The Curious Path of a Midsummer Cake

There are many paths to knowing you have stumbled upon a winning recipe.

Perhaps the quintessential indicator is when company in the room goes silent.  (Laurie Colwin notes this is also how you know you will not be enjoying leftovers.)

Our busy lives often separate us from communal eating.  In which case, modernity may allow that you receive a message sent by way of a technological gadget in ALL CAPS.

Or it could be an employment of expletives, a telltale that transcends time.  As is the invocation of a saint or religious figure, as in: “holy Mary sweet mother of God.”  

This cake’s praise, however, took a path less traveled. After sending a slice with Brett to work, I received an ALL CAPS text.  (The cake was absolutely FANTASTIC.) But he then momentarily became a nineteenth century British diplomat and said, “I tip my hat to you madam, superb job.”

After earning madam status by way of cookery, things diverged further.  A fellow blogger-friend identified the cake’s origin by both cookbook and name, with nothing but a picture (above) and the mention of raspberries and almonds.  (I did also note its superlative breakfast qualities, though I am certain this is true of any cake known to man.)

The cookbook:  Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard. The name: A cake for midsummer.  I am painfully aware it is no longer midsummer. As I am also painfully aware I have largely missed apricot season in Massachusetts, yet again.  But this recipe has been on my list to make for an embarrassment of years and I was not going to let another cake slip past me with the summer wind.

So there are late summer peaches—instead of the white whaled New England apricot—and raspberries in the cake. (I doubt this detail matters.)

As with so many of Nigel Slater’s cake recipes, the batter is thickly stiff and still supple, like a buttercream. It then becomes littered with raspberries and chunks of stone fruit. And again, as with so many of his desserts, it becomes beloved immediately. 

The cake is a crowd-pleaser plain and simple.  Compliments, of any shape and size, don’t get that kind of thing wrong.

Raspberry Stone Fruit Cake

Adapted from Nigel Slater’s Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard

Ingredients:

¾ cup (175 grams) unsalted butter, softened

1 ground scant cup (175 grams) demerara sugar (see notes)

2 medium peaches or 4 to 5 apricots (200 grams)

2 large eggs

½ cup whole wheat pastry flour

½ cup plus 1/3 cup cake flour

2 tsp baking powder

¼ tsp salt

1 scant cup (100 grams) almond flour

2 tbsp half and half (or whole milk)

1 tsp vanilla extract

1½ cups (170 grams) raspberries

Instructions:

Butter an 8-inch springform pan; line with parchment paper and butter the paper; set aside.  Set oven to 350 degrees.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy (about 5 minutes); scrape down the sides occasionally, if needed.  Meanwhile, halve, pit, and chop the peaches into ½-inch pieces. 

In a small bowl, lightly beat the eggs. With the mixer running on medium-low, slowly add the eggs to the creamed butter and sugar; mix until fully combined, scraping down the sides to corral the batter occasionally.

In a large bowl, sift the flours, baking powder, and salt together; mix in the almond flour.  With the mixer on low speed, add the flours in two or three additions; add in the half and half.

Remove the mixer bowl from the stand and with a rubber spatula, gently fold in the vanilla extract, peaches, and raspberries until just combined.  Scrape the mixture into the prepared pan (the batter will be thick); lightly smooth the top. 

Bake for 65 to 75 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean.  Let the cake cool slightly in the pan then run a knife around the edges and release from the springform. Let cool completely.

Yields 8 to 10 slices

Notes:

-The original recipe calls for golden bakers sugar.  If you can't find it, grind demerara or turbinado sugar in food processor instead.

-The original recipe calls for 1-1/3 cups white self-rising flour, which you could substitute for the pastry flour, cake flour, and baking powder. The salt may need to be modified, depending on the brand. ¼ tsp will yield about 600 milligrams of sodium.

Cranberry Spice Muffins. Also, I am a Boring Human.

There is something about initiating a discussion on muffins that makes me feel like the world's least interesting human. 

It probably doesn't help that I'm currently wearing a bathrobe and a t-shirt that says "Thomas Jefferson Still Lives" under that.  And that I'm drinking club soda.  And that I'm writing this on a Friday night.

But please don't let my lameness stop you.  This is a fine pastry specimen.  In fact, I referred to the batch I baked around Christmas as holiday stud-muffins. 

This probably does not help my cause much.  But hopefully it does something for the muffins.

The recipe is inspired by a blueberry spelt version in Nigel Slater's Ripe.  It's a wonderful base to use throughout the year and takes kindly to whatever berry-of-the-moment the season is hosting. And this is one of my favorite incarnations. So despite being past its seasonal prime, I deemed it worthy enough to risk a passé label.

It has the tender quality of a muffin masquerading as a biscuit and hints ever so slightly of eggnog.  The cranberries swing with the spices and offer up pleasing tart pockets.  Things might even teeter on the side of savory, if there wasn't a sprinkling of demerara over their tops. 

But the crunch from the sugar is a must.  If it were up to me, I'd make a demerara scattering mandatory across most baked goods.  They also freeze brilliantly.  Which means they can pretty much go wherever, whenever.

They are a real renaissance muffin.

Jefferson lives!

Cranberry Spice Muffins

Adapted from Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard by Nigel Slater

Ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole wheat pastry flour

1½ tsp baking powder

½ tsp baking soda

heaping ½ tsp cinnamon

½ tsp ground allspice

¼ to ½ tsp freshly ground nutmeg (see note)

½ tsp kosher salt

¼ cup butter, softened

scant 2/3 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

2 tsp vanilla extract

½ cup plain whole milk yogurt

1¼ cups cranberries (fresh or frozen whole)

a few spoonfuls demerara sugar

few spoonfuls rolled oats

Instructions:

Set the oven to 375 degrees.  Line 12 muffin cups with liners.  Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, spices, and salt.

In the bowl of stand mixer, cream the butter and granulated sugar until fluffy, scraping down the sides occasionally (the mixture will want to cling to the side of the bowl, especially if you use the paddle attachment).  With the mixer running, slowly add the eggs one at a time; add in the vanilla and yogurt.

Add the sifted flour mixture in three or four swift additions with the mixer running (the flour does not have to be fully incorporated; you don't want to over-mix the batter).  Stop the mixer and fold in the berries.  Spoon the batter into the prepared cups (it will be very thick).  Scatter the tops with ½ to 1 tsp demerara per muffin and sprinkle on some oats.

Bake for about 20 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center of a muffin.  Let the muffins cool briefly in the pan and then place on a rack to fully cool.

Makes one dozen muffins

Notes:

-I used sheep's yogurt, because I love it.  Any yogurt will do, but I prefer whole because it adds a little richness and the recipe does not use a lot of fat overall.

-I eyeballed the nutmeg measurement (I ground it for 10 seconds with a microplane).  This yielded a faint but tangible presence. Use your judgment and do more or less depending on your relationship with the spice.

-You can substitute the whole wheat pastry flour for another whole grain, like whole wheat or spelt.  The pastry flour will yield a lighter crumb, but I've also used other less delicate types with satisfying results. 

Early Riser Polenta, For Us Humans

Very scary things have been said about polenta.  It’s pasty.  It needs to be fussed over or it’s all lumps and bumps. It burns if you so much as glance at it wrong.     

But here is the secret.  It has to be stirred.  And this can’t be hurried.  That’s it.

It knows what it needs.  And what it needs is an hour to be ready.  So do not rush it, thankyouverymuch.  Making polenta is mediation by way of cornmeal. 

I felt this needed to be discussed for a few reasons.  One.  Because I had an early dinner with my brother a few weeks ago and the man revealed he has yet to latch on to the right polenta recipe.  Since he owns my great grandmother’s hand crank cavatelli maker—and has used it—I can assure you his polenta void is not for lack of wont.

Two.  Because at said dinner at a trendy-new-restaurant-which shall-remain-nameless, we had a side of farro that was barely passable.  Sad and pale and bored.  (Like a New Englander trudging through March April.) And this should simply not be the case for Italian grains that require so little to taste delicious.

Three.  Because I recently visited Misty Brook Farm and have fallen for their Early Riser cornmeal, which they also feed to their pigs and chickens.  And I hope this balances out some of the implied elitism when I say it’s organic, meaning it’s a non-GMO (a rarity), and from a local farm.  Any food that’s fed to both farm animals and humans can’t be too highbrow.  In fact, I hope we can come to live in a world where people say, “If it’s good enough for the pigs, it’s good enough for me.” 

During my research, I also stumbled across this quote from an online garden supply store about using Early Riser: “Chickens will produce eggs with deep golden yolks, cows love it, and it makes a high quality cornmeal for us humans as well.”  Now, cows aren't technically supposed to eat corn.  But that aside, it’s ground so fine and delicate that it makes the creamiest polenta known to man.

But you still have to stir it. 

So do your dishes while it gently bubbles on the stovetop.  Or, better yet, grab a book and a bottle of wine and head to the kitchen.  This is precisely how I became well acquainted with both Nigel Slater’s recipe for root vegetable korma and a fantastic Umbrian Sunday dinner red from The Wine Bottega.  (Both of which I highly recommend.) You don’t have to be chained to the range, but you really don’t want to stray too far for too long.

You see.  The key is stirring, and patience.  This makes a high quality polenta for us humans, as well.

Early Riser Polenta

Ingredients:

5 cups water

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus additional, to taste

1 cup cornmeal

2 tablespoons (1 ounce) butter

1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Pinch of crushed red pepper

Black pepper, to taste

Instructions:

In a 2-quart saucepan, bring the water to a simmer.  Add the salt and then slowly whisk in the cornmeal.  Continue to whisk until any lumps dissolve.

Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook the cornmeal for about an hour, stirring regularly to prevent any lumps from forming.  The cornmeal will bubble occasionally; if it starts to sputter and splatter, turn down the heat.

The polenta is done when it is creamy and has reduced roughly by half.  (It should not taste floury or raw, if it does, cook it longer.)  Stir in the butter, cheese, and crushed red pepper.  Taste and adjust for seasoning.  Serve hot.

Makes about 3 cups

Notes:

-I’ve made the recipe with standard yellow polenta (typically medium or coarse ground cornmeal), as well. (You can find Early Riser at Misty Brook Farm here.)

-If your polenta is looking too dry, add in a drizzle of water.

-For more on the problems plaguing corn, and about Early Riser, see here.

-The vegetable korma is a great way to use up any winter roots you may still have lying around.  (The recipe is from Tender.)

Little Black and Blue Berry Cakes (or the Postmodern Muffin)

It all comes down to this.  There are some very, very strong opinions on the matter of Muffin v. Cupcake. 

Nigel Slater alludes to this in his recipe for spelt and blueberry “muffins” in Ripe.  Note the quotes.  He first creams the butter and sugar together: giving his muffin batter the cake treatment.  He says:

Muffin makers will quickly spot that my blueberry muffin is a muffin only in looks, and bears little resemblance to the traditional recipe in either method or ingredients.  In some ways, it is more like a cupcake (the butter and sugar are creamed together here, rather than the butter being melted and added at the end) …

It is clear Nigel is well aware of the great muffin—cake divide.   (The quotes are his and his alone.)  I was curious as to what others thought about muffin semantics. 

Thus, I googled.   But I was left scratching my head.  A little more confused about muffins, cupcakes, and the people who eat them.

So my next step was to easel and Sharpie it out.  Here.  On this blog.  Fair warning.  The questions I raise are not for those who easily offend, have a strong muffin and/or cupcake propensity, spit at postmodernism, maintain a nervous disposition, or dislike Frank Zappa.

If none of the aforementioned applies to you, forge on.  It’s time to question The Institution of Muffin …

Does a muffin cease to be a muffin if it is iced?

If an overmixed muffin falls on the floor, will it thud? If there is no one there to witness this, did it thud?  Is it really overmixed?  And is it even a muffin?

Will a frostingless cupcake eaten for breakfast become a breakfast cake or a muffin? 

True or false?  There is naught—nor ought there be—nothing so exalted on the face of god’s gray earth as that prince of foods … the muffin! 

Where does one find a Perkins chocolate chip muffin?  When did we flashback to 1992? And where are my paisley print stirrup leggings?!

Why are muffins being made the size of enthusiastically filled water balloons?   And—for the love of this recent legging resurgence—will you please stop? 

How come women got muffin top and men got stud muffin?

Why do so many men claim to not like cake? How do men feel about muffins?  And is this a matter of frosting?

Can a woman named Candy ever be wrong when dealing in matters of cupcakes and muffins?  (Not likely, unless Candy is a stripper name.  Then all bets are off.)

Would I be someone who corrects grammar in an online muffin forum? (Answer: yes, yes I would.)

What is your “muffin” philosophy? 

Should they contain a crunch of demerara sugar?

Have you a special place in your heart for berries?

Do you prefer the term "little cake" over cupcake between the hours of six and ten am?

Might you enjoy a morning dose of wholegrain without over-the-top wholesomeness?

Would you fancy a breakfast that’s easily made and takes kindly to freezing?

If yes, this is your muffin  cake  whatever.  They’re good.

Little Black and Blue Berry Cakes

Adapted from Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard by Nigel Slater

Ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup white whole wheat flour

1½ tsp baking powder

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

4 tbsp butter, softened

2/3 cup sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

scant ½ cup plain low fat yogurt (or buttermilk)

¾ cup blueberries (fresh or frozen)

¾ cup black raspberries (fresh or frozen)

demerara sugar, for sprinkling

a dusting of oats

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.  Sift together the flours, baking powder, and baking soda.  Add in the salt.  Cream the butter and sugar together in a stand mixer until it is pale yellow in color and light and fluffy, scraping down the inside of the bowl if needed.  Slowly add your eggs to the creamed mixture, one at a time, while the mixer is running on low speed.  Then add the vanilla extract and yogurt.

Slowly add in the flour mixture, while the mixer continues to run on low, and then turn off the mixer as soon as all the dry ingredients have been added in.  Use a rubber spatula to mix in the flour (be careful not to mix too much, only a few turns of the spatula should be needed here).  Fold in the berries.

Drop the batter into muffin tins lined with paper muffin liners.  (The batter will be fairly thick.)  Top each muffin with a little demerara sugar and a scattering of oats.  Bake for about 20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the muffin comes out clean.

Let cool on a wire rack.

Makes a dozen muffins

Notes:

-Any combination of berries will work here.  I liked the black and blue concept (plus those were the berries that were lurking in the freezer).  I’ve also made a triple berry version with some leftover frozen cranberries that was very enjoyable.  If you are using frozen berries, don’t defrost them before you add them into the batter.

-The original recipe calls for 1 cup spelt flour.  A number of whole grain flours would do well here.  I chose white whole wheat flour because I had it around.  It’s a whole grain, but it will produce a muffin that is lighter in texture compared to many other whole grain flours.

-These muffins have almost a biscuit or shortcake quality that I’ve become quite taken with.  They’ve quickly become a favorite muffin. Which, in this moment, is a term that I’m I am using interchangeably with little cakes.  Sigh.

-I’ve been on a bit of a demerara bender, I know.  If you don’t have any you could probably, ahem, borrow a few of those Sugar in the Raw packets from your local coffee joint.

-I am also on a bit of a Nigel Slater bender.  I don’t know when this will stop exactly.  But it’s not looking good.