Welcome back

Well. It's been a while, hasn't it. Much to my surprise, life after graduate school does not, in fact, automatically come with more free time. On the contrary, along with my shiny new job came a shiny new commute, and part of me feels a perverse longing for the "free" time I had a year ago. Finding the time and energy to cook dinner with any kind of regularity has been a challenge, let alone finding the motivation to photograph and write about what I manage to cook.

Recently, though, I've enjoyed some extra inspiration to make time for baking. Summer fruit hit its stride a few weeks ago, just in time for Amy I. to return to the Bay Area. Now, when a friend arrives back in town after six months abroad, when she and her spouse move into their new place, housewarming goodies must be baked. And baked they were. I could think of no more delightful way to celebrate their return than with an abundance of summer's best in one of my favorite fruit desserts: a frangipane tart.

You see, I am a sucker for many things nut-related, but perhaps most of all for frangipane. So simple, so easy, frangipane feels disproportionately (almost guiltily) rewarding for how little work goes into it. A food processor makes quick work of the filling, and whether you scatter the fruit haphazardly or arrange it artfully, the result rarely fails to take on a kind of elegance. In the end, for reasons I can't quite identify, frangipane tarts feel at once rustic and refined, the sort of dessert that feels equally at home eaten off of a napkin or china plates.

This is a choose-your-own-adventure sort of dessert, one that works with a variety of crusts and virtually any fruit you can imagine pairing with nuts. I think that stone fruits make the best frangipane tarts, but pear and apple also shine in this setting (pear frangipane tarts are a classic French dessert), and I will probably try a fig and frangipane tart before the summer's out. For this tart, however, the timing couldn't have been better for cherries.

Sweet and succulent, and just hitting their peak, cherries have had me on a veritable baking streak. They seem particularly fine this year, despite (or perhaps thanks to?) an unusually rainy and cool spring, and I am enjoying cherries like never before: packed in lunches, at picnics in the park with puppy, out of hand as I putter about the house, and of course baked in tarts like this one. I do hope you'll give it a try.

Cherry Frangipane Tart

Adapted from Deborah Madison's Seasonal Fruit Desserts.

Makes one 9-inch round tart, plus enough frangipane for another tart.

Ingredients

• One 9-inch tart shell (recipe of your choice), partially baked, cooled
• 1 1/2 cups raw almonds
• 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons unrefined sugar (see note)
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 7 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 egg plus 2 egg yolks
• 1/2 teaspoon almond extract
• 2 tablespoons Kirsch (optional, see note)
• 1 1/4 pounds cherries
• 3 tablespoons good quality fruit preserves (I used homemade apricot jam)
• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

Directions

1. Combine the first four ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and process until the nuts are finely ground.
2. Add the butter in pieces and process until the mixture is smooth.
3. Add the egg, yolks, almond extract, and liqueur (if using), and process until well blended. Divide into two equal portions, and refrigerate one half for later use. You may refrigerate the other half if not using right away; bring the mixture to room temperature before spreading into the prepared crust (see note).
4. When ready to bake the tart, place a rack in the center of your oven and preheat the oven to 400F (200C).
5. While the oven is coming up to temperature, heat the preserves, strain them, and stir together with 1 tablespoon water.
6. Stem and pit the cherries, then toss with the sugar and strained preserves.
7. Spread the room-temperature frangipane over the cooled crust, and distribute the cherries over the top.
8. Bake until the frangipane is puffed and golden, and the fruit has softened, about 35 minutes.
9. Serve warm or at room temperature, as you prefer

Notes

• You can also use white sugar, but I like the extra depth of flavor that raw or other kinds of unrefined sugar (such as sucanat) lend to the filling. The exception is the cherry mixture, where the fine grains of ordinary granulated sugar lend themselves to more even distribution.
• Kirsch works beautifully for a cherry tart, but you can also use Amaretto, especially if you're using a different fruit.
• This recipe makes twice as much frangipane as you need for one tart, but the mixture keeps, refrigerated in a clean container, for approximately one week. I find it a very handy thing to have around in case you need to make a dessert on short notice, and in summer I'm rarely without a jar of it in the fridge.
• You can also make frangipane using almond paste, which contains more finely ground almonds, but I prefer the texture of frangipane made with ground almonds. An example of almond paste frangipane can be found here.

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A different kind of gingerbread house

Gingerbread houses: the baking, the building, the decorating. Ordinarily I'd say, what's not to love? The thing is, there is something not to love, and that's the gingerbread. Frankly, I'm not all that fond of the sturdy (ahem) gingerbread that's typically used in gingerbread houses. Perhaps some people are content with the only fun part being the decorating, and perhaps some people actually like the traditional gingerbread, but I'm not one of those people--I want to play with my food, but I also want to eat it. Fortunately there's a different way. If you ask me, it's a better way.

Years ago I happened on a Martha Stewart gingerbread house recipe that used not the hard, unappetizing type of gingerbread, but gingerbread cake. I can't for the life of me find the recipe, and I don't even remember if the cake was anything special. The key thing was the concept. If you make a gingerbread house using cake, your problem will be keeping yourself from eating all your construction materials before you even start building, rather than the guilt over throwing out something you baked but can't bring yourself to eat.

This cake is a ginger-lover's cake. Indeed, with two tablespoons (!!) of ground ginger and a tablespoon of fresh ginger, it might even be too strong for people whose feelings toward ginger don't rise to the level of fervent admiration. Again, I'm not one of those people. I've tried other gingerbread cakes before, ones that gave a cursory nod to the ginger flavor but ultimately left me wanting more. Not this one. Here the warm, spicy ginger flavor comes through beautifully against the hearty, stout-enriched cake. I enjoyed building and decorating my little house, but for once I think I might have even more fun eating it.

Gingerbread Cake

Adapted from Cook's Illustrated, January & February 2011

Makes one 8-inch square cake.

Ingredients

• 3/4 cup dark stout, such as Guinness
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 2/3 cup molasses
• 3/4 cup (5 1/4 ounces) packed brown sugar
• 1/4 cup (1 3/4 ounces) granulated sugar
• 1 1/2 cups (7 1/2 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour, plus some for dusting the pan
• 2 tablespoons ground ginger
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon finely ground black pepper
• 2 large eggs
• 1/3 cup vegetable oil
• 1 tablespoon finely grated fresh ginger

Directions

1. Place an oven rack in the middle position, and preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Oil an 8-inch square baking pan (preferably glass or ceramic, see note), dust it with flour, and set aside.
2. Place the stout in a medium saucepan (at least 1 1/2 quarts, trust me) over medium heat. When it comes to a boil, remove it from the heat and stir in the baking soda. Don't be alarmed when it produces a copious amount of foam.
3. Let the foam subside, then stir in the molasses and sugars until they're dissolved. Set the mixture aside and let cool slightly while you prepare the dry ingredients.
4. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, ground ginger (not fresh), baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and pepper. Set aside.
5. When the stout mixture has cooled somewhat (should be warm to the touch, but not hot), whisk in the eggs, oil, and fresh ginger.
6. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients in three parts, whisking vigorously (yes, really) after each addition. The batter should be completely smooth before you proceed with subsequent additions.
7. Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and tap the pan against the counter (gently!) in order to release any large air bubbles in the batter. Bake for 35-45 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean, and the top is just firm to touch. Be patient--unless you know that your oven tends to rush things (or the cake appears to be burning), try not to open the oven door until at least 35 minutes have passed. Cool the cake in the pan on a rack for at least 1 1/2 hours, and serve either warm or at room temperature.

Notes

• If you only have a thin-walled (metal) pan, the folks at Cook's Illustrated recommend using cake strips to insulate the cake and prevent the edges from burning.
• The cake can be stored, wrapped tightly in plastic and kept at room temperature, for two days.
• The original recipe recommends serving it with whipped cream, but for construction purposes I recommend something more substantial, like cream cheese frosting. Cream cheese frosting is simply two parts cream cheese, one part butter, plus vanilla extract and powdered sugar to taste--1/2 teaspoon vanilla and 1 cup powdered sugar are a good starting point for 8 ounces of cream cheese.

Chocolate cream pies for Pi Day

Please allow me to brighten up this historically ill-fated day for you. Chocolate! Cream! Pie! Pi!

Wait, what?

Yesterday* was 3/14, Pi Day, that under-appreciated holiday on which we gather together to eat pie and give thanks for our ability to calculate the area of a pie plate. Well, maybe you don't. But even if you don't care much about the math, I think we can all agree that an excuse to eat pie is worth celebrating.

Unlike with some pies, there's really no way to convince myself that chocolate cream pie is good for me. It consists entirely of cookies, butter, pudding, and cream, so there's no getting around it: this is one of those desserts you can't justify making for anything other than a special occasion. I've been waiting months for a good excuse to make it, so when someone reminded me that Pi Day was coming up, it didn't take me long to decide. Chocolate cream pie was the one.

And what a pie it is. A pulverized chocolate cookie crust, chocolate pudding for filling, and whipped cream to top it all off. What's not to love? No doubt about it, this pie will turn your frown upside down.

Even the preparation will elicit a smile, especially from those for whom success with traditional pie crusts remains elusive. You'd have to try hard in order to overwork this crust, which comes together quickly and is simply pressed into place. The only aspect of the pie that might give one pause is the pudding. To that I say: arm yourself with a whisk and a sieve, and all will be well. By the time you've finished, you'll realize that the hardest part is being patient enough to let it chill for six hours before you dive in.

Hungry for more Pi Day fun? Head on over to Amy's, where fall flavors made a guest appearance for this late winter celebration. Did you make a pie for Pi Day? Please share with us in comments!

Chocolate Cream Pie

Adapted from Gourmet, February 2004

Makes one 9-inch pie, or a few smaller ones

Ingredients

For the crust:

• 1 1/3 cups chocolate wafer crumbs
• 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 1/4 cup sugar
• Dash of cinnamon (optional)

For the filling:

• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 4 large egg yolks
• 3 cups whole milk
• 5 ounces bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened)
• 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

For the topping:

• 3/4 cup heavy cream, cold from the fridge
• 1 tablespoon sugar

Directions

1. Place an oven rack in the middle position, and preheat the oven to 350/175C.
2. Combine the cookie crumbs, butter, sugar, and ground cinnamon (if using) in a bowl and stir until uniformly mixed. Pour the mixture into a 9-inch pie plate, pressing on the bottom and sides of the dish to compact the mixture into an even crust. Bake the crust for about 15 minutes, or until crisp, then set on a rack to cool.
3. Meanwhile, place the two chocolates in a large, heatproof bowl and place over a pan of barely simmering water (the bowl should not touch the water). Stir the chocolate continually until it is melted and smooth. Remove the bowl from the heat, place a fine mesh sieve over the bowl, and set aside.
4. In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch, and salt until thick.
5. Heat the milk in a heavy 3-quart saucepan until just simmering. Ladle some of the milk into the egg mixture, whisking vigorously, to temper the yolks. Once the tempered mixture is smooth, pour it into the pot with the rest of the milk, whisking as you go.
6. Cook the custard, whisking constantly, until it thickens and reaches reaches a boil. Turn the heat down slightly and cook, still whisking, for another minute.
7. Pour the thickened custard through the sieve into the chocolate. You might need to help it along with a spatula. Whisk the chocolate and custard together until they're evenly mixed, then add the vanilla and the softened butter, and whisk to incorporate. Butter a piece of waxed paper and place it, buttered side down, on the surface of the custard. Let cool completely, roughly 2 hours.
8. Spoon the chilled filling into the prepared crust, then loosely cover the pie and place it in the fridge to chill for at least 6 hours, or up to 1 day.
9. Just prior to serving, place the cream and sugar in a large bowl and beat just until the stiff peak stage. Spoon the whipped cream on top of the pie, and serve.

Notes

• Make-ahead: as noted in the recipe, the pie can be made and filled (but not topped) up to 1 day ahead.
• If you'd like to reduce the amount of sugar in the filling, go ahead. I wouldn't cut it by more than half, though.

* Yes, I'm a day late with this, and here's why. I dare you to be annoyed with that face.

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A different kind of post-op pudding

The last time we visited pudding, it was in preparation for a liquid diet after having a couple of wisdom teeth yanked. I'm happy to say that this post has nothing to do with wisdom teeth, and in fact nothing to do with oral surgery. What I'm not so happy to report is that it does have something to do with surgery, at least in some tangential way.

The Suitor, you see, is like a German Shepherd--or so his orthopedic surgeon tells him. As it turns out, he has hip dysplasia, and years of high-impact activities like running marathons have accelerated the inevitable deterioration of his hip. It was time for hip surgery. I'll spare you the gory details; suffice it to say that he avoided a full hip replacement, but he did need some work done.

And work is what they did. The surgery went well, and the recovery is going well; but for the poor Suitor, surgery meant a return to the self-sufficiency of a toddler. If something was going to get done, I was going to be the one doing it--and that included everything from running errands to helping him in and out of his socks. Which, believe it or not, I have thoroughly enjoyed. For someone who doesn't have much interest in having kids, I sure do take to playing the mother hen.

Unfortunately, as pleasant as caregiving has been for the psyche, it was not what the doctor ordered for the clot-ridden lungs. According to my hematologist, my recovery is progressing at the normal pace; but that pace is a lot slower than I had anticipated, and until recently I haven't been up for much cooking or baking. (My parents were incredibly helpful, bringing over dinners for us, running errands, and so on.) But my lack of cooking in general didn't keep me from wanting to make myself a little treat for the calm moments when the Suitor was knocked out by the Vicodin and I could curl up for a rest on the sofa.

The trick, of course, was finding the right treat. Everyone has their favorite comfort foods, and specifically their favorite comfort desserts. I fall into two camps: when I'm feeling under pressure, sometimes the soothing familiarity of the creaming method brings me back down to earth, and I go for cookies or a cake of some sort. But when I feel like cozying up with a comforting dessert, I want pudding. And this time I wanted not chocolate pudding, but butterscotch pudding.

I first tried what was billed as a tried-and-true butterscotch pudding recipe. Despite my having every confidence in the source, I wound up underwhelmed. The texture was lovely, but the butterscotch flavor didn't exactly come out swinging. That's fine if you're going for subtle (and as subtle flavor goes, it was quite nice), but I wasn't. I was going for knock-out flavor.

Fortunately one of my favorite food bloggers had recently posted a recipe not for butterscotch pudding per se, but for butterscotch pots de crème. A glance at the ingredient list--including two kinds of brown sugar, a slew of egg yolks, and some fleur de sel--convinced me that I was on the right track. and indeed, I was. These little pots of butterscotch goodness are the very essence of comfort--at least for me. Your favorites might vary, but I suggest that you give this one a try. You just might find that you have a new favorite comfort food.

Butterscotch Pots de Crème

Adapted from Cannelle et Vanille

Makes about 8 servings, assuming that you use 6 oz. ramekins

Ingredients

• 500 mL heavy cream (about 2 cups plus 2 tablespoons)
• 225 mL whole milk (about 1 scant cup)
• 1 vanilla bean
• 1/2 teaspoon fleur de sel or other good sea salt
• 160 grams muscovado sugar (about 1 scant cup, lightly packed)
• 80 grams demerara sugar (about 1/3 cup)
• 8 egg yolks

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 300F/150C. Get some water heating either on the stove or in the microwave. You'll need it for the hot water bath when the ramekins go in the oven.
2. Combine the cream, milk, muscovado sugar, and salt in a small saucepan. Split the vanilla bean, scrape the seeds into the pot, and add the scraped bean to the pot. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce (or turn off) the heat and keep the pot warm.
3. Get out a medium saucepan, and place it over moderate heat. Sprinkle half of the demerara sugar evenly over the bottom of the pan. It will begin to melt at the edges, at which point sprinkle the remaining demerara sugar into the pan. Stir or swirl until the sugar is fully melted and a nice, golden caramel.
4. Carefully (!) deglaze the caramel with the hot cream mixture, whisking in a little at a time. Keep whisking until you get all of the caramel to dissolve. If it's stubborn, return the pot to the heat and keep whisking. Those bits of caramel will work themselves out. Once it's smooth, take it off the heat if you like, but keep it hot.
5. Whisk the egg yolks together in a medium bowl. Temper the yolks by adding a little of the hot caramel mixture, whisking well, then pour the tempered yolks back into the caramel pot.
6. Strain the mixture through a fine sieve (or don't, if you're feeling confident or pressed for time), then portion it out into ramekins.
7. Place the ramekins on a baking sheet, and pour the hot water into the pan and place carefully in the preheated oven. Bake until the pots de crème are just set in the center, about 30-45 minutes. Let cool to room temperature, then cover and chill before serving.

Notes

• If you can't find muscovado sugar, use the darkest brown sugar you can find. Similarly, if you can't find demerara sugar, use light brown or raw sugar.
• Need something to do with all those egg whites? Marshmallows are a good choice, and Swiss buttercream keeps beautifully in the freezer for all your impromptu cake-frosting needs.

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Tea and Cake or Death

That title probably needs an explanation, doesn't it? I can't possibly do the line justice, so I'll just refer you to this Eddie Izzard clip (or rather, the Lego version thereof). If you're not an Eddie Izzard fan or can't watch the video, just trust me that no one died, or was even mildly injured, in the making of this cake. Or bread--we refer to it as bread, and in fact it is a quickbread, but it's really more like cake, isn't it?

Perhaps we need a bit more context. The other evening when I was winding down the day with a cup of chamomile tea and a slice (okay, two) of this cake, I said to myself, "tea and cake." (What, you don't talk to yourself about what you're fixing in the kitchen?) Having watched that Izzard clip umpteen times, my brain's natural follow-on was "or death." And a post title was born.

Anyway... Out here in this most mild-weathered part of the country, we get zucchini absurdly late in the year. We'll have summer squash and winter squash sitting side by side on the tables at the farmer's market. My enjoyment of zucchini has really been coming into its own this year, but by the time it got to October and November, I was starting to exhaust my growing, but still limited repertoire of zucchini recipes.

There was one obvious addition to said repertoire that I had always dismissed because of my skepticism about the results. Zucchini bread is the classic way for inundated gardeners to use up their zucchini (or courgettes, as they're known to some readers), but I have to admit that I've always wrinkled my nose a bit at the prospect--due in part, no doubt, to the remains of the not-so-warm feelings I had for the vegetable in years past. Zucchini bread? Wouldn't it taste like zucchini? Or to be more precise, like everything I disliked about zucchini?

Well, I'm here to tell you that zucchini bread doesn't taste anything like what I disliked about zucchini. Or at least, my zucchini bread doesn't, and that's because I did what's obvious when you're looking to hide a potentially unpleasant-tasting ingredient in a cake: I made a spice cake.

If you ask me, there's no better way to ensure that a baked good will taste delicious than adding cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. To err even more on the side of safety, and because by the time I was making this cake we were well on our way toward the season of holiday baking, I added dried fruit, nuts, and some crystallized ginger. There was really no way that this cake could go wrong.

Sure enough, there is no hint of zucchini flavor; in fact, the only indication that there's any sort of vegetable in the cake is the tiny green bits you might see peeking out the top. The rest is nothing but tender, aromatic cake, studded with cranberries and walnuts and the occasional piece of candied ginger. What with all that decoration inside, this cake feels festive; and in fact, it's perfect for the holiday gift baking that I'm sure many of you will be undertaking soon (or have already started). But I, for one, won't blame you if you want to keep it all for yourself.

Whole Wheat Zucchini Spice Cake

Adapted from 101 Cookbooks

Makes 2 4x8-inch loaves, or 4-6 mini loaves

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup (4 ounces, or 1 stick) butter, softened
• 1 cup packed brown sugar
• 3 large eggs
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 3 cups grated zucchini (about 3 medium zucchini)
• 3 cups whole wheat pastry flour (see note)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• 3/4 cup chopped walnuts
• 3/4 cup dried cranberries
• 1/2 cup minced crystallized ginger

Directions

1. Place an oven rack in the middle position, and preheat the oven to 350F/175C.
2. Prepare your loaf pans: line the pans with parchment paper, or butter them and dust them with flour.
3. Combine the walnuts, cranberries, and crystallized ginger in a bowl and set aside.
4. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda and powder, salt, and spices and set that aside as well.
6. In a large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
7. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well and scraping down the bowl after each addition.
8. Add the vanilla extract and mix well; then add the zucchini and stir until everything is combined.
9. Add the flour mixture in two additions, stirring only until just combined, then gently fold in the dried fruit, nuts, and crystallized ginger.
10. Divide the batter equally among the pans, and use a spatula to smooth it out a bit. Place the pans on a baking sheet for easy maneuvering.
11. Bake for about 40-45 minutes for regular loaves, or 30-35 minutes for small loaves. They are done when a toothpick inserted into the center comes out with moist crumbs attached, or even a bit of almost-done batter. The loaves will be dry if you overbake them, so I like to err on the side of underbaking for a nice, moist cake.
12. Cool the loaves in their pans for about 10 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to finish cooling.

Notes

• A food processor, fitted with the grating blade, makes wonderfully quick work of grating the zucchini.
• If you don't have whole wheat pastry flour, you can substitute 1 1/2 cups all purpose and 1 1/2 cups whole wheat.
• Vary the fruit, nut, etc. combination as much as you like, perhaps staying close to the rough guideline of about 2 cups total additions.
• As noted above, this cake can be prone to dryness if overcooked, so keep a close eye on it as it bakes.

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Almost-healthy Apple Muffins

I mentioned recently that one of my strategies for using up a bunch of apples is to make muffins. Well, I have a confession to make: it's not actually a very good strategy, namely because making muffins doesn't really get you through that many apples. After all, there's only so much apple that you can pack into muffins without your muffins falling apart.

Yet this notion persists in my head (and I'm sure that it's completely in my head) that making muffins is a good way to use up apples. Not only good, but "better" for you than making something like a pie, which would of course use up even more apples than these muffins do. And it's silly, isn't it? A fruit pie, at least the way I make my fruit pies, isn't terribly unhealthy as far as desserts go. Oh, there's the crust, but it's not so bad; and the rest of the pie is simply fruit--maybe with some seasonings, but quite little added sugar or fat.

Muffins, on the other hand... Well, let's face it: they're essentially little bits of cake. We can tweak the ingredients all we want in various efforts to turn them into something healthy, but at heart they're bits of cake. Perhaps that's why I love them so.

That said, while these muffins are still, you know, muffins, they do have a couple of saving graces. First, they contain whole wheat flour. Now, whole wheat flour alone does not a health food make, but it does bump up the nutrition value at least a little bit. At least you're getting some vitamins and fiber along with your fat and sugar. The apples help with that, too.

Second, thanks to their being deliciously dark and moist, they keep better than any other muffins I've made. Most muffins lose a lot of their luster by the second day, but these keep for three or four (or five) days, meaning that you can space out your indulgence over several days. That is, you can try to space it out.

Let me just say right now that I take no responsibility for what happens to your willpower after you taste these muffins. I typically think of whole wheat baked goods as heavy, perhaps tough, and not always very pleasant to eat. These muffins have blown away that particular notion. Honestly, I tend to forget that they have any whole wheat flour in them at all, and I bet you will, too. Of course, that assumes that you make them, but really, why wouldn't you?

Whole Wheat Apple Muffins

Adapted from King Arthur Flour

Makes 12 muffins

Ingredients

• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 generous tablespoon cinnamon (or to taste)
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
• 1/2 cup (4 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed, divided
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup (8 ounces) buttermilk
• 2 large apples, peeled (if desired), cored, and chopped

Directions

1. Place an oven rack in the middle position and preheat the oven to 450F/230C. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners, or grease and flour the cups.
2. Whisk together the flours, the baking powder and soda, the salt, and the spices; set the mixture aside.
3. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter until it is smooth and creamy. Add the granulated sugar and 1/4 cup of brown sugar, and beat until the mixture is fluffy.
4. Add the egg and beat well to combine, scraping down the bowl as needed.
5. Stir in the buttermilk. If you over-mix it, the mixture might curdle, but I haven't found that to be a problem for the finished muffins.
6. Gently stir in the dry ingredients until just combined, then fold in the chopped apples. The batter will be rather stiff, almost more like a very sticky dough.
7. Divide the batter among the muffin cups. The cups will look like they have too much in them, but the batter should be stiff enough to hold its shape, and the muffins don't rise very much. Sprinkle the remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar over the top of the muffins.
8. Bake at 450F/230C for 10 minutes, then decrease the oven temperature to 400F/205C and bake for a further 15-20 minutes. The muffins are done when a toothpick or cake tester comes out clean.
9. Cool the muffins in the pan for 5 minutes, then remove to a wire rack and let cool completely.

Notes

• If you happen to have whole wheat pastry flour on hand, using 2 cups whole wheat pastry flour rather than the combination of all-purpose and regular whole wheat works fine. The resulting muffins are more delicate and might have less rise to them.
• Batter tip: a spring-action ice cream scoop makes it easy to portion batter evenly.

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Post-op Pudding

Tomorrow morning I will finally face the music. I've been listening to it (or rather feeling it) growing louder: six months ago it was pianissimo, but in the last week or so it ramped up to forte. I thought I was done with this particular concerto; but as it turns out, dentists are not infallible, and the two wisdom teeth my dentist said would never even descend did in fact come in. I suppose the technical term is "erupt," but that puts me a little too much in mind of cataclysmic explosions--not exactly what I want to think about on the eve of the surgery to have them out.

And that's what this is all about, this business of putting up a post about chocolate when I would otherwise be writing about apple muffins. (But fear not! That post is coming, probably next week.) In preparation for having a couple of teeth yanked, I have been all a bustle in the kitchen. Cool, soft food is the order of the day, so in addition to stocking up on ice cream, I've been making applesauce and pudding. Two kinds of pudding, actually: rice pudding and, as is probably obvious from that leading image, chocolate pudding.

I don't recall what made me think of chocolate pudding as good post-op fare; but as soon as it occurred to me, a switch was thrown, and it was all I could do not to rush home from work at that very moment to make it. I hadn't even decided on a recipe yet. I poked around a bit, and there are plenty of chocolate pudding recipes out there, but most of them didn't quite hit the spot. I wanted something creamy, slightly eggy, and richly chocolatey. Eventually I settled on a recipe from Cook's Illustrated that uses not only chocolate, but cocoa powder; not only milk, but cream; and three egg yolks. It sounded like it might fit the bill.

And indeed, it does fit the bill. Better than that, it's everything I was dreaming of in a chocolate pudding. The knowledge that I would be one very unhappy post-op patient if I ran out of pudding too quickly was the only thing that kept me from inhaling half of the batch before it ever made it into the little ramekins I had set out. I can't say that I'm looking forward to the having those teeth out tomorrow, but at least I'll have chocolate pudding waiting for me afterward.

Double Chocolate Pudding

Adapted from Cook's Illustrated, March 1999

Makes 4-6 servings, depending on how greedy hungry you are

Ingredients

• 6 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 2 tablespoons Dutch-processed cocoa powder
• 2 tablespoons cornstarch
• 2/3 cup granulated sugar
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup cream
• 3 large egg yolks
• 2 cups whole milk
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Directions

1. Place your chocolate in a heatproof bowl and set it over a pan of barely simmering water. Stir it periodically until it is nice and smooth, then set aside to cool slightly.
2. Sift together the cocoa, cornstarch, sugar, and salt, and place the mixture in a medium heavy saucepan. (Sift directly into the pan if you like.)
3. Add the cream slowly, whisking constantly, and keep whisking until it is smooth. Add the yolks, whisk to combine, then whisk in the chocolate (gradually, if the chocolate is still very warm). Don't worry if the chocolate forms small lumps. They will smooth out as the pudding cooks.
4. Set the pot over medium heat and cook, whisking constantly and being careful to scrape the bottom and sides of the pot, until the pudding thickens and darkens.
5. Reduce the heat to medium-low, switch from a whisk to a wooden spoon, and stir the pudding gently as it keeps cooking. When the pudding coats the spoon thickly and reaches 200F/95C, it's done. This should take anywhere from 1 to 2 minutes.
6. Place a fine mesh sieve over a medium bowl, and pour the pudding through the sieve. Use a rubber spatula to help it along.
7. Stir in the butter and vanilla until the pudding is smooth. Serve the pudding warm or chilled.

Notes

• If you chill the pudding, placing a sheet of plastic wrap directly on the surface will help prevent a skin from forming. The skin doesn't change the taste of the pudding, just the texture of the top layer.
• If you can't find cornstarch, substituting flour should be fine. Just make sure that you cook it thoroughly so that the flour doesn't give the pudding a chalky feel.

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The problem with cooking

Here's the problem with cooking: it ruins things. I don't mean the cup or two of almonds that I left under the broiler too long and toasted way past the point of being edible, and I don't mean the oven mitt that inadvertently got pressed up against--and badly seared by--the heating element when I tried to retrieve my oven thermometer from under the lower rack. (I guess it's not actually ruined, just battle-scarred.) I mean that after cooking something yourself, it can be awfully disappointing when you go back to the often-mediocre purchased version.

My brother and sisters and I received an early introduction to this concept: pies, pancakes, and jam, among other foods, were all ruined for us at an early age. There's just no comparison between homemade strawberry jam and most of the jams and jam-like products you can buy at a grocery store. (Farmer's markets are typically a different story, but when I was growing up they weren't as commonplace in the Bay Area as they are now.) Over the years, food after food has fallen into the "ruined" category: applesauce, cupcakes, pastry cream*, cranberry sauce, and the latest: marshmallows.

This week I am at yet another conference (which is, thank goodness, the last I'll be attending this summer). The first evening, after the student day, there was a dinner followed by a fire for marshmallow toasting. Excellent, right? I haven't toasted marshmallows in years, and I'm long overdue for a beautifully golden, crisp-and-gooey, watch-your-tongue-or-you'll-burn-it marshmallow.

But... meh. I couldn't help feeling a little less enthusiasm than I ordinarily would for toasted marshmallows, and it's all my own fault. Or, if I feel like pointing fingers, it's all Deb's fault. You see, way back in June, Deb put up a post on marshmallows. Deb posts delicious-looking things on a regular basis, and normally it's not a problem, but this particular post went up in the middle of a prolonged cooking drought at the Beyond Ramen household. For nearly all of June, I hardly even set foot in the kitchen. For the first couple of weeks, I was spending nearly every waking moment at work trying to get some results for a conference. Then I was away in Boulder attending said conference, and then I came home for all of 36 hectic hours before heading off to Scotland for yet another conference. Seriously, folks, I went through withdrawal.

I thought about food. I thought about my kitchen. I thought--I schemed--about what I would make when I got back to my kitchen and had time to cook. I thought about how I would photograph what I was going to cook. I bought the latest issues of Gourmet and La Cucina Italiana to try to get a fix, and ended up with even more ideas for what to cook. I wrote extensive notes so that I could preserve those ideas for when I got home.

Given my state of mind, Deb's marshmallows were the perfect (or worst) thing for scratching that itch of mine. They were different. They were fun. They were unexpected, not the sort of thing that one often considers making at home. They had the potential to be turned into more fun and different and unexpected things--like homemade rocky road.

Naturally, when I finally did make it home, they were among the first things I made. And as is so often the case when you make something at home that you've always purchased ready-made, they were reminiscent of the purchased version, but so much better. Who knew that marshmallows could actually be moist? Not I. Moist, light, delicate, and resiliently springy... only distantly related to their rather tough, easily squished store-bought counterparts. They sort of make me think of a strange hybrid between ordinary marshmallows and jello. These marshmallows bounce.

Back at the conference and the not-quite-bonfire, it turned out that the marshmallows were a moot point: there was a pickup volleyball game going on, and I am drawn to volleyball like the Millennium Falcon caught in the Death Star's tractor beam. Fire and toasted marshmallows were quickly forgotten, and I was spared the potential disappointment of uninspiring marshmallows. I'm not saying that I'm so much of a snob that I'll never eat grocery store marshmallows again. I'll eat them, and even enjoy them. But I'll know what I'm missing.

UPDATE: In my typing haste, I neglected to include two items (granulated sugar and salt) in the list of ingredients. My apologies! The recipe should be correct now.

Marshmallows

Adapted from Gourmet, December 1998, via Smitten Kitchen

Makes one 13x9-inch pan of marshmallowy goodness, which you can cut up as you wish

Ingredients

• 1 cup (roughly) confectioner's sugar
• 2 tablespoons plus 2 1/2 teaspoons (or about 3 1/2 envelopes) unflavored gelatin
• 1 cup cold water, divided
• 2 cups granulated sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 large egg whites, or (if you're concerned about contamination) reconstituted powdered egg whites
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• oil for the pan

Directions

1. Grease the bottom and sides of a 13x9-inch pan, or a pan (pans) of equivalent volume, and dust with confectioner's sugar.
2. Pour 1/2 cup of the cold water into a large bowl. Sprinkle the gelatin over the water, and let it stand to soften.
3. In a medium heavy saucepan, combine the granulated sugar, corn syrup, remaining 1/2 cup of cold water, and salt. Cook over low heat, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon, until the sugar has dissolved.
4. Turn the heat up to medium, and affix a candy thermometer to the side of the pan. Boil the mixture, without stirring, until it hits 240F/115C, about 12 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, and combine the sugar mixture with the gelatin mixture. Whisk until the gelatin has dissolved.
5. Using an electric mixer (or a whisk if you're feeling vigorous), beat the mixture on high speed until it is thick, white, and has almost tripled in volume. This will take at least 10 minutes with a hand-held mixer and 6 minutes with a stand mixer.
6. Set the whipped gelatin mixture aside, and clean the beaters thoroughly.
7. In a separate small or medium bowl, beat the egg whites until they barely hold stiff peaks.
8. Beat the whites and the vanilla into the gelatin mixture until everything is just combined. The mixture should be thick, shiny, and very sticky.
9. Pour the marshmallow mixture into your prepared pan. Beware the urge to get every last bit of it out of the bowl, unless you're very adept with your spatula and are willing to run the risk of getting strings of marshmallow goop everywhere.
10. Sift a nice, even layer of confectioner's sugar over the top, and chill the marshmallows until they're firm and springy. This will probably take at least three hours, but you can leave the pan in there overnight if you like.
11. When you're ready to cut the marshmallows, run a thin knife around the pan's edges. Use your fingers to loosen the marshmallow block--gently, now--from the pan. You can either invert it onto a cutting board, or if you're feeling brave you can just pick up the marshmallow block and place it onto the cutting board.
12. Use a large knife (or a pizza cutter, or cookie cutters) to cut the marshmallow into the desired shapes. Oil your cutting implement if you have problems with stickage.
13. Sift the remaining confectioner's sugar into a bowl, or into the now-empty pan, and roll the cut marshmallows in the sugar to coat the cut edges. Shake off the excess sugar before storing the marshmallows in an airtight container.

Notes

• The original recipe says the marshmallows keep for one week, but mine lasted a lot longer.
• I haven't yet used these marshmallows for s'mores, but I can tell you that they make excellent homemade rocky road.

* This is a continual source of annoyance for me. What is it with some folks' apparent inability to cook a pastry cream properly so that it isn't chalky?

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A Red Velvet Welcome Mat

Talk about opportunism. It's not that I wasn't excited to have my youngest sister back in town for a few short weeks, and it's not that I didn't want her to know that we're glad to have her here. It's just that lately I might as well be spring loaded for the speed with which I launch into "bake like there's no tomorrow" mode. If there's an opportunity for me to don my apron and make a mess in the kitchen, I'm there, and making such a mess that it spills out into the living room, with cooling racks on the dining room table and bags of sugar and flour on the table by the front door. Carpe diem indeed. It's more like carpe diem, carpe opportunitatem, and if it's a rather involved project, carpe alterum diem.

But this post isn't about my ever-more-maniacal baking fervor, and it's not a post about Sister #2--who, despite being awesome, is not something you can cook and eat, at least not in what we consider polite society. It's a post about cupcakes. In celebration of her return from Hahvahd Yahd, and in a nod to the fact that she, Sister #1, and I share a passion for cupcakes, I decided to make some for her.

As much as I love full-sized cakes--especially layer cakes, in which you get cake and icing sandwiched together so that each bite sends you undulating from cake to icing to cake and back again... wait, where was I?--there's something fun and, to me, nearly irresistible about cupcakes. They are without question my favorite dessert, and the dessert I have the most difficulty in resisting* should one be placed in front of me--or within a 100 yard radius of me.

First of all, they're cake, which should at least put them in the top five, if not seal the deal altogether. Second, they're miniature versions of their full-sized cousins, often re-imagined and crafted into petite fancies that delight the eyes as well as appealing to the taste buds. Somehow that tiny little canvas lends itself exceptionally well to inventive decoration. Third, they're cake. What's not to love??

Having established that cupcakes were the way to go, the only question was what flavor(s). I toyed with the notion of turning my Mother's Day cake into cupcakes, and will probably return to that idea eventually, but it didn't seem quite right. Then it occurred to me that what with Harvard's school colors being red and white--indeed, their mascot is the Crimson--there was only one kind of cake that would be truly appropriate: red velvet.

This red velvet cake isn't as strikingly (or shockingly) red as many others out there. It owes its darker mahogany shade to a higher amount of cocoa powder. It's not quite a chocolate cake, though; the flavor dances around in the space between a yellow cake and a chocolate cake, neither plain nor overwhelmingly dark and chocolatey. Its hearty color belies its delicate texture--so delicate that extra care is warranted when handling layers of the stuff, and teeth or a fork sink into the cake with virtually no resistance. Although you'll see red velvet described as "tacky" or "vampy," this particular cake tastes and feels refined.

Furthering that refined feeling, the icing takes a traditional cream cheese icing and adds not only mascarpone cheese for richness, but whipped cream for lightness. Icing lovers, rejoice: this one is heaven. I thought that I had found my true love in icing form with Swiss buttercream, and now this mascarpone cream cheese icing just might steal the buttercream's crown. Pipe it atop feather-light and subtly ruddy little cakes like these, and take some to welcome a loved one home. She'll be grinning an icing-laced grin from ear to ear.

Red Velvet Cake

Adapted from Elisa Strauss's Confetti Cakes Cookbook, via the New York Times

Makes three 9-inch cake layers, or 32-34 regular-sized cupcakes

Ingredients

• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened (not needed for cupcakes)
• 3 1/2 cups sifted cake flour
• 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch process)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
• 2 cups canola oil
• 2 1/4 cups granulated sugar
• 3 large eggs
• 6 tablespoons (3 ounces) red liquid food coloring, or 2 teaspoons red gel food coloring
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
• 1 1/4 cup buttermilk
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 2 1/2 teaspoons white vinegar

Directions

1. Place racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven and preheat the oven to 350F/175C.
2. If making cake layers, butter three 9-inch round cake pans, and line the bottoms of the pans with parchment paper. If making cupcakes, line three muffin tins with paper cups.
3. Sift together the cake flour, cocoa powder, and salt and set aside.
4. Combine the oil and sugar in a large bowl and beat at medium speed, using an electric mixer or a whisk, until well blended.
5. Beat in the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition and scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.
6. Set the mixer on the lowest speed and gradually add the food coloring. Be careful if using liquid food coloring, as it might splash.
7. Beat in the vanilla.
8. Add the flour mixture and buttermilk by turns, beginning and ending with the flour. Scrape down the bowl after each addition, and beat just until the batter is blended.
9. Mix together the baking soda and vinegar in a small bowl, and with the mixer running (or beating by hand), add the mixture to the batter. Beat for several seconds to blend well.
10. Divide the batter equally among the pans or muffin cups (each cup should be 2/3 - 3/4 full). Bake until a sharp knife or cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean, about 40 to 45 minutes for cake layers and 20-25 minutes for cupcakes.
11. Let the cakes (or cupcakes) cool in the pans for 20 minutes. For cakes, invert pans onto cooling racks and peel off the parchment paper; for cupcakes, remove from pans and set to cool on racks. Cool cakes completely before icing them.

Mascarpone Cream Cheese Icing

Adapted from John Doherty's Waldorf-Astoria Cookbook, via the New York Times

Makes enough icing for a 9-inch, 3-layer cake, or to top about 3 dozen cupcakes with some to spare

Ingredients

• 2 cups heavy cream, chilled
• 12 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
• 12 ounces mascarpone cheese, room temperature
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar, sifted

Directions

1. Whip the cream, either by hand or with electric mixer, until it holds soft peaks. Cover and chill it while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.
2. Combine the cream cheese and mascarpone in a large bowl, and beat until smooth and uniform.
3. Add the vanilla and mix briefly; add the sifted confectioners sugar and beat to blend well.
4. Stir about a third of the whipped cream into the cream cheese mixture, then gently fold in the remaining whipped cream.
5. Refrigerate the icing until you are ready to ice the cake(s).

Notes

• This icing holds its shape nicely when chilled, but true to its ethereal nature, it does not handle heat well: it sags a bit when the mercury rises above warm room temperature. For best results, keep chilled or at cool room temperature. I don't recommend using it for cakes that will be sitting out in hot weather.

Update: fixed the broken link to the original icing recipe.

* Right between my local Sur la Table and the little cantina that sells my favorite chopped salad is a cupcake shop. It's been there for months, and after what seemed like an eternity of "being good," last week I finally caved and bought a vanilla cupcake with chocolate icing. I was psyched, but frankly, and much to my disappointment, it wasn't all that: vaguely stale cake with a not-very-tender crumb and icing that had more acidity than chocolate flavor. Even I can do better than that. Admittedly, one cupcake is a small sample size, but when some two-bit amateur can outdo your professional bake shop, you should probably step it up a notch or two.

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