Fruity Oaty Bars

Tags

almonds, cookies, oats, quince, rhubarb

So yeah, summer happened.

Between my baby brother’s wedding, numerous trips, out-of-town visitors, weeks of ungodly and unrelenting heat, and general life, I blinked and it was September. It was an unusually busy summer, topped only by last year’s, with the graduation and internship and job hunt and cross-country move AGAIN, but even in an average year I seem to be prone to blogging lulls during these months. Not sure why, really. Maybe the sunshine scrambles my brain.

Anyway, to make up for the lapse, here are the best oatmeal bar cookies ever. No, really. Really and truly. I know I’ve made rhubarb and oat cookies before, but as good as those were, these are a mile beyond that, and I have about a dozen testimonials to back that claim up.

The underlying cookie recipe is from my second-favorite bakery in Seattle. There’s no shame in second-favorite status either, because as good as Macrina is, there’s no way it could hope to compete with the bakery of a pastry chef who won the Coupe du Monde de Boulangerie. If you’ve never considered that the words “croissant” and “orgasmic” could belong together, you’ve either never been to Paris or never been to Bakery Nouveau. Seriously, this place is so good that I’m actually a little glad I didn’t visit it until just weeks before we moved away, because there is no way my student budget could have sustained the number of trips I would have wanted to make there, and there would have been much heartbreak.

So my point is that the basic oat bar recipe is, if not Bakery Nouveau good, still really freaking good, because the Macrina people know what they’re doing. The bottom layer is a fantastically buttery and almondy shortbread, and the oat streusel on top is just generous and crumbly enough without being ridiculously chunky or going pasty. The watermelon-pink middle layer is all my doing, a tangy-perfumy blend of rhubarb and quince jam which — I realized when making it — ends up being almost tropical and rather reminiscent of guava.

If you happened to both have the foresight to freeze some rhubarb back when it was flooding the farmers markets and have a source for quince jam, you can make this recipe as-is. If one or both of those is not an option, don’t despair. This cookie can be made with any kind of good-quality jam, and it will still be well worth the effort.

Rhubarb-Quince Oat Bars
(Adapted from Macrina Bakery and Cafe Cookbook)
Makes 24-32 bars

For the almond shortbread:
3 tablespoons ground almonds
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 1/4 cups all purpose flour
3/4 teaspoons almond extract
3/4 teaspoons vanilla extract
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
1/4 cup granulated sugar
4 cups (around 1 pound) rhubarb, in 1/2 inch slices
1 pinch salt
1 1/2 cups quince jam

For the streusel:
1 1/4 cups light brown sugar
1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1 1/4 cups rolled oats
1 pinch salt
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, in 1/4 inch pieces

Toast the ground almonds in a small nonstick pan until just starting to brown and give off a warm nutty aroma. Combine the toasted almonds with the sugar and flour in a large bowl. Stir the two extracts into the melted butter, then pour the mixture over the dry ingredients and mix to create a sandy dough.

Line a quarter sheet pan with foil or parchment paper, leaving enough overhang on all sides to be able to lift the finished bars out of the pan. With your fingertips, gently press the almond dough in an even layer covering the bottom and halfway up the sides of the pan. Chill for half an hour while preparing the filling.

In a medium saucepan, combine the rhubarb, sugar, and salt. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, then lower heat and cook until the rhubarb is soft and falling apart, 10 minutes or so. Remove from the heat and stir in the quince jam.

Preheat the oven to 325. Remove the bottom layer from the fridge, top with a sheet of parchment paper, weigh it down with pie weights or dried beans to prevent puffing, and bake until light gold all over and slightly brown at the edges. Remove the top layer of parchment and the weights, and let cool a bit on a wire rack.

In another bowl, mix together the brown sugar, flour, oats and salt. Using a pastry cutter or your fingers, work in the butter until a crumbly mixture forms. Spread the filling over the almond layer, then sprinkle the oat streusel over the top, completely covering the filling.

Bake the bars on the middle rack for 35 minutes or until the top is a dark golden brown and some of the filling is bubbling around the edges. Cool completely, then use the foil or parchment lining to lift the slab onto a flat surface. Using a large knife or a pizza cutter, slice into thin bars.

Notes:

Since they’re quite rich, I like to make eight vertical slices and four horizontal ones, for a total of 32 bars, but you can be more generous if you like.  If either amount ends up being too much for your needs, leftover bars freeze very well, wrapped tightly in plastic and foil or tucked into a freezer-safe bag.

If you want to make your life a little easier, albeit less interesting, just spread the almond layer with 2-3 cups of your favorite jam, perked up with the juice of half a lemon.

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On not judging books by their covers

Tags

jam, membrillo, quince

If you saw these lumpy, fuzzy, brown-splotched things in the bargain bin of your local market for $1.50 a bag, you’d think their next stop was the compost heap and you’d walk right past, wouldn’t you?

Oh, but you’d be wrong.  Sadly, sadly wrong, since these less-than-beauteous things are quinces, and pretty is utterly irrelevant when it comes to quinces.

What you would have walked past, my friend, is the bargain of the year, because fresh quinces are usually upwards of a buck apiece, assuming you can even find them.  When I saw these, I squealed like a schoolgirl presented with a new pony, took advantage of the produce staff’s ignorance, and snapped up five pounds for the laughable total of three dollars.  I haven’t been able to find them this cheap in years, which is why I haven’t, until now, been able to make preserves to ease my often-unrequited longing for this headily-perfumed rosy fruit.

Why would you want to go to the trouble of making preserves in the dead of winter, when you’re all burned out from the holiday baking push?  For one thing, quinces are so high in natural pectin that you can get a wonderfully thick, versatile jam for barely more work than making applesauce.  Besides being a lovely spread redolent of sultry nights at the Alhambra, it can be added by the spoonful to lend its hint of mystery to your apple, pear or berry desserts for the rest of the year.

Even better, turning the jam into the toothsome paste traditionally served with Manchego is simply a matter of letting it dry out in a flat vessel, and it keeps for ages in the fridge. Make your own, and the next time you want to put together a schmancy cheese plate, you can tell Whole Paycheck to shove the insane prices they charge for imported dulce de membrillo.

Let us, then, take a delicious lesson from the humble quince, and remember that is not the surface that matters, but the true beauty that is found within.

Quince Preserves

Makes 4 cups jam and one quarter-sheet pan of dulce de membrillo

10 quinces (around 5 pounds)
4 cups granulated sugar (approximately; see instructions below)
Half of a large vanilla bean, split
1 lemon

Wash, peel and core the quinces, chopping roughly. Remove the zest of the lemon in long strips with a peeler, and place with the quinces and vanilla bean in a large pot. Pour over enough water to just cover the fruit, and bring to a boil.  Cover the pot, lower the heat to a simmer, and cook until the fruit is tender, around 45 minutes.  Remove the vanilla bean, but don’t worry about the lemon strips.

Drain the quinces and puree in a food processor or with an immersion blender until smooth, or run them through a food mill if you have one. Measure into a large pan, adding 1 cup sugar for every 1 1/4 cups puree.

Heat on low, stirring, until sugar dissolves, then add the juice of the lemon.  Increase the heat just enough to barely sustain a simmer (more of a blorp, really) and cook for 60-90 minutes, stirring frequently, until very thick and salmon-colored.  If you find that you’re getting a lot of splatter, you can lay two chopsticks or wooden spoons across the top of the pot and setting a lid loosely over it, which should help minimize the mess while leaving room for evaporation.

Spoon the finished jam into clean, sterilized jars.  At this point, you can heat-seal the jars for shelf stability, or simply refrigerate them.

To set as dulce de membrillo, pour into a small, shallow, parchment-lined pan and leave in an oven at the lowest setting for 1-2 hours, or as long as it takes to solidify all the way through. Cut into squares, dust with granulated sugar and store in an covered container in the refrigerator.

Notes:

Should you not be so fortunate as to find quite this many cheap quinces, the recipe can be scaled according to however many you do have.

If you’re not in a rush and want to cut back on the stirring, you can cook down the puree in your slow cooker over several hours, or even overnight.  If His Lordship hadn’t already been using the slow cooker for a pork roast, I would have done so, in order to free up the big stock pot for dinner prep.

Don’t throw away the vanilla bean after you’ve fished it out; dry it and bury it in a container of sugar to scent the sugar, or if you’re feeling really ambitious, make your own vanilla extract by covering it in vodka — or better yet, bourbon — in a small glass bottle.

More North and South Stories

Tags

cookies, cranberry, pastafrola, pastry, quince, tart

Cranberry-Quince Pastafrola

Thanks to multiple rounds of entertaining over the Thanksgiving, I only had about a cup of cranberry sauce left this time around. This was just the right quantity to allow me to write a tidy little epilogue to my American story about the melding of my Southern Hemisphere roots, my New England sojourn, and all the years between and since.

As I’ve mentioned before, pastafrola is a typically Argentine afternoon snack and casual dessert, somewhere between a tart and a bar cookie.  It’s composed of a thick layer of quince preserves (membrillo), sandwiched between layers of a slightly eggy pastry used extensively in Italian baking, pasta frolla, whence the name.  If you’d like to see what the real deal looks like, Pip’s and Katy’s are legit.

This, my friends, is not legit, but it’s closer than the bastard cousin deconstructed version I made during my pre-move pantry clearing efforts.  I’d like to think that if my grandmother ever had transplanted to Boston, she would have come up with a cranberry version like this. I rather suspect my mom would approve, too, since she disfavors highly sugary desserts.

I’m not perfectly content with the pastry here, since it was a little bit more biscuity and puffy than it really needed to be, but I do love how the tartness of the cranberries tones down the sweetness of the quince and pear and richness of the pastry, to say nothing of adding a seasonally-appropriate red sparkle.  I’ll definitely be engaging in further experimentation with the Christmas batch of cranberry sauce.

You Can Go Your Own Way

Tags

cranberry, ginger, orange, pear, quince, sauce, vanilla

People tend to get touchy about any foods deeply tied to holiday tradition, and the humble cranberry sauce is no exception.  What seems like a simple matter of fruit and sugar has the potential to set off firestorms of difference of opinion.

My mother, for example, is a purist.  She insists on the absolute bare basics: berries, sugar, orange juice.  That’s it; no spices, no weird additions, and do not even think about chutney-izing it.  His Lordship is a fan of the congealed kind that plops out of a can in one tubular, sliceable mass — much to my initial horror, although I’ve since come to accept that we all have our food quirks and you can’t fight them.  You, for all I know, might be of the cabernet and cloves persuasion, or one of those people who blitzes raw berries and whole oranges in the food processor to create a salsa, and that’s okay too.

Me, I’m of a kitchen-sink bent.  I have been known to do all manner of messing with my Thanksgiving condimentation.  For a few years, I was determined to figure out exactly how much of my spice cabinet I could cram into there. (In case you’re curious, allspice and cranberries get along quite nicely together).  Since then, the mania has dampened and I’ve settled on a variant that is neither Mom-simple nor out-of-control wacky, one that is bright and interesting and seasonal and undoubtedly mine.

More than that, it’s me.  In this one ruby concoction is a snapshot of who I am.  Each component offers a fragment of my story and a hint about my experiences and my tastes:  cranberries for the bog obsession I developed in my New England years and quinces for my childhood, orange for my citrus addiction, ginger for all the Asian influences in my California upbringing and adult life, and vanilla bean for my food snobbery.  It all works together and, unlike my earlier spicy pyrotechnics, won’t clash with your turkey.  It’s also versatile enough to spoon over ice cream or use in my favorite post-Thanksgiving leftover application: grilled cheese sandwiches with cranberry sauce.

You’re welcome to try my story, or stick with your own.  Either way, I wish you a rich and vibrant start to your holiday season.

(Unless you’re Canadian, in which case keep up the good work!)

Cranberry Sauce with Quince, Pear and Vanilla
Makes 4 cups

One 12-ounce bag cranberries
2 fresh quinces, peeled, cored and diced OR 1/2 cup quince jam
2 ripe pears, peeled, cored and diced
1 cup granulated sugar
Grated zest of one orange
Juice of one orange, plus enough water to make 1 cup
1 pinkie-sized knob of ginger, grated (approximately 2 teaspoons)
1/2 vanilla bean, split
Pinch of salt

Pick over the cranberries and remove any squishy ones.

If using quince jam, set aside for later addition.  Combine all (remaining) ingredients in a saucepan.

Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer until the cranberries have popped and the quinces and pears are tender.  Remove from heat and let cool. If using quince jam, stir into the sauce as soon as it comes off the heat.

Cover and refrigerate or freeze until needed.

Notes:

Dumping the cranberries into a large bowl of cold water will help you sort them, since the really squishy ones will sink to the bottom while the good or mostly-good ones will float on the surface.  I then scoop small handfuls of the floating berries and run them between my fingers to catch the partially-squishy ones.

If you can find fresh quinces, they are absolutely worth buying, but some waste is inevitable because of the toughness of the peel and core.  If necessary, use a paring knife instead of a peeler, and slice as close as you can to the core without cutting into it to get as much of the fruit as possible.

If you can’t find fresh quinces, quince jam or paste can frequently be found at Latin American, Indian, Pakistani, Greek and Middle Eastern groceries.

Since this makes a large amount of sauce and we’re a small household even with holiday guests, I usually freeze half the batch for Christmas.  It will keep perfectly well for even longer than that month in the freezer, and that’s one less thing to do when you’re up to your eyeballs in holiday cookie baking and gift wrapping.

If Only I Hadn’t Packed the Runcible Spoon…

Tags

almonds, quince

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)

Sunday Night Sweets Blogging: Honey Gingerbread with Apple-Quince Compote

Tags

apple, cake, ginger, honey, mascarpone, quince, spice

I am woefully behind on the blogging, and I’m afraid I still don’t have the time or energy right now to do this anywhere near as well as I’d like to, but something is better than nothing, right? Anyway, in a (probably futile) attempt to catch up, here is the Sunday project from two weeks ago: Honey Gingerbread, served with a compote of apples and quinces and topped with a generous dollop of sweetened mascarpone. While I love ordinary gingerbread, using honey instead of molasses gentles the cake, letting the spices warm and soothe you instead of being overwhelming, and serving it with the sweet fruit and the creamy cheese turns a humble snack cake into an unpretentious but still elegant dessert that could unapologetically round out a fancy meal.

Since the accompaniments are so simple (just add quinces to your favorite applesauce recipe, and stir a spoonful or two of sugar into a container of mascarpone), I will only give the recipe for the gingerbread. I will, however, encourage you to consider serving it with the garnishes, since the combination of textures and flavors is fabulous. If you don’t have access to quinces, you could use a combination of tart and sweet apples instead, but quinces add such a wonderful, exotic floral note to any fruit dessert that they are absolutely worth paying the extortionate prices whenever you can find them.

Honey Gingerbread
Serves 8-12

1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 1/2 cups honey
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons milk
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon baking soda, dissolved in 2 tablespoons warm water
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon powdered ginger
Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 325 F. Grease a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking pan and line with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, spices and salt.

In a saucepan over medium-low heat, melt together the butter, sugar, and honey. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly, then mix in the milk, eggs and dissolved baking soda.

Pour the liquid ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix well. Pour into the pan and bake until firm but springy when touched, 45-60 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool completely in the pan before cutting into squares.

Notes: This gingerbread, like any gingery, cinnamony cake or cookie, will only improve if you give it a bit of time to sit. While it’s wonderful fresh from the oven, it will be even spicier and more flavorful for breakfast the next day.