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Warm Weekend

The first coolness of fall is beginning to creep in around the edges here. It’s a welcome treat; the lingering mornings inspire early wakening. The breeze has shifted, taken on a thin, crisp edge. It’s still paper-dry, the trees are curling up, turning inward like insects as they die, but the sun feels farther away, the sky higher and more saturated, like the childhood-vacation skies of New Mexico, filled with haze at the horizon from the fires.

My brother filled the house with dogs, brewed chemex after chemex for us — explaining the method and the strengths and weaknesses of each infusion.  We talked food incessantly, aggressively.

My mom kept pots back-burner-bubbling, and we ate sprawling, comfortable lunches, each plate a little different from the others.

(homemade tortillas, raw-milk cheddar, poached farm egg, mom’s chili [the meat a gift of my uncle’s, from his grass-fed herd], avocados, onions, tomatoes, cilantro, and assorted chilis from the garden)

I made another butter-lemon cake for the birthday of a very dear cousin who also has celiac. As I baked, we laughed about a meltdown I had in college, trying to bake my first few gluten-free cakes and finding nothing but failure. Cue despair and a wailing, three-hour phone call home, filled primarily with “I’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO BAKE AGAIN! NEVER!”.  The sting of those failures lasted for years — convinced that any sort of baking would necessitate liberal infusions of gums, stabilizers, and fillers (entirely foreign to the whole of my food tradition), I just assumed that my baking days were simply, sadly done. How comforting to chuckle over the memory while mentally doubling recipes and filling a long pyrex with batter, making the sort of huge sheet cake that only a southern family get-together can do justice.

The quiet joy of being able to bring something that others could enjoy almost outdid the satisfaction of successful experimentation. Almost. I tossed together a chocolate cake a few weeks ago, and it turned out well, but hadn’t measured anything. I wanted to recreate it, and also wanted to use some candied orange slices that I’d dried in the last of the heat. Dogs lifted their heads occasionally or thumped a solid tail as we chattered, fumbling around one another, making jokes about needing a 12-burner stove. This came out of the oven right before brother had to leave, just in time to join the usual family send-off: a few huge paper bags stuffed with food.

Orange-Ginger Chocolate Cupcakes with Bittersweet Butter Ganâche

for the cake:

3 oz. unsweetened baking chocolate

3 oz. semi-sweet chocolate

12 Tbsp. butter

4 eggs, separated

1 C. sugar, divided in half

2 C. flour (dark, purplish flours like buckwheat, sorghum, and teff work well in this cake, as longs as it also receives some softness from fluffy, starchy flours like tapioca and mochiko)

2 tsp. baking powder

1/4 candied orange slices or peel, chopped

3 Tbsp. crystallized ginger, chopped

 for the ganâche:

4 oz. semi-sweet chocolate

4 Tbsp. butter

Pre-heat oven to 350º. Butter a baking pan or muffin tin and dust with cocoa powder.

In a double boiler or metal bowl over simmering water, melt the chocolate and butter together.  Beat the egg whites until foamy, add the sugar and beat until lifting the whisk forms a soft peak. In a large bowl, add  sugar to the egg yolks and beat until pale and thick. Mix the melted chocolate mixture into the egg yolks (start with just a spoonful or two at a time). Mix the remaining dry ingredients* together and add to the chocolate-yolk mixture (it will be quite thick). Fold in the egg whites. Spoon the batter into the tin and bake for 30-35 minutes.

While the cake(s) bake, chop the chocolate finely and slowly melt it with the butter in the aforementioned double-boiler or pot-and-bowl.

For cake: unmold the cake onto a wire cooling rack, and pour the warm ganâche over it, spreading to cover the top or the entire surface, as desired.

For cupcakes: when the cupcakes have cooled, remove them from the tin and dip their tops into a deep bowl of warm ganâche, rotating to cover the entire crown. Allow to drip for a moment, then turn right-side-up to cool and firm.

* I reserved a bit of the candied fruit to sprinkle atop each cupcake before baking. This resulted in a crunchy topping that delighted some and left others uncertain.

Slow Summer Saturday

My brother came home for the week-end.

I made another ratio cake. Mild this time, for Rie’s palate. It was moist and tart, and she approved.

1 C. butter

1 C. sugar (I used half organic brown sugar / half organic cane sugar)

Four eggs, well beaten

1 C. flour*

1 tsp. baking powder

1  tsp. fennel seed, ground

2 pods cardamom, ground

3 tbsp crystallized ginger, roughly chopped

zest of 2 lemons (clean and organic)

Beat until fluffy: butter and sugar

add: eggs (slowly, slowly)

add: dry goods

add: lemon zest and ginger

Pour into a 6X10 or equivalent greased+floured pan and bake @ 350 for 30-35 minutes.

Prick through the cake evenly with a fork and top with lemon glaze while hot.

*

1/3 C. tapioca starch

1/6 C. dry masa

1/6 C. oat flour

1/6 C. white rice flour

1/6 C. mochiko

GLUTEN FREE TIDBIT: gluten free baked goods are often more delicate than their wheaty compadres, and have less “spring”. I’d been overbaking my cakes due to using the old “it’s done when it springs back from a gentle touch” test. Stick to a toothpick test

Kitchen Basics: homemade tortillas

Imagine if there was a store that sold room-temperature, dryish, rubbery pancakes plastic-wrapped and stacked on the shelf. Imagine handing one, cold, to a friend that had never tasted pancakes. Is there any way they could understand the pillowy warmth of a big, american-style flapjack breakfast?

It’s time to make tortillas. Better-than-grocery-store-shelf tortillas. O.K.?

2 C. “masa para tortillas”, I use Maseca brand

1.5 C. water

pinch salt

In a large mixing bowl, combine the ingredients, hand-mixing until well combined. Dough should resemble play-do, and neither feel dry and crumbly to the touch nor stick to the hand. Add a tiny bit of flour or water if necessary to balance the texture.

Roll a ball of dough that falls roughly between the sizes of golf and ping-pong balls.

Press the ball lightly between your palms to flatten it.

Take a ziploc (quart-size or larger) and cut off the zipper and adjacent sides, leaving the bottom of the bag intact. Open it up, place your dough-disc on one half, and fold the other half over the top. Some folks recommend parchment paper or waxed paper for this task, and while my love of parchment paper remains undimmed, it simply cannot compare to the good ol’ ziploc. Place a flat-bottomed dish (I use a pyrex pie plate) atop the ziploc-and-tortilla-to-be sandwich, and press to flatten the dough. It’s not vital to press these paper-thin. Thicker tortillas are softer and fluffier, thinner ones firmer.

Peel the plastic back from the tortilla and transfer it to a dry, flat-bottomed skillet. I have had the best luck pre-heating my skillet over medium heat before adding the tortilla dough. Cook on the first side until the edges just begin to curl, flip, and cook the second side for a few moments. Transfer to a bowl lined with a clean dishcloth and wrap the towel around the tortillas. This keeps them warm and the trapped steam makes them soft and fluffy.

When the Summer Ends

Every year, I unreasonably expect that this summer won’t be quite so difficult. I am terrible at summer. I have clearly expressed a preference for low, bruised, rumbly-cool days to sunshine since I gained the ability to verbalize.

I dislike the heat. Intensely.

However, the thermometer cheerfully remains at 107º day after day, and an onionskin wind blows any chance of rain further and further away (dooming tree after tree to death; the orange-and-tan of the hills provides a hazy, foolish impression of autumn).

During a barren trip “up north” (replete with low, bruised, rumbly-cool days but utterly devoid of, um, food [camp-cafeteria-style work crew food is not so much celiac-friendly]), I lived out of a gallon sack of salt-soaked nuts and seeds with dried fruit. It was like a hyperpowered GORP, and it kept me going through spaghetti dinner after bagel-and-cereal breakfast.

This sort of readily-digestible, deeply nutrient-packed food is precious when we travel.

It was time to accept that, currently, I live in a dehydrator. Time to stock up.

A harvest of pecans from our trees were soaked in clean water and a hearty sprinkle of sea salt (alongside a few other nuts and seeds) and set out (alongside these nuggets of enzyme-packed, protein-unpacking papaya) to crisp in the sun.

Between the intensity of the heat and the constant movement of the parched air, these things are drying in half the time.

This potential bounty that I could squirrel away in preparation for winter thanks to this season’s sun-drying power is almost making me want a little more time before the heat crumples and folds into fall. Almost.

Essential Curried Lentil Soup

1/4 tsp. fennel seed

1/4 tsp. whole allspice

1/4 tsp. mustard seed

1/2 tsp. whole fenugreek

1/2 tsp. coriander seed

1/2 tsp. cumin seeds

1/2 tsp. black peppercorns

1-2 tsp. coarse salt

2 large turmeric roots, chopped

1 in knob of ginger, peeled & grated or chopped

5 cloves of garlic

3-5 serrano chiles, sliced

2 cups lentils (I used TruRoot pre-sprouted lentils, as they’re the gluten-free)

a few tiny tomatoes, a spoonful of leftover tomato sauce, or a bit of tomato paste

4-6 cups of liquid.

In a small, dry saucepan over medium heat, toast the spice-seeds for a few minutes, shaking and swirling regularly until fragrant. Add the peppercorns and coarse salt and crush in a mortar+pestle until fine & even. Fenugreek seeds are quite hard and take some effort, but toasting makes the seeds more brittle, and the salt helps to grind them. A grinding motion is most effective to coarsely crush the spices, while pounding seems to be most effective in powdering the crushed seeds. Add the turmeric, ginger, garlic, and chiles to the spice mixture, and crush until a fairly smooth, cohesive paste forms.

Add the curry paste, tomato, and lentils to a large pot.

And here’s where it gets fun. Choose your own adventure:

Liquid: water, vegetable stock, chicken or beef stock.

Something sweet: caramelized onion, carrots, or sour apple + raisins…

Cook for 30 minutes to an hour, depending upon desired texture.

 Add a green to each soup bowl (green peas, spinach, swiss chard) and cover with hot soup, which will quickly but sufficiently steam it.

If desired, top with a dash of acid ( sherry vinegar, yogurt, sour cream…)

(shown here with Satsuma-imo [a firm-fleshed Japanese sweet potato], kale, and a squeeze of lemon juice)

Making this in its most basic form (water for liquid, no olive oil, no animal products), I feared that it would emerge from the pot as just another muddy-tasting lentil mush. Instead, the curry paste sang through, bright and rich, with balanced hints of spice, smoke, heat. I love that the paste provides a dependable frame of hearty flavour, within which season or whim can arrange varying tastes.

turn and face the strain (ch-ch-changes)

 Let’s be honest. I have not been feeling good.

The pain and fatigue have been creeping in again, quietly. The headaches were almost unnoticeable at first, and I was bluntly determined not to notice them. I was travelling,  visiting friends, eating at taco shacks and drinking cortados.

So much pain and weakness has grown now, it’s become inescapably obvious that it’s time for a healing rest. A season without baking, with better intentionality about soaking and sprouting nuts/grains/seeds/beans, having some fermented food and garlic, ginger, turmeric, or chiles at every meal. Early nights and early, gently active mornings. It may not be a universal panacea, but it’s the rhythm to which my body responds.

So, it was time to make kimchi.

1 head cabbage

1 bunch kale

1 bunch scallions

handful carrots

 a few cloves garlic (to taste)

1 medium root ginger

chiles to taste

salt to taste

This was a super-basic kimchi. I’m looking forward to playing with the pungency of flavours in the future, but at this point I need a jar of this hyperpowered gut-gold on hand, pronto.

Chop the greens into bite-size pieces, and grate or thinly slice carrots. Peel and microplane the ginger, and crush with garlic and chiles (I used the first dried chiles from the summer garden, and added only a minimal amount, as I don’t know how spicy they are). Massage the veggies with salt, smushing and crushing them with your fingers. They’ll quickly wilt and shrink down, and begin to submerge themselves in juice. Add the garlic-ginger-chile paste, working thoroughly through the veggies. Pack tightly into mason jars, leaving the lids unscrewed that the gas might escape. Leave to ferment a few days, then seal and store in the fridge.

White Light / White Heat

hey buds,

this is what my house looks like, all blown out by August heat.

The mornings are nice.

Ratio Cake + Lemon Glaze

My favorite recipe to bake when I was younger was Rie’s. It was from a depression era cookbook, and was entitled “Glad Times Butter Cake”. She made it in round pans, and spread a lemon filling between the layers. I thought I’d improved perfection when, as a teenager, I added crushed pineapple to the lemon filling.

This is a new take on that cake.

I love “skeleton recipes” — formulas that can be easily adapted to changing moods, seasons, available ingredients, and inspirations. So I spent a good bit of the last day excitedly explaining Shauna Ahern’s sponge cake ratio (found at http://glutenfreegirl.com/gluten-free-cake-by-ratio/ ) multiple patient members of my family. Crumbs were still on the counter from the chocolate cake, but it was time to bake cake again.

1:1:1:1

Could it be more simple? Equal parts egg, butter, sugar, and flour. As I began to mix things together, I found that her concept of cake batter as an emulsion was vitally helpful. As I beat room-temp cultured butter and sugar together, my mama (painstakingly applying a fresh coat of whitewash to my windows) and I talked about Rie’s “cake shoulder” — the arthritic soreness in her right arm, commonly attributed to her hand-mixing of a layer cake every single morning for years. She was tiny and “from town”, and the other aging german ladies always recall her youth with a breathy wail of “Oh, she was so pretty. So pretty”. They were not kind to her when she moved out here at 18.

The eggs were warm from beneath the hideous, molting belly of a heat-draggled, aggressively broody hen. Well beaten and trickled, ever-so-slowly into the buttercream, a thick, glossy mousse-like creature formed. Even after the addition of the final ingredients, the volume of that batter was immense. This whole air-trapped-in-egg approach to cake batters has been working WELL.

1:1:1:1

8 oz. butter, room temperature

8 oz. sugar four eggs (8 oz.), room temperature

8 oz. flour, room temperature

1 tsp. baking powder

2-3 oz. crushed basil (optional)

pinch of salt (optional if using salted butter)

beat butter and sugar together until light and creamy — do this as long as you have patience and arm-strength, filling the mixture with air. In a separate bowl, beat eggs well and add to the butter mixture in 12-16 parts, just a trickle at a time. Mix till smooth after every addition. Add basil (or whatever addition you have in mind!), mix well. Mix the dry goods and add  one spoonful at a time, mixing well after every addition. If using wheat flour, be careful not to over-mix. Pour into a greased+floured baking pan (mine was 6x11) and bake at 350º for about 45 minutes — until golden, springs back lightly when (gently) touched, and pulls away from the sides of the pan a bit.

zest and juice of two lemons

⅓—⅔ C. sugar, to taste.

Heat lemon zest and juice, and melt in sugar a bit at a time, tasting frequently (It’s a syrup, so it’ll be hot, careful!) until the sweet/tart balance that tingles your tastebuds is reached. Simmer gently to thicken it a bit. It’s a sticky, jammy sort of thickness, not a curdy thickness.

Spread glaze over hot cake.The cake can be pierced through over its surface to allow the glaze to penetrate, if desired. In this case I thought that doing so would overwhelm the other flavors with SOURBRIGHTFLASH and simply let it soak and soften.