Skillet Corn Cakes, Buon Giorno and Buona Sera

Hi.  I’m still here. 

I survived the move to the North End.  In a terrible cliché, I am currently drinking an Italian red and eating rolled up slices of mortadella.  Dave and I don’t have the luxury yet of sitting on a couch or at a dining table, but we do have a nice little impromptu bar cart and are surrounded by neighborhood joints that aim to feed.

What I’m trying to say is we are a work-in-progress.  In kind, I have yet to prepare a full dinner in my kitchen.  Not to suggest these corn cakes aren’t a proper meal.  It’s just that you can only plop an egg on something so many times before 'breakfast-as-dinner' stops being cute.  (You can see I’ve now resorted to Italian cold cuts and vino.)

But about these corn cakes.  They are toasty and nutty, perfect companions for melty cheese or a drippy yolk.  I cooked them in a cast-iron skillet, as I now have an electric stovetop that behaves as though heating something uniformly would be an insult.

The cakes were bookmarked from a recent Lebovitz post and are here serving as a prostitute for late summer produce.  They are quick to make; universal in appeal; and flexible for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. 

Eat them hot, with or without Italian bologna.  

Skillet Corn Cakes

Adapted from David Lebovitz, originally by way of Chez Panisse Vegetables

Ingredients:

1½ cups corn flour or finely ground cornmeal

1½ tsp baking powder

¾ tsp salt

¼ tsp chili powder

4 tbsp unsalted butter, plus more for cooking the cakes

1 tbsp honey

½ cup coconut milk

2 eggs, separated

1 egg white

2 large ears of corn (about 2 cups kernels), husks removed and kernels sliced off

¼ cup roughly chopped cilantro 

1 jalapeño, finely diced

Directions:

In a large bowl, whisk together the corn flour (or cornmeal), baking powder, salt, and chili powder.  Make a well in the center of the mixture; set aside.  In a small saucepan, heat the butter, honey, coconut milk, and ½ cup water; when the butter is melted, set aside to cool slightly.

Place the two egg yolks in the center of the corn well.  In a separate bowl, by hand—or using an electric mixer—beat the three egg whites until stiff (they should hold their shape when the whisk or whisk attachment is lifted).

To the corn mixture, add the coconut honey liquid, corn kernels, cilantro, and jalapeño; stir to combine.  Fold in the egg whites until fully incorporated.

Heat some butter (about a tablespoon) in a cast-iron skillet or sauté pan.  Once the pan is hot, spoon ¼ to 1/3 cup of batter in a mound in the pan; repeat with as many spoons of batter as can comfortably fit in the pan (for my pan this was three).  Let the cakes cook until they are browned on the bottom and their edges start to bubble; flip until lightly browned on the other side (about another minute).  Repeat until the remaining batter is used up.

Serve hot or reheat in a skillet or oven.

Makes about a dozen.

Notes:

-These happen to be both gluten-free (check your spices if you have celiac disease) and milk (but not dairy) free.

-I used cornmeal from Misty Brook Farm.  (It’s wonderful.  However, make sure if you are using cornmeal it’s very finely ground (it should be almost like a powder).

-Omit the jalapeño (or remove its seeds) for less heat.

Save the Cake: Rose Angel Food with Orange Blossom Cream and Berries

It seems logical that a cake requiring twelve eggs—and only the puny fat-free parts—would become defunct almost immediately. Lest you think angel food cake has gone the way of the Dodo, please reconsider. 

It is true the last person I remember to bake the dessert was my grandmother.  She used to alternate between angel food cake and something called Love in Bloom, which dictated cream cheese be mixed with heavy cream and spread over a premade graham cracker crust, then topped with cherry pie filling.  It is also true she recently turned ninety.  And it's highly unlikely she makes either of these options on a regular basis now. 

[Don’t be misled.  She is a spry woman who lives alone and still flips her mattress regularly.  Though I think when you enter your tenth decade, you probably yearn less and less for foods with cherubic undercurrents.]

Perhaps there are people still Love in Bloom-ing on a regular basis, but the recent trend has been to gather around lusty, big bosomed desserts that take kindly to things like bacon, sea salt, and good old fashioned lard.  No matter.  Anything that encourages an empty wine bottle peaks my interest, immediately.  (In this case, a bygone rosé.)  Add in an innate companionship for summer berries and you have my undivided attention.

It had been too long since my last encounter, so I had to go hunting for a recipe.  I found support where I often do: with Mrs. Garten and Mr. Lebovitz (plus my mother).  And then I had to do something I hate doing.  Obtain very specific cake parts. 

Like caster sugar, cake flour, a plan for a dozen egg yolks, and other persnickety things, id est a specific two-piece tube pan.  Luckily, the latter was a gift recently scored at a garage sale. (Which may implicate the dessert’s passing proclivities even further). 

Don’t be deterred.  She’s fussy, but worth it.

What resulted was one of the lightest, softest cakes I’ve eaten in decades.  Quite good on its own, capable of being sliced and palmed on a moment’s notice.  Ethereal paired with unsweetened whipped cream and the ripest berries you can find. 

I added rose water to the batter and orange blossom into the cream, because they are heady and romantic and perfect for a cloud-like—and arguably antiquated—cake.  Some souls find these flavors to be too grandmotherly, so simply leave them out if you are in this camp.  (I am not.)  Either way, the cake should be rebranded as vintage, and swiped off the endangered list.

Or perhaps I am mistaken.  Perhaps it never really left us.  Old often becomes anew.  Here, rosé begets rose.  And cake becomes better cake.

Rose Angel Food Cake with Orange Blossom Cream and Berries

Adapted from Barefoot Contessa Family Style by Ina Garten

Ingredients:

for the cake

1½ cups egg whites (10-12 eggs), at room temperature

2 cups sifted superfine (caster) sugar, divided

1 1/3 cups cake flour

¾ tsp kosher salt

1½ tsp cream of tartar

1 tsp vanilla

zest of 1 large lemon

1 tsp rose water

for the whipped topping

1 cup heavy cream

1 tsp orange blossom water

for the berries

2 cups berries (blackberries, blueberries, etc.), divided

a few drops of fresh lemon or lime juice

1 to 2 tbsp sugar

splash of Grand Marnier

Instructions:

Note: you should start about an hour or two in advance by separating your eggs; save the egg yolks for another use and let the whites come to room temperature.

When you are ready, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Place a fine sieve over a medium bowl and sift ½ cup of the sugar and all the cake flour together into the bowl.  Sift this mixture 3 more times (you may wish to get another bowl so you can easily move it back and forth).

In the bowl of a stand mixer, place the egg whites, salt, and cream of tartar.  Whip on high speed with the whisk attachment until medium firm peaks form (about a minute). (At first, my cream of tartar clumped a bit so I whipped the whites by hand until everything became incorporated and then resumed the mixer.)

With the mixer on medium speed, slowly sprinkle in the remaining sugar and whisk until thick and shiny (1 to 2 minutes more).  Add in the vanilla, lemon zest, and rose water and whisk until very thick (about another minute). 

Remove the bowl from the stand and sift one forth of the flour mixture into the egg whites; gently fold in the flour using a rubber spatula and then repeat 3 more times (adding a forth of flour each time), until everything is incorporated.

Pour the batter into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan.  Smooth the top and bake for 35 to 45 minutes, until the top is golden and springs back when touched.  Immediately invert the pan over a bottle (a wine bottle works well for this).  Let completely cool.  Loosen the cake by running your knife along the two inner rims, then remove the cake by gently tipping the pan sideways; run your knife along the bottom of the pan to fully extricate the cake.  Wrap tightly in plastic wrap until ready to serve.

To serve: in a medium saucepan, add 1 cup of the berries, citrus juice, sugar (to taste), and Grand Marnier and heat on medium until the berries start to give off liquid, but haven’t yet become mush (about 3 to 5 minutes).  Toss in remaining fresh berries and stir to combine.

Whip the cream until it becomes the consistency you prefer (I like mine on the thicker, denser side), drizzle in the orange blossom water; refrigerate until ready to serve.  Top each slice of cake with a dollop of whipped cream and spoon berries on top.

Makes 8 servings

Notes:

-The whipped cream and berry sauce can be prepared a day in advance, but omit the last cup of berries.  Gently rewarm the sauce and add in the fresh berries right before serving.

-The cake can be made 2 days ahead of time.  Keep in airtight container or wrap well with plastic wrap; store at room temperature.

-Don't have caster sugar?  Whirl granulated in a food processor.

Sun in the Sky, Breton Fleur de Sel Buckwheat Cake

I’ve accepted this time of year tends to be a bit bland for my taste.  The grayness that lurks in the crevice of February and March usually forces me into hibernation.  During this time I keep to myself, and try to keep out of trouble.  This year I failed, miserably. 

The two-day affair I had with an unforgiving frozen yogurt recipe is one I’d rather forget.  An encounter with a slab of pork belly shot me straight out of a dead sleep, our earlier romance lingered violently on the cold bathroom floor for the next few hours. In a last-ditch effort, I looked for solace in a lackluster bouillabaisse, wasting saffron and drinking too much wine in the process.

Of course none of this helped.  I just felt puffy.  I stopped interacting with others. Bright lights became irritating.  I growled at people showing signs of affection.  I began to wonder if maybe I had Asperger’s. 

But then I made this cake. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon.  As the sugar and butter fluffed up, I started to breath again.  Once the smell of cinnamon and dark rum crept through my apartment, I stopped grinding my teeth.  When I took the cake from the oven, its glossy, yellow crosshatched pattern smiled at me with a cakey gap-toothed grin.  And for the first time in quite a long while, I didn’t feel compelled to roll my eyes.  Or scoff. 

I heard Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good” start up in my head.  Fish in the sea, you know how I feel.  Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel.  Everyday cake lovers, you know how I feel.

This is a rich cake that uses nutty buckwheat to its advantage, playing off the butter and rum.  The fleur de sel melds these flavors, supports them, and serves as a salty backbone for the cake.  It’s a simple cake.  A very pretty cake.  A special cake that looks and tastes far better than its ingredients would lead you to believe. 

And so I’m leaving my hole.  Winter recluses, you know how I feel.  The end bits of February never seem very pleasant.  Not that this cake is a cure-all, but it is certainly a welcoming recipe.  A worthy end of winter companion.  Amazing what a little butter and buckwheat can do. It’s a new dawn.  A new day.  And a new cake.  And I’m feeling good.

Breton Fleur de Sel Buckwheat Cake

Adapted from Diary of a Locavore

Ingredients:

For the cake

1 cup buckwheat flour

1 cup all purpose flour

a scant ¾ tsp fleur de sel, plus a few extra grains to sprinkle on top of the cake

¼ tsp cinnamon

½ pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup light muscovado sugar

4 large egg yolks

1 large egg

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 tbsp dark rum

For the glaze

1 large egg yolk

1 tsp milk

Instructions:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.  Grease a 9 inch pie pan with butter.  In a small bowl, sift the flours, ¾ tsp salt, and cinnamon.  Combine the butter and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy.  While the mixer is on low speed, add the egg yolks one at a time and finally the whole egg; then add the vanilla and rum.  Mix in the dry ingredients, a third of the flour mixture at a time.  Stir the mixture with a rubber spatula until it just comes together and the flour is no longer visible.

Pour the batter into your prepared pie pan (it will be thick).  Use your spatula to smooth it over.

Whisk the egg yolk and milk together for the glaze.  Brush it generously on top of the cake and then, using the tines of a fork, rake three parallel lines across the cake in one direction and three parallel lines in the other direction.  For a picture of this, see here.  Sprinkle the cake with just a little bit more of fleur de sel, a pinch or so; use your judgment.  Bake the cake for 30-40 minutes, or until the top is golden brown and a toothpick or cake tester comes out clean when inserted into it.  Let cool slightly on a wire rack.

Notes:

-Be careful not to overbake this cake.  I almost did.  It was saved in the knick of time.  Diary of a Locavore also warns of this.

-This recipe was originally attributed to David Lebovitz; it comes from his book The Sweet Life in Paris. Which doesn't surprise me in the least. (The cake also freezes brilliantly.)

-I used muscovado because the time called for something fancy. Light brown sugar can be substituted.

-Where Nina Simone is high priestess, Jay-Z and Kanye West are kings.  They use Nina's "Feeling Good" in their song "New Day" from their Watch the Throne album. It's also a go-to for me, of a different sort.

Salted Butter Caramel Ice Crème de la Crème

If I could borrow from Sinatra: nothing but the best is good enough. I'm not talking Lincolns or lobsters from Maine. A bullfight in sunny old Spain would be nice, but I'm not sure it would beat out salted butter caramel ice cream. This is sweet caramel on caramel action. The crème de la ice crème.

If you've ever loved ice cream. If you've ever felt you've needed it at all. If you've ever had a broken heart. Found a goldfish belly up. Been in a hot pant for an ice cream float.

If you've ever possessed, at one time or another, strong views on deep, dark caramel. If you like the crunchy candy bits in butter crunch ice cream. Then this is the ice cream to keep in reserves.

And it's taken directly from David Lebovitz's playbook. An American pastry transplant living in Paris, Lebovitz knows his way around the sugar bowl. And for those familiar with the legendary Berthillion ice cream in the city of lights, Lebovitz asserts that his version is better than their famed glace caramel.

A dangerous statement. (With this he may as well be a matador; ice cream lovers, like bulls, can get pretty roused.) Luckily, boy does he deliver as promised.

For those that think butter has been overplayed. For those that think salted desserts are o-v-e-r. Think again. They aren't. They're timeless. Like Sinatra. And salt.

So tally-ho. Off we go. You and me, on an ice cream spree. Let's get started. Right away.

Salted Butter Caramel Ice Cream

Adapted from David Lebovitz

Crunchy caramel bits

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 tsp sea salt (fleur de sel)

Ice cream

2 cups whole milk, divided

1.5 cups sugar

4 tbsp butter

1/2 tsp sea salt (fleur de sel)

1 cup heavy cream

5 large egg yolks

1 tsp vanilla extract

Brush a sheet pan generously with butter. Spread 1/2 cup sugar on the bottom of a medium-sized saute pan. Heat on moderate heat until the edges of the sugar begin to melt; slowly spread melting sugar into the middle of the pan, towards the center, until sugar is dissolved. Continue to cook until the sugar deepens in color, until it starts to smoke and nearly starts to burn. Add in salt and quickly pour onto the baking sheet; shift and swirl sheet to spread out caramel. Let cool. Cover.

Meanwhile, make an ice bath with ice cubes and water in a medium bowl and place a smaller bowl on top of the bath. Pour 1 cup of whole milk into the small bowl and rest a mesh strainer on top. Place 1.5 cups sugar in a sauce pan and cook similarly as above, until caramelized. Meanwhile, place egg yolks in a small bowl and whisk until combined. Once sugar is caramelized, remove from heat and add butter and salt. When butter is melted, add in the cream. The caramel may seize, but continue to stir until any hard caramel that has formed has melted again. Stir in the remaining cup of milk.

Gradually pour small amounts of the hot caramel mixture into the egg yolks to gently heat. Once eggs have tempered, add egg mixture into caramel and cook until it thickens and registers 160-170.

Pour custard through mesh strainer and stir in with remaining milk. Refrigerate until cook, ideally overnight.

Freeze in an ice cream maker, according to instructions. It will generally take 20-30 minutes. While ice cream is freezing, break up the caramel on the baking sheet into small bits. At the very end of the churning add in the caramel pieces.

Notes:

-The high amount of sugar in this recipe means that it will stay slightly softened (and lovely) in your freezer so you don't have to let it thaw ahead of time.

-If you've ever had an adult ice cream float (or have wanted to have one), this ice cream is perfect with Guinness. I promise.

The Crepe Complex

Travel to France really did a number on me; I rolled over at 6:15 am on a recent Saturday and decided it was time to proof my bread. At the time I could have probably claimed jetlag, but the sad truth is that warm bread is a major reason for my existence. Few things bring such pure pleasure as hot bread straight out of the oven.

Each week, I try to bake a new loaf as part of my master plan to enjoy life and this particular flavor-of-the-week was sea salt and thyme. I sprinkled some newly acquired sel marin gris (a natural, mineral-rich sea salt harvested from the coast of Brittany, France) and thyme from Siena Farms on its top and let it go quietly back to rising.

Then I got a ridiculous urge to make crepes. So I turned to David Lebovitz—pastry chef extraordinaire and Parisian transplant—to see if he had a crepe recipe in his arsenal. (He does.) Unfortunately, I wasn’t cooking for Napoleon’s grande armée.

I don’t know why crepe recipes tend to have lofty yields of 20 or more, especially because I don’t know 20 people that would be very tickled if I called at 6:45 am on a Saturday for crepes. One or two friends, at best. (Am I supposed to have more friends or am I supposed to take down more crepes in a sitting?)

You could certainly argue for freezing leftovers, but the delicate nature of a crepe and the lack of current space in my freezer caused me some anxiety at the thought. (I don’t need to add frozen crepes to the odd laundry list—currently including cartoons, antibacterial soap and cell phone ringtones—of things in life that already make me anxious.)

So I did what I do best (or arguably worst, in many dessert-related cases) and modified the recipe to yield fewer crepes. David also called for buckwheat, which I didn’t have (and don’t imagine there is a general need for before 7 am). Despite these obstacles—and defying all usual logic—the crepes came out lovely, light and airy. One of the best meals I’ve made in a while. I give Paris some inspirational credit for this.

In fact, the crepes (yes, I had several) were a fond reminder of my first meal in Paris, a galette au jambon et fromage. A galette is a crepe originating from Brittany, traditionally made with buckwheat flour. I chose to have mine filled with ham and cheese, though I was jetlagged and asked for it with jamon. You just can’t erase 6 years of Spanish. You say jambon, I say jamon: it was arguably one of my most satisfying meals in Paris. I was hungry, walking on Parisian cobblestone, and eating melted cheese.

This particular morning, I filled my crepes with … actually … I can’t remember what I put inside. They were that good. And easy. And fun to eat so early in the morning. In fact, I think I can safely add crepes to the list of things in life that do the opposite of trigger anxiety, including but not limited to freshly baked bread and apparently things that hail from Brittany, France.

In fact—now this is unsubstantiated—Napoleon may have waged fewer wars if he had been served a respectable quantity of crepes. Or at least felt less anxious about his height.

Crepes

Adapted from David Lebovitz

2/3 cup milk (preferably whole or 2%)

1 tsp sugar

Pinch kosher salt

1 tbsp melted butter, lukewarm (plus additional for cooking the crepes)

~1/2 cup flour (start with less and add as needed)

1 large egg

Whisk together all ingredients and add additional flour, as needed, until batter is the texture of heavy cream. Let batter rest ~15 minutes. Melt additional butter (be generous) in a 8 or 9 inch saute pan on medium heat. Pour 1/2 cup batter and immediately swirl batter to edge of pan. Once crepe is fully cooked on one side (about 1 minute or until golden brown) gently flip with a rubber spatula and cook crepe about 20 more seconds until crepe is fully cooked and can be easily lifted from pan.

Makes 6 (!) crepes

Notes:

-It's often recommended to let crepe batter sit overnight. I am not sure why this is necessary, my crepe-loving mind doesn't always have such foresight. It didn't seem to be necessary.

-I keep dreaming about filling these suckers with crab salad. Soon, very soon dear crab.

-Don't forget about nutella and bananas, either.