5 second rule

Caramel

Caramel seems innocent enough. But beware, because in my highly subjective experience, people who make caramel from scratch burn themselves like a mother&^%$* over and over and over again.

In 2002, during the first few weeks of culinary school, one woman already stood out from the pack.  I don't know if it's because she was younger, tried harder, or was just more talented than the rest of us (probably all three), but she cooked with a fluidity and ease that make me feel like a drunken elephant.  At some point in your life you stop hating people like this and, instead, learn to respect their skills.  I did, and still do.  She's a brilliant cook.

So we're on the caramel lesson, and all of a sudden there's a sound from the other side of the kitchen.  Turns out she'd burned her finger on the caramel.  And you know what happened when she burned her finger?  She instinctively brought it right up to her mouth to suck on, burned her lip, and burned the inside of her mouth for good measure.  Got a big blister for her troubles, too.

I think over the course of that year each of us in the class did the exact same thing: burned the finger/put it in the mouth/burned the mouth.  It's the stupidest thing in the world to do after you've seen someone else do it, but humans can be incredibly stupid sometimes.  Really, really stupid.  Wonderful, and sweet, and funny, but stupid.  I'm a case in point.

So when I make caramel, like I did when I followed Charmian's amazing salted caramel ice cream recipe, I guard against burns.  I suit up.  I wear long sleeves, I put on real shoes, and I repeat a mantra over and over and over again: don't put your finger in your mouth don't put your finger in your mouth don't put your finger in your mouth don't put your finger in your mouth don't put your finger in your mouth don't...

Then the caramel's done, and I'm safe.  And it looks so, so good.  All deep and brown and sweet smelling, all tempting and inviting.  All I have to do is wait for it to cool.  I wonder if it's ready to taste?  It looks ready.  Maybe I'll just swipe my index finger in really fast and OW *CRAP* (suck) annnnnnnnnnnnd there's the burn.

Capsule

Here's what I'd like to do: box up these cookies in an airtight, space-age time capsule that's completely impenetrable to mold spores and even the most infinitesimal amounts of moisture, and bury them in the backyard.  Then, when my kids are in their late thirties, they'll torture their own future children by bringing them to the house.

Look! This is where we grew up!

Here's the front yard where we'd run through the sprinklers!  And there's the spot where the lemon tree grew!

Then they'd break into the house, or maybe somehow jimmy the door open with a credit card or whatever kind of device one uses to break into houses.  A crowbar?  So they break into the house and sneak up the stairs.

Look! This was our room!  You can still see the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling!

Yeah! And here was our playroom! See on the wall?  There's where Mom and Dad measured us to see how tall we grew!

And then they'd slip back down the stairs and out the back door.  And they'd go to that spot, somehow remembering, without really knowing why, but they'd be drawn to that spot and several shovels would magically appear.  (Shut up.)

So then my boys and their various and sundry children (lots of children!  but not too many children...) would start digging, and they'd dig and dig and dig, and sweat would bead up on their foreheads and they'd get good and covered with dirt and grime, and the sun would shine and the people who owned the house wouldn't be home yet (this part is key) so they'd keep on digging.

And then finally, the littlest kid, the youngest of the pack, would scream, I FOUND SOMETHING!

And they'd all dig, dig, dig, and up would come the space-age time capsule, and they'd brush off the dirt like wee little archeologists, and pry open the seal or the lock or whatever, and they'd open the box.

They'd stare at the cookies. And their eyes would stretch wide, and maybe Andrew's or Alex's, or both, would well up with happy, nostalgic tears.  They'd pass around the cookies, and there would be one for everyone, and they'd all bite into them at the same time.

She was a good mom, my kids would tell their children.

She really loved us.

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Recipe for Thin and Crispy Almond Chocolate Chip Cookies

These cookies are thin, crispy and caramelly, and the recipe makes a whole lot (6 dozen) so feel free to halve it or keep several dozen frozen scoops of dough in the freezer and bake up only what you need.  I used Marcona almonds because I had a huge tin, but feel free to use regular almonds (which are much cheaper).  If using regular ones, please add 3/4 teaspoon salt to the batter.

Makes 72 cookies

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 cup almond meal
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1-1/4 cups brown sugar (light or dark)
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 teaspoons almond extract
1-1/2 cups dark chocolate chips (semisweet are fine, too)
1 cup chopped Marcona almonds, or regular almonds (see headnote for advice on salt)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line several cookie sheets with parchment or Silpats.

Sift the two flours, almond meal, and baking soda into a large bowl.  Press as much of the almond meal through the mesh as you can, then dump any stubborn bits that remain right on top of the sifted ingredients.  Set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.  Slowly add the white sugar and beat another minute; scrape the sides of the bowl.  Then slowly add the brown sugar and beat some more.

With the mixer on low speed, add the eggs, one at a time, raising the speed after each addition to fully incorporate them.  Beat in the two extracts. Scrape the sides. 

Scoop in the sifted dry ingredients in three additions, beating after each addition and scraping the sides of the bowl as necessary.  Finally, stir in the chocolate chips and chopped almonds.

Use a 1-1/2" scoop to portion the dough rounds onto the prepared cookie sheets, leaving plenty of space between each cookie as these tend to spread significantly.  Bake for about 15 minutes (check after 12 minutes to prevent burning), or until the cookies are golden brown, thin, and dark around the edges.  Make sure you get good color on these, even if you have to leave them in an extra two or three minutes.  Cool completely on the baking sheet before transferring them to a wire rack or serving platter.  Repeat with remaining batter.

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Adolescence

The thing was, I'd always burn the bottoms. 

No matter how carefully I'd watch the timer in our lemon-colored kitchen, no matter how determined I was to retrieve them from the oven at exactly the right moment, I'd still burn the brownies every time, or at least eight times out of nine.

And then I'd curse my 14-year-old self.  "Idiot!  You manage to get good grades and blow-dry your curly-twirly bangs impossibly straight, which is a serious feat both of determination and physics, but you can't bake a pan of brownies without charring the undersides?"  I'd blame Betty Crocker, or Duncan Heinz, or our cheap, crapass baking tins, but no matter who I blamed, or how loudly, my brownies still emerged from the oven with a bottom layer of tarry, rock-hard carbon.

So you know what you do.  You scrape away the hard part, aka your failure, or you eat the top layer and chuck the bottom, or you just give up, mutter dramatic obscenities, and shove the brownies down the garbage disposal with the eggshells and your dreams, and a wee little part of you dies along the way.

OK, not dies, exactly, but when you're a teenager and your ego's bruised, it's essentially like dying, so the hyperbole really isn't that far off the mark.

And then years pass.  Decades.  Betty and Duncan give way to actual chocolate, flour, sugar, and eggs, and you invest in baking pans thick enough to insulate your creations, and you learn, finally, to set those pans on the center rack (not the bottom, nimrod). The crowd roars as you pull the pan from the oven and you set it aside for as long as you can possibly stand it, which isn't very long at all.  You make your first cut, just the tiniest little square, and as you lift up the specimen, raising it just an inch or two above eye-level, you confirm what you already know in your heart.

Brown on the bottom, not black.

Your bangs have long since grown out.  You've accepted that your hair will never be straight.  And you finally, finally, know what the hell you're doing in the kitchen.

...

Recipe for Two Bite Mint Brownies

A few months ago, our friend Lara mailed us a batch of Baked brownies cut in neat, two-bite squares.  I liked the way they looked so much, I followed her lead when adapting the recipe to create this minty version.  I used one 3-ounce Scharrfen Berger semisweet dark chocolate bar (DISCLOSURE! free sample! transparency! disclosure! it was free! it was a sample!)  and two 3.5 ounce bars of Lindt Excellence Intense Mint (I paid for those! they weren't free! NON-disclosure! cash from my pocket!), but you can mix it up however you like, or probably even just use all dark or semisweet chocolate and a quick dash of peppermint extract.

1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons (unsweetened) cocoa powder
10 ounces chocolate, a combo of mint and semi/bitter/sweet, or dark (see head note), rough chopped
2 sticks butter, rough chopped
1-1/2 cups sugar
5 eggs (I know), at room temperature
1 tablespoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and butter a 9x13-inch baking pan.

Whisk the flour, salt, and cocoa powder in a medium bowl.  Set aside.

Melt the chocolate and butter chunks in a double boiler over very gently bubbling water, stirring with a heatproof spatula until smooth.  Turn off the heat and vigorously whisk in the sugar.  Remove the bowl or pot from the simmering water and set aside to cool completely.

Whisk three of the eggs into the now-room-temperature chocolate mixture.  Then whisk in the last two eggs and the vanilla.  Gently fold in the flour mixture, scraping the bottom of the bowl so you're sure to incorporate it all.

Pour into the buttered baking pan and bake in the center of the oven for exactly 25  minutes, or until a skewer comes out nearly clean.  Cool completely, then cut into 2-bite squares, exactly 1-/4" x 1-1/4".  (A ruler helps.)  Immediately freezer half of these, or you will eat them all, and then you will cry.  Defrost for a few minutes at room temp.

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Spoon

I would like to spoon noodle kugel. 

I don't mean I want to eat it with a spoon, I mean I want to spoon it.  Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about either.

Why do I want to curl my body along the contours of a traditional Jewish food? 

I offer five reasons:

1) It's soft.  2) It's comforting.  3) It's warm.  4) It's sweet.  5) It's tender.

Perfect spooning material.

Noodle kugel is also ideal for the following groups: 1) Vegetarians. 2) Noodletarians. 3) Children with loose teeth.  4) Saturated fat adherents.  5) Dairy obsessives.

Me?  I'm just wondering what Colin will say when he gets home and sees a lump under the covers.

"It's not what you think," I'll explain.  "It's a kugel."

I'm sure that'll go over well.

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Recipe for Noodle Kugel with "Melted" Apples

For this Rosh Hashanah, I've created a variation of my (step) Grandma Arline's noodle kugel by sandwiching a mess of very thinly sliced green apples among the noodles.  Using a mandoline on the thinnest setting helps the apples "melt" into the kugel.  Plus, the apples are nearly invisible, so people get a nice surprise.

Serves 10 to 12

12 ounces extra-wide egg noodles
4 eggs, separated (you'll use all four whites but only 3 yolks)
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
One 16-ounce container cottage cheese (I use full-fat in this)
1 cup sour cream
1/3 cup sugar
Pinch cream of tartar
1 granny smith apple
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.  Butter a 10x14 inch baking dish.

Cook the noodles in a large pot of boiling water according to package directions.  Drain and rinse under cold water.

In a large mixing bowl, gently whisk the 3 yolks.  Slowly add the cooled melted butter and salt, whisking to combine.  Stir in the egg noodles.

In a medium bowl, stir together the cottage cheese, sour cream, and sugar.  Scrape into the noodle mixture and combine well.

Using an electric mixer, whisk the egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar until stiff.  Fold gently into the noodles.

Peel and core the apple and slice it as thinly as possible, preferably on a mandoline.  Stack the slices and cut them in half to make them easier to eat.

Scrape half the noodle mixture into the prepared dish.  Lay the apples on top, in two or three layers.  Cover with the remaining noodle mixture and smooth.  Sprinkle with cinnamon.  Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes.  Remove foil and bake 15 minutes longer.

For ease of serving, let cool before slicing.  I actually make mine a day ahead and refrigerate overnight before slicing.  (Cover tightly with foil and reheat in a moderate oven.)  Serve warm or at room temperature.

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Lavender

 
I can't in all honesty tell you what possessed me to stop at the table with the lavendery potatoes.  I mean, I'm happy to eat squash blossoms and sip chamomile tea.  I've even been known to strew edible flowers on salads.  But that's pretty much where I draw the line.  I'm not all, "Let's put daisies in the pudding and tulips in the brie!"  Thanks, but no.

So I was suspicious of the potatoes at a recent food event, at least at first.  The woman explained that she'd roasted them with lavender salt, and honestly, it took just a bite to admit that the flavors really worked.  So I bought the salt for a friend, and then, because I was jealous of my own magnanimousness, I bought some plain culinary lavender for myself.

Did I mention there'd been wine?

So I get home that night and think -- like any self respecting girl after a fun party -- oh mercy, what in heaven's name have I done?

Thank god for Twitter.  I put out a panicky "I have culinary lavender and now what????" missive and within moments food writer Amy Sherman of Cooking With Amy pinged back, "Very nice in shortbread or sugar cookies."

Alrighty then.

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Recipe for Lavender and Mint Ice Cream Sandwiches

Did you know that lavender and mint are sisters? Turns out they're from the same family, and they pair beautifully in this simple, pretty dessert.  I went easy on the lavender; you may up the quantity if you've got more bravado than I.  Thanks to Amy Sherman and Emily Luchetti's Classic Stars Desserts for inspiring the shortbread cookies.

Makes 3 dozen cookies, or 18 smallish ice cream sandwiches

8 ounces cold unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon-sized slices

1/2 cup sugar

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup white whole wheat flour

Pinch salt

3/4 teaspoon culinary lavender, plus additional for garnish

Mint ice cream (I used Haagen Dazs Five)

Cream butter and sugar on low speed in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.  Beat 15 seconds.  Add the two flours, the salt, and the lavender and continue to beat on low for 3 to 5 minutes, or until the dough comes together.

Line two baking sheets with parchment or silpats.  Flour a board and a pin and roll out the dough to 1/4-inch thickness.  If the dough is sufficiently firm, use a 1-3/4-inch round cutter to stamp out circles and transfer to the lined sheets.  Refrigerate at least one hour.

(If the dough is too warm after you roll it out, halve it and carefully transfer the halves to separate lined baking sheets.  Refrigerate until firm, about 1 hour, then stamp out rounds as directed. Refrigerate rounds once more if necessary.)

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.  Bake the shortbread rounds about 35 minutes, reversing the baking sheets halfway through to ensure even cooking.  Let cookies cool to room temperature on the sheets.

Once completely cool, place a small scoop of mint ice cream between 2 cookies and press gently.  Wrap sandwiches with plastic and keep frozen until ready to serve.  Sprinkle sides lightly with additional lavender, if desired.

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Sometimes

Here's what I remember about 3rd grade:

• getting glasses, and realizing that some kids I'd known for years had freckles

• racing through my weekly Basic Math worksheet, wanting, desperately, to finish first

• our class play - Tales from the Shtetl - and yes, I'm serious, and yes, I went to public school

• my one line in the play:  "Men marry like that!" [snapping fingers on "that"]

• the next three lines after mine: "to a girl nice and fat/ but no man will wed/ someone who's under-feddddddddd"

Why couldn't we do Annie like a normal school?

Now I have a third grader.  And a fifth grader.  These kids are getting big, too.  They're GROWing.  They need more food in their lunchboxes, longer jeans to cover stretchy limbs, new cleats to protect increasingly athletic feet. 

And they need cake, I've decided, after school.  At least sometimes.  Because really, I don't care if you're in third grade or fifth grade or 87th grade, if you've got to start school in August, in the languid days of summer, and go from soccer to piano to Hebrew, and from schoolwork to homework to chores, and if your mom makes you fold your own laundry, empty the dishwasher, and set the table, all for a measly $2 in weekly allowance, you really do deserve an occasional hunk of cake, with a bit of a crumbly top.

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Recipe for Blueberry Buttermilk Crumb Cake

Here's a tender snack cake you can serve after school, after dinner, or after everyone leaves the house and you're sitting at your computer alone writing about cake.

For batter:

1 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon each almond, vanilla, and lemon extracts
1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons whole wheat pastry flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup fresh blueberries
1 stick unsalted butter
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs

For topping:

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons cold butter, cut in chunks

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Coat a 9" square cake pan generously with nonstick spray and line with a square of parchment.

In a glass measuring cup, stir together the buttermilk and three extracts and set aside.

Over a medium mixing bowl, sift the two flours, baking powder and salt.  Place the blueberries in a separate (smaller) bowl and gently stir in 2 teaspoons of the sifted mixture.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter on medium high speed for 2 to 3 minutes.  Add the sugar in a slow, steady stream and beat 2 minutes longer.  Scrape down the sides.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition and scraping the sides of the bowl as necessary.  Turn the speed to low, and add half the sifted ingredients and all of the buttermilk mixture, mixing between each addition.  Beat in the remaining sifted ingredients.  Remove the bowl from the mixer and fold in the flour-speckled blueberries.  Scrape the batter into the prepared pan.

To make the topping: Whisk the flour, two sugars, and salt in large bowl.  Cut in the butter using a pastry blender until reduced to the size of large peas.  Squeeze handfuls of the dough together so it clumps slightly, then drop over cake batter.  Some of the topping will still be powdery -- that's okay.  Distribute it all over the cake.

Bake in the center of the oven for about 45 minutes, or until golden brown and a skewer comes out clean.  Cool completely on a wire rack, then cut in generous squares and serve.

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Spectator?

I can't get Michael Pollan's New York Times Magazine article from last weekend out of my head.  You know, the one where he talks about how cooking has become a mere spectator sport, how we're all content to watch Top Chef and Iron Chef and Hell's Kitchen and Blah and Blah and Blah and sit on our plump, dimpled arses, breaking only long enough to pour a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew directly into our mouths without even bothering to heat it up.  I'm paraphrasing, of course.

And I'm thinking that Mr. Pollan, whom I respect deeply, deeply, needs to read more food blogs.  Because here in this little corner of the universe where I, and many of you, happen to reside, we're cooking.  We're COOKING.  And we're not just cooking things we've always known how to cook.  No, Michael Pollan.  We're cooking new things, too.  We're clicking around, and seeing what Sandy from Minneapolis had for dinner and thinking, man, that looks pretty tasty, and maybe we're bookmarking her site or tweeting about it or sharing her recipe on Facebook. Maybe we're even blogging about Sandy's food so that our readers can benefit from Sandy's genius with creminis, or rack of lamb, or passion fruit.  And we're tweaking those recipes, Michael Pollan, we're tweaking them to infuse them with our personalities, marking them with our own stamp, our creative spin, and we're inspiring each other, and our families, and our friends, and maybe even a cousin or two.

All I'm saying is, I know that a good part of the country still orders Domino's every night, or swings by the drive-through at KFC.  I understand this.  And I know it's complicated, because people have lost their jobs, or are working two jobs, or three, and are struggling to make ends meet, with less time for leisure than ever before.  I do get it.  And I don't doubt Pollan's overall thesis, that some people do watch food television without ever picking up a skillet.

But there are also people who have discovered immense pleasure in rolling out a pie crust or simmering a sauce or canning fresh peaches or pickling eensy cucumbers who never in a million years would have predicted, even 10 years ago, that they'd fall madly, passionately in love with cooking.

I know people like this.

Of course, just because we can put pan to heat or render duck fat doesn't mean we always choose to. 

Sometimes we simply choose to compose.

Regardless, we're not all sitting on our bums watching other people cook.  We're not all popping cans and eating takeout.

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Recipe for Fresh Figs with Honey, Balsamic, Goat Cheese and Pistachios

There's no cooking involved here, but that shouldn't detract from my larger point: that a whole new generation of people has discovered a love of cooking and is becoming ever more sophisticated at putting it on the table.  Serve this dish for breakfast, as a passed hors d'oeuvre, or even as a simple dessert.

As with my spinach salad with peaches, pecans, and Saint Albray, quantities are unimportant.  Make as many as you need.

Fresh figs, halved

Goat cheese (I used Laura Chenel's plain "chabis")

Finely chopped pistachios

Cracked black pepper

Drizzle of honey

Drizzle of balsamic vinegar (I used a fig balsamic)

Arrange the fig halves on a platter.  Press a little nub of goat cheese in the center, sprinkle with pistachios and pepper, drizzle with honey and vinegar, and serve.

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Unintelligibility

So I'm sitting in the dentist's chair. He's whizzing away with his evil, high-speed dentistry tools, and his assistant is sucking the very life out of my mouth with her heinous mouth sucker-tube, and it sounds like the tarmac at JFK, all noise and blowing and ear-piercing din, and the dentist starts talking to me.

"Tooth," I hear.  Then "don't... because... or... important."

I want to laugh, I really do. 

He continues: "Careful... this... food... risky."

When he turns off the machinery, I begin:  "Um, how long have you been practicing dentistry?"

And I know the answer, or can at least guess, because he's a wizened old guy who has clearly been around the oral block more than a few times, and he replies, "Thirty-six years.  Why?"

And I want to answer: "Because after thirty-six years you should know that no patient could possibly hear you when you've got her mouth jacked open like the hood of a Hummer and your torture tools are cranked up to 11."

But I don't.  Instead, I say: "Just curious."

He then powers up again and continues muttering inaudibly.

Which leads me to this: I know, intellectually, that my older son doesn't love coconut; he has made this very clear in the decade since we've known each other. 

But sometimes we, and I include myself here, go against all logic.  We do things common sense dictates we shouldn't.  Like make kid-friendly cupcakes in a flavor our kids don't like.  Or talk to people who can't hear us.

Unlike my dentist, though, I prevailed with the cupcakes.  They were a smashing success.

Was it the cream cheese icing?

...

Recipe for Coconut Cream Cupcakes with Coconut Cream Cheese Frosting

My friend Jacque brought me several wonderful devil's food cupcakes last week, and she then lent me her Martha Stewart Cupcakes book.  The coconut cupcake recipe in there held this admonition: "Be sure to buy only unsweetened coconut milk, not the sweeter varieties (such as Coco Lopez) used to make mixed drinks."

I defied you, Martha Stewart.  In about 12 different ways.

Makes 11 cupcakes

1 cup all-purpose flour

1-1/4 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup almond meal

1 stick butter, at room temperature

1/2 cup brown sugar

 1 whole egg + 1 egg white

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1/2 cup Coco Lopez, or other brand of cream of coconut (not unsweetened coconut milk)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line 11 holes of a cupcake tin with paper liners.

In a large bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, and salt.  Whisk in the almond meal and set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream the butter and brown sugar on medium-high speed until light, about 2 minutes.  Scrape the sides.  With the mixer running, slowly add the whole egg and egg white down the side of the bowl, then add the two extracts.  Continue beating, stopping to scrape the sides once or twice.  Batter may look curdled; that's okay.

Add half the flour mixture; beat.  Add the cream of coconut; beat.  Add the remaining flour, and beat on medium high until the batter looks light and completely smooth, about 1 minute.

Scoop the batter into the paper cupcake liners.  Bake in the center of the oven for about 20 minutes.  Remove from the oven, and cool completely.  And I do mean completely.  Then frost.

Coconut Cream Cheese Frosting

1-1/2 sticks butter, at room temperature

One 8-ounce package cream cheese, at room temperature

1 cup powdered sugar

1 tablespoon cream of coconut, such as Coco Lopez

In an electric mixer on medium-high speed, cream butter and cream cheese until very light and soft.  Add the powdered sugar and coconut cream, and continue beating until frosting looks smooth, light, and luxurious.  Refrigerate if not using immediately.  (Bring to room temperature and re-beat before using.)

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Cobbler

This is not a weekend project.  There's no bubbling of yeast, no crimping of edges, no piping of icing.  There's no cake-layer-splitting, no gelatin-blooming, no buttercream-beating. No latticework, no zesting, no fuss.  It's a summer dessert with a bit of fun thrown in -- assuming you can stamp out some shapes with a small cutter and chuck them atop a bowl of sliced fruit.  If you can't do that, or if you won't, you may just want to buy some sno-balls and call it a night.

This cobbler, this crazily haphazard but undeniably winsome dessert, is for those like me who are too lazy to follow a 2-page recipe after 5:00 o'clock at night.  I don't blame Nancy Baggett, I really don't, since her recipe for High Summer Cobbler with Buttermilk Biscuit Crust is what started me down this cobbler road to begin with.  But when I set out my ingredients and preheated my oven, I took a closer look at her recipe and said to myself, "Self, there has got to be an easier way."

Enter Mark Bittman. 

He saved me, this man, with his no-nonsense manner and unapologetic shortcuts.  His "patchwork bake" inspired me to streamline the entire cobbler-making process.  And so, by the power vested in me by the state of extreme lassitude, I married Baggett to Bittman and surrogated a stone fruit love child.

No gifts, please.  Just applause.

...

Recipe for Summer Fruit Cobbler with Buttermilk Cutouts

This recipe was inspired equally by Nancy Baggett's high-summer cobbler in The All-American Dessert Book (2005, Houghton Mifflin) and Mark Bittman's recent Stone Fruit Patchwork Bake recipe in the New York Times.  Cutting the dough into hearts, stars, spades, and clovers can be credited to my son Andrew, who managed to unearth my set of mini cookie cutters from my messiest kitchen drawer. 

Please feel free to use any stone fruit, or any berries (except strawberries, please) in the cobbler.  And use any small cutters you have on hand, or even just freehand the dough into little shapes.  One more thing: my fruit was ripe but firm, so I could peel it with a vegetable peeler.  Easy!

Serves 4, generously

1-1/3 cups all-purpose flour, plus 6 tablespoons for the filling

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons butter, cut into chunks

1/3 cup cold buttermilk

1-1/2 cups raspberries

3 yellow peaches, peeled and sliced (2-1/2 cups slices)

2 to 4 plums or pluots, peeled, sliced (2 cups slices)

3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar

1 tablespoon lemon juice

In a food processor, combine the 1-1/3 cups flour, the baking soda, and the salt.  Pulse a few times, then add the butter chunks.  Process for about 15 seconds.  With the machine running, slowly stream in the buttermilk through the feed tube.  Process until the dough comes together.  Scrape onto a sheet of plastic wrap, flatten into a disk, and chill for a good 30 minutes. 

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine all the fruit, the remaining 6 tablespoons of flour, the sugar, and the lemon juice.  Stir gently to combine.  Butter a 9x13-inch (glass, if possible) baking dish and scoop in fruit mixture.  Bake naked like this for 25 minutes.  Remove from oven but leave oven on.

Meanwhile, while fruit is baking, remove the dough from the fridge.  On a floured board using a floured pin, roll the dough roughly 1/8" thick.  Cut out as many little dough-shapes as you like (dip the cutters in flour if the dough sticks) and scatter them haphazardly over the fruit.  You want a little fruit peeking through -- there's no need to overlap the dough shapes, but if they touch, it's fine.  (You may have some dough left over.  Re-wrap and refrigerate or freeze for future use.)

Return dough-covered cobbler to the oven for an additional 22 to 25 minutes, or until filling bubbles and pastry is nicely browned.  Serve warm, at room temperature, or cold for breakfast with a little plain yogurt.  (Cool completely before refrigerating.)

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Sip/Soup

 
Quiz time: do you recognize these jars?  Do you?  Do you?

Yes, they're the empty glass yogurt jars I squirreled home in my suitcase after my trip to Paris.   They fared relatively well on the journey, though one of them did smell like yogurty feet when I finally unpacked it. My advice?  Use soap if you ever wash trash for a transatlantic journey. 

(Now I feel bad that I used the phrase 'yogurty feet' in a post that's, at heart, a celebration of Mark and Bruce's simple but sophisticated spiced plum soup.  Note to self: send note of apology to M&B.)

So, yes, the soup.  If you make this soup for your next dinner party, your guests will move in and never leave.  They will mop your floors, polish your fixtures, and install crown-molding in your living room.  They will walk your dog.  They will wax your car.  They will do anything to continue sipping this soup, which starts out perfectly lovely but somehow develops even more flavor with each passing day.  Do I exaggerate?  I do not.

The recipe comes from Cooking-Know How (Wiley, 2009) by Mark Scarbrough and Bruce Weinstein, which I've blogged about before here.  It's a cold, creamy summer soup, one that's open to infinite variations.  Mark posted this blackberry version last month on his blog Real Food Has Curves. 

If cold soups aren't your thing, no worries.  Call it a wine-infused smoothie and sip away.

...

Recipe for Spiced Plum Soup

Adapted from Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough's Cooking Know-How (Wiley, 2009).  Used with permission of the authors.

Makes up to 12 small first course servings

4 cups (1 quart) cold water

2 pounds plums, halved and pitted

One 4-inch cinnamon stick

4 whole cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup plain unsweetened yogurt

1/2 cup red wine

Salt to taste

In a large saucepan, bring the water, fruit, cinnamon stick, cloves, and nutmeg to a boil over high heat.  Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer slowly until the fruit is meltingly tender, about 10 to 25 minutes.  (-csr: mine took 10.)

Remove and discard the cinnamon stick and whole cloves.  Transfer any plum halves (csr: mine has turned to mush, but it made no difference) to a bowl, turn the heat to medium high, and boil the remaining liquid in the pan, uncovered, until its volume has reduced by half, stirring occasionally.

Puree the plums, the reduced cooking liquid, the sugar, yogurt, and wine in a large blender or food processor fitted with the chopping blade, working in batches if necessary.  (csr: I did it in batches with a stick blender.)

Transfer the soup to a large, nonreactive (csr: glass); seal and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or up to 3 days.  Season with salt to taste just before serving.

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