5 second rule

Eating paste.

Sometimes, an ingredient elbows its way into the center of your consciousness, and no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it keeps popping up. And this is cute, at first, and then it becomes maddening. The only way you can stop it from breakdancing on your hippocampus or your thalamus (or wherever) is to look it square in the eye and say, "Fine. We'll do this your way."

And then you'll rip open the almond paste.

Pinching it into nubbins, rolling them into marbles, you'll stick a few in your mouth to show them who's boss.

Be brave, steadfast, and strong.

Almond paste has gotten expensive. Maybe it has always been pricey, and I just didn't notice because I didn't have a relationship with it, but now that we're having a tumultuous affair I'm telling you -- this stuff may be the financial end of me. The grocery store variety runs about $6.50 for a 7-ounce tube, and that's no chump change. But honestly, stopping the hippocampus-dancing has got to be worth something, and $6.50 seems just about right.

The paste gives these cookies a chew and subtle almond flavor that's a bit marzipanny, but just for a second. Then they become chocolate chip cookies again and you're like, hmm, what was that delightful experience I just had? And then your teeth hit the toasted almonds, and your tongue tastes the almond extract, and the whole almond trio -- paste, nuts, extract -- crescendos in a way that's undeniably thrilling.

Keep in mind that you won't need a full tube of paste for these cookies. Wrap what's left over securely in foil, and speak up. If this ingredient resonates with you, I'll kick my next almond paste recipe further up the queue. Hint: it's involves cake.

May you, your thalamus, and your hippocampus all have a wonderful week.

...

Recipe for Almond Paste & Toasted Almond Chocolate Chip Cookies

This recipe begins at the beginning: with the classic Tollhouse recipe on the back of the yellow bag. Then things veer off the rails, with an almond triumvirate adding chew, crunch, and a mellow almond flavor that makes you want to grab the cookie jar, hug it close, and hide under a table in a far-off room. Dipping them in milk = a fine idea.

Makes about 30 cookies

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
2/3 cup mini chocolate chips
3/4 cup toasted whole almonds, chopped (or more, or less)
2 ounces almond paste (eyeball it: it's a bit less than a third of a 7-oz tube)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment or silicone liners.

In a medium bowl, whisk the flour, soda, and salt.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and two sugars. Add the egg, then the almond extract, beating well. Add the flour mixture in two additions, beating just until incorporated.  Remove the bowl from the mixer. Fold in the mini chips and chopped nuts.

Pinch off bits of almond paste and roll them into balls. See the above photo for a visual, but you can make the balls as large as you like. Gently fold them through the batter.

I like these cookies small, so I use a 1-1/2 inch scoop to dole out the dough. Bake for 10-14 minutes, rotating the sheet pans halfway though, and checking the undersides carefully to ensure they don't burn. (For best texture, consider under-baking them rather than the alternative.) Stored airtight, they'll keep a good 5 days.

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For when you need a sophisticated accessory.

Don't put an onion ring near me. Just don't do it. Onion rings make me feel like I have to take a shower in really hot water, and that's not very good for my skin.

French fries are okay.

Potato skins are very TGI Friday's circa 1989.

Jalapeno poppers -- I honestly can't tell you what these are.

Popcorn shrimp -- if I had to, I would, but I generally don't have to, so I don't.

Fried mozzarella sticks -- see Potato Skins, above.

Fried zucchini -- why?

Fried okra -- let's please not go here.

Fried chicken? Yes, thanks.

Fried calamari -- I'll take a double order, extra lemon. (They never bring you enough lemon.)

Fried apple rings.

I said, FRIED APPLE RINGS.

I'd wear them on every finger and toe, if I could. I'd bling myself out. As earrings. Through my belt loops. One in each button hole, and a few dangling from the drawstring of my hoodie. Then I'd go dancing.

Trend alert.

American Apparel: call me.

 ...

Recipe for Fried Apple Rings, with icing

These are essentially ring-shaped, batter-dipped apple fritters. Fry up one or two, taste them, and then add more spices to the batter at that point, to your liking. Eat them hot or they will soften, and then your heart will sink to your feet.

Makes 18 to 24 rings, depending on the size of your apples

For the apple rings:

Plenty of vegetable oil, for frying
1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon cardamom
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice (or more cinnamon/cardamom, or a little nutmeg/ginger/clove)
2 tablespoons turbinado sugar (or granulated sugar, or brown sugar)
1 cup milk (whole preferable, or 2%)
1 whole egg plus 1 egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon almond extract (or vanilla)
3 Fuji apples, peeled, cored, sliced into 1/4" thick rings

For the icing:

1 cup confectioners' sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon amaretto (or other liqueur of your choice, or more extract)
1-2 tablespoons milk

To make the apple rings: Affix a candy thermometer to the side of a deep saucepan. Fill with 1 to 1-1/2 inches oil, set over medium-high heat, and bring the oil up to 375 degrees while you make the batter.

Set out a large sheet of wax paper. Sift the flour, baking powder, salt, and all the spices onto the paper. If using turbinado or brown sugar, fluff it in with your fingers. If using granulated sugar, you can sift that with the other ingredients, or fluff it in afterwards.

In a large bowl, whisk the milk, the whole egg, the yolk, and the extract. Gather the edges of the wax paper and slide the dry ingredients into the wet. Fold everything together with a rubber spatula, being sure to moisten any bits at the bottom of the bowl. Drop in 4 or 5 apple rings and turn to coat.

When the oil has reached 375 degrees (you'll need to maintain this temperature throughout frying, so keep an eye on the thermometer), use a fork to lift each apple ring and let the excess batter drip back into the bowl. Set the apples in the oil and fry for 1 to 3 minutes, until golden brown, flipping carefully once or twice. Use a spider, slotted spoon, or a clean fork to lift the fried rings onto a paper-towel lined plate, and repeat with the remaining apples and batter.

To make the icing: Whisk the confectioners' sugar, liqueur, and enough milk to make a pourable but thick-ish glaze. Drizzle the glaze over the apple rings. Serve immediately.

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Advice to our younger selves.

We can't go back in time, and yet, if we could, what would we change?

A flurry of websites and videos tackles this question. If you haven't seen Dear 16-Year-Old Me, a public service announcement raising awareness of melanoma, it's worth a watch. The video makes use of humor and real, relatable people to offer teenagers tips -- from their future adult selves -- on how to prevent skin cancer. It will move you to tears, and leave a big impact.

Another site focusing on an inter-generational transfer of knowledge is 40:20 Vision. Here, women in their 40s pass along life lessons to women in their 20s, and women in their 20s seek advice on thorny personal and career issues from women in their 40s.

And then, of course, there's It Gets Better, perhaps the best-known recent example of adults advising youth to hang in there and stay true to themselves during extremely difficult times.

To bring this theme around to food, which is why you're here, think about this: what advice around eating / dieting / nutrition / indulging might you give the younger-you? Anything?

Dear 16 Year Old Me:

Scarf as many Stouffer's French bread pizzas as you like, because by the time you’re an adult, you’ll think they’re nasty / Relish your grandma’s lemon meringue pie because, even though you hate it, one day she'll be gone / If you Can't Believe It's Not Butter, there's a very good reason / Give scallops a second chance / Lawry's is not the only seasoning / General Foods International Coffees are not as sophisticated as you think they are / Tell Vidhya the curry smells delicious, and you'd like to stay for dinner / Pinch the top of the OJ carton before shaking it, especially around friends, especially, especially around boys / Don't butter your bread before toasting it / There's good fat and bad fat, refined wheat and whole wheat, and hilarious health claims on things like cereal and sweetened water / You will be marketed to everywhere you go, all the time, so stay strong and resolute / And please, don't sweat the burnt bottoms of all those homemade cookies -- turns out, you just had thin, crappy cookie sheets / In other words, some things are not your fault, little one /

They're not your fault at all /

...

Recipe for Whole Grain Peanut Butter Cookies with cacao nibs

I like cookies more and more as I get older, but I like them less and less sweet. I tinker and I play, but I generally start with a tried and true base recipe. This cookie is adapted from classic peanut butter cookies in The Grand Central Bakery Cookbook. My variation goes whole grain and gets a bitter edge from cacao nibs. I'm not sure the 16-year-old me would approve, but she's not around to complain.

As with all homemade cookies, heavy-gauge cookie sheets generally produce the best results. If you're a relatively new baker and tend to burn the bottoms of your cookies, yours may be too thin. Try doubling them and seeing what happens.

Yields 50-55 cookies

2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup old-fashioned oats
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup (packed) dark brown sugar
1 cup (salted) peanut butter
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 to 3/4 cup cacao nibs

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment or silpat.

In a large bowl, whisk the flour, oats, soda, and salt.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and two sugars until light and fluffy. Scrape in the peanut butter and continue creaming until incorporated. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, and the two extracts. With the mixer on low, add the dry ingredients in 3 additions. Fold in the cacao nibs by hand, using a rubber scraper, and make sure any floury bits hiding on the bottom of the bowl are unearthed and fully absorbed.

Use a 1-1/2 inch scoop to portion the dough. Press down with the pads of two fingertips to flatten slightly. Bake about 15 minutes, or until golden brown. Cool, and serve with milk.

printable pdf

Peanut Butter Pie for Mikey

When life is too sad to imagine, communities come together to honor and comfort one of their own.

I don't know Jennifer, and I didn't know Mikey, but I am part of a larger community honoring them both today.  Read this, poke around here, and you may understand.

Then find someone you love and tell them immediately how special they are to you. Perhaps you can make a peanut butter pie together.

Jennifer, you are in my thoughts, and today, my extended family will be eating this pie for you and yours.

Banjo / pottery / knot / apple

There's something naughty about an apple pie without a crust. It feels like cheating.  Like I haven't put in sufficient effort to yield a reward this good.

You know how you'd study for a test forever, and then you'd get an A? And you'd say to yourself, I'm the greatest person that ever lived because I did exactly what I was supposed to do, and it totally paid off.  And then maybe you'd take another test, and you wouldn't study for that one at all, and then you'd get an A anyway, and you'd be like, OK, what the hell is up with that?  So then you'd feel all cocky, and you wouldn't study for the next test either, and then you'd get a C.

Well, I don't know where that whole scenario came from because I always studied. I'm a studier.  I study things. I feel, deep in my soul, that there's some moral imperative to study things, even if you already know them.  That there's some vague but intrinsic value in going through the paces, in not cutting corners, in taking the ladder one rung at a time, even if every marker indicates that it's fine for you to take a faster route.

This, I now realize, is stupid. 

How much time did I waste studying things I already knew?

Time I could have spent learning the banjo, or taking pottery? Time I could have spent figuring out how to tie a fancy knot?  (Aside: Look at how many kinds of knots there are!  I need to study these.)  I could basically be a world famous banjo-playing-potter-knot-tier at this point, but instead I spent all my time making flashcards of vocabulary words.

Well, ENOUGH.  This ends today.

The thing above tastes exactly like apple pie filling, but there's no crust. So I guess it's technically a cake, but that doesn't seem quite right either.

I don't really know what it is.  A crustless pie? A flat cake?

It takes little effort, but the payoff is great.

It messes with my worldview, and leaves me very, very confused.

...

Brown Butter Apple Skillet

My friend Angela lives in Sweden, and she sent me a sweet little book on Swedish cookery called Simply Swedish by Margareta Schildt-Landgren. It's got some recipes that I probably won't ever make (veal in dill, for example, and reindeer stew with cloudberry), but others are inspiring in their simplicity.  This recipe is adapted from the book's simple apple cake.

Makes 8 servings

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Peel, core, and thinly slice 5 medium granny smith apples; set aside.

In a 9-inch cast iron skillet, melt 4 tablespoons butter over medium heat until it turns nut-brown, swirling the skillet occasionally.  Use a pastry brush to coat the sides of the skillet with the butter.  In a large bowl, whisk 1/4 cup turbinado sugar, 1/2 cup almond meal, 1/4 cup all-purpose flour, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon.  Stir in the apples and toss to coat. 

Dump into the skillet with the brown butter, and press firmly to settle and flatten into the pan.  Place the skillet on a sheet pan (to catch any drips) and set in the oven for 30 minutes.  Tamp down the apples at this point with the back of a rubber spatula and dot the top with 2 teaspoons of additional butter.  Return to the oven for 35 to 45 minutes longer, or until very tender and nicely browned.

Serve.

printable pdf

There won't be confetti.

You deserve a cookie.

Maybe you've finished a project at work, or planted a garden. Maybe you've volunteered your time, or folded the laundry. Maybe you've swum laps.

Or maybe you don't really think you've done much of anything. Maybe you're feeling blue. Maybe you wonder why you're not more productive, or more generous, or kinder, or smarter, or prettier, or, I don't know, better, somehow. Maybe you focus so much on others' achievements that you never, ever, ever take the time to look back and reflect on how far you've come.

But you have come far. I don't know where you started, or where you're going, or even who you are, but we all go from point A to point B and along our way there are infinite small victories, and accomplishments, and milestones, some so small they pass by in a blip and we don't even see them. We don't. I don't. We see countless successes in others, clear as day, but so very few in ourselves.

So stop. Just stop. Take a quiet minute. Think about your week. Did you pack a lunchbox? Mow a lawn? Smile at a stranger? Did you practice a skill? Tidy a closet? Go for a run? Did you do a good job on something? Anything? Did you?

Because I'm guessing you did. And there won't be a parade. There won't be confetti. There won't be a thank you note, or a raise, or a grateful pat on the back. But that doesn't mean it didn't happen. And that doesn't mean it didn't matter.

It mattered.

Have a cookie. 

You deserve it.

...
Recipe for Whole Wheat Biscotti with fennel seed, pistachios, apricots, and chocolate

Inspired by and adapted from Diana's pistachio, dark chocolate, and cranberry biscotti, which she submitted to the 5SR cookie swap back in 2008.  This whole wheat version has a distinct flavor profile thanks to fennel seed and apricot. The recipe makes a ton, so please give some away to someone special.  They're unique and unbelievably good.

Makes 26 standard-size biscotti or 80 to 90 1" biscotti bites

1 cup turbinado sugar
3-1/4 cups whole wheat flour, plus up to 1/4 cup more for dusting and kneading
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
5 large eggs
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon vanilla
One 12-ounce bag mini chocolate chips
1 cup finely diced dried apricots
1 cup pistachios, rough-chopped
2 to 3 tablespoons fennel seed (I used 2 but might use more next time)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line two baking sheets with silicone baking mats or parchment. 

In a large mixing bowl, whisk the sugar, 3-1/4 cups flour, baking powder, and salt.  Make a well in the center.  In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs until well combined, then whisk in the olive oil and vanilla.  Pour this wet mixture into the well and combine the wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon, stirring thoroughly until the dry ingredients are completely moistened. (Pay attention to the bits on the bottom of the bowl.)  Dump in the chocolate, apricots, pistachios, and fennel seeds, and work in with your spoon.

Dust a work surface with a bit more flour and turn the dough out.  Knead with floured hands until the mass is no longer sticky, adding up to 2 tablespoons additional flour if necessary.  Cut in half. Place each dough half on a lined baking sheet and press into a 1/2-inch thick rectangle measuring roughly 9-1/2 x 7.  Bake for 25 to 28 minutes, or until the top no longer looks raw, reversing the sheet pans halfway through. Remove from the oven and crank the heat to 425 degrees.  Let dough cool for 5 minutes.

Carefully transfer the dough to a cutting board.  If making full-sized biscotti, cut at 1/2 inch intervals into long sticks. If making bite-sized cookies, cut each block into 5 long strips, then cut each strip at 1" intervals to form chunks.  Tip the pieces onto one side and return to the oven. (You may need a third baking sheet.)

Bake for 6 minutes, then carefully flip the biscotti onto their other sides.  Bake 10 to 12 minutes longer, or until golden brown, watching carefully during the last few minutes to avoid burning.  Cool completely on the baking sheets.  Stored airtight, these last at least a week.

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OK, rabbi. You can come in now.

I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to write about these warm little cakes, cakes so rich and simple they can be whipped up in 10 minutes flat. After a 13 minute bake, they’re done. If you’re a math whiz like me, you realize this means you’re only 21 minutes away from having this cake in your mouth.

That’s a pretty quick turnaround for a from-scratch dessert, especially one that tastes this good and makes six elegant, individual portions. Put it this way: you could eat a rigid square of chocolate from your stash, OR you could dribble a hot chocolate cake with cold heavy cream, grab a spoon, and think unclean thoughts while rewarding yourself for being a Very Good Person.

Those of you with Jewish proclivities will be pleased to know that this cake, which appears in a slightly different form in the new Williams-Sonoma cookbook Good Food to Share, has no flour.  Thanks to author Sara Kate Gillingham-Ryan's suggestion, I used almond meal and almond extract instead, yielding a dessert that's not only decadent but Passoveryish.

Best of all, I’m no longer racked with fear that my rabbi will somehow land on this site and come face-to-face with a giant meatball sub.

Chag Sameach. Or, Happy Easter if you roll that way. Or, happy day, night, dawn, twilight, spring, solstice, or moment.

Yes, happy moment, from me to you.

...

Recipe for Individual Soft Chocolate Almond Cakes

My thanks to Sara Kate Gillingham-Ryan, founder of Apartment Therapy's The Kitchn, for providing me with the soft chocolate mini cakes recipe from her new book, Good Food to Share  (Williams-Sonoma, 2011). This version is a very close adaptation.

Makes 6

5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut in pieces, plus soft butter for greasing the ramekins
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
3/4 teaspoon almond extract
Pinch sea salt
1/4 cup almond meal
Cold heavy cream, for serving

Preheat the oven to 400°F with a rack in the lowest position. Butter six 1/2-cup ramekins.

Melt the butter and chocolate together in a double boiler, stirring until smooth. Let cool slightly.

Meanwhile, in a bowl, combine the sugar, eggs, almond extract, and salt. Using an electric mixer, beat on high speed for 3 minutes, or until thickened. Shut the mixer. Gradually sprinkle the almond meal over the batter and beat on low speed until just until combined. Fold the egg mixture into the cooled chocolate/butter.

Divide the batter among the ramekins and set on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake until the tops are puffed and dry and a skewer inserted in the center comes out with barely moist streaky bits, 10 to 13 minutes. (Mine took 13 to set but was still puddinglike.)

Serve immediately, drizzled with cold heavy cream.

printable pdf

Hitting the sweet spot.

The sweet spot has always eluded me. 

It's a personality thing, I'm afraid, but I'm simply one of those people who rarely shouts, "Eureka!" and feels, deep in her bones, that she has threaded the needle just so.  I waver, waffle, and turn each choice over like a precious stone, staring at it long and hard to suss out the tiniest crack, the faintest imperfection.  And you know something?  If you look hard enough, you'll always find a blemish.  You will.  Every time.

I envy people who are not like this.  Who instead grab decisions by the horns, wrestle them to the ground, and stand atop them like conquering heroes.  When a what-if surfaces, when a doubt bubbles up, they stomp it out like a smoldering cigarette and continue apace, never missing a beat.

Interestingly, the one place I don't waver is in the kitchen. I know what I like to eat, and that's pretty much that.  Yes, my tastes have evolved over time. I go through phases and stages and jigs and jags, but give me something to eat, let me roll it around on my tongue, and I'll tell you sure as day whether it works for me.

Right now, oversweet doesn't work for me. I love cookies, pastries, cakes, and pies, but for whatever reason -- maybe the state of the world? -- I'm not in a pink fluffy frosting kind of mood. I want my treats dark and brooding, with more depth than sparkle. Just this side of sweet, and not a whisper more.

So I take my favorite recipes, and whittle the sugar down bit by bit by bit, so the scale just barely tips, so the needle hardly flutters. I thread it slowly, hitting the sweet spot just so.

Eureka.

...

Recipe for Double Chocolate Coconut Slice and Bake Cookies

I'm a big fan of cookie logs. Storing the dough this way makes it exceptionally easy to slice and bake cookies in smaller quantities.  Store the logs for several days in the fridge, or overwrap the plastic in foil and freeze until needed.

Keep in mind that these cookies don't spread, so if you don't want them at thick as you see in the photo, slice them thinner and dial down the bake-time accordingly. I personally like them thick and cakey like you see. They become almost brownie-like.

Adapted from myself.  I contributed a sweeter version of this recipe to Lora Brody's The New England Table (Chronicle Books) back in 2005.

Makes 4-1/2 dozen cookies, or more, if you slice them thinner

2 cups whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar (light or dark)
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1-1/2 cups unsweetened, desiccated coconut
1 cup mini chocolate chips

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

In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and both sugars on medium speed until light and fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.  Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Beat in the vanilla.  With the mixer on low, add the dry ingredients and blend just until incorporated.  Gently beat in the coconut and chocolate chips just until incorporated.

Scrape the dough onto a lightly flour board and divide in half.  Using your hands, roll each half into a long, snake-like log about 1-1/2" in diameter, and wrap tightly in plastic wrap.  Set on the back of a baking sheet (to help keep their shape) and place in the fridge until firm.

When ready to bake: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line your baking sheets with parchment.  With a sharp, thin knife, slice the log at 1/2" intervals and set the disks 12 to a sheet.  Bake for 16 minutes, rotating the baking sheets halfway through.  The cookies should be firmish to the touch and lose their raw sheen, but they won't look as "baked" as regular cookies.  Cool, serve, and store extras airtight.

printable pdf

...
I've selected Natalie as the winner of my Blood, Bones & Butter giveaway. Thanks sincerely to everyone who participated.  Given how thoughtful and endearing your comments were, choosing a winner was tougher this time than ever.  Do let me know if you read the book...

Crumb

If you lived closer, I would sit you down at the kitchen table and cut you a hunk of this New York-style crumb cake.  Of course, we'd have to turn the clock back 24 hours because the thing is all gone.  It's gone because the members of my family ate it, alternately, for breakfast and dessert over the course of three days.  It's gone because my friend Lisa did me a favor, and I handed her a sizable square in return.  And it's gone because as I was shooting this photo in my open garage, the postman came by and handed me my mail, and what am I going to do at that point, NOT hand him a piece of cake?  I mean, is there any scenario where your postman would happen upon you photographing a cake and you'd just say, "Thanks for the mail. And even though you walk around all winter long and probably have blisters and bunions and all manner of teeny, tiny paper cuts, I think I'll take this cake back inside and shove it down my own greedy throat"?

No, in my world, there is no scenario in which that would happen.

Okay, enough about the cake, almost.  I have (applause, confetti, parade) secured from Stewart, Tabori & Chang, the very generous publisher of Baked Explorations by Matt Lewis and Renato Poliafito, a copy of this book for one very fortunate reader.  The book, which I wrote about recently, is making all kinds of Top 10 lists this season, including those on Amazon.com, The Huffington Post, The Washington Post, and more.  And for me not to request an extra copy for one of you would have been wrong, as wrong, if not wronger (new word) than not giving my postman the very last piece of cake.

Here's the contest: leave a comment telling me who you would give your last piece of crumb cake to.  That's it.  It can be a person, living or dead. It can be an historical figure or someone you knew, or know, personally.  It can be a member of the plant or animal kingdom.  It can be an amoeba.  The choice is yours.  Be creative, have fun, and if you make me cry, from laughter or melancholy, I might award you extra points.  You might also get an extra point if you tell me who you would NOT give the last piece of crumb cake to, so long as you don't name names, slander, libel, or use profanity (you know who you are).  The contest will end without warning or notice.  I will simply post the end of the competition here.

Oh!  And look!  I got permission to share the crumb cake recipe, too.

I do, it seems, like you all very much.

...

Recipe for New York-Style Crumb Cake

Excerpted, with permission of the publisher, from Baked Explorations: Classic American Desserts Reinvented by Matt Lewis & Renato Poliafito (Stewart, Tabori & Chang, 2010)

For the Crumb Topping
1 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 tablespoons cinnamon
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and warm
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

For the Cake
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 tablespoons (1-1/2 sticks) unsalted butter
1-1/2 cups granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1-1/4 cups sour cream
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and position the rack in the center. Butter the sides and bottom of a glass 9 x 13-inch pan. You can use a metal pan (*I did), but the edges of the cake may turn crispy (although that is not traditional, it is not an altogether bad thing).

Make the Crumb Topping
In a medium bowl, stir together both sugars, the salt, and cinnamon. Add the melted butter and whisk until combined. Fold in the flour until it is absorbed and set the mixture aside.

Make the Cake
Sift flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into medium bowl.  Set aside.

In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter until it is completely smooth and ribbonlike.  Scrape down the bowl and add the sugar. Beat the mixture until it starts to look fluffy.  Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat until incorporated.  Scrape down the sides of the bowl and mix again for 30 seconds.  Add the sour cream and vanilla and beat just until incorporated. Add the dry ingredients in three parts, scraping down the bowl before each addition, beating only until it is just incorporated.

Assemble the cake
Pour the batter into the prepared pan.  Use your hands to scoop up a handful of the topping and make a fist. The topping should hold together. Break off in chunks and drop them over the cake.  Repeat to use all the topping. Remember, the topping layer will look outrageously thick.

Bake the cake for 45 to 55 minutes or until tester inserted in the middle comes out clean. Rotate the pan two times during the baking process. Cool the entire pan on a wire rack for about 30 minutes before serving.

The cake will last 3 days, tightly covered, at room temperature.

printable pdf

Morning

Things I should be doing right now:

• making bread dough
• making cranberry sauce
• rolling out pie crusts
• smacking myself for ordering a 20 pound turkey
• readying beds for guests
• peeling / cooking / mashing sweet potatoes
• paying bills
• making sure my tablecloth shows no evidence of last year's gravy
• making sure I know what to do when the oven freaks out mid-turkey, which happens every year
• flossing 
• figuring out what made me walk into a pole this morning / trying not to do that again, at least not in front of people
• doing something useful with my life
• becoming a better person
• standing up taller / sitting up straighter / telling funnier jokes / being less annoying, in general
• helping an old lady / old man / blind person cross the street
• plucking the woolly pills off my cheap sweaters
• buying nicer sweaters
• eating more pudding

What I shouldn't be doing:

• writing this.

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Recipe for Vanilla Spice Poached Pears with quick homemade granola and Greek yogurt

Despite its elegance and the numerous words in the recipe title, this breakfast -- which makes a splendid offering for overnight guests -- is easy.  E-A-S-Y.  It will also make your entire house smell like lemon, vanilla, and spices.  NOTE: The pears do need plenty of time (45 minutes?) to cool in their syrup, so plan accordingly.  You can make the granola while the pears poach and cool.

Flo Braker's Baking for All Occasions (Chronicle, 2008), a book I was proud to consult on back in 2006, inspired my poaching method.  I also, as an aside, bake her Cinnamon Bubble Buns every year around this time; according to my children, this year will be no exception.

Makes 6 servings

Pears:
    6 small, firm-but-ripe Bartlett pears (mine were 4 ounces each, but you have some leeway)
    1 cup granulated sugar
    1 thick slice lemon
    1/2 vanilla bean
    1/2 to 1 whole cinnamon stick
    3 whole cloves
    4 cardamom pods

Granola:
    1/4 cup vegetable oil (I use canola)
    1/4 cup honey
    1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
    2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
    1-1/2 cups coconut (I use unsweetened desiccated, but you can certainly sub sweetened, flaked)
    1 cup whole almonds, rough-chopped
    1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

    Plain Greek yogurt, for serving

Pears: Peel the pears, leaving a little peel and the stem on top for show.  Gently scoop out the bottom core with a small spoon or melon baller. 

Set the pears aside, and place 4 cups of cold water and the remaining pear ingredients (sugar through cardamom) in a 4- or 5-quart (medium) saucepan.  (Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean, and place the seeds and pod in the water.)  Bring just to a boil, stirring until the sugar is completely dissolved.  Add the pears, reduce heat to low, and place a little parchment circle directly on top of the fruit to keep it submerged.  (Flo says you can use a paper towel.)

Simmer very gently, uncovered, until pears are just tender when pierced, turning them around a few times so all sides poach evenly.  This will take about 15 minutes, depending on the size of your pears.  Remove from heat and let pears cool completely in the syrup. (If making ahead, cool to room temp, then refrigerate pears in their syrup, discarding the lemon slice and cinnamon stick.)

Granola: Preheat the oven to 325.  Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment or silpat.

In a large bowl, whisk the oil, honey, and vanilla until completely combined.  Dump in the oats, coconut, almonds, and cinnamon, and give everything a good stir, coating all the dry ingredients evenly.  Scrape onto the prepared baking sheet, and bake, stirring every 10 minutes, for about 25 to 28 minutes, or until nice and brown.  Cool.

To serve, set each pear in a shallow bowl.  Spoon a little granola around it and dollop with yogurt.  Sprinkle yogurt with some poaching liquid, if desired.

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