Without Further Ado: Kitchen Sink Blueberry Walnut Bran Muffins

I blame Elton.  I have had “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” stuck in my head all day.  I’ve also been stuffing my face with blueberry bran muffins.  For this, I can really only blame myself.  I can’t help it; I have a soft spot for bran—and for certain Elton John lyrical snacks. 

I’ve thought about posting the recipe for these muffins for a while, but feared they were too plain Jane.  But they’re—and I hesitate to say this—too useful not to share.  I hate to describe any food as such.  It sounds a bit soulless.  So let’s just say I have lovingly named them “Kitchen Sink Bran Muffins” because you can throw almost anything into the batter and they’ll just puff up and smile back at you from their tins. 

These muffins can do no wrong. Which makes me sound a bit like a pageant mom.  Truth be told, I secretly fear that one day they’ll fall flat on their little muffin bottoms.  

I will open the oven only to reveal a sad state of bran.  I’ll have pushed the poor dears to the brink. They’ll be dry and lifeless.  Or too gummy, bloated with fruit.  And this will reflect poorly on me.  As a baker.  An eater.  A person.  People will start gossiping that I don’t always level off flour when I bake.  Or that I pour vanilla extract straight into the mixing bowl: no measuring spoon in sight.  That I’m a savage in the kitchen.  And they might be right.

In truth, I don’t even remember where I found the original recipe.  I’ve doctored it so much along the way, it probably wouldn’t even recognize itself.  I’ve scribbled.  And rewritten.  Crossed out and underlined.  But it remains a wonderful recipe that behaves very well for cooks who have a hard time sticking to instructions.  I've thrown these muffins some odd ingredients, arguably one too many fiery batons.  But they haven't even blinked.

This is a recipe that has hung with me since the beginning of my baking.  So, yes, I’m decidedly biased.  A bran muffin stage mom in her own right. Nevertheless, they have yet to disappoint. I suspect they’re not the kind.  They couldn’t if they tried.  And even if they did, I’d love them anyways. 

Kitchen Sink Bran Muffins, This Time Presenting: Blueberry Walnut

Ingredients:

1.25 cup bran

1 cup flour (this time: 1/2 all purpose and 1/2 whole wheat)

2.5 tsp baking powder

1 tsp spices (this time: 3/4 tsp cinnamon and 1/4 tsp nutmeg)

Pinch of salt

1/3 cup milk (this time: whole milk)

2 eggs, beaten

1/2 cup honey

2 tbsp sugar (this time: brown sugar)

1/4 cup oil (this time: canola oil)

1.5 cup cut up fruit and/or grated vegetables (this time: all frozen blueberries)

1/4 cup nuts, roughly chopped or seeds (this time: walnuts)  

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350.  Combine bran, flour, baking powder, spices and salt in a medium bowl.  In a large bowl, combine milk, eggs, honey, sugar and oil; fold your flour mixture into the wet ingredients until just combined (about 10 turns with a spatula); gently fold in the fruit/vegetables and nuts.  Bake for about 20 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center of a muffin.

Makes 1 dozen

Notes:

-This is an everyday eating-type of bran muffin.  It's hearty.  It's got guts.  A special occasion bran muffin can be found here.  (I know, you didn't think there was such a thing.  And I'm not certain there is.  It's just a little fancy.)

-I'll often grate ~1/2 cup zucchini or carrots and add them along with 1 cup fruit.  Diced apples are nice, too.  If you are using frozen fruit (as I did with the blueberries) you can mix them straight into the batter, no defrosting necessary.  It just may take a wee bit longer to cook.

-Because I eat these so often (and I am a dietitian, after all) I calculated the nutrition info awhile back and thought I'd pass it along, or what I've managed to save of the calculation.  They have about 200 calories and 4 grams of fiber.  Not bad for a muffin.  More importantly, I enjoy eating them.

Spicy Tomato Basil Soup, So Long Winter Chill

It was so cold in my apartment this past weekend and it wasn’t until I realized I was wearing an ear-flapped fur hat and a bathrobe over my street clothes that I decided the heat situation needed to be remedied.  Pronto.  So I packed up my laptop, put on a scarf, and headed out to a bar that I knew had electrical outlets … and a fireplace. 

Don’t get me wrong.  My creaky old apartment has a lot of charm.  It has high ceilings, glass door knobs, and big beautiful windows that leak out a maddening amount of heat on gray January days.  

Apparently, I've decided to circumvent this issue by developing a weekend drinking problem. I suppose I can think of worse things—like, say, having to bathe with an ushanka on—but fixing up a steaming bowl of tomato basil might not be as hard on my liver.  Also, I’m not actually Russian.  So, we should probably get back to soup. 

Especially this soup.  Which I am pleased to say does not contain a drop of alcohol(!).  Though—if I’m being completely honest here—its origins did come about after plans for making bloody marys fell apart one Saturday.  (A leopard doesn’t ever really change her spots, now does she?)  I was left with a big bottle of tomato juice and some time to kill.  What resulted was a soul-warming soup. And, if I may be so bold, I haven’t found a comparable recipe since. 

The bit of butter in the soup gives it a little richness, while the habanero kicks in some heat.  And this warmth is particularly welcomed on blustery winter days.  Don’t let the tomato juice throw you, it makes the whole soup process very low maintenance.  In fact, I forgo the blender entirely and leave the sautéed onions and basil bits alone.  Let’s just say it’s good enough this way to keep me at home, far away from cozy bar stools.

You'll want to make this soup on a lazy winter day when you’re looking for an antidote to the Boston chill.  You can casually tend to it on the stove top, perhaps with a drink in hand.  Lillet would work well for such a role.  As would a Barbera.  Though, to be clear, this soup is fully capable of warding off the cold, all on its own.

Spicy Tomato Basil Soup

Ingredients:

~2 tbsp olive oil, plus extra for drizzling

1 small onion diced

1 garlic clove, minced

1/2 habanero pepper, seeds removed and pepper flesh minced

Kosher salt

Black pepper

6 cups tomato juice

¼ tsp cumin

¼ tsp coriander

2 tbsp butter

1 tbsp flour 

~1/2 cup packed basil, divided

Instructions:

Heat a large saucepan on medium heat, add the olive oil and onions and saute until the onions are nearing translucent; then add garlic and habanero, season everything with salt and pepper, and stir occasionally until the garlic and pepper soften.

Add the tomato juice and spices to the pan and stir to combine.  Mash together the butter and flour and add it to the tomato mixture.  Cut the basil into thin strips and add half to the pot.  Let the tomato soup simmer until it thickens and gets rich in flavor, about 45 minutes or so.  Add the remaining basil; taste and add additional salt and pepper as needed.

Makes about 5 cups

Notes:

-This is a casual recipe, taste and adjust as you go.  It gets better the longer it sits.  This is not usually true with people that sit on bar stools.  Or maybe it is.

-Let the bar come to you: a Lillet cocktail while you cook.

The Silence of Fleur de Sel Caramels

I’ve been trying to resolve how to roll out the red carpet for these caramels.  They’re so good they’ve left me a bit blocked, without a stately introduction or even the end bits of a few rose petal descriptors to pave the way.  I googled “how to make a grand entrance,” because I thought some glitzy adjectives might help ungunk things.  But I’m pretty sure these caramels don’t have to worry about wearing the perfect outfit, nor do they need to manicure their nails or remember to relax their face muscles.  Which is apparently what it takes to make a head-turning entry.  Heck, I don’t do any of that.  My face is all squinty and unladylike-looking just thinking about it. 

So, I’m stripping away the glamour.  The shoe doesn’t quite fit anyhow.  Sinking your teeth into them is a luxury, but there is something decidedly more romantic and honest about these caramels.  They aren’t really fancy at all.  They’re intimate.

Yes, they are technically unnecessary.  But that’s what gives them personality and makes them so intriguing.  I recently met someone who bought a secondhand copper fondue pot for his kitchen: because he thought it wise to have one.  Just in case. Because, hey, you never know.  Sometimes fondue happens.  And one never knows when. 

That’s how I feel about these caramels.  You might need to know how to make them someday.  And eating them sure doesn't hurt, that's for sure.  These lovely little ladies deliver, much like a big bubbling pot of warm cheese would.

Surprisingly, they aren’t too high maintenance, assuming you have a pot, a pan, and a candy thermometer.  You’ll spend some time watching the sugar gurgle on the stovetop too, but it’s well worth it. These caramels hold their form; they are chewy with a nice salty bite, which lends an almost earthy quality and keeps them from being too prim and proper. 

And when you’ve finished.  When the kitchen is cleaned, and the caramel has set and been cut, and you sit down and have your first taste, the world goes quiet.  You can’t think of anything more necessary at the moment.  The sea salt and silence has it.  And perhaps that’s the best descriptor of all.

Fleur de Sel Caramels

Adapted from Gesine Bullock-Prado of sugarbaby

1.5 cups heavy cream

2 cups sugar

1 cup light corn syrup

1/4 cup unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch pieces 

2 tsp vanilla extract

3 tsp fleur de sel sea salt, divided

Line a square baking pan (I used an 8 x 8 inch) with foil and grease the top part of the foil (the part facing you) with a neutral-flavored oil, like canola oil.  In a large saucepan combine cream, sugar, and corn syrup over medium-low heat; stir occasionally until the sugar has melted, then raise the heat slightly (to medium) and continue to stir until the sugar mixture boils.

Once the mixture boils, stop stirring and cook until the sugar reaches 257 degrees (125 degrees Celsius) on a candy thermometer; you'll want to stay close by during this time, in case the mixture starts to bubble up.  (If it does, remove the saucepan from the heat until it quiets again.) Once the temperature is reached, immediately remove the saucepan from the heat and stir in the butter; add in the vanilla and 2 tsp of the salt and stir again to combine. 

Pour the caramel into your pan and sprinkle with the remaining salt; let the caramel sit at room temperature until it sets and is cool enough to cut (this will take an hour or so).  Cut the caramel into small squares and wrap them individually in wax or parchment paper. (Prior to wrapping them you may want to press a few extra grains of sea salt into each piece; this is what I decided on.)  Store the caramels in an airtight container for up to a week.

Makes about 50 pieces (depending on your cuts)

Notes:

-Wholesome Sweeteners makes an organic corn syrup that I just love.  The salt was from here.  (Spoiled!)

-I left the wrapped caramels out accidentally for a few days without an airtight container, but they didn't go all hard on me.  They have such a lovely toothsome quality.  

-sugarbaby (yes, in all lowercase letters; the punctuation nerd in me is freaking) a wonderful, wonderful cookbook.  And it's as entertaining as it is tempting.

A Spicy Resolve of Red Lentil Hummus, And Other Things

Another year has poofed.  The hopes of 2011 have gone up in smoke.  We’ve arrived at a symbolic fresh start.  And I stand at the edge of 2012 emptied handed, with no neatly folded, nicely written resolutions to share.  Each year I simply resolve to live life a little more.  To really feel it.

Last year I baked pie.  Made lace curtains.  Finally conquered madame brioche.  Sent more handwritten notes.  Saw Paul Simon sing “ The Sound of Silence.”  Mastered the charcoal grill. And drank my fair share of dark and stormies.

This year I have a new set of wishes. Listen to more Chet Baker.  Drink rosé on random Tuesdays.  Ease into silence.  Shell more oysters at home.  Conversationally work in the word “honey.”  Not fret about the dangers of homemade mayo.  Remove “should” from my dictionary.  Wear the canary yellow fascinator I bought last year out of the house at least once. Put in a shade garden.  And continue to nurture the traditions I’ve sown.

I’ve been working on these traditions for a few years now.  I reset my wishes in January.  Eat salt water taffy on the Cape in June.  Buy a glass pumpkin every October. And make lentils at the start of every new year.  Like any good Italian should would be well advised to do.  While I don’t participate in resolutioning, I do believe a little luck never hurt a gal.  And this is where the lentils come in.

At the very least, it certainly isn’t terrible to have this creamy lentil hummus around.  It’s a plucky spread with some serious heat and a gracing of roasted garlic.  And its charming orange hue takes very well to some Ethiopian flavors I’ve grown quite found of.  So after a quick whirl, the red lentils are laced with the likes of berbere, a blend of about a dozen warm spices that I found in a little metal tin at the South End Formaggio.  If you can’t track it down, you could tackle making your own.  Or even just add a few of the spices commonly found in berbere; cayenne pepper, paprika, ginger, cardamom, and coriander come to mind.

It’s a lovely little dip to let linger in your fridge.  Will it help with your hopes for 2012?  Probably too soon to tell.  But honey, it’s worth a shot.

Spicy Red Lentil Hummus

Ingredients:

6 cloves roasted garlic (see directly below)

~ 2 cups dried red lentils

6 cloves

2 bay leaves

kosher salt

1.5 tsp berbere spice (see note)

1/2 tbsp chili garlic sauce

Juice of 1/2 lime

2 tbsp tahini

3 tbsp olive oil, plus additional for drizzling

Roasted garlic

You can roast garlic by cutting about 1/4 an inch off the top of a garlic head.  Rub the head with olive oil and cover it completely with foil; bake in a 425 degree oven until the cloves are sweet, slightly browned, and melty (about 45 minutes give or take).  Gently squeeze the cloves out of their skin.  You'll have extra.

Instructions:

In a saucepan, add lentils, cloves, bay leaves, and a pinch of salt and combine with enough water to cover the lentils by 1 inch; cook until the lentils are softened (about 10-15 minutes).  Drain any excess water, remove the cloves and bay leaves, and place the lentils in a food processor along with the remaining ingredients; puree.  Salt to taste and adjust with additional seasoning as needed.  Drizzle with more olive oil (about a teaspoon or so) before serving.

Makes about 2 cups

Notes:

-Berbere is an Ethiopian spice blend that often includes fenugreek, dried chiles, paprika, ginger, cardamom, coriander, nutmeg, cloves, garlic, and allspice.

-This hummus is also fantastic with some crumbled feta on top.

-Oversized homemade croutons proved to be the perfect vehicle for the spread.  Carrots also.  It's spicy, so you'll want something that won't fight with it.

Here's to Rosemary Pear Sparkling Cocktails

We are on the eve of a new year.  Can you hear the noisemakers and balcony whoops yet?  Well, they are coming.  So break out your sequins or put in your earplugs.  Both reactions are perfectly acceptable. For me, it’s hard to resist going out on a high note, whatever that might mean. 

One year I spent New Year’s with a loved one, a lobster, and a comfortable red couch.  Another Eve I started it off by cracking open some oyster shells.  And ended it by ordering a glass of gin at a bar that was very unfortunately out of green olives.  This year, things won’t likely be quite so … spirited. Though, I am planning to make it past midnight.

At the moment, I look to the chairman of the board and some bubbly for a little celebratory encouragement.  Sinatra’s advice: come in out of the rain; those torches you carry must be drowned in champagne.

The bubbly doesn’t sing quite as loudly as old blue eyes, but it coaxes to do much of the same.  And if we use sparkling wine, it presents us with a very lovely canvas to gild. Should you feel so inclined.

The undertones of rosemary offer up a gentle kick, reminiscent of the recent holiday.  While the pear lends a certain cozy sweetness to help us all settle into winter.  The effect is subtle, but it’s a festive change of pace from straight bubbles.

So who knows what old Eve and her year ahead will serve up.  It’s blank at the moment.  Best we can do is toast to it all.  To the last drinks of the year and to whatever the next round may bring.  Here’s to those that serve sparkling cocktails.  Bless them all.

Rosemary Pear Sparkling Cocktails

Ingredients:

For the rosemary pear syrup

3/4 cup sugar

3/4 cup water

1 ripe pear, cut into slices

3 sprigs rosemary

Pinch of salt

For the cocktail

Rosemary pear syrup, to taste (recipe above)

A bottle of sparkling wine

A lemon, the zest and a few tablespoons of lemon juice, for garnish

Additional sugar, for garnish

Instructions:

Prepare the syrup the night before you plan on using it by combining the sugar and water in a medium saucepan on medium heat.  Add the pear, sprigs of rosemary, and salt and heat until the sugar dissolves and the pear softens (about 10 minutes or so).  Let the mixture cool and then place in the fridge (pears and rosemary included) overnight.  

To make the cocktail, prepare a small plate filled with a few tablespoons of lemon juice and another small plate filled with a few tablespoons of sugar.  Dip the rim of a cocktail glass into the plate with lemon juice and then gently roll the edges of the glass in the sugar.  Place a few spoonfuls of the chilled syrup into the bottom of your glass; top with sparkling wine and garnish with lemon zest.

Notes:

-This is not a serious recipe.  Taste and adjust as you go. Heck, drink the whole bottle if you have to in the name of research.

-You'll likely have leftover syrup.  It wouldn't hurt to drizzle it over pears dotted with blue cheese.

-I left the skin on my pear.  You could certainly peel it, should you wish to do so.  If your pear happens to break up a bit during the cooking (mine held together) I imagine it's nothing a quick strain couldn't fix prior to serving.

Gingerbread with Espresso Glaze ... and Elves

Pull up a chair, grab a hot chocolate or some warm mulled wine, and settle in for a moment.  Let me tell you a little Christmas story.  It’s about a girl who dreams of making gingerbread and fruitcake every year in December.

She envisions candying citrus peels and pickling cherries in maraschino liqueur in her tiny kitchen for the fruitcake.  She dreams of eating hunks of gingerbread with bits of spicy sugared ginger for breakfast and sipping peppermint tea, while beautifully wrapped gifts lay under her tree.  Except, she can never get her act together in time. 

This December, things would be different.  

She enlists the help of some elves—otherwise known as Justin and David—who have hearts of gold.  David also has a heart that is slightly blackened and a wee bit cynical.  Justin’s heart commonly includes the characteristics of an eighty year old grandfather and it would bleed cloves and molasses if it could.  She loves this about them.  She finds these traits beyond endearing.

And so she is happily lured into an eight hour Christmas baking project.  The sweets list includes peanut brittle; fancy glass-bottomed walnut polvorones; gingerbread (finally); and sugar cookies laced heavy-handedly with peppermint icing reminiscent of Dr. McGillicuddy’s mentholmint schnapps.  (You can probably guess which elderly elf was behind the menthol.)

Sinatra’s “Christmas Waltz” plays nearly every hour as the delicate dance of Christmas cookie madness carries on.  The day is filled with joyful laughter, some Christmas traditions of yore made anew again, and a frosting of good old-fashioned holiday bitterness.  And, oh yes, there is also gingerbread.

The gingerbread is dark and laced with cloves, cinnamon, and ginger.  It’s dense and assertive in its flavors.  It’s everything a good gingerbread should be.  It also includes a deep espresso icing as a wonderful compliment: for the day of Christmas baking, as well as for the gingerbread itself.  This icing is not to be left off.  Trust the elves on this one.  

So while there is no fruitcake this year, our little friend is not worried.  There is always next year.  Right now there is the reminder of a month filled with really wonderful Christmas memories.  And if this happens to involve some gingerbread, well then, that’s just icing.  Wishing you and yours the same thing too.

Gingerbread with Espresso Glaze

Adapted from Joanne Chang's Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston's Flour Bakery + Cafe

Ingredients:

For the cake

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature

3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar

3 tbsp freshly grated ginger

2 eggs

3.5 cups flour

1 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp kosher salt

2 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp freshly ground grains of paradise (or black pepper)

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/4 tsp ground cloves (freshly ground, if possible)

1.5 cups unsulfured molasses

1 cup boiling water

1 tsp baking soda

For the espresso glaze

1 cup confectioners' sugar

2-3 tbsp espresso 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter and flour a 9 x 13 baking dish (or alternatively some smaller dishes, such as brioche tins, as pictured). Using a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, cream butter and brown sugar together until light and fluffy (about 2 minutes).  Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together grated ginger and eggs.  On low speed, slowly add the egg mixture to the creamed butter mixture until combined.  Scrape the sides of the bowl and beat again to ensure the mixture is fully blended.

In a medium bowl, sift flour, baking powder, salt, ground ginger, grains of paradise (or pepper), cinnamon, and cloves.  In another medium bowl, mix molasses, boiling water, and baking soda together.  (The mixture will foam up quite severely.)  

On the mixer's lowest speed, add about 1/3 of the flour mixture to the creamed butter mixture and mix; add in half of the molasses mixture until well combined (scraping down the sides as necessary) and then add in half of the remaining flour mixture until combined.  Add the rest of the molasses mixture, mix well, and then add the remaining flour and mix until combined (about a minute or so), stopping to scrape the bottom and sides of the bowl to ensure everything is well combined. (Lots of combining going on.)

Bake for 50-60 minutes (or less if you are using individual tins: ours took about 40 minutes).  Meanwhile, make the espresso if you do not have any on hand.  The cake is done when it spring back or a cake tester comes out clean.  Let cool on wire racks.  

Whisk the confectioners' sugar and espresso together until it is smooth and pourable.  While the cake is still warm, pour glaze over the top and let sit for one hour before serving.

Makes one 9 x 13 cake (or a number of smaller cakes: hard to say when you start snacking)

Notes:

-If you don't have access to espresso, you can brew double strength coffee as a substitute.

-The cake can be stored airtight at room temperature for up to three days.  I've stashed my leftovers, frosted and all, in the freezer and they've still been quite good.

-Grains of paradise are a little bit more floral than black pepper.  I had some around and thought, what the heck, it will be a nice change of pace.  Don't make a special trip for the grains.

-This is another instance where Ms. Chang is queen.  Her recipes still have yet to do anything but please.  I think her cookbook has been the best investment I've made all year.  (Santa, not to be too bossy, but if you are in need of last minute gifts for others: take note.)

Rum Raisin Ice Cream Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum

The season is getting on.  I’ve been bottling Christmas spirit and hoping for a small Christmas miracle that I’ll make it through in one piece.  My tree currently leans slightly to the left.  I’ve already overdone it on the nog.  And I wish the rest of my holiday gifts would just buy and wrap themselves already.

But hey, sugar plum.  Life’s not so rough.  Especially when it involves a little nip of rum blended into a custard base dotted with boozed up raisins.  In this case, the finest gifts it brings.

It just so happens that I have a good friend that is a very good pastry chef. And he has some very good desserts on his menu at Harvest restaurant: some of the best that I’ve tasted in Boston over the seven years I’ve lived here. The man knows how to bake; his passion for it is beyond charming.  And he was gracious enough to share his recipe for rum raisin ice cream with me.  Tis. the. season.

I could list off Brian’s “on paper” points.  He’s taken home “Best in Show” dessert titles.  He works with Mary Dumont.  Before her, he was at Henrietta’s Table in the Charles Hotel.  He’s certainly no slouch in the kitchen. 

But some of my most favorite things about him are much less conventional.  He’s capable of carrying on a conversation about macarons for over an hour.  He’s getting "BAKE" tattooed on his wrist.  I recently witnessed him impulse buy a vintage sugar crate.  He also likes buffalo-fried brussels sprouts. And he’s been endearing fatherly towards men that have approached me at bars.  In short, he’s a guy you want to grab a beer—or an ice cream cone—with. 

And, oh yes, I should reiterate: rum. raisin. ice cream. And if you think the ice cream looks enticing, you should have seen it paired alongside sticky toffee pudding.  Alas, the sticky toffee rum raisin special has ended at Harvest.  But I assure you there is much more to come.  The winter dessert menu he has been planning over the past few months is the stuff of dreams.  Visions of sugar plum-like dreams.

In the meantime, you might want to make this ice cream.  It’s hard to feel anything but tidings of joy when it’s around.

Rum Raisin Ice Cream

Adapted from Brian Mercury of Harvest

1 cup raisins

2/3 cup dark rum plus 1/4 cup divided

2 cup milk

2 cup heavy cream

2/3 cup sugar plus 1 tbsp, divided

Pinch of salt

8 egg yolks (see note below)

Soak raisins in 2/3 cup rum for 12-24 hours in the fridge.  After raisins have been soaked, combine milk, heavy cream, 2/3 cup sugar, and pinch of salt in a medium saucepan and bring to a very slow boil, being careful to stir the mixture so the milk does not burn at the bottom of the pan.  Meanwhile, beat the eggs in a medium bowl.  Once the milk mixture has been heated and the sugar has dissolved, slowly temper the eggs by placing a little of the hot milk mixture (about 1/4 cup or less at a time) into the bowl with the eggs.  Repeat this a few times, until the eggs have been warmed.  Slowly add the eggs to your milk base and cook on medium heat until the mixture thickens (and reaches 180 degrees).  

Pour the custard mixture through a strainer and cool completely, ideally in an ice bath.  (You can prepare an ice bath by sandwiching a smaller sized metal bowl on top of another bowl filled with ice cubes; pour your hot mixture into the smaller bowl.)  Alternatively, you could cool the mixture in your fridge until it's fully chilled.

Meanwhile, strain the rum from the raisins.  Set the rum aside and return the raisins to their bowl.  Add another 1/4 cup of rum to the raisins and stick them back in the fridge.  Meanwhile, heat the rum you set aside in a small pan with 1 tbsp sugar to create a rum syrup. Heat and reduce this liquid by about half (it should be about 1/4 cup).  Place rum syrup in the fridge to cool completely.

When your custard mixture is fully chilled, freeze it according to your ice cream maker's instructions (this usually takes about 25 minutes).  About 22-23 minutes in, slowly add in your chilled rum syrup and rum plumped raisins, along with the additional rum the raisins were soaked in.  Let the mixture blend for a minute or two longer.  Pack your ice cream in a container (with a tight-fitting lid) and cover it with parchment paper and then freeze it.

Makes about 1 quart

Notes:

-You'll want to start this recipe a day in advance and also plan for the custard base to chill for at least 4-6 hours (if you are not using an ice bath).

-Brian's recipe did not call for all the rum shenanigans I've mentioned.  He simply added 2/3 cup of rum straight to his milk mixture before bringing it to a boil.  I've always added booze at the final few minutes of the ice cream's freezing process.  So I freaked out for a hot minute and then decided to do a little of both by making a rum syrup, as well as adding in some straight rum.  It froze wonderfully.  (Too much booze and your ice cream won't freeze.)

-Brian's recipe called for 12 egg yolks, but this scared me.  (I don't really have a good reason why.)  So I was a wuss and used 8.