Equal Parts Nostalgia and Obsession

In case anyone was curious about the delay since the last post, it wasn’t due to a crazy gazpacho-fueled lost-weekend bender. The unfortunately long gap is thanks to issues with the digital camera, which have now been resolved, so I should be back on track. That said, I’m taking next week off for an out-of-town event, and Sunday baking will be on hold until the following weekend.

But I’m here now, so let’s explain this violently red-and-white concoction, shall we?

I’ve mentioned before that I cannot pass up sour cherries when they show up for approximately three nanoseconds this time of year, no matter how insane the price. You don’t even want to know how loudly I squealed “Cherries!” when I saw one solitary quart at the mid-week farmers market, nor how much I paid for said quart, nor the elaborate protective structure I rigged up to get it home on the commuter train without squishing a single priceless cherry. Suffice it to say I put it in enough effort to give me every incentive to come up with a really special application for them.

I originally thought about making a pie, but since it’s also a bazillion degrees of late (see previous gazpacho post), I really didn’t want to use the oven if I didn’t have to. Then I opened the fridge and saw I had an open half-gallon of milk to use up and a good amount of basmati rice left over from dinner earlier in the week, and remembered that I’ve been meaning for a while to do a simple rice pudding in tribute to my grandmother. From there it was a short mental leap to the idea of layering the pudding in glasses with a sour cherry compote.

I’m fairly sure I’ve noted that Grandma was not a baker and she only had a handful of recipes in her repertoire. That’s not to say she didn’t have a sweet tooth. She loved desserts, and was the biggest ice cream fiend you’ve ever seen. Coming from a city with a bakery on practically every corner, though, she was used to buying desserts instead of making them, so the only ones I ever remember her making during her annual visits were fruit salads in the summer, and rice pudding in the winter. She never got sick of either, nor did I.

Grandma did not use leftover rice for her pudding, but that was probably only because she didn’t make a big batch of rice at least once a week the way we do. Anyway, what made her rice pudding hers wasn’t the rice, but the generous splash of heavy cream that got stirred in after the rice and milk and sugar had reduced down. Grandma was a huge fan of butterfat way before it got trendy, and saw absolutely nothing wrong with gilding the lily. The half-cup I use here is in fact a dialing-down of her approach, which would have been to pour in the whole pint container’s worth. You can leave out the cream in the recipe below if you like, and you’d still have a perfectly servicable pudding, but it wouldn’t be Grandma’s.

Grandma never served her rice pudding with a fruit compote that I can recall, but she did love cherries, especially cherries mixed with booze, so I think she’d approve of this addition too. If she’d made this, she probably would have given us grandkids the job of pitting the cherries. I’m not going to sugar-coat the fact that it’s a pain in the ass to pit all these cherries, and splatter is inevitable so your counter and whatever top you’re wearing are going to end up looking like a crime scene. I think it’s worth it, though, especially if you can pull up a favorite relative and have a nice chat while you’re making the mess.

Even without the cherries, this rice pudding is a fantastic blank canvas for experimenting with flavors. You can use coconut milk and tangerine peel for a more Asian twist or a cinnamon stick and a bit of brown sugar for a more Mexican feel. You can serve it with anything from ripe mangoes to stewed apples, and you can even sprinkle with sugar and pull out the torch for a crispy bruleed-sugar top.

One of my favorite things to do is flavor with orange zest and stir in some softly-whipped meringue after it cools to room temperature, which sounds bizarre but gives you a cloud-light, glamorous dessert that’s about ten steps above ordinary pudding.  The only thing I personally don’t hold with at all is raisins, but if that’s your thing, you do what you have to do.

Rice Pudding with Sour Cherry Compote
(Compote adapted from Sally Schneider’s A New Way to Cook)
Serves 4-6

For the rice pudding:
4 cups cooked rice
6 cups milk
2/3 cup granulated sugar
Half a vanilla bean, split
1/2 cup heavy cream

For the sour cherry compote:
1 quart sour cherries, pitted
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup amaretto

In a large saucepan, combine the rice, milk, sugar and vanilla bean and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer uncovered until the milk has reduced and thickened and the rice has softened to your liking, approximately half an hour. Remove from the heat, pull out the vanilla bean, and stir in the cream. Let cool while preparing the compote.

Place the cherries, sugar and amaretto in a medium pan. Cook over medium heat until the cherries have softened and released their juice, 5 minutes or so. Continue cooking until the liquid is syrupy, 5-10 more minutes. Cool to room temperature.

To serve, layer the rice pudding and cherry compote in alternating layers in small glasses. If desired, whip additional cream and offer it on the side.

Notes:

How tender the rice pudding is will depend on which rice you use. Basmati rice is never going to get completely soft, while a medium-grain rice will break down much more and go really creamy. You can also use cracked rice for an even softer texture. My favorite rice for pudding is probably jasmine, which splits the difference and also adds a little bit of fragrance, but use whatever you have and like.

Temperature also makes a difference. If you serve the pudding straight from the fridge, the starches in the rice will have seized up from the cold and made the grains harder, so I think it’s best to reheat to at least room temperature before serving.

If you don’t want to use amaretto in the cherries, you can just use the same amount of water instead. Cherries do really like almonds, though, and I think that tiny hint of nuttiness really adds something to the end product. Either way, don’t discard any of the liquid left over after you’ve scooped the cherries onto the pudding.  This screaming red, intensely cherry syrup makes a fabulous soda when mixed with a fizzy water, and you can also use it to cherry-ize your cola.

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Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

All Items Must Go!

As I noted in the updated “About Me” section, I am leaving the job that interferes so inexcusably with my blogging time — and, let’s be fair, also provides the captive audience for my weekly baking experiments — in favor of an accelerated masters program to set up my next career move.  Since said program is on the other coast, His Lordship, the puppy and I are hauling ourselves all the way across the country, again, for the next year.

(I should probably mention that my shifting career was also the cause of the last cross-country move.  Yes, His Lordship is a saint who amply deserves perfect birthday pies preceded by meatapalooza birthday dinners. But I digress.)

The point is that we need to clear out the pantry in the next six weeks.  I’m going to have to forcibly restrain myself from buying anything except weekly staples and start thinking of creative ways to use up what’s already in stock.  Given my tendency to accumulate and hoard esoteric items, this is probably going to result in some interesting meals and might be fun to watch in a freakshow kind of way.

Shall we get started?  Fabulous.

This first entry might not seem like a pantry-clearing dish, but I’m definitely counting the liquor cabinet as part of the brief, especially since it contains both our purchases and legacies we took on when other friends moved away.  Since neither of us is much for drinking at home, we consequently have enough booze stockpiled to run a fairly creditable speakeasy.

I’ve said before that I’m a mad fan of sour cherries and am giddy as long as they’re in the market, which is about two weeks in an average summer here.  This summer’s harvest having been so delayed, I’m snatching them up with even more frenzied desperation than usual.  The last quart was made into a cobbler, but it occurred to me as I was digging the luscious fruit from under the disappointingly under-cooked puff pastry top that the filling would have shone much brighter on its own.

Which brings us to this sauce.  The original cobbler recipe included red wine, but as I didn’t feel like starting a new bottle when we were already going to a wine party, I substituted a recently-opened port.  The port gave the cherries a lush, grown-up character, while the sourness of the cherries ensured that the thickened port didn’t veer into insipidity.  The bottle still being mostly full, I made the filling by itself with a second quart of cherries Saturday evening, to serve over the cheesecake His Lordship picked up.

Essentially it’s Cherries Jubilee, but headier and easier.  All the decadent flavor, none of the scary open flames, and it can be made ahead and reheated before serving over ice cream, cheesecake, or pound cake to your appreciative guests.  If there are leftovers the next morning, it makes a self-indulgent breakfast over yogurt.

This is hardly an inexpensive dessert, since sour cherries and good port are going to cost you, but in the sense that it used up a bottle I’d otherwise have had to dispose of when we move, I think it qualifies as frugal!

Sour Cherries in Port

Sour Cherries in Port
Serves at least 8 generously

1-2 quarts sour cherries, pitted
1 1/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
Pinch of salt
1 cup port, plus sufficient extra to make 3 cups of liquid with the cherry juices
1 3-inch cinnamon stick
1/4 teaspoon almond extract

In a large bowl, combine the sugar, cornstarch and salt.  Stir in the cherries and 1 cup of port, cover with plastic wrap, and leave to macerate for 30 minutes.

Drain the cherries into a colander set over a large glass measuring cup, then set cherries aside.  Add additional port to make 3 cups of liquid and pour into a saucepan with the cinnamon stick.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 5 minutes, stirring frequently.  Add cherries to the pan and return to a simmer, cooking 10 more minutes, until sauce has thickened and cherries are softened.

Remove from the heat, take out the cinnamon, and stir in the almond extract.  Cool to slightly warm or room temperature before serving, or refrigerate until needed.

Notes:

I had just one quart of sour cherries, which produces about a two-to-one port sauce to cherries ratio, but if you’re feeling extravagant, two quarts of cherries would be ideal.

The port I used up was an unusual Malbec-based one from Sonoma, but a regular good ruby port should be fine as long as it’s not syrupy-sweet.  You could also revert to the dry red wine of the original recipe.

Outside the evanescent season for fresh sour cherries, you could make this with frozen or jarred sour cherries in juice (not syrup).  I’m afraid that using regular cherries would probably result in a sickly sauce, but you’re certainly welcome to try and let me know.

Serving Suggestion

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Sunday Sweets Blogging: Sour Cherry Crumb Tart

Cranberries, rhubarb, and now sour cherries. Do we sense a theme here? I appear to have a thing for incandescently red, tart fruit, don’t I? I suppose I might as well confess that I love pomegranates and blood oranges, too. I’m sure someone with a psychology background could come up with some sordid reason for my attraction to crimson fruits, but I prefer not to examine the implications too closely and just enjoy the mood-lifting color and the tastebud-stimulating tingle.

Even if you don’t share my potentially problematic compulsion to snatch up anything red and tangy, you really ought to take advantage of the blink-of-an-eye season for sour cherries if you’re lucky enough to live in their growing area. They’re obscenely expensive for the two weeks or so that they appear, and pitting them is a pain in the ass, but their manic color and flavor are so wonderful that it’s well worth the pricetag and the trouble. If you do bite the bullet, the best way to showcase them is in a pie, or, if you’re not feeling up to working with dough, a crisp or cobbler. You want to let the fruit get top billing, with some plain and sweet dough or crumbly mixture to play the supporting role.

I went a little nuts (literally!) with today’s recipe, which combines both an almond-enhanced bottom crust and a crumbly topping, but since they’re a once-a-year treat, I thought they deserved the extra effort. As has become another habit, this recipe is an amalgam of components from several recipes: the basic almond tart dough and the almond crumble from Nick Malgieri’s How to Bake, and the filling from a Gourmet recipe for sour cherry crostata on Epicurious. The end product is humble in appearance but a shooting star in taste and texture, with a tender cookie-like crust and a crumbly and nutty top layer, sandwiching between them a zingy layer of unadorned fruit.

Sour Cherry Crumb Tart
Makes 1 9-inch tart

Almond Tart Dough
1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 egg yolk, at room temperature
1/2 cup finely ground almond meal
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Sour Cherry Filling
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 quart fresh sour cherries, pitted (approx. 4-5 cups)
3/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cold water
3 tablespoons cornstarch

Almond Crumble Topping
1 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 cup slivered almonds
6 tablespoons butter, melted

Equipment: 9-inch fluted tart pan with a removable bottom

Combine the butter and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat on medium for 5 minutes, or until fluffy and pale in color. Beat in the vanilla and egg yolk and beat for another 2 minutes, then beat in the almond meal. Sift the flour over the the mixture and fold in gently with a spatula, until no traces of flour remain. Place in a gallon-sized zip-top bag or sandwich between two layers of plastic wrap and press out into a disk approx. 1/4 inch thick. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Melt the butter in a large nonstick skillet over moderate heat, then add the cherries and sugar, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Lower the heat and continue to simmer until the cherries are tender but not mushy, about 6 minutes. Mix the water and cornstarch into a paste, pull the pan off the heat, and stir the paste into the filling. Return the pan to the heat and simmer two more minutes, stirring frequently. Pour the filling onto a shallow baking dish and allow to cool to room temperature.

Place the oven rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 350F. While the oven is heating, prepare the topping by mixing the dry ingredients in a medium bowl, then stirring in the butter until thoroughly combined. Let sit for five minutes, then break the mixture into medium-sized crumbs with your fingers.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and press into the tart pan, making sure the bottom and sides are even and patching any cracks or holes through which the filling might ooze. If the dough heats and softens too much from working it, return to the refrigerator for several minutes, then fill with the cherries. Sprinkle the topping evenly over the top.

Set the tart on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and bake until the dough and topping are golden and the filling is bubbling, 30-40 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool completely on a rack, a full hour if you can wait that long, and at least half an hour if you can’t.

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And Now for Something Completely Different…

Between the holidays and my birthday last week, I’ve been eating so many sugary treats for the past two months that I finally burned out. Since I’m currently eyeing salads with the same longing I usually reserve for chocolate, I really couldn’t face cookie blogging last night, and decided to go with something more wholesome instead. I decided that what I really wanted was something with whole grains, dried fruit, and breakfast appeal, and settled on jazzing up my favorite bran muffin recipe with dried cherries.

The beauty of this recipe is that it has a wonderfully light and tender texture, unlike the usual leaden, splintery or greasy nature of most bran muffins. The recipe also makes a huge number of muffins that freeze beautifully, so I can have a ready supply of on-the-go healthy breakfasts, which is very handy during my periodic attempts to reform my breakfast-skipping instincts. The original recipe called for figs, but I substituted dates very early on and found that I really preferred their moistness and the way they combine with the honey to give the muffins an earthy sweetness. You can use any dried fruit you like, although I’m a much bigger fan of cherries than of raisins, and I liked the way their sharpness contrasted with the dates. Next time, I might even try cranberries.

These are healthy, but not masochistically healthy. A nice change of pace.

Cherry-Date Bran Muffins
Makes approximately 30

2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 cups wheat bran
1/2 cup pitted, chopped dates
1/2 cup dried cherries
1 cup boiling water
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup honey
2 large eggs
2 cups buttermilk

Preheat oven to 400°F. Line 30 muffin cups with muffin papers.

Whisk flour, baking soda and salt in a small bowl to blend. Combine bran, dates and cherries in another bowl, mix in 1 cup boiling water, and leave to stand while preparing the batter.

Beat the butter in a mixer until creamy. Gradually beat in the sugar, then the honey, then the eggs, one at a time. Beat in the buttermilk and flour in alternating additions, three of each. Fold in the bran mixture.

Divide the batter among the lined muffin cups, filling halfway. Bake muffins 20 minutes, or until firm and springy to the touch or a tester comes out clean. Turn muffins out onto racks and cool.

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