Homemade Irish Soda Bread with Raisins

I'm not a big drinker, or a big fan of fratastic crowds, so when it comes to St. Patty's Day, the thing I most look forward to isn't all the block parties, or the cry for "Carbombs!" at the bar. Call me an old soul (or Debbie McDowner), but I would much rather indulge in a thick slice of warm Irish Soda Bread, inordinately slathered with sweet butter. I may even go nuts and top off my coffee with a little Homemade Irish Cream. Partayyyy. (*Before you start booing me, if you are into downing some pints and rubbing up against a leprechaun or two, don't worry, I've still got you covered. Scroll to the bottom to see the list of festivities going on in SF).

OK, back to my wholesome soda bread. I've learned that the sweet scone-like, raisin-studded soda bread I love so much is very much an Americanized version of the real thing. As Irish chef Rory O'Connell of the Ballymaloe Cookery School in Cork, Ireland reveals in this great soda bread guide in Epicurious, real traditional Irish soda bread is simply basic table bread made with just flour (whole-meal flour for the common loaf, white flour for special occasions), bread soda, buttermilk, and salt.

No butter in the dough, raisins only as a luxury, and caraway seeds optional.

Makes sense, as this quick bread grew in popularity in the 1800s in Ireland out of necessity. Brown soda bread -- made with soft wheat (the only suitable flour that can grow in Ireland's climate), baking soda (cheap and non-perishable), and buttermilk (accessible by-product of freshly churned butter) -- was an affordable bread that the average household could bake in their own homes without an oven. The formed loaf could simply be baked in a cast iron pot, called a bastible, placed over a fire. The bastible had a lid on it with a curved edge so that you could place hot coals on top as well.

I decided embrace my homebody tendencies and do some baking to celebrate this St. Patrick's Day. Using this classic Irish-American recipe for Irish Soda Bread with Raisins and Caraway, I got to work.

Irish Soda Bread Ingredients

I adjusted the recipe to include half all purpose flour, and half whole wheat pastry flour (which I believe is similar to the soft wheat flour that was originally used in the traditional Irish soda bread). I also cut down the amount of sugar and raisins in it, and substituted the caraway seeds for fennel seeds (since that's what I had on hand, and figured they were a close-enough substitution). If you don't like the licorice-y/anise-y flavor of caraway or fennel, feel free to omit. I only use two tablespoons in my recipe, so the flavor is subtle.

Making Soda Bread

I whisked together my dry ingredients first. Then, cut in the butter until the mixture was the consistency of corn meal. Then, I added the buttermilk. The lactic acid in buttermilk reacts with the base of the baking soda to provide the leavening for this quick bread (rather than yeast). Note: Unlike the picture shown above, where I mixed in the raisins and fennel seeds after adding the buttermilk, next time I would actually add them prior to the wet ingredients so that they are well dispersed throughout the dough.

When you're mixing the dough together, mix just until everything is incorporated. Be careful to not over mix (the dough should not be kneaded). Like the secret to a good, fluffy, light biscuit or scone, the trick is to handle the dough as little as possible.

Into the oven you go

When the dough has come together, turn it into your buttered cast iron skillet or Dutch oven, and slash a cross into the top. Old folklores say that the cross cut on the top of Irish Soda Bread is to ward off evil and "let the devil out" while it's baking, or let the fairies out (for a less fire and brimstone version). Practically though, slashing the top of the bread allows the heat to penetrate the thickest part of the loaf, helps the bread rise better, and also serves as a guideline for breaking the bread evenly once it's done.

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St. Patty's Day Trivia:

• Saint Patrick, the man, the saint, the slayer of snakes -- St. Patrick is the patron saint and national apostle of Ireland who is credited with bringing Christianity to Ireland. He is said to have "driven the snakes" from Ireland. Snakes referred to the serpent symbolism of the Druids, whose pagan rites were abolished by the big P.
• Why Shamrocks -- Legend has it that Saint Patrick used the three-leaved clover to explain the Holy Trinity to the pagan Irish.
• Soda Bread not really Irish -- Soda bread was actually invented by the American Indians, who used pearl ash (made from potash, which was made from lye, which was made from hardwood ashes).

St. Patrick's Day Festivities:

• Farley's Coffee (Potrero) -- Live bagpipes, music, and dancing
• Safe & Sober Program -- Free cab rides from 3 pm to 3 am
• St. Patrick's Day Block Party 2011 (Financial District)
• Aventine's St. Patrick's Day Alley Block Party (Financial District)
• O'Reilly's St. Patrick's Day Block Party (North Beach)

Places in the Bay Area to buy Irish Soda Bread:

John Campbell's Irish Bakery
5625 Geary Blvd
(between 20th Ave & 21st Ave)
San Francisco, CA 94121
Neighborhood: Outer Richmond
(415) 387-1536

Arizmendi Bakery
1331 9th Ave
(between Irving St & Judah St)
San Francisco, CA 94122
Neighborhood: Inner Sunset
(415) 566-3117

La Farine Bakery
6323 College Ave
(at 63rd St)
Oakland, CA 94618
Neighborhoods: North Oakland, Rockridge
(510) 654-0338

3411 Fruitvale Ave
(between Macarthur Blvd & Sloan St)
Oakland, CA 94602
(510) 531-7750

4094 Piedmont Ave
(between Glen Ave & 41st St)
Oakland, CA 94611
(510) 420-1777

1820 Solano Ave
(at Colusa Ave)
Berkeley, CA 94707
Neighborhoods: East Solano Ave, North Berkeley
(510) 528-2208

Homemade Irish Cream

When I first discovered this recipe for Homemade Irish Cream from The Hungry Mouse, I knew I had struck Leprechaun's gold. It was easy (with 8 ingredients, almost all of which I already had in my kitchen), it was straightforward (step 1: blend, step 2: imbibe), and it was flexible (Extra-boozy? Just a hint of boozy? Your choice!).

At a loss for what to do with all that creamy, frothy, goodness?

• Start your morning right with some Irish Coffee -- you'll be singing sunshine, lollipops and rainbows…guaranteed.
• Not sure how many boys this Milkshake will bring to the yard, but pretty sure it will satisfy plenty of females. Booze, chocolate, and ice cream? That kills almost every bird there is.
• Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes, as amazing as they sound, and hands down one of the best icings ever concocted.
• And of course, there is no shortage of sexually explicit cocktails out there made with this luxurious elixir.

Homemade Irish Cream Liqueur
Recipe from The Hungry Mouse.

Makes: Enough to fill one large (750 ml.) Perrier bottle, and then some.

Ingredients:
200 ml. Jameson's Irish whiskey
14 oz. sweetened condensed milk
1 cup heavy cream
4 eggs
2 tablespoons chocolate syrup
2 teaspoons instant coffee
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon almond extract

Preparation:
1. Blend all the ingredients, except the whiskey, first. Then add the whiskey and blend again until thick and frothy.
2. Serve immediately or store in the refrigerator for up to a month. (Shake well before serving).
*Contains raw eggs.

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Green is the Bay Area's favorite color -- to be sure, there is no shortage of revelry on this day o' luck, with multiple block parties, drink specials, and special menus:

San Francisco St. Patrick's Day Events - FuncheapSF
The 10 Best Irish Pubs in the City - 7x7
Bay Area Restaurants, St. Patrick's Day Specials - SFGate
John Campbell's Irish Bakery Opens in Pac Heights - SFoodie

Or, if you have an aversion to loud, beer-scented party people, excessive use of mardi gras beads, and/or waiting to pee…celebrate at home. Eat something hearty. Drink something frothy. Bake something buttery:

15 Recipes to Celebrate St. Patrick's Day - L.A. Times Test Kitchen
What to Eat and Drink on St. Patrick's Day - Serious Eats
The Great Irish Soda Bread Debate: 7 Soda Bread Recipes – Epicurious
The Irish Club's Irish Stew & Chocolate Guinness Cake – Nigella Lawson
Chocolate Irish Whiskey Cake – Bay Area Bites
Dark Chocolate Mint Brownies – Bakerella
Stout Float - Gourmet
No More Green Beer: 4 St. Patrick's Day Cocktails - Derek M. Brown at The Atlantic

Is your corned beef ready for simmering yet? Your potatoes set to be peeled and boiled, your cabbage simmered, your soda bread stirred up? It's too bad that no one thinks of smoked salmon and brown bread, thick bacon and Irish cheddar, champ and colcannon (to name but a few of the real delights of the Emerald Isle's table) when St. Patrick's Day comes around. Here in the States, it's corned beef and cabbage, corned beef and cabbage, to say nothing of the green beer and Irish coffees. (Alas, the Shamrock Shake, that minty McDonald's invention, is as rare as a four-leaf clover these days.)

As for the whiskey, well, an Irish blend would be only appropriate. You could follow the lead of the venerable Buena Vista, who serves 2000 Irish coffees a day, all spiked with Tullamore Dew. (After some 50 years using its own private label Irish whiskey, the bar switched to Tullamore in 2006.) Jameson's and Bushmills are the big boys, of course, and the players in a (somewhat spurious, given that both brands are now owned by enormous multinationals) Catholic vs. Protestant loyalty debate. Meanwhile, smaller brands like Red Breast, Power's, Midleton, Black Bush, Killbeggan, and The Tyrconnell all have their admirers. Care to compare? The Liberties in the Mission will be offering special tasting flights of some of the rarer Irish whiskeys all week long. There's also live music throughout the evening of the 17th, and a full menu with everything from smoked salmon on potato cakes to cross-cultural samosas stuffed with black pudding, bacon, and curried potatoes.

Now, I like my whiskey for sipping, for sure, but when you need to make a whole tableful of people happy with just one glass, nothing beats this Chocolate Whiskey Cake. Serving it at a recent birthday potluck, the question everyone asked after one bite was, "How much whiskey is in this??" Only a cup's worth for the entire generously-sized cake, but a liberal sprinkling after baking gives a potent warmth to every forkful.

The original inspiration came from food writer Melissa Clark's interpretation of a recipe in Maida Heatter's Book of Great Chocolate Desserts, first published in 1980. Clark's recipe ups the amount of whiskey (and salt) and boosts the chocolate quality. Remembering with longing the fantastic Chocolate Whiskey Cake served at Mrs. London's Bakeshop in Saratoga Springs, where my family would go every summer to follow the horseracing and bask in fine dining, I added in whiskey-soaked golden raisins, swapped out the espresso powder for straight-up strong coffee and cut back on both the salt and sugar, since I like my chocolate bittersweet.

Single-handedly, this cake could kick-start a Bundt-pan revival. Dense, rich, and moist, it's a cake for those who still like their cakes cake-like in texture, rather than in molten puddles or like wet bricks of fudge or cloying black holes of collapsed ganache. (If I want nothing but sheer chocolate and butterfat, I'll eat a truffle, thanks.) There's no need for fussy icings or fillings, and the sturdy shape makes transporting it a breeze, even on Muni. (Trust me, I've done it, even on the hill-twisting 67-Bernal Heights, not to mention the sardine-jammed 14-Mission.) If you'd really like to add a little gold to this pot, serve with with a cloud of whipped cream flavored with a wee bit of powdered sugar and another spoonful of whiskey.

Chocolate Whiskey Cake
Don't be tempted to use up that old yellow box of chalky supermarket baking chocolate on this cake. You're already making the investment in butter and whiskey; go all the way and buy a good-quality, name-brand chocolate. I used Ghirardelli, but local favorites Tcho and Guittard would work well, too. Same goes for the cocoa powder; skip the Hershey's and try the much more flavorful cocoas made by Ghirardelli, Scharffenberger, Valrhona, or Droste. And while Irish whiskey is the most appropriate for St. Patty's Day, all-American bourbon or rye is quite tasty, too.

Serves: 10 to 12

Ingredients:
1 cup Irish whiskey, plus more for sprinkling
1 cup golden raisins
5 ounces good-quality unsweetened chocolate
1 cup really strong coffee
2 1/2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks, 8 oz) unsalted butter, softened, more for greasing pan
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
3 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 cups all-purpose flour, more for dusting pan

Confectioners’ sugar, for garnish

Preparation:
1. In a medium bowl, pour whiskey over raisins and set aside.

2. Grease and flour a 10-cup-capacity Bundt pan. Preheat oven to 325°F.

3. In a double boiler over simmering water, melt chocolate. Remove from heat and let cool.

4. In a measuring cup, dissolve cocoa powder and salt in hot coffee, then add to whiskey-raisin mixture. Let cool.

5. In a large bowl, cream 1 cup butter until fluffy. Add sugar and beat until well combined. Beat in the eggs one at a time, beating well between each addition. Beat in the vanilla extract, baking soda, and melted chocolate, scraping down sides of bowl with a rubber spatula.

6. Beat in a third of the whiskey mixture. When liquid is absorbed, fold in 1 cup flour. Repeat with a third of whiskey mixture, followed by remaining cup of flour. Add the last of the whiskey mixture, folding gently just until well mixed. Scrape batter into prepared pan. Bake until a cake tester inserted into center of cake comes out clean, about 1 hour 10 minutes.

7. Transfer cake to a rack. Unmold after 15 minutes. If you really want a potent whiskey flavor, sprinkle warm cake with about 2 tablespoons’ more whiskey. Let cool, then sift over confectioners’ sugar before serving.

While others were drinking green beer, making lamb stew, or boiling the pervasive corned beef and cabbage this week, I ignored all things Irish. My family was never one to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. As Italian Catholics, St. Patrick's Day was a minor religious holiday in my childhood house, and my proud Italian father couldn't comprehend how the nation turned it into a festive drinking day celebrating the Irish. This was particularly telling as he was never one to turn down a pint of beer, celebratory or not.

Half the time I forgot to wear green on St. Patrick's Day. Not surprising from the girl who brought meatball sandwiches for lunch, but a drag nonetheless as this meant I got pinched all day (a tradition, I am happy to say, that has been abandoned, at least at my daughters' elementary school). My family just didn't celebrate the day. We ate a normal dinner -- something like pasta with broccoli rabe followed by stuffed peppers. No corned beef for us. My mom just didn't cook Irish.

Ironically, my dad died on St. Patrick's Day two years ago. And then the day before the holiday this week, my maternal grandmother passed away. Now, what the nation celebrates as an excuse to drink beer and "get their Irish on" has become a time of reflection for me.

My father and grandmother were different in many ways, but one thing they could always agree on was food. Both were lifelong advocates of the southern Italian table. While my father never lifted a finger in the kitchen (he was a Sicilian male of the old school), he could correctly identify the vast range of regional dishes prepared, including what ingredients were used, and if they were fresh or not. My grandmother, on the other hand, was the quintessential Italian cook. Each day she prepared a Neopolitan dish that had been passed down from generation to generation. She got up around 4:00 a.m. each day, made a pot of coffee, and started cooking. Unfortunately, we were separated by 3,000 miles for most of my life (she in Long Island and me in California), so I didn't get to hang out with her in the kitchen as much as I would have liked. I have very fond memories of when we were together, however: her busy at the stove, talking with a New York accent sprinkled with Italian, and making the most heavenly dishes.

It was hard to get a recipe out of my grandmother. She was completely disconnected from the idea that food is often made using a list of ingredients with directions. Instead of actual recipes, I would receive a list of instructions that were more subjective than definite. She loved to write recipes (or at least her version of what a recipe is) down on note cards, which were full of comments like "add some milk" or "pinch the dough until it's right." It would drive me nuts when I would ask "how much milk?" and she responded "enough," as if that said it all. But when I was in the midst of making a dish, I found that "enough" was often a better direction than an exact measurement. She and my mom (who hands down recipes just like her mother) taught me to trust my instincts in the kitchen and that the look and feel of a mixture is what's important. My grandmother's recipes helped me learn more about technique, color, feel, and texture than any cookbook ever could.

So in honor of my father and grandmother, I made Italian gravy this week. I still can't tell you how my family makes this dish, although I will tell you how I made the bragiole.

Bragiole

Makes: 6 bragiole

Ingredients:
6 pieces of thinly cut beef (either 1/4-inch bottom round slices or flank steak work well)
2 hard-boiled eggs chopped
Minced parsley and garlic (enough to sprinkle on the meat)
Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper

Preparation:
1. Tenderize the meat so the pieces are nice and thin.
2. Season each piece with salt and pepper and then top with the egg and parsley.
3. Add a little garlic to each piece (not too much, but enough to flavor) and top with some freshly grated cheese.
4. Roll each piece of meat up and place a toothpick in each one so it stays closed.
5. Brown in olive oil and then cook in your gravy.
6. Simmer for at least an hour and serve.

It's true: these are some ugly-looking potatoes. Back in December, though, they were sleek, alluring even, a pound or two of organic fingerlings that came as part of a mystery box of roots, tubers, and greens from Mariquita Farms. Somehow, though, they got muscled to the back of the pantry by the 20 pounds of russets bought for holiday latke-making at the same time. By the time I could even think about eating potatoes again, my taters had only baby-making in mind.

These were potatoes hellbent on reproduction. Snaky white shoots were twining out of the eyes, and the shriveled potato meat was just a backpack of snacks for the next generation of tubers-to-be.

Now, I love my city-mandated green-waste bin. But could I really let such determination end up in a compost pile in Vacaville?

During my six months as an apprentice at the Farm & Garden Program at UC Santa Cruz, I had planted dozens of fancy seed potatoes that looked a lot like these. They had produced prodigiously, feeding 50 hungry farmers nearly every day, along with the customers at a 120-member CSA and a twice-weekly farmstand.

Would a handful of sprouters grow just as well in a bucket in Bernal Heights? After all, if Love Apple Farm's potato buckets were good enough for David Kinch, wouldn't a plastic pot do just fine for me? (Cynthia Sandberg must know her stuff; her tiny Love Apple Farm is a kitchen garden whose kitchen just happens to be Kinch's restaurant Manresa.) The process is simple: in a large, deep bucket, lay the sprouting potatoes (each piece, or potatoes, containing at least a couple of eyes) on a layer of soil about four to six inches deep. Cover with another couple of inches of soil. Water in until soil is moist but not soggy. Sit back and wait. When the potatoes have pushed a leafy stem up about 4 inches above the soil, fill in with more soil, covering the stem to just below the top leaves. Continue the grow-and-cover process until you reach the top of the bucket.

And what better time to plant than right around St. Patrick's Day? It's easy to remember, after all, and the closeness to the spring equinox in our climate pretty much ensures frost-free nights from now on. A beautifully informative essay on the role of potatoes in rural Irish life can be found in John Thorne's Pot on the Fire; at the end of the chapter he has recipes for both champ and colcannon, two easy dishes of greens (which could be foraged) and potatoes (homegrown), both of which make delicious vegetarian alternatives to the typical corned beef & cabbage.

For champ, peeled potatoes are boiled, drained, and pummeled to smoothness. While the potatoes are boiling, tender spring greens--nettles, spinach, turnip or radish tops--are gently simmered in milk. The greens (and the milk) are tipped into the potatoes and vigorously stirred together. A bowlful with a pat of butter makes a meal.

Colcannon uses slightly tougher greens, like kale and cabbage, and the mixture is stiffer, made firm enough to pat into a flat, thick pancake in a skillet and fry in butter until both sides are crisped up and lightly browned. (You can find boxty, an equally filling Irish potato cake, on the menu at The Liberties at 22nd and Guerrero Sts in the Mission, even if they do California it up with roasted red peppers and feta cheese.)

No plans for a champ-cam trained on the potato bucket yet; after all, most of the action during the next few months will be happening underground. But until then, you can browse the greens reappearing from the earth and dream of harvesting your very own patio potatoes.

With a Mayor whose life appears to need the same kind of control his gel exerts over his hair, and killer frogs stalking Golden Gate Park, spring has fully come to San Francisco.

To honor St. Patty's Day, I had to write about my newest out-of-body experience: Guinness Floats.

I know there's a lot of you out there who -- for better or for hate -- have already suckled at the vanilla-y, stout-y, creamy, heavenly goodness that has recently enraptured my small household. However, for those three of you who haven't and have always been curious, please seize this holiday opportunity to satisfy yourselves. All it takes is a pint of Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Bean -- definitely go whole bean hog on this one, you'll thank me later -- and a six-pack of fully widgeted Guinness cans.

Plop one, two, three, okay, FIVE scoops of ice cream in a pint glass and carefully pour the Guinness over the mound of decadent sensuality. With whorls and dips and swirls, the bitter bite of the Guinness surrounds, melds with, and accentuates the heady vanilla. I know it sounds weird, but it works and it's beyond fantastic.

Are we all on the same page? Ice cream and beer is a taste only drunk angels could have imagined? Okay. Now, let's check in with a brand new beer from Hawaii's Kona Brewing Company that is so brilliant, it should be illegal. Well, hello, Pipeline Porter, what's your story? What's that? You say you're made with 100% KONA COFFEE?! Seriously? Coffee and beer -- another brilliant combination. On its own, Pipeline is smooth, rich, smokey, and definitely filled to the rim with coffee. It's so wonderfully strange, and I can't remember the last time I was so completely taken with a beer that I started thinking in terms of multiple cases. Oh, wait, I can.

Here it becomes time to apply what we learned earlier with ice cream and beer. My brilliant, BRILLIANT husband is the one who pointed out that if we can reach near nirvana with Guinness and ice cream, how far can we go if we match Pipeline Porter with ice cream? So far that I don't think we've yet returned to Earth.

Guinness or Pipeline -- it's up to you, but you'll be sorry if you don't try one of them.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!