Ho Ho Ho: My Lessons in Holiday Baking for 2011
For me, baking is a continual learning process, and that’s one of the reasons I enjoy it. Unfortunately, I have little control over the timing and nature of those lessons. When a cookie experiment goes awry, I’m wont to chuck my rolling pin in the drawer and wave my white, flour covered hands in defeat. I know, I know, it’s just a cookie. On some rational level, I understand that it’s not a life or death situation, but that doesn’t mean that tears have not been shed.
This year, I took a page from my dusty Corporate America playbook and conducted a holiday baking post mortem, which is to say, when the dust and flour settled and the cookies were packed and shared with family and friends, I reviewed the week of baking and made careful notes to ensure that the lessons would stick.
- Never get cocky about toffee. Even a seasoned veteran can end up with an inexplicably grainy batch with a texture closer to shortbread than crunchy toffee. And be gracious when your unseasoned significant other makes his first ever batch of toffee and turns it out perfectly. This may require lots of practice if your S.O. is prone to gloating.
- Don’t get excited when you bake fifty-five florentines from Gale Gand’s recipe that promised only forty cookies. It’s not a miracle. You haven’t outsmarted one of the top pastry chefs in the United States. Gale just didn’t mention that you’d break at least fifteen when you were trying to spread the chocolate on the uber delicate, paper thin, brittle cookies. You’ll also need more than four ounces of chocolate, because even with careful spreading, it will ooze out of the lacy holes. This, as any chocolate lover will note, is not a bad thing.
- The recipe for rugelach in Baking with Julia will take you six hours over the course of two or three days. You can shave off an hour if you are disciplined enough to make the apricot or plum version and not both. Yes, it’s okay to cry when half of them unwind as they bake looking more like a giant, ruptured Fig Newton than any rugelach you have ever seen in pictures or pretty little pastry shops. Do try to bite your tongue when your S.O. tells you that no cookie can possibly be worth six hours and then reminds you of all the cookies you could have made in the same amount of time. The next morning, when your S.O. is enjoying an unsightly, but mind blowing slice of rugelach for breakfast, he or she will eat those words and offer to help you the following year in an effort to simplify the process.
- No, the 1-1/2 teaspoons of salt called for in Martha Stewart’s holiday shortbread isn’t “too much”.
- When making old school fudge, pour yourself a glass of wine and take a seat before you get to the step where you “beat until it just begins to lose its gloss.” You could be “beating” for a very long time.
- Giovanna Zivny’s maple creams may never set up properly no matter how many times you try. If you end up with a pan of fudgy goodness that won’t harden, score it and freeze. Then cut the fudge into pieces and freeze again. Immediately dip frozen fudge in melted chocolate. You’ll avert a gooey fudge crisis and end up with a creamy centered chocolate that rivals any you can buy in a candy shop. Be sure to graciously offer these treats to guests and pretend that they turned out exactly the way you intended them to.
- Don’t expect everyone to be as excited about your culinary experiments as you are. This year I added rosemary and lemon zest to our family sugar cookie recipe and made sandwiches using a mix of lemon curd and mascarpone. The refreshingly sweet treats moved to the top of my favorites list after just one bite. My husband Greg, a long-time devotee of the icing-laden cut-out cookies of years gone-by was not impressed.
- As a corallary to the above lesson, try something new even if you’re the only one who might enjoy the fruits of your labor. The cookies shown in the photo are ma’amouls. I fell head over heels for a beautiful wooden cookie mold at my favorite Middle Eastern grocer in Chicago. The shop proprietor explained that the mold was used to make ma’amouls, a Lebanese fruit or nut filled cookie made with an orange blossom scented semolina yeast dough. For less than ten dollars I went home with the hand-carved mold and everything I needed to make my own batch of ma’amouls. The cookies were at the top of my “must try” list, but each day I found a new excuse to not make them. On my final day of baking I reached for the lovely mold that had intimidated me all week. I poured myself a glass of wine and got down to the business of making my first ever ma’amouls. An hour later I had a tray full of pretty cookies that looked just like the ones I’d seen at Chicago’s Nazareth Sweets. They tasted as good as they looked. And this time my husband agreed.
What lessons did you learn in the kitchen this holiday season?
Mom’s Browned Butter Coconut Haystacks
My mom peacefully slipped away eleven years ago today. It was a comparatively subtle ending to a messy and painful battle with cancer. Mom was a big, hard woman. Her cancer was bigger and harder. Days, even weeks go by without her lingering in my mind. I seldom, at the risk of sounding callous, miss her in the way that I might if things had been different between us.
If.
I’m careful with my memories of her, most of which lie dormant in the inner recesses of my mind throughout much of the year. I unpack them in December like a box of fragile, mismatched ornaments, only pulling out my favorites, and leaving the ugly ones to hide in the box until I can face them or part with them. Out of my memory box come the trips to the country where we cut down our tree together while dad pouted at home. I dust off the only times I can ever remember my parents lovingly embracing. I polish to a shine the way she complimented my pretty cookies.
Mom’s best, our best, came shining through at Christmas like the warm Chicago summer that can make you forget how brutal the winter was. As a kid, I spent eleven months of the year wanting to be somewhere, anywhere other than my house, but at Christmas time our warm, chaotic, vanilla infused kitchen was the only place I wanted to be. Cue the Johnny Mathis music. Preheat the oven to 350°F. And start creaming the butter and sugar–always by hand, never with a mixer. With the help of my grandma, sisters, aunts, my childhood best friend Jen, and even dad who perfected the art of rolling perfectly round one-inch balls, our bustling kitchen turned out hundreds of dozens (yes, hundreds) and nearly 30 varieties of cookies including:
-
Pecan Tassies.
Peanut Butter Temptations.
Swedish Cremes.
Nutmeg Logs.
Thumbprints.
Macaroon Kisses.
Snowballs.
Early in December I make my holiday baking list always with mom in mind. Old family favorites make up the bulk of the list. It’s sprinkled with a few new family favorites like Sea Salt Vanilla Caramels and punctuated with recipes I’m dying to try. This year’s newcomers will include the Brown Eyed Baker‘s Chubby Hubby Truffles and Date Ma’amouls from Leite’s Culinaria.
Like my mom, I’m crazy about coconut, so these haystacks make the list every year. They’re like the prettier, better tasting cousin of a Hershey’s Mounds Bar. I think they’d be lovely with a little rose water, but I can’t bring myself to add it. I don’t fuss with mom’s cookie recipes, because a single bite of a coconut haystack can remind me of the happy times we shared in the way that only food can do.
Merry baking!
Browned Butter Coconut Haystacks
The recipe below is exactly how it was written on mom’s recipe card. I use unsalted butter, heavy cream, and unsweetened coconut. Mom made hers with salted butter and sweetened coconut flakes. She dipped the bottoms in whatever chocolate she had on hand: chips, Hershey Bars, you name it. I dip some of mine in Ghirardelli bittersweet for the dark chocolate fans and the rest in Hershey’s milk chocolate. You’ll need six ounces of your favorite chocolate.
Ingredients
-
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup cream
2 cups powdered sugar
3 cups coconut
chocolate (for dipping)
Preparation
Melt butter, heat until golden brown. Stir in remaining ingredients. Drop by spoonfuls onto wax paper and chill. Shape when still slightly tacky and chill again. Dip bottoms in melted chocolate.
Makes 3 dozen.
More sweet holiday treats: Double Chocolate Cookies with Thin Mints, Madras Curry Chocolate Truffles, Dressed Up Gingersnaps, and Coffee Rum Truffettes.
Magic and Salted Caramel Pecan Cheesecakes
“Aunt Bobbi, is it done yet?”
I walked to the stove and peaked over my niece Bailey’s shoulder while she dutifully stirred the contents of the copper sauce pan. The short answer to her question was “no,” but I wanted her to figure it out on her own. Her question smacked slightly of impatience, that exuberant Christmas morning kind of impatience. Bailey and I had been baking together all day, yet it was one of the few times that I was reminded of our near thirty year age gap. Fond memories of childhood road trips to Sea World rushed at me, “Mom, are we there yet?”
“What’s the recipe say?” I prompted.
Bailey poked at the white mass with her spatula and glanced at the recipe next to her on the counter. “Let boil until amber in color.”
“So what do you think?” I asked.
“It’s all lumpy. And it’s not really boiling,” she said with a giggle and a wide, bright smile that somehow made her brilliant burnt orange hair glisten more than usual.
Magic.
Judging from the white lumps in her pan, Bailey had a few more minutes of stirring before her sugar would be transformed into caramel. I’ve made caramel countless times over the years. Each and every time I marvel at the alchemy of a dry white solid becoming a silky liquid. This was Bailey’s first-ever batch of caramel, and I couldn’t wait to see the magic through her wide eyes.
Sharing the kitchen with Bailey felt more like baking with a girlfriend than with any twelve-year-old. For hours we’d whisked, stirred, tasted, and sang. Jason Aldean’s “country rap.” Lady Gaga. Pitbull. We had the Moves Like Jagger. Baby we were Fireworks. Together we rocked out a chocolate truffle cake, a pumpkin pie, and a walnut crostata. But this caramel and the petite pecan cheesecakes standing at attention awaiting their caramel caps were all Bailey’s.
“Aunt Bobbi, look! Look, it’s melting. The sugar is melting.”
“Keep stirring Bailey. You’re almost there.” Before our eyes the clear syrup began to gently bubble at the edges of the pan.
“It’s getting dark fast,” Bailey said. “Does that look like amber to you?”
“Yep, I think you’re there.”
Bailey turned off the heat under the pan. Relishing the rare occasion of being a sous chef in my own kitchen, I handed her the butter and cream that I’d measured out for her while she’d been patiently watching her bubbling pan. More whisking. More singing. Perhaps for Bailey the magic was fleeting though I knew it was a moment she’d not soon forget. For me, watching my niece thoughtfully drizzling her tiny cakes with gleaming caramel, the magic continued.
Salted Caramel Pecan Cheesecakes
Inspired by this recipe at BakeorBreak.com.
Ingredients
CRUST:
-
2 cups pecans, lightly toasted and finely chopped
1/3 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
FILLING:
-
16 oz cream cheese
2/3 c. granulated sugar
1/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large egg yolks
1 whole large egg
TOPPING:
-
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon water
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 1/2″ cubes
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
24 pecan halves, lightly toasted
Flaky sea salt for finishing (I used my favorite Maldon.)
Equipment
2 mini cheesecake pans (If you only have one pan, bake the cakes in two batches. You can also bake some now; refrigerate the remaining ingredients; and bake the rest tomorrow. The filling will keep for a couple days in the refrigerator.)
Preparation
CRUST:
- Preheat oven to 325°F.
- Combine the ingredients.
- Spoon a heaping tablespoon of the crust crumbs into the bottom of each mini cheesecake cell.
- Using the blunt end of a wooden spoon or similar, tamp the crumbs until firmly and evenly compacted.
- Bake for 8 minutes.
FILLING:
- Place the cream cheese and sugar in a large bowl and mix on medium/high speed until fluffy, about 2-3 minutes.
- Add the whipping cream and vanilla extract and beat until thoroughly blended. Add the egg yolks and egg and mix on low until just combined.
- Spoon the mixture on top of the crumb crusts leaving about a 1/2″ between the top of the filling and the top of the pan.
- Bake for 25 minutes or until the cheesecakes are firm to the touch. (They will puff up above the top of the pan. Don’t fret, they will sink as they cool, and the caramel will hide any and all imperfections.)
- Allow the cakes to completely cool on a wire rack before removing them from the pans.
TOPPING:
- Combine the sugar and water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Let boil until amber in color, about 3 minutes.
- Remove from heat and stir in the butter until melted and fully incorporated. Then stir in cream. Let cool to room temperature.
- Drizzle caramel over cooled cheesecakes.
- Top with a toasted pecan half and a light sprinkle of sea salt.
Makes 24 mini (2″ diameter) cheesecakes.
*Note: If you lack the pans or the patience for the minis, you can make a single cheesecake using an 8″ springform pan.
Hungry for more mini cheesecakes? Try these Sweet Curry Chocolate Cheesecakes with Coconut.
Kitchen Experiments and Apple Cheddar Quiche
Apples. Cheese.
That’s how I considered them when I was young, if I considered them at all. An apple in my worn brown paper lunch bag. A slice of cheese–a Kraft single–oozing out between toasted slices of Wonder Bread.
Apples + Cheese.
As a curious twenty-something this pairing marked the start of my culinary experimentation. Crisp, slightly tart apple slices slathered with a creamy blue were an unusual pairing for my unsophisticated palate. I devoured them hoping to make up for lost time.
By the time my 30s arrived the near perfect partners had found their way into my salads. Balsamic laden greens were casually and frequently tossed together with diced apples, Gorgonzola crumbles and a sprinkle of toasted walnuts for good measure. No longer an experiment, apples + cheese became a staple at our house especially in the fall.
I stumbled on my first recipe for an apple cheddar pie in my mid thirties somewhere between sunchoke and bone marrow experiments. And I kept right on going. It wasn’t the cheddar in place of my trusty blue that threw me. It was the notion of baking them together. I feared the end result would be like the pizza with too many toppings, each independently delicious ingredient yielding its identity to a tasteless conglomeration.
Applecheese.
But desperate times call for desperate measures. And by desperate I mean that by Sunday I couldn’t stomach another slice of turkey or scoop of stuffing. I was over the ubiquitous blog posts citing fresh ideas for Thanksgiving leftovers. I’d already turned my leftovers into leftovers twice over. When I moved the remains of Thanksgiving aside in the fridge I found a bag of Cortland apples from Michigan snuggled up to the Carr Valley aged cheddar Greg bought for me on his last trip to Wisconsin.
Applecheese?
Outside the gusting winds crashed against our 100-year-old home until it creaked and groaned. It was another blustery grey day and the glossy red and sherbet orange colors of the apples and cheddar warmed me. If Mother Nature denied me sunshine, I’d bake it into a soul satisfying quiche.
This forty year old’s applecheese fears melted away with the first indelible bite. It was like the love child of a croque-monsieur that mated with an apple crème brûlée. See? It was the kind of bite that fills your head with deliciously crazy thoughts like foods procreating.
Sweet velvety apples + assertive tangy cheddar + salty ham + rich custard.
Now bring on that apple cheddar pie.
Apple Cheddar Quiche with Ham and Sage
Resist the urge to substitute bacon for the ham; it could overpower the apple. And if you’d prefer a meatless version simply double the amount of apples.
Ingredients
PASTRY:
-
1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry or all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup ice water
FILLING:
-
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 large Cortland apple (or other pie apple), cored and cut into 3/4″ chunks
1/4 pound baked ham, roughly chopped
pinch of cinnamon
3 large eggs
1/2 cup crème fraîche (Sour cream will work too.)
3/4 cup milk
1 teaspoon sea salt
4 ounces aged cheddar cheese, chopped or grated
1 tablespoon chopped sage leaves, plus a few whole leaves for garnish
Preparation
- For the pastry: place the flour and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade. Pulse to combine. Add the butter and pulse until pea-sized crumbs form. Add a little cold water and pulse a few times. Add more water and pulse again. Continue just until the dough starts to come together. Turn the dough out onto a sheet of plastic wrap. Squeeze the dough together and flatten into a 1-inch thick disk as you tightly wrap it with the plastic. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
- On a lightly floured surface, roll out the pastry dough to a 12-inch circle about 1/8-inch thick. Carefully transfer dough to an 11-inch fluted tart pan by folding dough in quarters, then placing the dough point in the center of the tart pan and unfolding. Press the dough against the sides and bottom of the pan. Roll the pin along the top of the pan to remove the excess dough. Gently press the sides again so the edge of the dough is slightly higher than the pan. Refrigerate the pastry shell for 20 minutes.
- Preheat oven to 400°F.
- Line the tart shell with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights or dried beans to keep it from puffing while it bakes. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove the weights and foil. Return the crust to the oven for 10 minutes longer.
- Reduce oven temperature to 325°F.
- Prepare the filling while the tart shell bakes. Melt the butter in a medium skillet. Add the shallots and sauté until they begin to soften, about 3 minutes. Add the apple chunks. Cover and cook over low-medium heat, stirring occasionally until the apples yield slightly when poked. Resist cooking them longer; they’ll continue to soften as the quiche bakes. Stir in the ham and cinnamon.
- In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, crème fraîche, milk and salt.
- Spoon the apple mixture into the cooled pastry shell. Scatter the crumbled cheddar evenly on top. Pour in the custard. Sprinkle the sage, including a few whole leaves, over the top.
- Bake for 30-40 minutes until the custard is set.
- Allow quiche to cool on a wire rack for ten minutes. Remove the outer ring and serve.
Ready for another savory winter tart? Try this Ricotta Tart with Maple Glazed Winter Squash.
Whole Wheat Pumpkin Pecan Pancakes
Thanksgiving is still two days away, but Greg and I started preparing early Sunday morning. I wanted to ease into the gray day with a leisurely breakfast–a little coffee, a crossword puzzle, and maybe some pancakes. Greg had other plans. He struck up a casual conversation about Thanksgiving table arrangements—a subject that’s anything but casual for us—while I poured my first cup of coffee. Before I knew it dining tables were moved, turned, and moved again. Chairs came out. Chairs went in. Chairs turned. Tables moved again. To a peeping Tom the scene probably looked like a game on the Price is Right. Greg was measuring and muttering and trying his best to keep his cool. My coffee cooled on the counter. I couldn’t think of a worse start to my Sunday morning.
Table arranging for Thanksgiving brings out the worst in us both. Arguing over where people (Greg’s family and a few friends thrown in for good measure) sit for our Thanksgiving feast is an unfortunate part of our holiday tradition. If Greg gets That Tone in his voice–the one he inherited from his father–it can all break bad very fast. My contribution to the kerfuffle is usually a new idea or new way I think we should do it. The past, I believe, can always be improved on. Unfortunately my visions aren’t always an accurate reflection of the space available. “Bob, that won’t fit. We’ve tried it before,” Greg will say in That Tone. I stubbornly insist it will work and duck as Greg flings the snaking metal measuring tape across the dining room.
An hour later the chairs, high-chairs (four and counting) and tables that would accommodate seventeen adults and five kids were in place. But we weren’t out of the woods yet. The equally contentious matter of who would sit where remained. Delicate issues like girth, eating habits, and hearing problems were considered as we shuffled placecards from table to table, from seat to seat. For the first time in ten years of hosting Thanksgiving, we pulled off the table and seating arrangements without a single argument. And we were way ahead of schedule.
It was time for pancakes; we’d earned them. I savored every maple-soaked, nutty bite, every moment, knowing that my next chance to relax wouldn’t come until after the elaborate feast was over. Now, with the part of the holiday I least enjoy already out of the way, only the best is yet to come–sharing a bountiful meal with our loved ones nestled into their carefully arranged seats.
Whole Wheat Pumpkin Pecan Pancakes
These pancakes are denser than your typical fare with a texture reminiscent of pumpkin bread. I like to keep the spices on the light side so the pumpkin flavor shines through, but you can change it up to suit your own taste.
Ingredients
-
1 1/2 cups milk
2 eggs
1 cup pumpkin puree
2 tablespoons maple syrup
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour (All purpose flour will yield an equally satisfying though slightly denser pancake.)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 cup pecans, toasted and chopped
Butter for the griddle
Maple syrup for serving
Preparation
- Whisk together the milk, eggs, pumpkin puree, maple syrup, and oil.
- In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and spices. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ones, mixing only until combined. Stir in the pecans.
- Melt some butter on a griddle over low-medium heat. Ladle about 1/3 cup of batter on the griddle for each pancake. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes, until bubbles appear on top and the underside is nicely browned. Flip the pancakes and cook for another minute or two until browned.
- Continue cooking the pancakes until all the batter is used.
Makes about 12 pancakes.
Why stop at pancakes? For a pumpkin breakfast trifecta: Pumpkin Pie Waffles with Bourbon Pecan Syrup and Pumpkin Scones.
Unfriendly Skies and a Banana Cardamom Cake
Damn, I forgot to order the Thanksgiving turkeys.
Will those brown spotted bananas turn to mush while I’m away?
Crud, Meghan’s wedding RSVP is sitting on the counter.
Those were the thoughts parading through my mind in the moments before the Airbus A320 dropped in the sky. And in a flash my thoughts switched from when I land, to if I land.
“Flight attendants please be seated. Flight attendants take your seats immediately.” The captain’s urgent demands fell like sharp pellets from the speaker over my head. As if on cue, the plane dropped again; the tail where I sat clutching the arm rests, twisted and groaned. A flight attendant, wobbling down the aisle in my direction, dropped to her stomach and clutched on to the metal frames connecting the seats to the floor.
I’m no stranger to turbulence in the air. In more than a million miles of air travel I’ve experienced wind shear on take off out of Harrisburg; a touch-and-go landing at Chicago’s O’Hare; an emergency landing in Toledo, Ohio during a snowstorm; and a lightning strike somewhere over Columbus, Ohio. But this was worse than anything I’d ever experienced.
My petty thoughts immediately yielded to the nephew I was on my way to meet for the first time, to the way Greg had hugged me goodbye earlier that morning. The flight attendant was now on her knees slowly crawling towards the back of the plane as it continued to buck, drop, and twist. Unable to thwart a panic attack, the young woman next to me sputtered loudly with each inhalation. Two rows up in 35D a grey-haired woman was praying to a God I’d not called on in years. The ever darkening sky fueled my fear–this would get worse before it would get better. I closed my eyes and tried to distract myself with a song. Garth Brooks’s Friends in Low Places was first up. The plane dropped again, while my adrenaline surged even higher. 35D’s prayers got louder.
I’ve got friends in low places.
I desperately scanned my mental playlist for something less honky-tonk, and a bit more hopeful. The flight attendant finally made it to her seat behind mine. “I’ve never experienced anything like this,” she muttered as her seatbelt clicked into place. This. Anything like this. That was exactly what I didn’t need to hear. I wanted to know that she’d experienced–and lived through–worse, much, much worse.
Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away.
I was singing out loud, but I hadn’t noticed until the second verse. Would this really be my swan song? The gasping woman next to me reached for her air sickness bag. I closed my eyes and was overcome by an inexplicable craving for my mom’s banana cake. I was back in her warm, cluttered kitchen with the sweet smell of bananas hanging in the air. The first time she let me make the frosting, I was spellbound watching the butter brown. A stolen taste of the amber goodness confirmed the miraculous transformation as if I could taste the alchemy. Why had I been waiting for a special occasion to make that cake?
This, the worst flight of my life ended with cheers and raucous clapping and a near perfect landing in Cleveland. Shivering in the cold sweat that covered my body, my shaking hand reached for my phone. I needed to hear Greg’s voice. As the phone buzzed to life, I was overcome with gratitude for the pilot and for the vivid memory of my mom’s cake–both had delivered me to safety. Alas, it wasn’t our time. And I had a cake to bake.
Banana Cardamom Cake with Browned Butter Frosting
My mom’s version was a simple sheet cake made in a 10×15-inch jelly roll pan. The ingredient amounts are the same regardless of which version you make.
Ingredients
CAKE:
-
2 cups whole wheat pastry flour (My mom made hers with all-purpose flour.)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup Greek yogurt (I used Fage Total 0%)
2 cups mashed bananas (about 5 medium bananas)
1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and roughly chopped, plus more for garnishing the cake
FROSTING:
-
3/4 cup unsalted butter
3 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4-6 tablespoons milk or cream (I used cream. Life is short.)
Preparation
- Preheat oven to 350°F.
- Butter the bottom and sides of 2-8″ cake pans. Line with waxed or parchment paper. Butter and flour the papered pans.
- In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, salt, and cardamom.
- Cream the butter with an electric mixer until smooth. Add the sugars. Beat until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in eggs and vanilla, then the yogurt, and finally the mashed bananas.
- Add the dry ingredients to the wet ones. Mix on low until just blended. Stir in the toasted walnuts by hand.
- Evenly divide the batter between the prepared pans. Bake for 25-35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cakes comes out clean.
- Cool for 10 minutes, then invert on to wire racks to completely cool.
- To make frosting, heat butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat until amber brown, about 4-6 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in powdered sugar, vanilla, and 3 tablespoons of cream. Gradually beat in enough additional cream for a smooth, spreadable consistency.
- Frost cooled cakes and garnish with whole, toasted walnuts.
Pumpkin Pie Waffles with Bourbon Pecan Syrup
The trouble with much modern cooking is not that the food it produces isn’t good, but that the mood it induces in the cook is one of skin-of-the-teeth efficiency, all briskness and little pleasure. Sometimes that’s the best we can manage, but at other times we don’t want to feel like a postmodern, postfeminist, overstretched woman but, rather, a domestic goddess, trailing nutmeggy fumes of baking pie in our languorous wake.
Nigella Lawson, How to Be a Domestic Goddess
I’m not immune to the Siren call of a little word like simple.
The promise of fast and easy often poses a temptation that’s impossible to resist.
But there are times when simple doesn’t satisfy me. Like when the sky is that shade of grey that I adore in a pair of boots, but detest when it’s ominously blanketing the sky. Or when the weather report includes the “S” word. In those moments I prefer to linger in my oven-warmed kitchen. I favor the tick-tick of the whisk hitting the metal bowl over the fitful whirring of an electric mixer. I lose time watching the egg whites grow to meet my gaze. Freshly ground nutmeg falls like that “S” word on the soft pile of flour. The clank and scrape of the marble pestle against the mortar prevails. The spice grinder sits quietly in the cabinet waiting for the next time I succumb to fast and easy. I stop to ponder whether walnuts or pecans are a better partner for my slow-roasting pumpkin. Another day my pumpkin will likely be scooped from a can.
Greg is at my side offering to help. He likes to work the waffle iron. I’m far from ready with no impending sense of urgency. He’s anxious to “get some stuff done”, but he’s picked up on my vibe and works to mask his restlessness. He takes a seat at his piano, his place of peace. Without trying I click the whisk against the bowl in time with his music; my trance deepens. We go on like this. For how long, I can’t be sure.
“It’s time,” I call from the kitchen when he reaches the end of Linus and Lucy. He’s immediately by my side again. Steam rises from the waffle iron. I’m whipping cream while the bourbon and maple syrup simmer. Pecans are toasting. My forearm is aching–too used to simple–but the burning sensation is strangely pleasant. I’m floury, sticky, and completely present in this moment. Still basking in the fussiness of it all, I assemble our plates.
“It’s almost ten,” Greg says as we sit to eat. “Guess this is brunch.”
At last my spell is broken. I swallow my disappointment as I slice into the syrupy, unrestrained plate before me. Greg takes his first bite. I watch his impatience wash away. Fussy. Elaborate. Anything but simple. This is our reward–this heady satisfaction. The softly spiced whipped cream melts into the syrup and streams over the sides of the stack. The waffle crunches under my knife and gives way to a delicate interior. The salty, toasted overtones of the pecans and bourbon perfectly balance the sweetness.
A few hours later we’re bustling in the yard, raking leaves, tending to the cold-frame. My morning dance is a delicious but distant memory. This is my repayment for Greg’s patience. He heads into the house for water and returns with two glasses. He’s smiling at me. I’m struck by how handsome he is in his ratty flannel shirt. He leans down and kisses me lightly. It’s a “thank you” kiss though I’m not sure what it’s for.
His smile broadens and he says, “the whole house smells like pumpkin pie.”
Pumpkin Pie Waffles with Bourbon Pecan Syrup and Cinnamon Whipped Cream
Plan to spend 45 minutes to an hour preparing this indulgent breakfast (or brunch). Your efforts will be rewarded in many ways.
Ingredients
WAFFLES:
-
1/4 cup brown sugar
2 eggs, separated
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1 cup pumpkin puree
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 1/4 cups milk
1/3 cup bourbon (Optional. You can replace it with an equal amount of milk.)
2 cups white whole wheat flour (or all purpose)
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
BOURBON PECAN SYRUP:
-
1 cup maple syrup
2 tablespoons bourbon
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/3 cup pecans, toasted and roughly chopped
1/2 teaspoon salt
CINNAMON WHIPPED CREAM:
-
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
2 teaspoons powdered sugar
Preparation
- Preheat oven to 250°F.
- Preheat waffle iron.
- In a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, egg yolks, yogurt, pumpkin, melted butter, oil, milk, and bourbon if using.
- In a separate medium bowl, whisk the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Set aside.
- Add the remaining dry ingredients to a large bowl and whisk to combine. Make a well in the center. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and mix until just blended. Fold in the egg whites.
- Divide 1 cup of batter among the four waffle wells and cook according to manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer waffles to the warm oven until you’re ready to eat. Repeat until the batter is gone.
- Make the bourbon pecan syrup and cinnamon whipped cream while the waffles cook. Combine the maple syrup, bourbon, and butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Allow the mixture to simmer for 1 minute after the butter has melted. Remove from heat. Add toasted pecans and salt. Set aside.
- Pour the heavy cream, cinnamon, and powdered sugar into a medium mixing bowl and whip until soft peaks form.
- Drizzle the waffles with the chunky syrup and finish with a generous dollop of cinnamon whipped cream.
Makes 18-20 waffles.
A Helping of Gratitude and Pinot Poached Plums
Yes, it’s me and my plums again. I know, I know.
Before I defend my apparent obsession and convince you to run to the market for what may be the last plums of the season, I want to say, Thank You. Last week Greg and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary, and the milestone hit me hard. The arduous nature of our journey bubbled to the surface of last week’s post when I had intended to blather on about maple crisps instead. What followed was a bigger surprise: Friends, family, and perfect strangers on the other side of the globe opened their hearts and shared their own stories with me, some sorrowful, but many more uplifting. Those thoughtful comments and emails were so full of love and hope; they made my heart swell. So, thank you! And here’s to more happy endings for all of us.
Now about those plums….
Saturday was the last Division Street farmers’ market of the year and my reminder that old man winter is lurking nearby. The stalls were teeming with endless varieties of apples and winter squash. The pavement was all but hidden by a sea of pumpkins that if you squinted looked like squatty orange soldiers on parade. I love a butternut squash almost as much as a just-picked tomato, but I know to pace myself. We will be eating apples and squash all winter long. And winter is very long here. Then, just as I was whimpering about the chill in the air and waxing all nostalgic for the fruits of summer, I spied one last pint of Stanley plums. Convinced that it was a sign, I carefully placed the chalky skinned buggers in my basket and hurried off to meet Greg who was stocking up on those apples at a neighboring stall.
My plum plan was well-rehearsed. Eat a few; bake something sweet with the rest. But after sneaking my third Take 5 candy bar from the trick or treat stash, I decided that something more sensible was called for here. “Maybe some poached plums?” I thought, thinking back to the ones I recently fell in love with at The Riverbend Inn in New Hampshire. A poached anything is sensible right?
But weren’t those plums poached in wine?
So much for “sensible”. Still, it had to be better for my thighs than my buttery crusted plum crostata and crème fraîche topper. So out with the butter, and in with the booze. Thirty minutes and two deeply stained hands later, a ruby jar of poached plums found a home in our fridge. They were no plum cake, but with my teeth still aching from mediocre caramel, they were a satisfying alternative. The light wine was nicely balanced by the spices and thyme. The honey was sweet but delicate, not the least bit cloying. I went to sleep thinking about my spiced plums. For breakfast? For lunch? Yes, and yes. The next morning, I stirred a couple into my oatmeal instead of honey for a much needed breakfast makeover. For lunch I spooned them over my go-to Greek yogurt and sprinkled the plate with granola. The plum cake and crostata never even entered my mind.
Pinot Poached Plums with Honey and Thyme
I used Stanley plums for this recipe, but the recipe will work with any variety. Tweak the amount of honey to your own taste according to the sweetness of the wine and plums you’re using. Experiment with the wine too. These beauties from Todd and Diane at White on Rice were poached in a white wine.
Ingredients
-
1 pint plums
2 cups pinot noir
1 cinnamon stick
2 star anise
4 sprigs fresh thyme
1/4 -1/3 cup honey (You can substitute agave nectar or sugar.)
Preparation
- Poach the plums in boiling water for 60-90 seconds and drain. (Shorter for very soft plums, longer for the firm ones.)
- In a medium saucepan bring the remaining ingredients to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer while you peel the plums.
- Peel, halve and pit the plums. Add them to the wine. Simmer again for 5-15 minutes, until the plums have surrendered their firmness.
- Transfer the plums to a jar. When the spiced wine is completely cool, pour it over the plums. Cover and refrigerate.
Bob Vivant 