Sublime French Toast

Nothing Witty Doing

I've spent the past couple of weeks riding the bus around town reading The Diary of Alice James and trying to think up something witty to write about brioche. Turns out a harder task than I expected, and my mind keeps drawing a blank. Also it's the holidays and my nerves are totally undone by the spirit of the season. The lights and the snow and the well-wishing and the tamales my friend Sol's family made on Christmas eve I enjoy a lot, but the music everywhere brings me near to losing my mind.

I am thinking about a movie, and I'm still thinking about it. A version of "Humoresque," with a half loaf of brioche in the role of violinist Paul Boray (John Garfield). A jar of chopped cherry jam in the role of Helen Wright (Joan Crawford). And a stick of butter as the ever ironic Sid Jeffers (Oscar Levant). I am also thinking about recreating a classic romantic winter scene on Lake Michigan. Caspar David Friedrich's "Wreck of the Hope," with shattered slices of brioche French toast heaving skyward encased in the massing white and blue striated glassy shards of the frozen arctic sea.

Big plans for 2011. In the meantime the loaves are wrapped well in plastic biding their time in my freezer.

Bragging Rights

Cherry Cheese Danish Braid

A few months ago I bought a jar of sour cherries at Trader Joe's. I'd been wondering about them for several years but never saw an actual place for them in my diet, so they never made it from the shelf in the store to my cart to my reusable tote bag to the trunk of my iGo car to my kitchen. I don't know what was different this one evening. Probably I was in the mood to splurge, go wild, have an adventure, make a change, live life more on the edge. Whatever the cause, the cherries made it home with me and they were about as disappointing as I expected. Not bad. Just blah. I spooned some over chocolate ice cream. Blah. I spooned some into a container of Cozy Shack rice pudding. Nice color, but the flavor was still blah. Then the jar parked on the inside of my refrigerator door and we settled into a waiting game. I think the cherries and I had both given up on any possible future together beyond a winter smoothie and the recycling bin, but also we weren't able yet to admit our dashed hopes to each other. So we just lingered on, not expecting much, not minding.

Proofed and Ready for the Oven

I've got plenty of blah in my life. I sometimes feel like I have an advanced degree in blah. Blah blah blah. So much blah I don't know what to do with it all. An embarrassment of riches if I could solve that challenge. And this weekend I did make at least a small step in that direction, with the help of the remains in that jar of cherries. I was in a baking frenzy after my book party. Macaroni and cheese. Pizza tre formaggio. Three loaves of brioche (posting pending). And then this Danish pastry. I hesitated to make the dough, uncertain how I would finish it, until that jar of cherries caught the corner of my eye one evening as I did my final survey of the interior of my refrigerator before putting out the lights and getting into bed. Cherry and cheese Danish pastry braid!

I knew right as I was pulling the braid from the oven that blah in this case was become bully and bold and bragging rights all the way. Among the very best things I've ever baked. Insert string of unsurpassable superlatives here. Add some more. Blah blah blah.

The formula for the pastry is from Baking with Julia. The cheese is four ounces of cream cheese, a quarter cup of sugar, an egg yolk, and some orange zezt. The cherries I drained well, reduced the liquid to a syrup, then added back to the cherries with about a tablespoon of seedless raspberry jam.

Three Slices of Heaven

A Really Sad Story About A Pizza

The weekend before last I hosted a book party. I planned my menu mostly with leftovers in mind. A friend took me to Costco and I bought a big piece of Manchego, a big piece of Stilton, and a big bucket of herb-marinated Bocconcini. The party went off beautifully and the remains of the Manchego and Stilton went into a macaroni and cheese. But I still had a little more of each, and also some of the Bocconcini, so a few nights ago I made a pizza tre formaggio. The result was the most beautiful pizza I've ever made. I was feeling very pleased with myself for having videotaped the event. But when I connected the card from my camera to my computer and looked for the video clips, they were gone. Nowhere. Poof. Niente. Did I hallucinate the chewy lustre of the manchego? The woodsy undertones of the Stilton? The creamy pools of Bocconcini? The crispiness of the crust almost fried in the oil released from the cheeses? I don't believe in trying to recapture lost moments once they are passed, so I guess you'll just have to take my word for it! But last night, under the watchful gaze of Gabriel Porras, I did capture some images of my standard white pizza.

Sables Korova

This weekend, glad for an excuse to stay indoors on a wet Saturday afternoon, I spent several hours playing with iMovie. Earlier in the week I had set the ingredients for Sables Korova spinning in my light box, and now I attempted to send them west on the Pink Line to enjoy the expansive views of the loop. My plans all shattered however because my computer wasn't up to the task. What began as a smooth ride ended up a shuddering, jagged, choppy train wreck. Sunday morning the rain had turned to snow and back at my computer I returned to my movie. Defeated by the limited powers of my processor I reluctantly deleted most of the backdrop. Here's what's left:

Also here's a link to the recipe. http://smittenkitchen.com/2007/01/in-which-world-peace-eludes-me/

If there is a prize for best no egg chocolate cookie recipe of the early 21st century, this one definitely gets my vote.

Beginner's Luck

Mostly over the past couple of years I have been happily oblivious of the insane buzz about macarons taking the internet by storm. But ages ago I did clip from Gourmet or Bon Appetit a page on macarons from Pierre Herme, and every time I flip through my loose-leaf kitchen binder I think, gotta try that sometime! (I've had an on-and-off again relationship with both magazines since about 1990, but it was never true love and it is definitely now all off since Gourmet folded unceremoniously. I remember when I was in high school my brother had a friend whose mother was a devoted reader of Gourmet for decades. The top of her kitchen cabinets was a carefully cataloged collection, year by year, each year month by month in proper order. Something about those serried magazines made a lasting impression. They bespoke a kind of house proud accomplishment that was about a million miles at least distant from my own upbringing.)

The time finally arrived last week with mixed results.

The very first sheet was absolutely perfect. And then the following three sheets sprawled and crinkled and looked nothing like macarons. They were delicious, mind, but not photogenic. I was stumped by my beginner's luck and did a fair amount of reading to try and understand what might and might not have happened, but don't consider myself any more enlightened now than when I pulled that second tray out of the oven what was the difference. Especially since it turns out that according to every one of the forty-three macaron blogs I subsequently browsed I didn't do anything right with the first sheet.

Another one of life's mysteries!

A Lasting Relationship

As a reader of cookbooks I am by conventional standards promiscuous. Over the past twenty-five years several hundred volumes at least have sojourned through my bedroom. Some lingered for months on my bedside table, only to retire at last and never return. (The Joy of Cooking, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, vols. 1 and 2) Others stayed only a few nights before the spark of attraction flickered out and died. (Everybody Eats Well in Belgium, Mrs. Fields Cookie Book.) But interspersed among my many flings with food in print, a handful of relationships endure. When I tire of my latest crush, they are always waiting on the shelf alive to my touch. In the middle of the night, when sleep heads out for a late night snack, they join me uncomplainingly in bed and keep me company as I wait for sleep to return. No matter how faithlessly I sometimes treat them, they never disappoint me. And like any rich and lasting partner, they continually surprise me with new pleasures.

Among the faithful few is Nancy Baggett's All-American Cookie Book. The big batch gingerbread recipe is my staple for the holiday season. When I want to make a good impression, I bring a box of turtle bars. When I just want to please myself, I make a batch of best ever snickerdoodles. And then there are the brownies supreme, the raspberry cream cheese swirl brownies, the key lime frosties, the date rocks...The book is good as gold (with a few exceptions) but the standouts are the bar cookies. For years I've bookmarked this recipe for brown sugar pecan sticky bars, and last weekend I finally gave them a try.

In a word: I love you Nancy Baggett's All-American Cookie Book!  XXOO from I Ate What I Am!

A Happy Marriage

This fall has been tough, but not without bright spots. Case in point:  last night's pizza dinner. I got home around 5:30 and was scrounging in the refrigerator and found a package of soy chorizo and some shredded mozzarella and an onion rolling around in its own peeling dry skin. I had a half bag of Tipo 00 flour also in the cupboard, and five minutes was about all it took to get my dough started. Despite my stated preference for a fermented crust, the same-day variety actually has its own charms. It is a lot like a pita really. The texture isn't as chewy as it gets later, and the flavor isn't as sour, and that seems totally fitting for a Monday night.

The soy chorizo is a very convincing meat substitute. And marries well I think with my world series crush Bengie Molina.

Something to Think About

A good apple crisp is a real mystery.

Here's what it looked like right out of the oven.

And the next day.

All Shook Up

Chewy

Crispy or chewy? I am definitely of the crispy persuasion. These cookies by contrast are chewy chewy. I've seen a few references to the recipe, so decided to give them a try.

Although I remain crispy, these got rave reviews. One woman chased me down in the hallway after eating her cookie to tell me, "this is what a chocolate cookie is supposed to taste like!"

Here's a link to the recipe, at a blog I admire:
http://www.crumblycookie.net/2009/04/04/cooks-illustrateds-perfect-chocolate-chip-cookies/

Keeping it Simple

A Bag of Caramels

It's the middle of October and unseasonably warm and even though I can't wait for rain and snow and some seriously dessicating arctic cold I still also can't shake the feeling that my summer got cut short. The summer I was baking two or three times a week and going to the gym every other day and taking a nap most afternoons before hauling my Pico outdoor armchair to the lakefront and reading into the sunset...To get to the point, the day jobs are seriously cramping my enjoyments!

Just a Bite

Still I did manage a batch of dark chocolate caramels last week. When I started I was thinking pixies. Lots of them. The caramel spooned over piles of chopped salted pecans, then draped with milk and dark chocolate. But economic forces beyond my control, combined with my very early bedtime, were not helping my cause, and day after day the tray of caramel sat untouched on my counter, except for the corner where I kept cutting away a taste, and another, and another, and one more, and just one more, because really, it is pretty good all by itself.

Autumn in the Air

After a week of nibbling away, I suddenly realized I had a good thing going. So I started snipping wax paper into squares and twisting them around pieces of caramel. Pixies are definitely in my future. But for now, I've decided to keep it simple.

Dulce Amor

The pesky details of adjunct employment are causing a significant backlog in my baking queue. To pass the time here's what the cream cheese brownies are doing...

Sour Cream Caramels, Who Knew?

Recently a cup of sour cream was loafing in my refrigerator. Admittedly I don't have the strongest work ethic, but something about the way this sour cream was just doing nothing all day got on my nerves. In the morning at breakfast I'd open the refrigerator and there was the container of sour cream on the shelf, sleeping in when the rest of the world was long since up and about. At lunch when I'd go to make my usual sandwich -- Swiss cheese, iceberg lettuce, sweet onion, mayonnaise on toasted multigrain -- the sour cream hadn't moved, not even an inch! And at dinner it would still be lounging shamelessly.

After several days of this behavior, the affront became too much to bear. So I tried a little experiment, and used the cup of sour cream to make a batch of caramel. A hiccup of protest was all the sour cream could muster, and then it was dissolving into some melted sugar. The result surprised me. The caramel was outstanding. I added some honey roasted peanuts, thinking I would cut the caramel in squares and dip them, but this batch didn't last long enough to meet its match in dark chocolate. Maybe next time.

Five Ways of Looking at a Cream Cheese Brownie

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Butterflies

Ye Olde Fourteen Carrot Cake

Many thousands of years ago the king of Persia called to his court the wisest men of his realm. His master stonemason also he commanded to his presence. "You are the wisest men in my kingdom," he said. "And you are my master stonemason." The wise men and the stonemason bowed reverently. "I am an old man," the king continued. "I know that my rule and the rule of all my generation is reaching its end. I know that my children and my children's children and their children too will all reach their appointed end at their appointed time. I know that my palace, my jewels, my tapestries, even my bowls of burnished gold and copper, will all one day turn to dust and ashes. It is enough. I have lived a good life and can die content, almost, provided I can leave one thing that will truly endure. I commission you, my wise men, to decide for me that one thing. I commission you, my stonemason, to etch that one thing into the deepest stone."

With a clap of his hands the king made the full hospitality of his palace available to the wise men and the stonemason for as long as they needed to determine the one thing that will truly endure, and then with another clap of his hands dismissed them from his presence.

After many months conferring and arguing and reflecting and enjoying all the rich stores gathered by the royal ambassadors from the four corners of the earth, the wise men and the stonemason were recalled by the king, who demanded to learn the one thing that will truly endure. When the king heard this thing, he sprang from his seat and waved his hands above his head with delight. "I can die content," he said. And he did, but not before instructing the stonemason to inscribe the following words into the hardest rock of the most prominent cliff overlooking the greatest plain of the land:

Fourteen Carrot Cake

2 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp cinnamon
2 cups sugar
1 cup canola oil
4 eggs
2 1/2 cups finely grated carrots
1 8 ounce can crushed pineapple, drained
1 1/2 cups finely chopped mixed walnuts and pecans

Preheat oven to 350.
Stir together dry ingredients. Mix sugar, oil, and eggs to combine. Add carrots and pineapple. Stir in dry ingredients and nuts. Makes two 9 inch layers, one 9x13 sheet, or 24 cupcakes.

And the cream cheese frosting will be 16 oz cream cheese and 12 tbs butter creamed well, then two tablespoons orange juice will be added, and enough 10x sugar (about 3 1/2 to 4 cups) to bring it to a pleasing consistency.

Soul of a Waffle

Even Cookies Have Dreams

El Aguacero (The Downpour)

Three Loaves

Despite my busy filming schedule this past week I managed to make time to make some bread. The formula is the Pain de Compagne from Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice. I don't often attempt this kind of loaf. Not because I don't enjoy it, but because I don't enjoy it very much. So I go through the motions every now and then, my little repetition compulsion. And then I resume my ordinary life in brioche and pain de mie and Danish pastry and crumpets and English muffins and Sally Lunn.

The bread is quite tasty. The crust is definitely chewy. A touch of white whole wheat flour darkens the crumb, and a mild amount of fermentation gives it a faintly sour edge.

One loaf I've eaten -- a panzanella for dinner, and some butter and jam for lunch. The other two loaves are safe in the freezer, in case Gabriel Porras gets hungry.

El Chofer, The Sequel

El Chofer

Two Things I Love

Freeze-Framed

I got my electric bill yesterday and it was over one hundred dollars, the first time ever in my life. It is turning out to be the hottest summer in years, so hot some evenings I think I am losing my mind as I stare into my open freezer and dream of Mexico, of the exquisite gardens and the lovingly restored little pyramid of Santa Cecilia Acatitlan tucked away in the foothills beyond the northwest edge of Mexico City. Hidden behind a church and surrounded by a high black iron fence the park is a dreamy oasis where spider lilies and dahlias luxuriate in the shade of elders and oaks. In his True History Bernal Diaz del Castillo mentions stopping several nights in the city as the Spaniards circled counter-clockwise around the valley plotting their siege of Tenochtitlan, but his report is tantalizingly short on details, and he definitely doesn't ever mention meeting Gabriel Porras. Still I bet they would have had much to talk about!

More Anchovy Goodness

The anchovy is an ambitious little fish. It keeps putting out flavor. Never mind a succession of hottest days of the year, it is always ready to get back to work.

Tonight was a mock macaroni and cheese on the stove top. Just some breadcrumbs browned in butter, some anchovies stirred until broken up, the last of the heavy cream from the chocolate glaze a week ago, a very big handful of Parmesan cheese, and some boiled penne rigate.

Swiss Chard Tart with Anchovies

An 8 Inch Tart (Thanks to Eden for the Mold!)

Here's a culinary riddle with a ready answer:  What do you get when you combine some pastry dough left over from a strawberry tart with some cream and eggs left over from a birthday cake with some Parmesan and mozzarella cheeses left over from the last round of pizza with a quick trip to the produce market?

An excuse to open a can of anchovies, of course! Strange that such an ugly little fish can add such beautiful flavor to so many dishes. It deserves a haiku:

I caught one!

A little oily
Yellow can of anchovies
A little salty

The filling for the tart is an onion browned with the chopped stems from a bunch of chard and a diced yellow pepper. Then a few cloves of garlic through the press and four anchovies mashed. The greens from the chard coarsely chopped. Plenty of salt and pepper and a sprinkle of bouquet garni.

The tart shell is baked blind until the surface is starting to look dry.

The filling is finished with 2 eggs, about 2/3 cup heavy cream, a handful of Parmesan and a handful of mozzarella. Then baked at 350 for about 40 minutes.

The tart is superb warm and equally superb at room temperature.

A Slice of Swiss Chard Tart with Anchovies

An Imperfect Piece

The older I grow the more comfortable I grow also in my conviction that human nature is fallen and that of its own will it can't get up and that the only remedy of the imperfectability of humanity is to fight the fantasy that any remedy is possible. Which is not to say that persons singly and together shouldn't cease to strive to ameliorate the harms that persons singly and together cause each other. But that no effort to lessen human suffering, never mind how imperative and praiseworthy, can ever disentangle itself from the snares of self-interest and deceit and abuse and pride and vicious habit that cause so much suffering in the first place. In matters of ethics I have no doubt that the perfect is the enemy of the good. In matters of cake I am less certain. 

A Piece of Chocolate Cake with Walnut Rum Butter Cream

Given the impossibility of human perfection, it makes no sense to feel disappointment at its lack. Many theorists of beauty have even argued that too complete an appearance of perfection is actually an impediment to the apprehension of beauty. An awkward angle, a lack of symmetry, a detail out of proportion or out of place, is necessary they say to complete the picture. More important, a bit of imperfection renders the picture recognizably human. With regard to cake I believe something similar is true. A home-baked cake should look home-baked. A subtle lack of polish is part of its charm and also practically relevant, since it is an insult to any home baker to ask, from what bakery did you buy this cake? I made it! a cake should speak clearly in its own voice, without prompting.

The Crumb Coat

Still one must have standards. One must draw the line somewhere. At the gloss in a chocolate cream glaze, for example, so that I couldn't avoid a sense of moral failing as I was finishing last night this chocolate cake with a walnut rum butter cream. I've made a similar glaze numerous times, and always thought it was foolproof:  warm three quarters of a cup of heavy cream, pour over nine ounces of bittersweet chocolate, let stand a few minutes, stir until smooth. Only the instant I started stirring I knew that something was wrong. The chocolate was seizing. In place of a smooth creamy brown glow the chocolate was grainy and the glaze had an acneous black shine.  In my gut I wanted to start over. The waste to my mind seemed too extravagant. Reason and instinct for a moment faced each other down, and then in a reckless dash I began pouring.

Rum Syrup Keeps the Sponge Moist

I was past the point of no return and I put the cake away to set in the refrigerator and pretended I wouldn't care in thirty minutes, but when I returned the damage looked clearly irreparable. So I filled a tumbler with bourbon and backed away slowly and sipped away slowly until the spirits steadied my nerves. And they did. They also did the exact opposite to my hands and to my inhibitions with a parchment cone full of melted milk chocolate.

Happy Birthday Catherine!

It wasn't the perfectly smooth finish I was planning. But it didn't exactly put anyone's eyes out to look at. And did it taste good? Yeah, it did. Perfect, really.

A Humble Tart

The proper season for strawberries is long past, but still they refuse to disappear from the super markets. For weeks I've been eyeing them suspiciously, wondering why they won't go away. And then feeling guilty for indulging such uncharitable thoughts. The strawberries can't help themselves, I tell myself. They don't know any better. They've been duped into tricking out their colors. Like the seals that perform at the aquarium for some raw herring snacks they are too good-natured even to show any embarrassment on behalf of their task masters.They kindly leave them to indulge their illusions of mastery.

A Humble Strawberry Tart

My conscience unsettled, I sniffed last night at a carton while at the grocery store. To my surprise, they had an odor. Even more to my surprise, they smelled like strawberries.

A Humble Strawberry Tart Before it is Glazed

The fruit fates were calling a truce and I accepted. The result is a rather humble tart, rather homely around the edges. But fragrant. And ruby toned. And toothsome. A little humility, I reckon, is never out of season, and never tasted so good.

A Thin Layer of Jam

The filling is an improvised hash. Some mango diced fine. Some of the strawberries crushed. A bit of sugar, a bit of cornstarch, a splash of rum, half a jar of seedless preserves languishing too long in the refrigerator. All cooked at a simmer a few minutes, stirring constantly.

The Blind Shell

The pastry is my standard 4321. Four tablespoons of butter and three tablespoons of shortening to one cup of flour. A pinch of baking powder, a tablespoon of cider vinegar, a few tablespoons of water, a long rest in the refrigerator, and a light frissage to finish things off.

 The First Piece

The glaze is clear Tortenguss, dabbed on gently with a pastry brush, not poured. I got a supply when I was in Germany a couple of years ago, but no doubt it is available online.