Sour Cherry Coffee Cake

So the other weekend, R and I took a trip to Washington DC in my continuing quest to Americanize him (just kidding, really. I like him Euro.) We were visiting friends who make living outside of NYC look awfully appealing, what with their adorable little house that actually has a backyard (!!), their ability to own and drive a car without taking their lives into their hands, and, well, all that space. They actually have space.

It was a hugely wonderful weekend, full of eating, farmers market shopping, cooking salmon on the grill in their wonderful backyard (two more !!'s for that backyard). Not to mention seeing the Library of Congress, the National Gallery, the Phillips Collection and long walks on The Mall. So you know, I wanted to bring something for them. A host gift, I guess. They're pretty into food as well, my friends, so I thought I'd bring something for breakfast, or snack time, or dessert. And a coffee cake fulfills all of those functions. And I think it would have gone over really well, if I'd remembered to bring it with us rather than leaving it on the kitchen counter.

So this cake never made it to Washington DC, but it was still pretty darn good three days later when we got back. I couldn't find frozen sour cherries, so I used sweet. But I thought the cherries faded too much into the background, and would recommend something tarter, like, you know, the sour ones I was supposed to use, or maybe raspberries, or even cranberries when they're in season. The recipe given for streusel topping makes way too much, so you could easily cut it in half if you don't need it for anything else. The rest of mine is sitting in the freezer waiting for an appropriate use.

Cherry-Streusel Coffee Cake
Adopted from Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook

1 stick unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus a little more for greasing the pan
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup sour cream
1 cup frozen sour cherries (or other tart berry), thawed and well drained
1 cup streusel (follows)
Milk glaze (follows)

Oven preheated to 350F. Grease a 9" tube pan and set aside. Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt into a medium pan, then set aside as well.

With an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, sugar, eggs and vanilla until light and fluffy. Do this on medium spead for 2 to 3 minutes. Add one third of the flour, then half the sour cream, then one more third of the flour, followed by the rest of the sour cream, an then the rest of the flour. Be careful not to overmix.

Pour half the batter into the prepared pan, then arrange the carries on top. Be sure the cherries don't touch the sides of the pan, or they may burn. Then pour the rest of the batter on top of that. Sprinkle on the streusel topping.

Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the cake is golden and springy to the touch. Let the cake cool in the pan set on a wire rack for 10 to 15 minutes. Then turn the cake out so that it's streusel side up and let cool completely.

In the meantime, make the milk glaze. Whisk together 1 cup confectioners sugar and 2 tablespoons of milk until the mixture is smooth. Drizzle over cake once it's completely cooled.

Streusel Topping
You can easily cut this recipe in half if you don't have another use for it

2 1/4 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
2 1/4 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature.

Combine the flour, sugar cinnamon and salt, then use a pastry blender to cut in the butter. The streusel should be crumbly looking. Crumble over the top of the cake as directed in the recipe.

Peperonata with Potatoes

You know, I really only put things I like on this blog. If I make it and it's kind of lackluster, it doesn't make the cut. But I made this recipe a couple of days ago, polished off 8 (!!) servings almost by myself over the course of two days, and then wanted to make it again tonight for company. That, I think, says something.

This is based on the Frog Commissary's riff on the classic Italian dish of peppers stewed with tomatoes, onions and garlic, although I've adjusted some of the proportions. They've added those little new potatoes, which you only have to slice in half, and saute in a little olive oil and butter until browned and crispy. Tossed with the vegetable mixture and then left to develop for a few hours, and you have a side dish (or, if you're like me, a main dish for several meals in a row) that only improves with a little age. Seriously, you guys, I highly recommend this recipe. It would be perfect for bringing to summer picnics since it's meant to be served at room temperature several hours after making. And it kicks the mayo-based potato salad's butt.

Peperonata with Potatoes
Adopted from The Frog Commissary Cookbook

A nub of butter and a splash of olive oil x 2
2 lbs small new potatoes, cut in half and boiled until just tender
1 medium yellow or white onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, passed through a press
2 red bell peppers, chopped
2 green bell peppers, chopped
4 medium tomatoes, chopped
2 tablespoons minced parsley
1 3/4 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon pepper
1/3 cup sliced Greek black olives
4 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
4 scallions, finely sliced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil

Preheat a large sauté pan over medium heat, then add the first knob of butter and a splash of olive oil to coat the bottom. Add the potatoes, cut side down and sauté until browned and crisp. Stir occasionally, and toss them around, so they don't stick. Transfer to a large serving bowl, then add the second knob of butter and splash of olive oil to the pan.

Add the onions and garlic to the pan and cook until softened and translucent. Add the peppers and tomatoes, cooking until they're just tender. Add this mixture to the potatoes in the serving bowl, and toss with the parsley, salt, pepper, olives and vinegar. Let sit for several hours before serving to develop flavor. Check for seasoning and add more salt and/or pepper if needed.

Just before serving, garnish with the scallions and basil. Serve at room temperature.

Ramps and Lemony Couscous

Really, when it comes to feeding myself on those days I stay in the apartment and do my reading from here, there's nothing easier than vegetables and some sort of grain (or pretend grain). This recipe came about largely because of what I had lying around in my fridge, and the need to use my last bunch of sprint-time ramps before they went bad. Ramps, being so fleeting, it would have been some kind of sin, I think, to let them go.

There's not a ton to say about this little dish. It was satisfying, fresh tasting and healthy. And I think the lemon zest was a good idea, one that I should probably be using more often. Especially with grains. There's not much more to say about it, really. So here's a little couscous salad to get you through the day.

Ramps and Lemony Couscous

1 bunch ramps
2/3 cup couscous
1 cup water
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 small lemon
Crumbled feta according to how much you want
1 bunch ramps

Add the salt to the water and bring it to a boil. Add the couscous, remove from the heat, give it a stir, then cover and let it sit for 5 minutes.

In the meantime, zest the lemon and set aside. Slice the white parts of the ramps, and keep separate from the greens. Heat up a little oil in a small pan, then saute the white part of the ramps until tender and a bit browned. Add the greens and wilt for a couple of minutes.

Add the lemon zest to the couscous, then fluff with a fork. Fold in the ramps with their greens, along with the feta crumbles. Squeeze some lemon juice over the top to taste, and correct the seasonings, perhaps adding a little more salt and some pepper.

No-Bake Strawberry Mascarpone Bars

Vermont? I really, really love you. I've only been there a couple of times, but I have to thank Vermont for all of the dairy they send down to us in NYC. Plus, as a displaced Coloradan, I've always thought of Vermont as the Eastern Colorado, we share similar hippie, outdoorsie tendencies, and I tend to like people from both places. So Vermont, I'd like to thank you for your creamy butters, your cabot cheese, your crème fraîche and your mascarpone.

In addition to my love affair with Vermont dairy, it's also strawberry season (frickin' finally!). So I think you can see where this is going. Actually, I made these for a friend who got me a job for next semester. See, if you get Andrea jobs, you get delicious treats. This is my employment game-plan for the foreseeable future. I think it's a good one, and so far it's working out pretty well.

The beauty of these is that they're no-bake, so you're not going to have to heat up your oven once it gets hot outside. They do need to spend some time chillin' in the fridge, but the actual work-time is pretty minimal, and I'd say the return is very worth it. Gingersnap crust rather than boring graham cracker (just kidding, graham crackers, you're not boring!), a creamy blend of mascarpone and yogurt spiked with sugar and vanilla, and topped with strawberries brushed with red current jam and a little grand marnier. I knew you'd like it.

Strawberry Mascarpone Bars
Adopted from Food and Drink

4 cups ginger cookie crumbs (basically all of the cookies from a 1 pound box, given a little wizz in a food processor, or sealed in a ziplock bag and bashed around with a rolling pin)
1 cup unsalted butter, melted
16 ounces mascarpone (or ricotta, if you're not neighbors with Vermont)
1/2 cup yogurt
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cups strawberries, hulled and sliced in half
1 cup redcurrant jelly (if you can't find it, use any red jelly like raspberry, for example)
1 tablespoons grand marnier

In a medium bowl, stir together the melted butter and ginger cookie crumbs until the crumbs are all moistened. Line a 9x13 inch baking dish with parchment paper, then pat the cookie crumbs into the bottom. Put into the refrigerator while you prepare the rest.

In another medium bowl, whisk together the mascarpone, yogurt, sugar and vanilla. Pour the mixture over the ginger cookie crust, once it has firmed up in the refrigerator. Lay the strawberry halves in tight lines over the mascarpone layer. Make sure the strawberries are close together, with little filling showing. Return to the refrigerator.

In a small saucepan, heat the redcurrant jelly along with the grand marnier until they are melted together. Cool slightly, then brush the glaze over the strawberries and fill the cracks between berries with the glaze. Return to the refrigerator again until the glaze is firm.

To serve, lift the bars out of the pan by pulling out the parchment paper and use a sharp knife to cut into bars. Keep refrigerated.

Rhubarb Gelee

This is another Norwegian recipe for rhubarb, Scandinavians, as I've mentioned before, being in love with rhubarb. Out of all the things I've done with rhubarb as of now, I'd go so far as to say that this is my favorite. It's the pure essence of rhubarb. Rhubarb stewed until the juices are concentrated with sugar, shot through with fresh-squeezed orange juice, and then held suspended with a little gelatin. It's unbelievably refreshing and just as addicting.

I think the color must vary with your rhubarb stocks. Mine were a little lackluster in the aesthetics department, mostly green with hardly a streak of red. So my gelee is a pale golden color. The book from which this recipe came, my old standby 'Norwegian National Recipes' calls this a Rhubarb Fromage, but, since fromage is French for cheese, and there's nothing fromage'y about this, I've renamed it so it won't be misleading. Seriously, you guys, if you love rhubarb, and I mean really love that tart and particular flavor of rhubarb, you will not be sorry if you make this. I cannot think of a more perfect and refreshing summertime dessert.

Rhubarb Gelee
Adopted from Norwegian National Recipes

1 pound rhubarb
2/3 cup sugar
juice of two large oranges (navel, for instance)
2 envelopes knox gelatin, which is 2 tablespoons if you're measuring
Water

Cut the rhubarb into bite-sized slices, and put in a pot. Fill the pot with water until it just covers the rhubarb, then add the sugar. Simmer the rhubarb until just tender, then strain out the rhubarb, but reserve the cooking water, in which the rhubarb juice has been rendered. Put the rhubarb aside on a dish.

Return the cooking water to the heat and bring to a boil. Whisk the gelatin into the water until it fully dissolves. Remove from the heat and add the orange juice. Beat the juice mixture with a hand-held beater on low so you don't splatter the hot juices, until the mixture is light, fluffy and foamy.

Arrange the rhubarb on a 9x9" Pyrex container, or really any serving shallow serving bowl you don't mind keeping in the refrigerator for a few hours. Then pour the juice mixture over the top. Refrigerate until set, then serve.

Warm Salad of Asparagus and New Potatoes

If you read my blog with any kind of regularity (that's you, Mom!), or if you only skim through and look at pictures for inspiration, you probably know that I lean toward vegetarian food quite often. What can I say, I love my vegetables. No really, I Love vegetables. Not always that crazy about meat, but veggies are welcome on my plate Any Time. So I was excited to receive a copy of Simon Hopkinson's new book 'The Vegetarian Option' to review. Simon Hopkinson of the Roast Chicken fame (hey! I made his chocolate tart once), voted 'most useful cookbook of all time' by a British food magazine (Waitrose's Food Illustrated, actually). I mean, the man is highly praised. And, perhaps because I'm not really a vegetarian, I've never really had a problem with non-vegetarians writing vegetarian cookbooks (how many times can I write 'vegetarian' in one sentence). I mean, the way I see it, if most people cut down on meat, that would actually make a bigger difference than a handful of people swearing it off altogether. Not a unique opinion, I realize.

So Hopkinson's new book is 'The Vegetarian Option' and really the title sums it up. It's full of great-looking ideas for veg food, but with, for example, the inclusion of a chicken stock, clearly written for someone more a tourist of vegetarianism than a resident. But that's cool. In fact, that sounds like me. A frequent visitor, but not quite willing to set up shop. So this is the recipe I've made so far and it was a very, very good potato salad. Not of the sloppy mayo kind (although I love those too) but a butter cream sauce anointing a mess of new potatoes and asparagus. Now this is a potato salad any farmers market asparagus would be psyched to get into.

I had to make a few changes to the recipe, something, I have a feeling, Mr. Hopkinson would not approve of. But I'm sorry, if you ask for things like chervil you run the risk of it not being available. So even if Hopkinson kind of reminded me of an uncle, a great uncle perhaps, who insists that his way is the best way, even if it's also the fussiest (and even if its true), I don't feel all that bad taking my own path in either case. You just have to smile, pat his hand, and say, thanks uncle Hopkinson. I'll do it your way.

Warm Salad of Asparagus & New Potatoes
Adopted from Simon Hopkinson's The Vegetarian Option

3/4 pound new potatoes, scrubbed well
salt
2 large mind sprigs
1 star anise, a small one
A knob of butter
1 bunch of asparagus, woody ends trimmed, peeled if you're down for it (I never am)
Sea salt
2 hard-boiled eggs, shelled

for the butter sauce
Juice of 1 small lemon
Pinch of sugar
5 tablespoons cold, unsalted butter, cut into small chunks
White pepper to taste
1 tablespoon chopped chives

Bring a pot of water that can comfortably hold all of the potatoes to a simmer. Add the potatoes, as well as the mint and the star anise and simmer until the potatoes are tender. Keep six tablespoons of the potato cooking water aside, then drain the potatoes. Return the potatoes to the pan and stir with a knob of butter. Cover to keep them warm.

For the sauce, take another saucepan and add the 6 tablespoons of potato cooking water along with the pinch of sugar and the lemon juice. You might want to be a little judicious with the lemon juice, don't go crazy. Start with less rather than more. Simmer this mixture until it reduces by half. Now begin adding the butter, one little chunk at a time, whisking or stirring until incorporated. The heat should be very low while you do this. Season with pepper, remove from heat and cover to keep warm.

At this point, Hopkinson wants you to peel the asparagus tips and toss away the stalks, but what the heck, I never ever do stuff like that. I'm sorry, I love my asparagus, and I intend to eat the whole thing. So you can do like I did, which was to shop the asparagus and throw it in like that. So fill a pan with water, salt it well, and bring it to a boil. Add the asparagus and boil for just a couple of minutes, until still slightly crunchy and bright green. Drain and run them under cold water to stop them from further cooking (blanch them, in other words).

Slice the warm potatoes in half, and add them, along with the asparagus, to the butter sauce. Fold the vegetables into the sauce along with the chives until everything is evenly coated. To serve, spoon the salad out onto plates and season with a little salt. Chop the egg, and sprinkle it over the top.

*Note: So as I mentioned, Hopkinson calls for a handful of chervil sprigs to be sprinkled over the top of the salad before serving. If you find them, by all means use them. He says their faint anise flavor works every well with the salad. I didn't find chervil, however, and that's why I added the small star anise to the potato cooking water. You could taste its faint flavor, and it just might be a little trick I'll use again in the future.

Paula Wolfert's Madeleines from Dax

You always hear about how there are madeleines everywhere in Paris. But you know what? There are really madeleines everywhere in New York City. At your local bistro, under a glass-topped cake stand ready for the impulse buy at the register, and especially at one of my favorites, Madeleine Patisserie in Chelsea. Filled with macarons and madeleines, you might wonder if it's even worth attempting to bake them up yourself. So far, my answer would have to be, well...kind of.

First of all, the recipe is Paula Wolfert's and she warns that they're not the madeleines of Proust meant for dunking, not quite the madeleines you might be used to, and definitely not quite the madeleines of my favorite NYC patisserie. But I've never had a madeleine flavored with orange blossom water, and for that I will forever thank Paula Wolfert.

Lately, as I've been cycling around Central Park in the middle of the day to avoid the influx of (I hate to say it) kind of clueless tourists who tend to la-de-da out into the middle of the road while gazing up into the sky on the weekends, I've noticed that at the bottom of the loop, on the east side, the blossoms literally smell like candy. Literally. And making these madeleines, with their shot of orange blossom water, is like bringing spring time right into your tiny 6 floor apartment. My true mistake with this undertaking was relying on a rental oven which is For Sure not properly calibrated. So I burned the first batch, and you can see that my second batch also spent a little too much time baking. I'll give you the printed bake time with that warning, on the assumption that your oven is more precise than mine.

Madeleines from Dax
Adopted from Paula Wolfert's The Cooking of South-West France

2 large eggs
Pinch of salt
7 tablespoons superfine sugar*
1 1/2 teaspoons orange flower water
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
5 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour plus 5 1/2 tablespoons cake flour, combined and sifted twice
3/4 teaspoons baking powder
5 tablespoons clarified butter, melted and cooled**
1 tablespoons heavy cream
butter for the molds

Okay, first a couple of notes on ingredients:
* You can sometimes find superfine sugar in the grocery store if you have a good one. Otherwise, you can make it yourself by wizzing some normal white sugar in a food processor for about 30 seconds. I used 1/4 cup of sugar, and easily got 7 tablespoons of superfine out of it.
** For clarified butter: heat some water in the bottom of a double boiler until hot, but not boiling. In the top of the double boiler, place a stick of butter and allow it to melt slowly over the hot (but not boiling!) water. It should take about 15 minutes. Once melted, the milk solids will fall to the bottom, and you can pour/spoon off the liquid, which is the clarified butter. One stick will make a little more than you need, but it will store for 3 months in the fridge, where it will become solid again. Just reheat a little to use.

Okay, on with the recipe, which must be complete over the course of two days:

Combine the eggs, salt and sugar in a mixing bowl and beat until it's light and thickened a bit. I just did this with a whisk as Wolfert recommends. Then beat in the orange flower water and vanilla until combined.

Sift the flours along with the baking powder twice, then gradually stir the flours into the egg mixture. Beat only until combined. Add the butter and cream and stir them in gently until the mixture is smooth. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

The next day:

Preheat the oven to 425 F.

Coat your madeleine pan with a little melted butter and fill each mold about 3/4 the way full with batter. Tap the pan on the counter a few times to settle the batter into the molds. Bake for 5 minutes, then lower the heat to 325 and bake for 7-10 minutes longer. I had to decrease the bake time by to 5 minutes at 325, and even then they were a bit overdone. They should be golden and just turning brown around the edges.

Remove from the oven and turn out onto a cooling wrack. Serve warm the same day.

Spring Ramps and Bacon

When it comes to food, spring always makes me feel a little antsy. Because it seems like one particular characteristic of spring is the fleeting season of certain vegetables like fiddlehead ferns, fresh fava beans and ramps. When you see them, you must grab them, and it's possible that, if you're not keeping an eye out, you'll miss them all together. And I'm not one who appreciates being left out of anything. Ask my sister.

In New York, the word at the farmers market is that ramps, having just shown up, are pretty much through for the season. Already and just like that. It's kind of stressful, actually. This whole business of getting your hands on things soon to disappear. This is why I never got into the beanie baby trend. I don't like to feel rushed.

So the moral of this story is that if you see something like ramps, you must buy them with abandon, often with no plan in mind, and trust that you can use them to make something delicious. Which is pretty easy, really, because ramps are spectacular and their flavor shouldn't have to compete with much else. On that point, James Peterson and I are very much in agreement. The other bonus is that this side dish is so easy and quick to put together and such a spring-time treat. So even if finding ramps is kind of stressful, preparing them definitely isn't. Peterson says that this is based on a method used in Appalachia, in which ramps are slow-simmered with bacon. Umm, bacon. And you use the whole ramp, onion-like white bulb, green leaves and all.

Ramps with Bacon
Adopted from James Peterson's Vegetables

1 pound ramps
3 slices smoked or otherwise deliciously flavored bacon
Salt and pepper to taste

For the ramps: trim the little root ends away, but cut only the smallest part off so the ramps don't fall apart. Run under cold water in a colander and rinse well to get the dirt off. Set aside.

Cut the bacon into bacon-bits-sized pieces and cook in a skillet over medium heat. The bacon should turn crispy and render most of its fat. Peterson suggests 8 minutes, but I like my bacon pretty crispy, so I went for closer to 13. Remove the bacon from the pan with a slotted spoon and place on a paper towel to drain.

Add the ramps to the bacon fat and cook, gently stirring occasionally, over medium heat. You want the ramps to soften and for their raw bite to mellow. Again, Paterson suggests a slightly shorter cook time, 6 minutes, whereas I cooked them for about 9. I like the way the longer cook-time dries the greens out a bit and makes them crunchy, and I found the white ends better mellowed after a slightly longer amount of time in the pan. Add the bacon back in, give it a stir, and season with salt and pepper before serving.

Simple Norwegian Rhubarb Cake for Spring

I'm not sure anyone appreciates rhubarb the way the Scandinavians do. In the US, it seems like you rarely find rhubarb without strawberry to mellow it's tartness. But in Norway, rhubarb stands very much on its own. In fact, R remembers as a child being given stalks of raw rhubarb with a small bag of sugar for dipping and munching. This cake is not much more complicated than that.

You melt the butter, so there's no waiting for it to soften, and then you pretty much just beat the rest of the ingredients in with your trusty hand-held mixer. In fact, you could probably have this one on the table ready for eating in less than 45 minutes, and that's including the 30 to 35 minute bake-time. I love these simple snacking cakes, and my favorites always feature fruit. They're simple, true, but totally addicting as well. This one has only 1/2 a stick of butter, so it's not at all greasy, and the little slices of rhubarb on top kind of bursts in your mouth, full of the tartness of spring.

Norwegian Rhubarb Cake
Adopted from Norwegian National Recipes

1/2 stick butter (1/4 cup), melted
1/3 cup milk
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 large stalk rhubarb, enough for spreading on top

Grease a 9 inch round cake pan or springform pan. Preheat the oven to 350F.

Cut the rhubarb into small pieces and set aside, discarding both ends of the stalk. In a medium bowl, beat the eggs and sugar together until light, fluffy and a pale yellow. About 1 minute. Add the melted butter and the milk and beat until incorporated. Then add the flour and baking powder. Continue to beat until just combined.

Pour the batter into the prepared cake pan. Arrange the rhubarb slices on top of the batter and place on the middle rack of the oven. Bake for 30-35 minutes. Remove from the oven and turn out onto a cooling wrack. Serve and enjoy.

UPDATE: Don't cut your rhubarb too thin. You want good-sized chunks, maybe 1/2". You don't want them to disappear into the batter.

Roasted Mini Potatoes

Okay, look, I know you know how to roast a potato. And I'm not even going to give you any new techniques. So think of this as more of a friendly reminder or an introduction perhaps, to the pleasures of the mini potato. This might be a good time to keep your eyes out for them. At, for example, your local farmers market. Which is where I bought these.

They're so flippin' good, you guys. Seriously, you can just pop them one after another into your mouth like the most perfect of snacking foods. Great as a side dish, of course, but who wants to wait for dinner. When we got home from the Union Square Green Market this afternoon, I certainly didn't want to wait for the next meal. And as I was roasting them R claimed not to be hungry, but of course snatched them up as soon as I turned my back.

All you need to do is give them a quick little scrub under some running water and dry them off on a paper or kitchen towel. Then toss with a little olive oil, salt and pepper. Throw them on a baking tray and into an oven preheated to 350F. Give them maybe 30 or 40 minutes, depending on their size, with a quick shake midway through to prevent sticking, and you're good to go. It would be nice to serve them with some extra salt along side. And eat with your fingers.

By the way, how much do you love those little bowls? They were a gift from my good friend D, brought back from her trip to Turkey. Love.