for making Thai curries.) Load produce into car.
7. Head to Maiwand Market to watch their halal butchers cut goat after goat in half. Load meat into car.
8. A few steps away, watch the Maiwand bakers gently pat bread dough until each loaf is 3 feet long and 1 foot wide and half an inch thick. Order 4 loaves and watch them go into the oven. Chat with folks in line for 5 minutes. Claim my loaves, wrapped in paper torn from flour bags. Load bread into car.
9. While the bread cools, fanned out in the back of the car, continue shopping.
Throughout the day, other must-have foods will find their way into my bags -- chewy sun-dried mulberries, sabzi herb mix (with mint, cilantro, leek and fenugreek leaves), flowery pussy willow water, gold-green raisins, whole dried limes or flaky butter cookies stuffed with dates. Thus does my pantry fill back up. Over the course of the next few months, I'll be able to enjoy the exquisite flavors of Afghan, Persian and Parsi cooking.
One corner of Maiwand holds neatly ranked bins filled with dried essentials: chickpeas, aged basmati, walnuts, almonds, sliced orange peel and bright-sour sumac berries. The opposite corner houses a halal butcher. You need a trunkful of lamb or goat? No problem. The butchers will even carry the carcasses to your car for you.
The heart of the market, though, is its bakery. Fresh loaves of nan afghani emerge every five minutes all day long, all week long. While modern deck ovens have replaced the clay tandoor, the bread retains its distinctively long, narrow slipper shape and its finger-rippled surface. A mixture of wheat flour and white flours gives the nan a nutty flavor yet tender bite, a perfect foil for savory kebabs and rich qormas.
The bread freezes beautifully and warms to a crisp in a toaster oven within minutes. Along with a plop of full-fat yogurt or some fresh cheese, that's about as easy as you can get for breakfast. If I'm in a savory mood, I'll drizzle the yogurt with cilantro chutney. If I'm feeling sweet, a smear of butter and raspberry jam makes the bread an excellent accompaniment to a cup of afternoon tea.
Or, if I've recently returned from a Fremont expedition, I'll eat the nan with heaping spoonfuls of khashk, a creamy, buttery, faintly caramelized fresh cheese magically thickened from the whey left behind in Middle Eastern cheesemaking. There's nothing else quite like khashk, and I've fallen completely, helplessly in love with it.
Maiwand offers a house-made version packed in cartons like ice cream. It's so good that I eat it straight from the container. There are less perishable, totally acceptable versions in jars, but if it's your first time, please do go for the homemade carton. And if you've made it all the way to Little Kabul, you might as well grab a jar of that lovely cilantro chutney by the register, too.
The best day to visit Maiwand is on a Saturday, especially during the spring and summer when the Centerville Farmers' Market across the street is in full swing. The bakers will be mixing, forming and baking bread throughout the day within full view, so you'll be able to watch up close a centuries-old tradition. On the weekends, expect to stand in line with families buying a week's worth of bread. A few of the older buyers insist on pinching the corner of each loaf to check its freshness. Some request no seeds; others ask for darker or lighter loaves. Most walk out with a stack of eight or more cradled against their chest.
Surely, contentment is an armful of bread still warm and fragrant from the oven.
Happy (post-) Purim. I should have written this post last week but, frankly, I forgot all about Purim this year. I'm not good with dates. And I'm not a Jew, though I have been told many times by Jewish friends that I am, in fact, Jew-ish.
And that makes me exceptionally happy.
Now, I bet you are wondering, "Why the photo of the lady with the enormous décolletage and the even more enormous hat? What on earth does it have to do with Purim or those delicious, Purim-related delicacies, Hamantaschen?"
Please let me explain...
Nine years ago this month, I had never even heard of Purim until I received a phone call from my friend Tricia.
"Are you free tonight?" she asked. "Want to go to a Purim party?"
I said yes, of course. And then I asked, "What the hell is a Purim party?"
She admitted that she really had no idea. As a Mexican-Scottish agnostic, she wasn't exactly up on Jewish religious tradition. Her fiancé was, however, in his second year of Rabbinical school and she was boning up on her holidays. She told me that, unlike Yom Kippur, this was one of the fun holidays, where people dressed up, ate, drank, and made a lot of noise. Being rather good at all of the above, I became rather excited about it-- especially when she told me we needed to go in costume.
I had approximately six hours to come up with costumes for the two of us to attend a party at a temple in which I'd never been, celebrating a holiday I never knew existed. I did a little research, called her back and said, "Just show up here at six in a black turtleneck."
For those of you who still don't know what Purim is about, let me explain as briefly as possible.
Purim, for Dummies
Purim is a rather joyous holiday-- one celebrating the Jews' deliverance from extermination by the King of Persia's evil advisor, Haman. Haman despised the Jews because of their otherness-- they refused to bow to him, the king, or anyone but their own God.
Fortunately, the king's favorite wife, Esther (who was the adopted daughter of Mordecai, a man who once saved the the king by revealing a plot against his life) was a Jew, though closeted at the request of her father. When Esther learned of Haman's plans to exterminate her people, she revealed herself as a Jew and argued that, should Haman have his way, both she (his favorite wife) and Mordecai (his savior) would be murdered as a result. Tables were turned, Haman was himself killed, and the Jews were allowed to exact reprisals upon Haman's people-- essentially freeing themselves from their famous Babylonian Captivity.
It's amazing how freeing coming out of the closet can be, whatever one's secret. In this case, quite literally.
Oh, It Needs a Hat
I was at a loss as to what to wear to the party. How many Esthers, Mordecais, and Hamans would show up? I imagined people with a poor grasp on historical costuming showing up in togas or basic burlap. Thanks to a little time and Googling, I came across several recipes for Purim cookies, or Hamantaschen, which are supposed to represent Haman's hat or, as some would argue, ears.
As a literal-minded man who loves to put things on his head, I found the notion of making a hat-inspired cookie into a cookie-inspired hat rather delicious. I spent the rest of the afternoon making giant Hamantaschen headwear.
Dressed as The Hamantaschen Twins, Tricia and I were a hit at Temple Sha'ar Zahav. After the noise-making and game show-themed events, the evening culminated in costume judging. We came in second place, much to our delight, beating out the less-inspiring costumes and, inexplicably, a woman wearing a giant vagina suit. I have since blotted from my memory the costume which stole our thunder.
We celebrated by strolling into the Castro wearing our hats. Most of the people on the street looked at us with utter confusion. A few people, however, smiled and gave us the thumbs up sign. "Jews," we thought, "They dig us."
We settled into a bar table at Harvey's, where I drank my first, second, third, fourth, and last ever Lemon Drop. Why? Because we were wearing big hats, that's why. We chatted up a table of gay softball players next to us. I was rather (unsuccessfully) fixated on one fellow there celebrating his birthday. Tricia was occupied by another, more interesting gentleman. When a drag queen handed us pencils and stapled sheets of copy paper, we realized it was trivia night, so we in our giant hats joined tables and forces with the jocks.
And, this time, there was no second place for us-- we won, even though none of us could name more than one porn star out of the many represented on our test papers. Fortunately, we were good at geography and disco hits of the 1970's.
I went home that evening rather high from all the contest-winning and Lemon Drops, but I came away with much more than that-- I met one of the best friends I've ever had that night chatting and playing trivia games, all the while savoring the time I was able to share with one of my oldest friends-- a girl who, at 13, I asked to go to Europe with me as gravely as any other shy boy might ask another girl to go to the prom.
And all thanks to our giant, conversation-starting Hamantaschen hats.
The hat was somewhat worse for wear by the time I gave it to my next door neighbor-- a Jew who loved playing dress up more than any straight man I've ever met. God only knows whatever became of it. Or him. Fortunately, the friendships are still around, however tattered and frayed by life and stress and distance they may have become at times. They are sometimes shelved, but they are always there. A little more glue or glitter or TLC, and they are as good as new-- more durable than any styrofoam, brown paper, and satin that a hot glue gun could ever put together. I'd be a fool to give those two away like I did that damned hat. I don't care how many cookies you offered me.
Hamantaschen
In German, the word tasche means "pocket", which is essentially what these cookies are all about-- there is a pocket made for jams or other pastes like those made of poppy seeds or prunes (lekvar). How they are meant to represent a hat worn by Haman, I have no idea. Three cornered hats were favored by European gentlemen of the 18th Century C.E., not Central Asian ones in the 6th Century B.C.E.. The European Jews of the 18th Century may not have had much of a knack for historically-appropriate head gear, but they did come up with a rather delicious cookie.
While trawling for recipes, I landed on the one that sounded the most delicious (to me)-- that of a very popular food blogger who shall not be cited here. There was something about her non-traditional use of both butter and (especially) cream cheese in the dough that told me these were the ones to bake.
They didn't turn out so well.
While they were as delicious and tender as I suspected they would be, I followed the recipe too blindly as I am wont to do whenever I bake anything new. I should have read all the comments attatched to the post before my baking venture to get a little more insight. For example, the dough should have been rolled more thinly, too much jam (even for this jam lover) in the center, the oven temperature was not high enough, and the baking time, which was suggested at 20 minutes, was more like 30. Oh, lots of problems, but that is another blog topic altogether. Sadly, the walls of these little Jerichos came tumbling down with the weight of all that bubbling confiture. Some of them looked remarkably like gaping wounds. But, like I said, they tasted rather good.
Of course, it could have been my own, simple lameness. But I very much doubt it.
Turnovers are often forgotten in the dessert world. Tarts and pies steal the show when it comes to articles, cookbook recipes, and blogs, but turnovers are just as sweet and delicious, and portable to boot. Like their bigger and more prevalent cousins, turnovers are simply cooked fruit encased in buttery pastry dough. Yet unlike the tart and pie, you don’t need to slice them, set them on a plate, or make a presentation out of serving them. Sure you could plop some ice cream or whipped cream next to one and set a mint leaf on it, but you could just as easily wrap it in a napkin and stick it in your pocket for later. This is why turnovers (both the savory and sweet variety) are also referred to as pocket pies.
Portability makes turnovers the perfect dessert for a variety of occasions. They're a great choice for parties where people will be milling about instead of sitting down. They're also ideal for putting in kids' lunches, packing for picnics, or taking on car or airline trips. But you don't need an occasion to make turnovers; they're great any time.
Turnovers are incomparably delicious when made with homemade puff pastry, but very few of us have the time or inclination to make puff pastry from scratch. Although you can create a nice turnover with homemade pie crust, I prefer puff pastry's flaky texture for the finished product and so I opt for frozen store-bought sheets. If you have time to make your own puff pastry or know of a shop where you can buy it, you'll be in for an extravagant indulgence when you bite into your luscious turnover. But if you're like me and usually have only the frozen stuff available, you will still reap the rewards of a buttery and fruity treat.
To make fruit turnovers, simply create a bowlful of whatever pie filling you like most. I am partial to apple and cherry turnovers, but blueberries, pecans, and pureed pumpkin are also great fillings. Anything you would stick into a baked pie or tart will work. You then scoop the filling into cut pieces of puff pastry, seal and bake. That's it.
There's no reason dessert has to be a plated affair. So the next time you're taking a road trip, want to put something extra special in your child's lunch, or you're simply in the mood for a sweet pocket pie, make some very easy and delicious turnovers.
A few tips to making turnovers:
1. You can cut your dough into circles or squares to make either half moon or triangle turnovers.
2. Overstuffing the dough will make the turnovers pop open and the juices will all ooze out, so be careful to leave room for crimping the edges of the dough.
3. If your dough is dry, you may want to seal the edges with an egg wash.
4. If you want your turnovers to be glossy, brush with an egg wash before baking.
5. Sprinkling sugar on the outside gives the turnovers a sweet crispness.
6. To perk up cold turnovers, simply warm them in a heated oven for about five minutes. This will recrisp the outside and warm the fruit filling.
Apple Turnovers
Makes: 9 turnovers
Turnover Ingredients:
1 sheet frozen puff pastry
2 cups diced apples cut into 1/4-inch squares (you can use Granny Smith, Fuji, Golden Delicious or any other firm apple)
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 Tbsp flour
1 tsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp cinnamon
Topping Ingredients:
1 egg scrambled
2 Tbsp white sugar
Preparation:
1. Bring puff pastry to room temperature.
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
3. Cut up apples and place in a bowl with the lemon juice so they don't become brown.
4. Combine apples with sugar, flour and cinnamon.
5. Roll out pastry dough on a lightly floured surface into a 12- by 12-inch square and then cut it into 9 equal pieces.
6. Scoop apple mixture onto the lower half of each square, being sure not to overfill.
7. Turn the upper half of the dough over the apple mixture and pinch the ends. If the dough doesn't seal, you can lightly coat the edges with an egg wash and then press them down.
8. Lay the filled dough onto a baking sheet and coat each turnover with an egg wash and sprinkle with sugar.
9. Place the baking sheet in the oven for 12 - 18 minutes, or until golden brown.
10. Serve immediately or store for later use.
I have always been mildly troubled by cupcakes. I understand their immediate attraction-- they're cute, individual packages of utensil-free eating. It's cake on-the-go for busy people who like such things. I had once thought they were adorable for (small) children's parties, but I am no longer convinced.
I just don't care much for them. Not that they aren't occasionally delicious. I just don't like what they stand for.
The Origin, in Brief
The name "cupcake" is derived from its method of measurement, though it is also argued that these treats were often baked in cups or smaller baking tins in the 19th Century, when oven-baking was done with wood fires, thus making the production of larger, more substantial cakes subject to uneven cooking and burning.
Rather than weighing ingredients, the cupcake was borne of measuring by volume and a need for easy counting, thanks to non-universal literacy rates:
Essentially, the cupcake was created as a helpful recipe for the illiterate, the bad bakers of the world, or both.
Cute in a Cup
For me, cute is only attractive if there is some element of menace behind it, much like sweetness needs a pinch of salt to prevent it from becoming cloying, insipid. Puppies, which are smaller versions of solid, dependable dogs are cute, but they are unpredictable, sad-eyed creatures capable of terrible destruction at any given moment. The child star Shirley Temple was a cute, smaller version of the more serious Ambassador to Ghana-and-Czechoslovakia Shirley Temple Black, but she has earned her place in my heart through playing edgier parts before hitting the big time: knife-wielding tots, honky-tonk singers, and highly-paid temptresses bent on destroying the integrity of politicians new to Washington. Cupcakes are merely irritatingly cute, diminutive versions of a proper cake. Of course, given their newly-found, inherent dangers, I think they just might qualify, but it doesn't make me like them more.
Sharing is Caring
I've been thinking about the cupcake ever since a newlywed couple hosted their nuptial dinner at my restaurant. The bride was a depressing control-freak who didn't for one moment seem to be enjoying herself at her own wedding. The new husband was obliging and obedient.
The wedding "cake" was comprised of three tiers of cupcakes monogrammed with the bride's and groom's' initials. One bloated, over-sized cupcake sat on top. I stared at the cakes for a moment, feeling mildly disgusted and uneasy about the couple's future.
And then one of my managers hit on what was bothering me when he stated that this couple just didn't get it, that cupcakes are individual items, unsharable; that dividing up a true cake would have symbolized the couple's desire to share their happiness with their guests. I went back to look at the bride and groom. They sat alone, facing each other at a tiny square table, while guests and family sat apart from them at larger, round ones. I felt a little depressed.
Cupcakes are, by nature, considered separate but equal confections. There is no question, as in the sub-division of a large cake, as to who receives a frosting rose, who gets a corner piece, who gets a bigger or smaller slice. They are all, more or less, similar to one another. They are dismally egalitarian.
Each bite of a cupcake is designed to be similar to the next. With a slice of layer cake, for example, there is no inner negotiation, which is part of the joy of eating one. Does one eat the frosted outer edge first, or save it for last, or does one move back and forth between them?
This is, perhaps, why I no longer think they're such a good idea for children's parties. While the allure of their convenience might be attractive to harried parents (and what parent in their right mind doesn't look for a shortcut here and there?), cupcakes teach children nothing about how life really works: negotiation (I'll trade you my frosting rose for your corner piece), disappointment (why did I get such a small piece?), hierarchy (Why did she get a better piece? Is it because her daddy is my daddy's boss?), or, most importantly, sharing (You want some more frosting? Here, have some of mine.). They are, sadly, one of the many indications of the modern parent's tendency towards protecting children from anything "unpleasant."
Speaking of Unpleasant...
Perhaps my first experience with birthday cupcakes left a bad taste in my mouth. A girl, who I shall call "Karen" (because that is her real name), was given a special 6th birthday party in our kindergarten class. Her mother was our ever-present teacher's aide. For the special event, Karen's mother had baked cupcakes into Scoopy's ice cream cones, which would, I suppose, make them cone cakes. Karen's was, unsurprisingly, more elaborate than the other cupcakes. Her name was even embossed on the cone. The rest of us got random names, none of which matched.
It is more than likely possible that I was jealous of the fact that, since Karen's birthday fell within the school year and had a mother in a position of influence among the kindergarten-teaching set, she could be singled out for specialness, just as she was often awarded the title of "Wake-up Fairy", which was bestowed upon the best napper in class on any given day. Snigger all you like, but I was a lousy napper and therefore, never allowed to play that particular rôle.
So it was with the most satisfying schadenfreude, that I witnessed the birthday girl bite off the tip of her tongue as she tucked into her special cupcake. The rest of us were shocked into silence when she screamed, the blood pooling over the frosting of her dessert as she opened her mouth to cry and dripping down the white apron-front of her party dress.
By high school, Karen was running around with the Heavy Metal crowd and, I believe, referring to herself as a "headbanger." I've often wondered if that first taste of blood-tinged frosting influenced her future tastes. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.
I Knew You Were Coming
A birthday is a very special event, as is a wedding, or a much-anticipated visit from a loved one. To bake a cake in honor of someone is to tell them you esteem them sufficiently to make a gift of your time. Had Eileen Barton, for example, sung "If I Knew You Were Comin', I'd've Baked a Cupcake," the meaning would have been lessened to almost pointlessness-- a sort of, "oh, hey. Welcome. Just put your stuff over there and we'll unfold the couch when I'm off the phone." Cupcakes are simply too quotidian to illicit as much good will as a full cake, no matter what their biggest fans might tell you.
One Cupcake, Indivisible
Yesterday, I came across this rather provocative quote:
"America is an enormous cupcake in the middle of millions of starving people."
-- Gloria Steinem
I'm sure anyone could have a field day with this statement. "One cupcake, indivisible," was my first thought. Cupcakes are a symbol of, if not independence, then individuality. America is seen as a place where freedom of expression is encouraged. The cupcake is not self-sufficient, it takes several ingredients and the efforts of a baker, for example, to create it. It is, however, self-contained-- it stands alone, apart, and, in its paper wrapper, symbolizes our modern obsession with hygiene. A perfect, if heavy-handed, metaphor for a nation that has historically preferred isolation and individual freedoms to full engagement and, say, universal health care.
Is it any big surprise that the popularity of the cupcake wildly increased during Bush's years in the White House? Interesting.
I won't even get into what those millions of starving people of the world might think of us. Some of it's good, some of it's rather unpleasant. I do not, however, wish for them to think of us as an unengaging, selfish little cupcake. If our history teaches us anything, it's that we are quick learners. We can't go it alone. We need to share with our friends and bribe new allies. Perhaps if we kick this annoying little cupcake habit and turn, instead to sharing larger baked goods that are, by nature and necessity, broader in their world view, we all might just get along.
Oh, who am I kidding? But it would be a nice start.
A Final Treat
Back to Shirley Temple. As the black lingerie-clad temptress-for-hire Polly Tix, she slinks and vamps her way into the new-in-town senator's heart. How does she entice him into selling his soul?
It's muddy, it's rainy, it's cold...so what better way to come together on a wet winter weekend than in celebration of a big wood-burning oven? The Headlands Center for the Arts is hosting Brick Oven Lovin' Again, a night of dinner and music on Saturday, February 21st, at 6pm. All donations go towards recouping the costs of renovating the center's massive wood-burning brick oven.
The benefit is the brainchild of Eduardo Morrell of Morrell Breads, who bakes all his naturally leavened hearth breads in the center's oven. For the last 8 years, Morrell has been baking breads for both the center and the Berkeley Farmers' Market, using the oven created by master oven-builder Alan Scott. While a separate memorial is planned for March, the benefit will also honor the life's work of Scott, who passed away in his native Australia on Jan. 26, 2009, at the age of 72. It will be a locavore's delight, with a focus on the produce & meats donated by Morrell’s fellow Berkeley market vendors, including Happy Boy Farms, Pomo Tierra Orchards, Happy Girl, Highland Hills Meats, Full Belly Farm, Riverdog Farm, and more.
Photo by Christina Z. Libertini
Served family-style in the arts center's dining room will be caramelized-onion and margherita pizzas, grass-fed beef stew, wheat-berry pilaf (made from Full Belly wheat), squash and citrus salad, sauteed kale and miso, green salad with goat cheese and apples, breads, pickles, spreads, and more, followed by apple crisp and chocolate ganache tart. In the kitchen will be alums from both Millennium Restaurant and the Headlands kitchen, including Morrell, Vince Peterson, Stephanie Hibbert and Ari Derfel. Playing jazz after dinner will be John Ingle (sax), Lisa Mezzacappa (bass), and Kjell Nordeson (drums).
Photo by Christina Z. Libertini
But what's so special about this oven? Built 17 years ago, the oven was part of Scott's first generation of quality ovens. It worked, but it wasn't perfect, something Scott freely admitted as he became the Bay Area's foremost authority on hand-built, wood-burning brick ovens. So, last year, under Morrell's supervision, the oven got a full revamp, preserving the decorative elements created by Scott along with the concrete foundation but installing all new insulation and firebrick. Scott's own apprentice, Quill Chase did the work. Now, says Morrell, it's much more efficient, using less wood, heating evenly, and holding temperature throughout hours of baking. It's an oven that honors Scott's work as it continues to feed another generation of artists and Bay Area bread lovers.
Headlands Center for the Arts, 944 Fort Barry, Sausalito, CA 94965. Saturday, February 21st. Dinner at 6:30pm, music at 8:30pm. A donation of $50/per person is requested for dinner and concert (children 7-13 $10 each; under 7 free); $15 donation for concert only. [ Map ]
Peanut butter is the ultimate kid food. From sandwiches made with little jammy hands to apple slices dipped into a creamy mess, peanut butter makes up its own kid food group. Unfortunately, right now we are in the midst of a major peanut butter recall. It's on the news all the time and grocery store shelves have gaping holes where peanut butter items once sat. Even dog treats are being recalled.
But families should take heart. Except for a few brands of peanut butter I have never heard of (such as King Nut and Parnell’s Pride), the recall is mainly for processed foods made with a mass-produced peanut butter paste. According to the FDA's web site, "Major national brands of jarred peanut butter found in grocery stores are not affected by the PCA recall." This is why jars of peanut butter still sit ready for purchase at your local store. From Jif and Peter Pan to organic creamy and crunchy, those jars are still available and deemed safe by the FDA for consumption. If you don't believe me, listen to Dr. Stephen Sundlof of the FDA.
But what do you do if your kids love peanut butter granola bars -- which are definitely on the recall list --like mine do? Each week I break my no-trash lunch rule and buy individually wrapped Trader Joe's Peanut Butter Chewy Coated & Drizzled Granola Bars because my kids just can't get enough of them. They are the preferred treat for snack time after recess, and I like that they give my daughters both protein and carbs, which in turn gives them the energy to continue sitting and learning until lunch arrives. Yes, I hate the wrappers, but what's one little wrapper (each), I ask myself?
Well, those granola bars disappeared from our pantry and my daughters lunches after the recall was announced. I tried to substitute their favorite treat with everything from yogurt and granola, to blueberry breakfast bars (more wrappers!) and extra fruit. After a couple of weeks of having my kids doggedly ask each morning if they could have their favorite peanut butter granola bar -- "Is the recall over Mommy?" -- I gave up and decided to make them myself. I had a large jar of organic peanut butter sitting in my refrigerator. We'd made our way through about a 1/3 of it by the time the recall was announced, so I knew it was safe as we'd all been eating it and no one had gotten sick. Plus it wasn't on the recall list.
As I no longer had a box of the beloved Trader Joe's bars, I had no idea what they contained, so struck out on my own. I opted for using granola -- you can purchase some or make your own -- to get a nice crunch and added an equal amount of puffed rice for added crunch and also a little chewiness. I really wanted a nice nutty flavor, so recommend crunch peanut butter if you have it. And, because I needed the whole thing to stick together, I threw in a healthy dollop of gooey honey. Finally I added some chocolate chips, because who doesn't love chocolate with peanut butter?
The resulting bar was, according to my husband, hands-down better than the store-bought variety. My daughters, on the other hand, thought it tasted almost as good. The proof, however, was in the fact that they each devoured their bar and then asked for more. If you are avoiding peanut products all together, you can still enjoy this recipe with cashew or almond butter.
I then began to wonder how difficult it would be to make baked granola bars. I loosely based my first batch on my Nut and Fruit Oatcakes recipe, but without the leftover steel-cut oats, it was a bit dry. After adding some corn syrup and also honey, the recipe turned out moist with a nice texture. Unlike the first recipe, I think this one tastes better with almond butter, so you don't even need to worry about the peanut butter recall. If you prefer peanut butter, however, that would also work just as well.
No-Bake Peanut, Cashew, or Almond Butter Granola Bars
Makes: 12 Bars
Ingredients:
1 cup granola
1 cup dried puffed rice (such as Rice Krispies)
1/2 cup chunky peanut, cashew, or almond butter
1/3 cup honey
1/2 cup chopped slightly salted peanuts, cashews, or almonds
1/2 cup chocolate chips
Oil spray
Preparation:
1. Mix granola, puffed rice, nuts and chocolate chips in a large mixing bowl.
2. In a separate, microwave-safe bowl, combine the peanut or almond butter and honey and then microwave for 30 seconds. If you don't want to use a microwave, you can heat these in a pot on the stove on low.
3. Thoroughly mix the peanut butter and honey after it is warmed and add to the granola mixture.
4. Stir until all the granola and puffed rice is evenly coated with the peanut butter and honey.
5. Spray a 9 x 9 square pan with oil.
6. Press the granola/peanut butter mixture into the pan, making sure it is even on all sides.
7. Refrigerate for at least an hour, but preferably longer, so the bars set.
8. Cut the bars into four rows and then make one horizontal cut down the middle so you end up with 12 bars.
9. Keep bars refrigerated until ready to eat.
Ingredients:
2 cups oats
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup almond butter
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/4 cup canola oil
1/2 cup walnuts, almonds or cashews
1/2 cup dried cranberries or raisins
1/2 cup dried apricots or peaches
1/4 cup sunflower seeds
Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees
2. Mix oats, wheat flour, baking powder, nuts and dried fruit in a large mixing bowl.
3. Mix the eggs, peanut butter, brown sugar, honey and oil using the paddle whip in an electric mixer.
4. Mix in the dried ingredients.
5. Line a 13 x 9 inch pan with parchment paper sprayed with oil or just spray with oil.
6. Press the oat mixture into the pan, making sure it’s even on all sides.
7. Bake for 15 - 20 minutes, or until the top is golden brown.
8. Cool and then cut into bars to serve.
My birthday is this month, so I have requested a luscious and rich home-baked chocolate cake. And by chocolate cake I mean the kind you can put candles on, not the flourless variety. My husband has gallantly offered to make it, but if he gets too busy, I have no problems getting in the kitchen and whipping it up myself: my birthday, my cake, my prerogative. 
Wedding season is upon us! Well, almost. When it comes to wedding cakes, there are lots of choices starting with the type of cake. According to wedding cake specialist Gabrielle Feuersinger of 
I have always been mildly troubled by cupcakes. I understand their immediate attraction-- they're cute, individual packages of utensil-free eating. It's cake on-the-go for busy people who like such things. I had once thought they were adorable for (small) children's parties, but I am no longer convinced.
