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.

A Rationalization for Cocoa Frozen Yogurt

I am two weeks away from being done with this semester.  Which means my summer officially starts April 25th.  Break out the bourbon sours.  I may still need my winter coat and I probably have at least one upturned umbrella in my future between now and Memorial Day.  But still.

It’s odd to think of April in Boston as the beginning of a four month vacation, especially since I’ll still be working 40 hours a week, mostly discussing bowel irregularities and finding sly ways to convince folks to eat more root vegetables.  But 40 hours is not (what seems like) 140 hours at the moment.  This is the life of a dietitian in graduate school for what seems like an eternity (actual time, 3 years).

I’ve had some requests for items other than dessert to be posted on the blog. And I intend to honor them this “summer.”  I’ve wanted to make quiche since February.  I know.  Quiche is just an excuse to make pie. With cheese.  But I’ll throw a fistful of greens in there too.  Other savories will be discussed, as well.  I swear.

For now, I have a chocolate frozen yogurt for you.  But it’s not that kind of frozen yogurt.  It’s thick, full-fat and reminiscent of milk chocolate pudding. 

The yogurt is still in there though.  Which makes it seem, in many ways, healthier than other creams and custards on ice.  Just as creamy and cocoa-dusted, mind you, but also lighter and a bit breezier.  Perfect for summer come early.

You see, I am a dietitian pursuing a liberal arts degree in gastronomy.  I can rationalize anything.

Cocoa Frozen Yogurt

Base adapted from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home

Ingredients:

1 quart plain low-fat yogurt

1½ cups whole milk

2 tbsp cornstarch

2 ounces cream cheese, softened

½ cup heavy cream

2/3 cup sugar

¼ cup light corn syrup

¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

pinch of salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

The day before you intend to make this yogurt base, place a strainer or colander over a bowl and line the strainer (or colander) with cheesecloth.  Secure the cheesecloth (I usually tie it with string or rubber bands.)  Pour in the yogurt to drain, cover everything with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight (6-8 hours).  During this time the yogurt with get thick. 

The next day, discard the liquid in your bowl and measure out 1¼ cups of the strained yogurt; set aside.  (You’ll have a little extra.) 

Mix 3 tbsp of the milk with the cornstarch in a small bowl; set aside.  Whisk the cream cheese in a medium bowl until smooth; set aside.

In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining milk, cream, sugar, and corn syrup and heat on medium-high until it boils (stir occasionally to make sure the milk doesn’t burn at the bottom).  Keep at a rolling boil for 4 minutes and then add in the cocoa powder and pinch of salt; whisk to combine.

Remove the cocoa mixture from the heat and gradually whisk in the cornstarch.  Bring the mixture back to a boil over medium-high heat and cook, stirring occasionally with a rubber spatula, until slightly thickened (this will only take a minute or so).  Remove from heat.

Gradually whisk the hot mixture into the cream cheese until smooth. (You may need to strain the liquid if you notice bits of cream cheese lingering about.) Add in the vanilla and reserved 1¼ cups of yogurt; whisk to combine.

Place a metal bowl inside a larger bowl filled with ice.  Pour the yogurt mixture into the metal bowl and allow to come to room temperature before placing it into the fridge until fully chilled (ideally overnight).

Pour the yogurt base into a frozen ice cream canister and spin until thick and creamy (the base will pull away from the sides of the canister when it is done; this should take about 25 minutes).  Pack the yogurt into a freezer-safe container with an airtight lid.  Press parchment paper directly on the surface of the frozen yogurt and seal with a lid.  Freeze for at least 4 hours before serving.

Yield: a little less than 1 quart

Notes:

-This could probably take up to 6 tbsp of cocoa quite comfortably.  I tasted at ¼ cup of cocoa and liked what I had.  So I stopped.  (I wanted a nice mellow chocolate flavor that didn’t overwhelm the yogurt.)

-You don’t have to refrigerate the cocoa yogurt base overnight, but I like to let the flavors have time to get to know each other.

-This freezers hard, so take it out a few minutes before you want to serve it.

The Song of Young Roasted Onions with Balsamic, Cream, and Lemon Thyme

Ah, August.

You know August, the month of Sundays.  The month of last gulps of rosé and drippy kitchen sink peaches.  Pretty soon I’ll be replacing words like “tequila happy hour” with words like “trajectory.” Instead of saying, “Dude, pass me the salt and a lime,” I’ll be saying, “Please pass me that book. I have to read 200 pages on restaurant ethnography.” But for now, the dog days are upon us, tripping lazily along. 

I’m out to enjoy all the hot bits while I still can.  So I’m leaving my summer soundtrack of music to chop by.  And a list of dishes I’ve had on repeat.  Feel free to shake it in the kitchen. Let things get a little unruly.

The Sound

“We are the Tide” Blind Pilot

 “Silver Coin” Angus and Julia Stone

 “Sugar Man” Rodriguez

“Hold the Line” Toto

“Stars” The xx

“The World is Going Up in Flames” Charles Bradley

 “Ghosts” The Head and the Heart

 “I Ain’t the Same” Alabama Shakes

The Dishes

Pickle spears

Roasted rhubarb with white wine and vanilla

Black raspberry ice cream 

Summer fruit sparkling wine jello

Yogurt marinated spiced grilled chicken

Shredded kale tossed with a bastardized Caesar dressing

Roasted young onions with balsamic, cream, and lemon thyme

A word about the onions.  I make them in the early morning before my kitchen steams and the earth heats up.  I don’t have air conditioning, but I believe in the power of roasting onions.  This late in the summer, the onions you’ll find at farmers’ markets will no longer be green in the figurative sense.  No matter. I’m quite certain you could quarter regular onions and have things sing. This would also be the time to take advantage of Vidalias.  You could even try this roasting and creaming business with scallions. 

Hardly worth fussing over specifics.  What I have for you is barely a recipe.  But it’s something that is spectacular with morning eggs or tossed in a raw kale salad at lunchtime.  Again, let things get a little unruly.  These guys are difficult to mess up.  And their little onion souls pair fantastically with the Alabama Shakes.

Young Roasted Onions with Balsamic, Cream, and Lemon Thyme

Ingredients:

A bunch of young onions or about four small onions

Olive oil, enough to coat the onions

Salt and pepper

Few sprigs of lemon thyme

A few douses of balsamic vinegar

A splash or two of heavy cream

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.  Place the onions in a baking dish and generously coat them with olive oil until they glisten; season with salt and pepper.  Drizzle with balsamic vinegar, maybe a few tablespoons worth when all is said and done.  Tuck a few sprigs of lemon thyme in between the onions and bake until the onions are tender and start to caramelize, about 20 to 30 minutes or so (you will probably want to check on them occasionally). 

Once the onions are fairly well caramelized, take them out and add a few splashes of heavy cream; stir to combine the cream and place back in the oven.  Continue to cook the onions until a sauce forms (it will start to thicken a bit); this will take about 5-10 minutes more. 

Makes a few cups of onions

Notes:

-If you are using the whole onion with its green parts, the tops might get frizzled a bit.  I enjoy eating these parts, if you don’t, well, don’t.

-I know, technically rhubarb season has come and gone.  But I’ve had the recipe on repeat.  When you make something at least six times in a matter of weeks, it's worth noting. So I did.

Watermelon Cocktails and the Last Flash of Summer

Summer, it’s slipping away from us.  It’s going out with the muggy evenings and thunderstorms.  Except it's quietly creeping, instead of flashing and booming away into the distance. 

But just like that, it will be gone.  If I had my way, I’d be sitting in a creaky rocking chair on an old wooden porch watching the thunderbolts in the distance and listening to Lana Del Rey, with summer disintegrating around me. 

And sipping this cocktail.  This watermelon number is a doozy. The perfect base for a lazy evening.  It took kindly to white tequila and a salted glass rim last week. But it would work equally with Boston-based Bully Boy's white whiskey, which has a sweet, very slight smokiness to it. 

As for Lana?  Her song “Videogames” is the quintessential late summer melody.  It’s sultry.  Heady.  You want it to last a little bit longer.  Sipping a strong watermelon drink and listening to her just lends itself to romancing about summer memories.

Singing in the old bars. Swinging with the old stars.  Living for the fame.  Kissing in the blue dark. Playing pool and wild darts.  Video games.

Ohhh, she’s good.  Something about her haunting lyrics paired with this drink makes saying goodbye to summer a little easier.

So so long sun dresses.  And tan lines.  Carefree evenings.  And leaving the back door open. I’m not sure if the watermelon or the whiskey will run out first. But I can’t think of a better way for it to go.

Watermelon Cocktail

Ingredients:

1/2 cup sugar

Pinch of kosher salt

1 small watermelon (or about 6 cups cut in 1" chunks)

2-3 limes, freshly squeezed

1.5-1.75 cups of liquor (white tequila, bourbon, etc.)

Instructions:

Combine 1/2 cup sugar with 1/2 cup water to make a simple syrup in a saucepan.  Heat sugar water on medium heat until sugar dissolves completely.  Set aside.

Blend watermelon with the juice of two limes in a food processor or blender; add simple syrup. (Depending on the size of your processor you may have to do this in two batches.)  Taste and add the juice of another lime depending on preference.  Add booze.

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add watermelon mixture.  Shake mixture and strain into glasses with additional ice cubes.  

Makes about 6 cocktails 

Notes:

-I love margaritas with salt.  If you'd like to salt the rim of your glass, rub a wedge of lime around the outer lip of your glass and then dip the glass upside down into a plate containing kosher salt.  You could also just use water, simply dip you glass in a small plate of water and then salt.

-If you are making margaritas, use white tequila.  It provides a cleaner flavor.  ("They" also say it provides less of a hangover.)  (Each drink has about 2 ounces of liquor in it.)

-This mixture can be frozen, with or without booze, until it is needed.  Defrost the night before you plan to use it in your fridge.  (Note that it will not freeze completely if there is alcohol in it.)

-Lana Del Rey's song Video Games will be released on October 9th.  You can also listen to it here.  I first heard her from The Dinner Party Download.  All good stuff.

To Strawberry Ice Cream, With Love

It has happened.

I’ve had plenty to say about lentils and garlic scapes. I’ve been filled to the brim with musings on bran muffins and mushroom flatbread. And now I can’t find a thing to say about strawberry ice cream. I’ve totally blanked. Stymied by ice cream.

Anne Lamott, in her book Bird by Bird, recommends when you are suffering from writer's block—when the words just aren’t flowing (and perhaps after you’ve freaked out and thrown stuff)—to sit down and write a letter to a mother, a son, or a childhood friend. I realize Lamott likely didn’t mean to suggest a note composed to an ice cream flavor, but in a way strawberry ice cream is like a long lost companion. And so I begin ...

My dearest strawberry ice cream,

I blame you, in all of your innocence, for my confusion with how to deal with you. You’re a frozen slurry of hope, simplicity, and sadness. Like a well worn one-eyed teddy bear, in dessert form.

You’re a cannon ball into the beginnings of summer. You remind me of balmy nights chasing fireflies just after dusk. Of putting on the screen doors for the season. Thinking of you opens up the shutters and lets the fresh air in. As I write this, I find myself humming “Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts. You’re blowing through the jasmine in my mind.

But also, you don’t try to pretend to be something you’re not. What you see is what you get: a light pink hue with bright strawberry bits that have sat stewing in their own juices before being mixed into cream sweetened with sugar. Some may view you as boring. But you’re more classic than clichéd.

I feel bad for you too. You’re often a cast away, the left behind flavor in Neapolitan ice cream and overlooked by most anyone past the age of eleven. Saying this now makes me realize you’re probably in need of a good therapist. You’d likely benefit from spending some time discussing your inner demons lying down on an oversized sofa. I know you have some. You’re nestled in many childhood memories, where adult-sized problems often begin. Like it or not, you probably come with some baggage.

But it’s okay. You represent flip flops and the dreams of summers past. You’re adored by tattered sentimentalists and are eaten by adults with youthful hearts. So I will think of you fondly, for always.

With sugar cones and spoons,

Emily

Strawberry Ice Cream

1.25 cups whole milk

2 cups heavy cream

1 vanilla bean, split with seeds scraped out

8 egg yolks

3/4 cup honey

~1/4 cup sugar (plus additional depending on the sweetness of your berries)

~1.5 pound strawberries, cleaned and stems removed

Pinch of salt

2 tbsp lemon juice

1 tbsp rose water

~1/4 cup framboise

In a medium saucepan combine milk and cream; add the vanilla bean seeds and pod and cook on medium heat until bubbles start to form around the edges of the pan, being careful not to let the milk burn. Remove vanilla bean pod.

Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk the egg yolks and add in honey and sugar. When the milk and cream mixture has started to bubble, as mentioned above, slowly add the hot liquid to the egg mixture, whisking in a little at a time to make sure the eggs don't start to curdle. Once fully combined, return mixture to the stovetop and heat on medium, stirring constantly until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon (about 6-7 minutes).

Remove the mixture from heat, strain through a fine-mesh strainer into a bowl, and set aside. Blend 3/4 of your strawberries in a food processor and then strain out the pulp; add strawberry puree to the cream base, along with the pinch of salt. At this point, you may want to taste the mixture again and whisk in additional honey, if needed. Quarter the remaining strawberries and combine with lemon juice and rose water. Place both the quartered strawberries and strawberry ice cream base in the fridge to cool, ideally overnight.

After mixture has cooled, freeze the strawberry ice cream base according to your ice cream maker's instructions, (typically this takes about 30 minutes).* Meanwhile, strain out any juice the quartered strawberries have released. About half way through the freezing process, add the strawberries and about 5 minutes before the ice cream is done, add in the framboise. Place in the freezer to finish the ice cream hardening process, ideally 2 hours or more.

Makes about 1.5 quarts

Notes:

-*Though I froze this mixture all at once, I'd recommend freezing it in 2 batches if you can. It will freeze better with less mixture.

-The framboise helps to deepen the berry flavor, while also helping the ice cream remain softer in your freezer.