Parsley Cake with Crème Fraîche and Honey, It's Vermont After All

I was in Waitsfield, Vermont last weekend.  Nowhere is vacation mode more apparent than a town that seems to propel itself on beer, bikes, and National Geographic hair.  The town is perpetually breezy.  I get the feeling July is alive and well there all year round.

I visited a vineyard and sat in the grass with friends, and a baby, and listened to a local band named the Grift, and drank wine in jam jars.  We ate Israeli couscous salad and shards of sharp cheese and rolled up cured meats surrounded by grape vines.

In the morning, we went to the farmers’ market where we had blackberry Danish and looked at sheepskin rugs touting local origins and tasted beer jelly made from Vermont brew. We bought red-skinned potatoes and haricot vert and dill, all of which found entry into a potato salad drenched with local crème fraîche later that evening.

We sampled smoked chèvre and an aged ash cheese called Black Madonna from the Sage Farm Goat Dairy lady, and I felt closer to France than I have in a long time.  Then we went on a search for Heady Topper, for which there was none in the entire state.  Apparently, we were too laidback in our acquisition efforts—even compared to native Vermonters, who all seem to know that the beer delivery happens on Monday and must set their watches accordingly. 

So we hiked. Then went on a bar crawl for three. Chatted with the owner of Localfolk Smokehouse about his recent perfection of a spicy barbeque sauce recipe.  And finally found some loosies of Heady Topper at the bar of Hostel Tevere, run brilliantly by a husband and wife team.  All the while in the company of a three-month-old possessing a very chill Vermont-y attitude, until the witching hour of 7 pm.

That evening I saw fireflies after dinner, and felt closer to childhood than I have in a long time.  And in the morning we had parsley cake for breakfast.

Which I will file away as the unofficial dessert of the Green Mountain State.  It is fern-colored and pleasantly grassy, if you will permit me to use such a ridiculous phrase as a selling point. It carries laidback sweetness, which allows the herbs to become softened by dairy. 

For this role, I recommend crème fraîche spiked with honey.  Old-fashioned vanilla ice cream would work equally as well, though less traditional as a breakfast option.  As one friend put it, the sweetened fraîche tasted of “warm ice cream.”  So there’s that, too.

I interpreted this positively, since he had multiple servings throughout the weekend.  No judgment on either account. It’s Vermont, after all.

The recipe is from a restaurant in Brooklyn called Roberta’s with a cult following.  In full disclosure: I haven’t been, though it wields an inspirational vibe and appears to be the kind of joint that can make pizza and parsley infinitely interesting, and unexpected.

Kind of like beer in jelly. Babies in bars.  And parsley in cake.

Parsley Cake with Crème Fraîche and Honey

Adapted from Food52 and Roberta’s Cookbook

Ingredients:

130 grams (about 3½ tightly-packed cups) parsley leaves (stems removed)

50 grams (about 1½ tightly-packed cups) mint leaves (stems removed)

165 grams (¾ cup) extra virgin olive oil

290 grams (2 cups plus 1 tbsp) flour

15 grams (1 tbsp plus 2 tsp) cornstarch

7 grams (2¼ tsp) kosher salt

8 grams (1½ tsp) baking powder

4 large eggs, room temperature

330 grams (1 2/3 cups) sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

zest of 1 lime

zest of 1 lemon

serve with

crème fraîche (sweeten with vanilla bean and honey or maple syrup, if desired)

honey (to drizzle on top)

Instructions:

In a food processor or blender, place 1/3 of the herbs and process until well crushed and broken down.  Add the remaining herbs in one or two more additions, depending on the size of your machine, and puree, stopping occasionally to stir the herbs and scrape them off the sides and toward the blade.

When the herbs are fairly well pulverized, stream in half the olive oil and pulse until combined.  Add remaining oil and blend for 10 seconds longer.  Scrape into a bowl and refrigerate until ready to use.

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, cornstarch, salt, and baking powder; set aside.

In a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, whip the eggs for 30 seconds; add the sugar and mix on high speed until light yellow and fluffy (about 3 minutes).  On low, slowly stream in the herb mixture and mix until combined.

With the machine on low, add the flour mixture a third at a time (do this quickly and don’t allow the flour to incorporate in before adding the next bit—this shouldn’t take more than 10 or 15 seconds).  Stop the mixer and add the vanilla and zest and stir with a rubber spatula until just combined (the flour should be fully incorporated but take care not to overmix). Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 6 and up to 24 hours.

When you are ready to bake, set the oven to 340 degrees.  Butter a loaf pan (I used two narrow ones—10 x 3½ and 7 x 3½), line with parchment paper (with the paper hanging over the sides), and then butter the parchment.  Pour in the batter and smooth with a spatula.

Bake for about 40 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center of the cake. (The reference recipe has the cake bake for only 15 to 20 minutes, but they use a sheet pan which makes for a shallower cake and a faster cooking time; watch closely depending on your baking receptacle.)

Let cool in the pan.  Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche and a drizzle of honey.

Serves about 12

Notes:

-Any leftovers can be stored in the freezer.

-Note the batter hangs in the fridge for a least 6 hours before baking.

Rhubarb Yogurt Bread, Slice of Montreal

When my family used to travel, my mother would always pack a cooler of road snacks.  It contained all the usual suspects you’d expect from a lady who once gave her child a yogurt-filled Easter basket.  Baby carrots.  Grapes.  Nutri·Grain bars.  And some sort of homemade loaf or muffin, if we were lucky. 

On these trips, I got the sense that the kids in other vans were having way more fun, feeding each other Bubble Tape and licking their barbeque chip-flavored fingers.  But now I am very thankful for my mother—queen of quick breads—and her health habits.  And today I have this rhubarb yogurt loaf, a recipe from the mom files.  One of my favorites. 

I packed some for the car ride up to Montreal, for Dave’s birthday a few weeks ago.  And I am barely exaggerating when I say it was the only non-animal thing we had while we were up there.  Ever had a meat hangover?  Not pretty.  By day five I was picking the pepperoni off my pizza and fighting a case of reflux no amount of Tums could right.

But I had asked for it.  We took on Canadian eating as a sport.  Our trip was marked by the best food and drink I've had in a very, very long time. 

There were Aperol spritzers in a small, candlelit scotch den called Big in Japan.  Curried ribs at the Liverpool House, a seaside cottage meets old-timey club car establishment and sister restaurant to Joe Beef.  And a comforting bowl of celery root baked eggs with a side of chewy, butter-laced sourdough at Lawrence for brunch.

And a refreshing plate of seasonal vegetables (!) showcasing sea beans and the very last bottle of Tokaji Furmint Sec at Pullman bar à vin.  Christmas dinner of stuffed pig foot with foie gras and roast guinea hen atop cheese curd potatoes at Au Pied de Cochon.  A place known for all things excess.  Plus their sugar pie. 

And chèvre from Jac le Chevrier and spicy pork sausage sliced with a pocket knife, eaten standing up Atwater market.  Hot sesame bagels out of the wood-fired oven at St-Viateur, schmeared with cream cheese and salmon. A few bites of Dave’s smoked meat sandwich with yellow mustard at Schwartz’s plus a big, thick pickle on small white plate.  (By this time I was getting pretty full.)

We finished with too many glasses of wine at Bocata with Malcolm, our personal wine guide thanks to a slow Monday night in Old Montreal.  Plus fried sea smelts with aioli and a haunting, simple appetizer of toasted bread topped with tomato and Iberico sliced at the bar.  (Let’s not mention the blueberry pastry from Olive + Gourmando for the ride home.)

It wasn’t until we were en route back to Boston with a cooler filled with foie gras, a hundred dollars worth of Canadian cheese, some sausage, and a few cases of Heady Topper from Vermont that I realized my mother’s habits had gone awry.

Luckily, I still have her rhubarb bread recipe.  Which I've eaten for breakfast on a few occasions since I’ve been back.  It’s nutty and chewy, with a slight tang from the lemon peel and rhubarb that stud it.  Cutting it into thick morning time slices feels nourishing, without being overly virtuous. A perfect compliment for the diet of sea creatures and plant-based edibles I’ve put myself on since I’ve been back.

Lest we not forget, rhubarb is actually a vegetable.

Rhubarb Yogurt Bread

Adapted from mom

Ingredients:

1¾ cup all-purpose flour, plus 2 tbsp

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

½ tsp coriander seeds, ground

1½ cups muscovado sugar

1 egg

½ cup canola oil

1 cup whole milk yogurt

1 tsp vanilla

zest of 1 lemon

2 cups finely chopped rhubarb

Instructions:

Grease two loaf pans (I used a 7 x 3½ and 10 x 3½).  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Sift 1¾ cups all-purpose flour, whole wheat flour, baking soda, salt, and ground coriander into a medium bowl.  In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat the sugar, egg, and oil until thoroughly combined (a minute or so).  Add in the yogurt, vanilla, and zest and mix until fully incorporated.  While the mixer is running, slowly add in the flour mixture and then turn off the mixer (it’s okay if you can still see bits flour). 

In a small bowl, toss the rhubarb pieces with the remaining 2 tbsp flour.  With a rubber spatula, mix in the rhubarb until fully incorporated and the flour is no longer visible, but take care not to over mix.

Pour into your greased pans and bake for 45-55 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center of the loaves.  Let cool on a wire rack.

Makes “1 large loaf and 1 small loaf” per my mother

Notes:

-I am fairly confident this bread can take even more rhubarb, if you have it.  The rhubarb melts into the bread and doesn’t overpower.

-I used dark muscovado sugar because I had it hanging around, though I do think I’d prefer light in this recipe.  The difference is minor—just a slightly darker color and hint of molasses. (The original calls for light brown sugar.)

-Mom is also a wee bit more health-conscious than her dietitian daughter, apparently.  She uses low fat yogurt and more whole wheat than white flour.  The lemon peel and coriander were my additions.  Because I can never leave well enough alone.

Romancing Dinner, a Cauliflower Sandwich with Raisin Caper Sauce

Bluefish.  Donut peaches wrapped in prosciutto, glazed in maple, and grilled. Butter lettuce with buttermilk basil dressing.  Heady Toppers from Vermont.

Homemade hot dogs in buttered, pan-toasted brioche buns.  A bottle of my favorite rosé, ZeC Vin de France from Château Tour Grise with “House of the Rising Sun” in the background.

Steamed pork and cabbage dumplings. Spicy beef tongue. Sautéed bitter melon. Hot tea and a Tsingtao in Chinatown.

Paper-thin radish rounds with raw tuna and fluke, sliced by a knife made by a man in Japan. Eaten at 10 pm in the dark on a patio table with the light of a half lit lantern.

Handmade fettuccini tossed with cooked down fairytale eggplants and heirloom tomatoes.

Fried cauliflower. Fried Japanese sweet potatoes so hot they blister the inside of your mouth. Charred octopus and dirty rice.

Cast-iron cooked rib-eye with a salad of tomatoes, peaches, and torn basil.

A bottle of bubbly from the Loire as dinner. Overlooking sailboats.

Fried chicken skins.  Grilled romaine salad.  Chicken liver mousse on toast. 

This is how you do it.  This is how you romance dinner.

The sandwich I am writing about today is special.  I had its bones scribbled down in a kitchen notebook months ago.  Months before I met the man I am now dating.  The dinners above we shared.  The sandwich recipe is his. Both the man and his recipe came to me by way of a mutual friend.  Both unexpected.  Simple in preparation.  And yet complex in all the right ways. 

A sauce of capers and plumped raisins with some jalapeño heat. Anchored by buttery cauliflower.  Topped with a sharp sheep’s milk feta.  Sandwiched between smoky homemade flatbread. 

What is listed below is my interpretation of his recipe. A meal from a man I’ve been enjoying for months.

P.s. Check out my article in the fall issue of edibleBoston.  It’s about making homemade sea salt and includes some recipes from pastry chef, and matchmaker, Brian Mercury.  He introduced me to this sandwich after we collected seawater from Maine to make the salt.  The introduction to his friend came later.

Cauliflower Sandwich with Raisin Caper Sauce

Ingredients:

For the cauliflower steaks

a head of cauliflower, you will have extra

olive oil

butter

salt

For the raisin caper sauce

about 1 tbsp butter

a jalapeño or serrano pepper, chopped with the seeds (you can remove the seeds for less heat)

salt

about 1/3 cup raisins

1-2 tbsp capers, plus a little of their brine

a few tbsp apple cider vinegar

For the flatbread

see instructions below (prepare ahead)

or use store-bought pita bread or homemade pita, recipe here

Suggested toppings

sheep’s milk feta

leaf lettuce

Instructions:

To make the flatbread (if doing so) make the dough as described here.  Once the dough has risen (which will take about an hour), with floured hands, divide it into four equal pieces.  Prepare your grill; if you are using charcoal it will take about 20 minutes to get the coals ready for grilling, but you’ll want to use a part of the grill with medium-ish heat (i.e. you can hold your hand 5 inches above the grate for about 3-5 seconds), so be sure to seek out a part of the grill that isn’t super hot. 

Stretch each piece of dough with your hands until it is about 9 or 10 inches in length.  Place it on the grill until it starts to bubble (this will take 1-2 minutes).  Flip the dough with a spatula and continue to cook the flatbread another minute or so.  (This process happens quickly.  The flatbread will only have a little color to it; it should be fully cooked, but still soft.  If you wish, you can also brush the flatbread with a little olive oil after you’ve flipped it.) 

Repeat with the remaining pieces of dough (you may be able to do more than one piece at a time, depending on if you are grilling other things as well).  Technically, this will make enough for eight sandwiches.  I put the leftover flatbread in my freezer once they cool and use the microwave to defrost them as needed.

To prepare the rest of the sandwich, slice the head of the cauliflower so that you get “steaks,” about 3-4 inches in length and no more than a ½ inch thick; it needs to fully cook in a sauté pan so the steaks should be fairly thin.  Pour a glug or so of olive oil into a hot pan and add a teaspoon or two of butter.  Place a few of the cut cauliflower steaks in the pan, but don’t crowd them.  Season with salt.  When the cauliflower is browned on its underside, flip it, and season the other side.  Cook the cauliflower until browned on both sides and fully cooked.  Don’t move it too much in the process, let it caramelize.  Repeat until you have cooked as much of the cauliflower as you want. (This will depend on the number of sandwiches you are making, figure two to three steaks per sandwich.)

While the cauliflower is cooking, prepare the sauce.  Heat the butter in a pan.  Add the chopped pepper, season with salt, and cook, stirring occasionally until it starts to soften.  Add the raisins, capers, plus a little of their juice, and the vinegar.  Let everything cook down a bit until the raisins start to plump, adding a little water if things look dry.  (You may also add a little more vinegar too, just taste before you do to make sure the sauce won't be too acidic, if you think it might be, stick to water.)  Taste and add more salt, if needed.  Once the sauce is as you wish—it should be salty, sweet, and have some heat to it—blend it together in a food processor or blender; here you could also add a little water (or vinegar if it needs a little perking) if it could use a bit more liquid.  Set aside.

To assemble the sandwich, cut a flatbread in half so that you have two pieces each about 5 inches in length.  Using one piece, place a few cauliflower steaks on the bottom half of the flatbread; top with a tablespoon or so of the caper raisin sauce, 1-2 ounces of feta, and a few slices of leaf lettuce and fold the top half of flatbread over the contents of the sandwich.  (If you are using pita, just place some cauliflower, sauce, feta, and lettuce in each of the pita halves.)

The yield for this recipe is variable.  You can make one sandwich and have leftovers.  You can make more than one sandwich.  (You should have enough sauce for at least 4 sandwiches.)

Notes:

-This looks like a lot of steps, but much of it is for the flatbread.  Sub in premade pita and you’ll have your sandwich in 20 minutes or so.  

-This is another recipe that’s easily tailored to preference, so treat it as a suggestion.  This is an interpretation of an interpretation of a loose interpretation of a sandwich from Clover.

-The fried Japanese sweet potatoes are amazing.  They are from Strip-T's, which has easily produced some of my favorite dishes in Boston.  Oops, it’s in Watertown. 

-The chicken skins, chicken mousse, etc. came by way of The Salty Pig.  It’s also a fantastic restaurant and worth checking out if you haven’t been yet.  Like the Salty Pig?  Try Canary Square.  They are doing some pretty amazing things. It's in Jamaica Plain.  And you should go.  Lastly, the Zec wine was from my favorite wine shop in Boston: The Wine Bottega.