A Little Light Wednesday Blogging

I thought I’d take a break from the interminable packing and cleaning to put up this fresh and pretty iced tea variation, which used off the last of the green tea.

Although it’s definitely cooling off at last, it’s still plenty warm, and iced tea is a great place to use the great ripe end-of-summer produce. So far, I’ve done nectarine, peach, plum and raspberry with black and green tea, yerba mate, herbals, and combinations thereof.

Vanilla Plum Iced Tea
Serves 2-4

Vanilla Simple Syrup:
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water
1 vanilla bean, split

Iced Green Tea:
2 green tea bags and 2 yerba mate tea bags, or four of one kind
4 cups barely-boiling water
2 ripe plums

In a small saucepan, combine syrup ingredients.  Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer for 2 more minutes.  Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature.

Remove the tags and strings from the tea bags and place in a large, heatproof pitcher.  Add the hot water and steep for 5 minutes, then remove the bags.  Cool at least to room temperature.

When the tea is cool, peel and core the plums and puree with an immersion blender or in a regular blender until smooth.  Pour the plum puree and 1/3 cup of the syrup into the tea and stir well.

Serve over ice, with additional syrup on the side so each person can sweeten further if desired.

Notes:

The amount of tea can be scaled up at will; this just happens to be the amount that fits our pitcher best and allows for two large glasses each for me and His Lordship.

The first time I made this, I used just green tea, honey instead of simple syrup, and ginger instead of vanilla.  The hint of ginger accented the plum very well, and was really refreshing.  If you’d like to try this variation, add 1/4 cup of honey and half of a thumb-sized knob of ginger, peeled and thinly sliced, to the tea while it’s still hot, to dissolve the honey and let the ginger infuse the tea.

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If Only I Hadn’t Packed the Runcible Spoon…

In starting to clear out the fridge yesterday, I found a jar of Greek quince preserves I picked up at the Middle Eastern market ages ago because I cannot resist anything quince, and didn’t have the heart to just throw it out.  Even if I don’t have time or ingredients to make a traditional pastafrola now, I wanted to try something in its general vicinity so the preserves wouldn’t simply go in the trash.

My initial idea was to process the preserves until smooth and spread them over a simple shortbread base for lemon bars, and possibly to sprinkle some kind of crumble over the top.  Then I shifted my eyes a few feet over and saw the pile of many, many Ziploc bags of nuts, and remembered that I really need to finish those off.  Instead of a plain shortbread base, I devised one incorporating toasted sliced almonds, and sprinkled the rest of the almonds on top for crunch and better eye appeal.  Because the preserves just didn’t have as much quince flavor as other brands I’ve tried (the major reason why this jar was still in the fridge), I perked them up with lemon zest and juice before spreading the filling over the pre-baked almond base.

The finished product, which I decided was more of an Italian-style crostata than a bar cookie, was not as rosy and pretty a color as I would have liked, but it was still pleasantly sticky, fruity and nutty.  It was especially nice served with a scoop of the egregiously expensive but competent Thai coconut milk gelato we picked up on Sunday from our town’s duly appointed Gelateria of Hype.

(Warning, rant ahead)

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The End of An Era

It’s my last week at work, which means this was the last round of Sunday baking for the office.

I’ll miss doing it, and I hope that they’ll miss it (and me!) at least a little bit.  It was nice to have an excuse to bake, and rewarding to be able to give my coworkers something to look forward to on Monday mornings.  I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to bake for my classmates, but time works so differently when you’re a student that it won’t be the same.

That’s why there was a certain wistful quality to this Sunday evening, even if I didn’t go so far as to cry into my cookie dough.  That’s also why it seemed appropriate to be making a comforting prior favorite, the five-spice molasses cookies with bourbon I dug out of the archives while putting up the sesame cookies.

I’ll post the recipe, because I made a couple of alterations to accommodate what I still have in the pantry as well as to work through my notes from the last go.  It was already good, but nothing is ever perfect, and I think these small changes made it that much better. Since I had no more crystallized ginger, I increased the quantity of powdered ginger accordingly, and decreased the bourbon by a teaspoon.  I think both were the right call, since this combination allowed the five-spice to really come through.  I also found a box of bright-white pearl sugar way on a back shelf, and thought it would look even better than coarse raw sugar.  It did give the finished cookies a fabulous dotted-swiss mod appeal, but it also added a great crunch that would make me seek it out for future experimentation with texture.

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The Apotheosis of the Forgotten Banana

Banana Buttermilk Cake with Dulce De Leche Cream Cheese Frosting

One of my favorite workday lunches is ice-cold fruit salad, obtained from a sidewalk food truck near my soon-to-be-ex office.  It’s quick, healthy, delicious, and during the summer, an embarrasingly cheap source of super-ripe, ready-peeled pineapple and mangoes.  There is also a small dividend in going this route: much as you would get a complimentary roll with your soup, the fruit truck gives you a banana on the side.

I usually save the banana for my mid-morning energy slump the next day, but sometimes I’m so tied up or un-hungry that the bananas just sit under my computer monitor, getting progressively browner, until I’m faced with the choice of wastefully throwing them out or taking them home and figuring out what to do with them.

I had two such pathetically neglected bananas this week.  Instead of taking my usual path of least resistance and freezing them for adding body and sweetness to a smoothie, I decided to incorporate them into a cake for Sunday baking. To kill three birds with one stone, I would ice this cake with a caramel frosting using that last straggling block of cream cheese and as much dulce de leche as I could reasonably cram in without losing structural integrity.

I set out with confidence, because as any Argentine kid will tell you, bananas and dulce de leche are a classic comfort-food combination, and the cake recipe I was starting with was Rose Levy Berenbaum’s, so it couldn’t possibly be anything less than great even after a couple of careful modifications.

Great, nothing; it was unbelievable. This is the most microscopically-crumbed, cloud-light, pillow-soft cake you have ever put in your mouth.  It’s the 1000-threadcount goosedown duvet of banana cakes.  His Lordship, who routinely mehs cake, practically skipped down to the kitchen for an unprecedented second serving, calling “More cake!” That’s how good this is.

The merest whiff of a critique is that it could have had just a teeny bit more you-lookin’-at-me? banana flavor to really stand up to the dulce de leche frosting, but I think that’s the fault of my slightly diminutive bananas, which measured a little less than the full cup that was called for.  That’s easily fixed next time (and oh, is there ever going to be a next time) with larger or extra bananas.

So go ahead. Willfully ignore your bananas until they turn not merely brown but thoroughly black and squishy, and then transmute them into this cake.  They will not only not reproach you, they will cry your praises as they ascend in majesty to assume their appointed place in the cakely pantheon.

Banana Buttermilk Cake with Dulce de Leche Cream Cheese Frosting
(Adapted from Rose Levy Berenbaum’s Cordon Rose Banana Cake, The Cake Bible)
Serves 8-10

Cake:
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 large, very ripe bananas (approximately 1 cup, mashed)
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 large eggs
Grated zest of one lemon
2 teaspoons vanilla paste or extract
2 cups sifted cake flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

Frosting:
8 ounces (1 block) cream cheese, softened
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1/4 teaspoon Maldon or other coarse sea salt, crushed fine between your fingers
1/2 cup dulce de leche, plus 2 additional tablespoons for drizzling

Leave all ingredients on the counter for at least 30 minutes to come to room temperature before starting.

Preheat oven to 350 F.  Line an 8 x 8 inch square pan with nonstick foil or parchment paper.

Process the sugar in a food processor until it achieves a superfine consistency, but don’t process so long that it turns to powdered sugar.  Remove from the processor bowl and set aside.

Combine the bananas and buttermilk in the processor and process until smooth.  Add the eggs, zest and vanilla paste, and pulse a couple of times to blend.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the sugar and remaining dry ingredients and mix on low briefly to blend and aerate.  Add the butter and half the banana mixture, stirring on low until the dry ingredients are just moistened, then increase to medium speed and beat for 90 additional seconds.  Scrape down the sides and add the remaining banana mixture in two batches, beating for 20 more seconds after each addition.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top.  Bake for 40-50 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes, then carefully lift out of the pan by the overhanging foil or parchment, and transfer to a rack to cool completely.

While the cake is cooling, prepare the frosting by beating the cream cheese and butter on medium-high speed until fluffy. Scrape down the bowl and beat in the powdered sugar and salt, then scrape down again and beat in the 1/2 cup of dulce de leche.  Cover and chill until the cake is ready to be frosted.

Spread the top and sides of the cooled cake thickly with the frosting. Slightly warm the additional dulce de leche in the microwave until pourable but not hot (around 10-15 seconds), and drizzle over the frosted cake to form a decorative pattern.

Don’t refrigerate it unless you really have to, since the cold will cause it to loose a little of its ethereal lightness.

Notes:

Rose called for baking this in a 9-inch round or springform cake pan, but the only pans I still have available are the reusable but ultimately disposable Glad ones I bought as extras for the holiday baking, in 8×8 and 9×12 sizes.  This required a longer bake time, and obviously resulted in a smaller but higher and more domed cake.  I assume you’re not operating under my circumstantial handicap, so bake this in a 9-inch pan for 30-40 minutes if you can.

The original recipe used sour cream, which I replaced with buttermilk left over from the fresh blackberry pancakes that were my incentive for getting up at 8 on a Sunday to do more packing.  I think the thinner texture of the buttermilk added even more lightness to the cake, but if you don’t have any, use the equivalent amount of sour cream or plain (but not nonfat, please) yogurt.

I don’t want the fact that not everyone has a kilo can of dulce de leche to use up to stop you from making this cake.  Top it with whatever you like, from the sour cream ganache that Rose suggested to a simple dollop of whipped cream, but for the love of all that is delicious, make this cake. You will never lament an overripe banana again.

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Alton, We Need to Talk.

Sigh.

Didn’t I just equate your lava muffin recipe with divinity?  Haven’t I been your biggest fan since your very first episode, in a burning-adoration-from-afar, entirely nonthreatening, restraining-order-free, totally un-Kathy Bates way? Didn’t I even forgive you for the exercise in self-indulgent whimsy that was your functionally useless book, the first cookbook I have ever in my entire life wanted my money back for?

All that and more, Alton.  So why are you doing this to me?

The only thing I wanted was a recipe to use up my remaining cocoa supply.  As if by fate, your cocoa brownies drifted out of the entropy event that is my recipe binder when I was looking for the instructions for my birthday souffle, which only exists in one newspaper clipping.  Hurrah, I cried, This will finish off all my cocoa, and Alton’s always fantastic! Do you want to tell me why I ended up with nothing remotely special after having to spend two hours deciphering an incoherent garble of directions, then getting up close and personal with my oven in fifteen, ten and five minute increments for nearly two more hours?

The ingredient list and instructions on the Food Network site were so unclear that I had to look up the episode on YouTube just to get started.  I then discovered that the posted recipe not only was a mess on its own terms, but actively contradicted what was in the episode and obliterated all the methodological details that were supposedly critical.  I should have heeded the warning signs and cut my losses there, but I had faith in you.  I made two minor changes, adding nuts and a handful of chocolate chips that also needed eliminating, but otherwise I did exactly what you said, and lived to regret it.

Oh, I’m not saying they weren’t tasty.  They just weren’t by any possible metric better than my preferred Cook’s Illustrated recipe, which makes twice as many identically cacaorrific brownies in a third of the time, with half the equipment and none of the headache.

It’s brownies, my darling bespectacled food geek, not croquembouche. There isn’t supposed to be this much sweat equity involved in baking a simple bar cookie, and certainly not for this little payoff.  I suspect you just got a little too clever for your own good, the way you did with that unsalvageable pie crust recipe. (Apple juice concentrate? Spray bottles?  Not even Shirley Corriher came up with that many hoops to jump through.)  You thought straightforward good eats wasn’t going to be flashy enough, right?  So you threw the entire bag of tricks at a humble little American classic and it collapsed under the weight.

If that’s what it was, I have to say I’m a little disappointed in you.  I can watch Iron Chef for the fun of pyrotechnic excess I have no desire to reproduce, plus the occasional thrill of seeing Bobby Flay receive a well-deserved smackdown.  The only thing you need to do to deserve my undying affection is give me recipes for yummy food that make my life easier because they work.

If, instead of that, it was the geniuses at the Food Network pushing through an episode that wasn’t ready and letting some intern half-ass the transcription for the website, then that’s exactly the exacting attention to detail and dedication to quality control that lost me as a viewer, you tools.

So anyway, thanks for using up all my remaining cocoa, but no thanks for giving me a recipe that was this big a pain in the ass.  I’m going back to the America’s Test Kitchen people for my brownies.  Chris Kimball may not make my heart flutter the way you do, but at least he and his obsessive-compulsive crew have never let me down.

Cut while warm? More like mangle while warm.

Consolidated Cocoa Brownies with Walnuts and Milk Chocolate
(Modified by necessity from Alton Brown’s Cocoa Brownies)
Makes 16 brownies

1 cup walnut pieces
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup lightly packed brown sugar
1 1/4 cups natural (not Dutch) cocoa powder, sifted
1/2 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla paste
1 cup milk chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350 F.  Spread the walnut pieces on a baking sheet and toast until fragrant but not dark, 7-9 minutes.  Transfer to a shallow bowl to cool, and lower the oven to 300 F.

Line an 8 x 8-inch pan with nonstick foil or parchment, leaving overhang for lifting the finished brownies out easily.

Place the butter in a large glass measuring cup and melt in the microwave at half power, approximately 2 minutes.

Sift the sugars, cocoa, flour and salt into a medium bowl.

In a stand mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, beat the eggs at medium speed until light and pale, and just barely foamy. With the mixer at low speed, slowly sift in the dry ingredients, beating until incorporated, then do the same with the vanilla paste.  Still running the mixer at low, pour in the butter in a very slow, thin stream to maintain the emulsion, the way you would add oil while making mayonnaise.  Run the mixer for 30 additional seconds after the last of the butter has gone in, then scrape down the sides and gently fold in the chips.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and sprinkle the toasted nuts evenly on the top. Bake for 60-90 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs attached.  Let cool for 15 minutes in the pan, then lift them out by the overhanging foil or parchment and slice while still warm into 16 squares.  Use the foil sling to transfer the sliced brownies onto a rack and allow to cool the rest of the way.

Notes:

I’m writing this up because I really did waste four hours of my Sunday and I’ll at least have done the public service of making the recipe intelligible. I don’t recommend actually using it unless you want to practice your fat-dribbling skills and spend fully twice as long as he claimed it would take, only to get standard-issue squidgy brownies no better than your average good one-bowl version, like this one.

If you still want to try this recipe, proceed at your own risk. In contrast to the banana cake above, which, it bears repeating, you need to make right now.

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Happiness is…

…an heirloom tomato in season.

Green and Red Zebra Tomatoes with Wasabi Egg Salad on Sourdough
Serves 1

2 small perfectly ripe zebra tomatoes, one red and one green
2 hard-boiled eggs
1 tablespoon each wasabi and regular mayonnaise
Maldon salt
4 thin slices sourdough bread

Lightly toast the bread.

Roughly chop the eggs into a bowl, and combine with the mayonnaise.  Salt to taste, then divide evenly between two slices of bread.

Thinly slice the tomatoes and place on remaining two slices of bread, salting lightly.

Close each sandwich.  Pick one up, take a bite, and close your eyes in bliss.

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Barbecue or Bust

Tofu with Ancho-Guajillo Barbecue Sauce and Provencal Slaw

It being summer, I’ve been nursing a barbecue craving.  Although we’re city-bound and can’t actually barbecue anything, I could do the next best thing: tofu glazed with a spicy, sweet, sticky, chile-filled barbecue sauce.  On the side, I felt like a non-creamy slaw of shredded cabbage and red peppers.

This cookbook-packing thing is really starting to cramp my style, but fortunately I had previously posted my favorite sauce on a forum, so it didn’t matter that the book it came from is already in storage.  Amazingly, I had actually run out of the chipotles the recipe called for before the pantry clearance started.  Out of luck, you say?  Ha! What did I tell you parenthetically earlier about clearing out the entire chile section of Penzeys on my deliberately infrequent trips to the nearest boutique?  I have seven other kinds of whole dried chiles in stock, and we won’t even get into the powders, either individual or blends.  I just mixed anchos, guajillos and sun-dried tomatoes instead.

For the slaw, I drew inspiration from a Greek cabbage salad with olives that my mother makes now and then.  Wandering a little further up the Mediterranean, I dressed the cabbage and peppers with a vinaigrette of olive oil, lemon juice, tapenade, and herbes de Provence.

With no planning at all, this one dish expanded into a full-blown old-fashioned Saturday night barbecue dinner.  We had a little bit of leftover mac & cheese from mid-week and had bought corn at the market this morning, so we had the full complement of sides.  To beat the heat and use up our imperial-sized tea collection, I’ve been making daily batches of iced tea, and today’s beverage selection was an entirely appropriate English Breakfast with honey and key lime.  The only thing missing was peach cobbler or fruit salad, but I had leftovers from last night’s midnight snack, so who’s complaining?

In the pantry-clearing tally, I’m thrilled that the slaw used up the remainder of my bottle of Meyer lemon olive oil and left just enough tapenade for one batch of pasta with cherry tomatoes later this week, when I’ll need an instant dinner option.

Barbecue Tofu with Provencal Slaw
Serves 4-8

Slaw:
1 small or 1/2 large green cabbage, thinly sliced
2 red bell peppers, thinly sliced
3/4 cup lemon-infused olive oil or extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup lemon juice
3 tablespoons tapenade or finely diced olives (real ones, not the California canned ones, please)
1 teaspoon herbes de Provence, crushed well in your palm
Salt and pepper to taste

Tofu:
1 12-oz block of firm tofu
Oil for pan-frying
Salt
Barbecue sauce (see below)

Mix the cabbage and peppers in a large bowl until the peppers are evenly distributed.

Combine olive oil, lemon juice, tapenade or olives, herbs, salt and pepper in a smaller bowl and taste, correcting acidity, salt, pepper and herbs as needed.

Toss the cabbage and peppers with half the dressing, adding more if required to coat the vegetables well.  Let marinate for 1 hour before serving.

Drain the tofu from its liquid, and slice crosswise into 8 slices.  Pat each slice thoroughly dry with paper towels.  Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a skillet or frying pan over medium-high heat, and add the tofu slices, salting lightly.  When the tofu is dark golden and crisp on the bottom, flip, salt again, and cook until the other side is equally browned.

Drain the tofu briefly on paper towels, then brush generously on all sides with the barbecue sauce.

Serve 1-2 tofu slices per person, with the slaw on the side.

Notes:

If you do have a barbecue, or a range hood with decent suction (as I do not), the tofu would be all the better for grilling outdoors or on a grill pan first. I wouldn’t brush it with the sauce before grilling, since the high sugar content would cause all manner of ugly sticking and burning.

—-

Ancho-Guajillo Barbecue Sauce
Makes 1 cup

4 sun-dried tomatoes (the actual dry kind, not sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil)
1 guajillo chile, seeded
1 ancho chile, seeded
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup ketchup
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons soy sauce

Using scissors, snip the chiles into strips and place in a heat-safe bowl with the tomatoes.  Cover with boiling water and let sit until rehydrated and soft, 15-30 minutes.

Drain the tomatoes and chiles, reserving the liquid.  With an immersion blender or in a regular blender, blend the tomatoes and chiles with enough soaking liquid to form a thick paste.  Add the remaining ingredients and blend until smooth.

Sauce will keep, well covered, for several weeks in the refrigerator.

Notes:

This amount is much more than you’ll need for one block of tofu, but it keeps really well and is great to have around for basting vegetables, tempeh, seitan, or, if your an omnivore, chicken or pork.  If you don’t think you’ll use it all, the recipe can be cut in half easily.  Conversely, it can be scaled up at will if you’re throwing a block party or familly reunion.

Two relatively mild chiles makes a gently spicy sauce.  If you like your sauce spicier, feel free to add more or hotter chiles, or don’t seed them.  I gave serious consideration to including one or two of the cascabels I also had in my chile bin, and I’ll probably do that next time.

You could use these basic ratios to go in an Asian direction instead, swapping the ketchup for hoisin sauce, the dried Mexican chiles for some Chinese chile paste with garlic (or, if you’re feeling recklessly self-destructive, a couple of rehydrated Tien Tsin peppers or some wasabi), and the olive oil for peanut or sesame.  A little fresh grated ginger would also be nice.

With apologies to whoever the author of the original recipe was, a credit will have to wait until I can dig the cookbook out of storage, which will be at least a year from now.

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Midnight Snack of the Gods

Quetzalcoatl would be pleased. Or at least appeased.

There are nights — long, dark, melancholic nights — when the only thing between you and abject despair is chocolate, and a candy bar just isn’t going to cut it. Maybe the weltschmerz is growing unbearable, or maybe you have people coming for dinner in twenty minutes because you opened your mouth without thinking and you now need a dead-easy killer dessert that won’t send you spinning into hysteria. Or maybe you’re coming out of the movie theater on a Friday at 11, already forgetting the marshmallowy blockbuster you just saw but haunted by regret over not having ordered a slice of triple-decker chocolate cake to go at dinner even though you knew you’d want dessert later and everything would be closed by then.

Well, with a little help from the ever-fab Alton Brown, I’ve totally got you covered.

I’ve been making his practically instantaneous, utterly fantastic chocolate lava muffins ever since he first aired the recipe on Good Eats, and last night, they saved me from said post-cinema regret spiral. We were going to miss the movie if we didn’t hustle, and I was so full from the grain-heavy veggie burger that I convinced myself it wasn’t worth the delay. Sure enough, as soon as we were walking back to the car after the movie, I started lamenting the absence of cake. Forty-five minutes later, I was happily devouring an individual bittersweet chocolate cake spiced a la mexicana with cinnamon, chiles, coffee and vanilla, as sultry as a summer night at Teotihuacan. Embellished with vanilla bean ice cream and a glistening blood-red sauce of fresh red raspberries, it would have sent that silly fudge cake slinking away in shame.

The “muffin” of the original recipe is a misnomer, since these are actually molten-centered fallen souffle cakes of the sort that have been on every mid- to upper-range restaurant’s dessert menu since the dot com days.  The only connection these have to muffins is the fact that they’re made in muffin tins, or in my version, half of a muffin tin.  Alton’s north-of-the-border unspiced original made twice as many cakes, but unless you really are doing this for a dinner party, it’s just way too much. These are so rich and dense that even I can’t eat more than one at a sitting, so any more would complete overkill.

There’s no conceivable chance you won’t try these, since they’re laughably easy on top of being knock-your-socks-off impressive, but in case you need an extra incentive, the leftovers make a most excellent Sunday brunch with infernally strong coffee. I’m pretty sure no hangover could survive that.

Mexican Chocolate Cakes
(Adapted from Alton Brown’s Chocolate Lava Muffins)
Makes 6 individual cakes

4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon espresso powder
1/8 teaspoon Maldon salt or other coarse sea salt
1/8 teaspoon powdered ancho chile
2 large eggs

Additional butter for greasing the muffin tin
2 tablespoons cocoa for coating the muffin tin

1 pint raspberries
Agave nectar, honey or sugar as needed
Vanilla ice cream

Combine the chocolate and butter in a glass measuring cup and microwave on half-power, stirring frequently, until melted and smooth. Stir in the vanilla, and cool briefly.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cinnamon, espresso powder, salt and chile, crushing the salt between your fingers for more even distribution in the batter.

Scrape the chocolate mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whip attachment. Add the flour and mix well. Mix in the eggs one at a time, incorporating the first completely before adding the second. Increase the speed to the highest setting and beat until creamy and lighter in color, 4-5 minutes. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and chill for 15-20 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375 F. Butter generously the cups and top of a 6-cup muffin tin, or half of a regular 12-cup tin. Coat the cups with the cocoa, shaking out the excess.

Using an ice cream scoop, evenly divide the batter between the six coated cups. Bake 10 minutes, or until the cakes look set on the outside but still moist and a tiny bit wobbly under the surface. Be very careful not to bake them to the point of complete firmness, or they’ll be unpleasantly dry.

While the cakes are baking, puree the berries with an immersion blender. Strain the puree through a mesh strainer to remove the seeds, and sweeten as necessary with the agave, honey or sugar.

Serve the still-warm cakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and the raspberry sauce.

Notes:

If you’re not a fan of cinnamon and chiles with chocolate (you poor, sad creature), leave them out, but keep the vanilla and salt.

Since there is so little flour in the recipe, I might try replacing it with the equivalent amount of very finely ground almonds, which are a traditional companion to chocolate in the Mexican tradition.

These can be made up to a day ahead if you don’t care about preserving a molten center — and, frankly, I don’t. The gimmicky molten center thing is so 90s, and not really essential to the success of this recipe.  The real appeal is the speed, ease, velvety texture and deep chocolate flavor.

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The Twice-Baked, Cheesy Wages of Sin

Parmesan-Cheddar Biscotti with Nigella Seeds

“That’s the spirit, George. If nothing else works, then a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will see us through.”

– Blackadder Goes Forth

You could call me persistent.  If you’re feeling charitable, that is; what I really am is stubborn.  The surest way to get me not to do something is to command me to do it.  Conversely, when I choose to do something, I so loathe admitting failure that I will keep banging my head against the wall in question until I succeed or drive myself and everyone else crazy, and quite possibly both.  It’s a family trait.

I mention this to provide context for my insistence on spending the last two nights in a row baking savory cheese biscotti until past midnight.  There are so many other productive things I could have been doing, things more directly pertinent to the fact that we’re moving 3000 miles away in three weeks, but no, it’s I’m going to get this right, dammit.

It started with a recipe for almond and cheese savory biscotti that I had pulled off the package of yerba mate tea bags and stuck on the refrigerator.  I really liked the idea of a cheesy biscotti, and on Monday night I decided to finally translate the recipe into English and try a batch, hopes high, only to have them dashed.  Bzzt! No, I’m sorry. Thank you for playing.

They sucked, actually.  They were way too eggy and stretchy, had no actual cheese flavor to speak of and little of any flavor besides eggs, and the almonds just didn’t work, structurally or tastewise.  I threw out the recipe, relegated this batch to dog treats, which the Monster is ecstatic about, and insisted on trying again.  Since all but a few of my cookbooks have already been packed up, I was going to have to find a new recipe on the interwebs instead.  Much Googling later, I found this recipe, which had all the features I was looking for: extra fat for a shorter, more tender dough; a much higher proportion of cheese, considerably more seasonings, and no distracting nuts.  I made a few more tweaks to better fit the mental picture I had developed and use up more pantry items.

I originally thought about flavoring them with caraway, in a re-creation of the yummy cheddar and caraway cheese straw I had as a breakfast appetizer in Pike Place Market in June, but then I recalled the jar of nigella seeds I’ve had sitting around forever.  They were another no-idea-why-I-bought-it impulse snatch, committed during some past trip to the Penzeys boutique. (It’s a good thing it’s way out in the burbs, because I can’t make it out of there without spending less than $50 and giving the poshly-groomed sales ladies a coronary by cross-sampling their entire chile section.)  If you don’t do much Indian cooking, you’re probably familiar with nigella seeds only from their use in Russian rye bread.  They have a very similar flavor profile to caraway seeds — pungent, resinous, faintly oniony — and I thought they would go well with cheese for the same reasons caraway does.

The cheese ended up being half extra-sharp Canadian white cheddar and half Parmeggiano Reggiano, because those were the dry cheeses I had in my cheese drawer.  Where the original recipe uses wine, I had wanted to use up the dregs of a bottle of sherry, but it ended up not being enough, so I supplemented with brandy as the closest match.

I could tell immediately that this was more like it, since the dough was easy to shape into two loaves for the initial baking.  While baking, it filled the kitchen with the cheesy-winey smell of fondue, and that can never be a bad thing.  The loaves came out a perfect golden brown, and when I cut into them, they had a nice tight but holey structure, threaded with strands of cheese and an even distribution of wedge-shaped black nigella specks.  The still-warm end bits I tested before the refrigeration step had a good strong seedy flavor and a soft, rich texture.

Proto-Biscotti

The twice-baked slices were exactly what I was hoping for the first time: crisp and light, cheesy but not oily, with a nice contrasting bite from the nigella seeds.  Now I’m really curious about what a gruyere and blue cheese with brandy variation would be like, or a dry aged gouda and Belgian beer.  I’m also tempted to swap some of the oil and cheese for the tapenade I have in the fridge, coupled with herbes de provence.

In addition to achieving vindication, I used half the jar of nigella seeds, all of our sherry, more of the olive oil, and half our store of cheese, the other half of which went into mac & cheese for dinner tonight.  I also managed to pack up half the kitchen while I was in there anyway for these and the Sunday baking.

See?  Sometimes pig-headedness can pay off.

Cheddar-Parmesan Biscotti with Nigella Seeds
(Adapted from Savory Cheese Biscotti at Su Good Sweets, originally adapted from A Passion for Baking by Marcie Goldman)
Makes approximately 6 dozen thin biscotti

1/2 cup olive oil (extra-virgin not necessary)
3 large eggs
1 tablespoon sugar
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3/4 teaspoon garlic powder
4 teaspoons nigella seeds (aka kalonji or charnushka) or caraway seeds
1/4 cup each sherry or brandy, or 1/2 cup of either one
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional flour as needed
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup grated extra-sharp cheddar
1 cup grated Parmeggiano Reggiano

Preheat oven to 350 F, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a stand mixer, blend oil, eggs, sugar, salt, pepper, garlic powder and nigella seeds.  Add the sherry and/or brandy and mix well.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and baking soda.  Add the cheese and toss together lightly with your fingers until the cheese is evenly distributed and coated with the flour.

Add the flour and cheese mixture to the liquid ingredients and mix on low speed until well combined.  If necessary, add just enough additional flour to get a dough that holds together but still looks moist and soft; do not add so much that it turns dry and crumbly.

Divide dough in half and shape into two parallel logs, around 12 inches long by 3 inches across, with an even, flat top.  Bake 40-45 minutes, until the loaves are golden on the top and bottom and slightly cracked.

Cool the loaves to room temperature, then wrap each well in foil and refrigerate for one hour.

Return oven to 300 F.  Remove one loaf from the refrigerator and slice on the diagonal into thin slices, not more than 1/4 inch thick.  Set the slices flat on a parchment-lined sheet and bake until crisp, approximately 30 minutes, flipping halfway through baking.  Repeat with the second log.

Cool completely on the sheets, then store in airtight containers to preserve crispness.

Notes:

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: do not be tempted to make biscotti as thick as the ones you get with your latte. It’s much better to risk making them too thin than to err on the side of wider, resulting in biscotti that take forever to dry all the way through and, once dry, are so hard as to risk jaw disclocation.

I might increase the salt to 1 1/2 teaspoons next time.  If I had used only parmesan, it would not have been necessary, but a half-cheddar mix could use just that bit more salt to set off the cheese flavor.

I’m really not sure the refrigeration step is necessary.  The original recipe insisted that it would make sure the biscotti stayed intact while slicing, but the two thin edge slices I took off as a test while they were still warm came off just fine, and a delicate enough hand while transfering to the baking sheet should really take care of the rest.  I might try it without that step next time to see if it changes the texture at all or if the room-temperature slices are just too delicate to handle.

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One World, One Dream, One Cookie

Chinese Sesame Cookies

I didn’t set out to make a cookie appropriate for the Olympics; I just wanted to get rid of an entire unopened jar of Chinese toasted sesame paste. Serendipitously, though, these actually would be a suitable addition to a Beijing Games-watching party. Full of toasty sesame flavor and not overly sweet, a couple of these soft gems and some fruit would fit nicely into an Asian-themed dinner.

I can’t even remember why we bought the sesame paste in the first place. We can’t have had a specific recipe in mind, or I would have opened it before now. I think it was just one of those impulse purchases at the Asian grocery, an “Ooo, that looks neat. Let’s get some” snatch off a store shelf, followed by an interminable limbo on the cupboard shelf. I should have used it ages ago for cold sesame noodles, a traditional application for sesame paste, but I’m so used to making noodles with peanut sauce instead that it didn’t come to mind until I was looking for my next elimination candidate.

In the middle of the “D’oh!” headslapping over noodle applications, it occurred to me that the reverse could also apply: where normally I would use peanut butter, this dark, rich sesame emulsion should work equally well. Having successfully used alternate nut butters in basic peanut butter cookies before (cashew-macadamia is particularly elegant), I pulled out my go-to recipe for extra-peanutty cookies from the Cook’s Illustrated crew, and threw in the half-tub of sesame seeds that has lived on my island for the last three months.

An east-west fusion of a Chinese specialty ingredient and a quintessentially American treat, these have a delicate crunch from the seeds and a deep, almost smoky sesame flavor. The only demerit is their less-than-beauteous color. They’re a dull terra-cotta, nowhere near as interesting in hue as a Qin Dynasty clay warrior, but I’m confident that they’re much tastier and less likely to break either your teeth or international artifact appropriation laws. If you can get the presentation past the artistic merit judge, I think these are at least bronze-medal worthy.

If your closing ceremony party needs another entry, I just remembered that I had taken a previous jaunt into Chinese-inspired cookiedom with these Five-Spice Molasses Cookies, which are silver-medal worthy, Russian judge or no Russian judge.

Chinese Sesame Cookies
Makes approx. 7 dozen

1 1/3 cups sesame seeds
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup (7 oz) packed brown sugar
1 cup (7 oz) granulated sugar
1 8-oz jar (1 cup) Chinese toasted sesame paste
2 1/2 cups (12 1/2 oz) all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla paste

Preheat oven to 350 F, and line several baking sheets with parchment paper.

Spread the sesame seeds on a small sheet pan and toast in the oven, stirring periodically, until golden. Set aside to cool while preparing the cookie dough.

In a stand mixer, beat together the butter and sugars until fluffy and light. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the sesame paste, beating until fully incorporated. Scrape down again and beat in the eggs, one at a time, then the vanilla.

Whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt, then mix gently into the butter mixture. Add the cooled sesame seeds to the dough and mix at low speed until just incorporated.

Scoop dough by the tablespoon onto the lined cookie sheets, spacing two inches apart. Using a fork, squish each ball down as you would with peanut butter cookies.

Bake until the cookies are puffed in the middle and browned on the edges, 11-12 minutes. Cool the cookies on the sheet until firm enough to lift to a cooling rack, where they should cool completely.

Notes:

If you don’t have ready access to an Asian grocery and your regular market’s “ethnic” aisle doesn’t carry toasted sesame paste, you could turn these back into peanut butter cookies with the same amount of chunky peanut butter and a cup of lightly salted, roasted peanuts, ground into a fine gravel in the food processor. 1 1/2 cups of chocolate chips, should you be so inclined, would hardly go amiss.

If you do have access to an Asian grocery and want to get really exotic, you could try black sesame paste and seeds instead, which will give these an even smokier flavor and a color probably closer to volcanic ash than terra cotta.

Next time, just for an additional crunch and sparkle, I might add a sprinkle of raw sugar on top of the cookies before baking.

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