My Brown Butter Tart Quest, Part II

So now that I've eased you into my consuming obsession with brown butter tarts, and even left you hanging (I'm sure the anticipation was keeping you up at night), it's time to finish the tale of my epic quest.

When we left off, I had scientifically broken down the three components of brown butter tarts - filling, crust, and fruit - and explained why each is spectacular both separately and as a whole. But I was at a crossroads at how to replicate them in my home kitchen. Should I take the plunge and just cut the recipe down severely? (How exactly could I 1/12th a single egg yolk?) Should I just resign myself to only enjoying brown butter tarts at Bistro VG? Should I send a kind e-mail to the pastry chef asking him or her to elaborate further on the recipe? Should I send an angry e-mail to the pastry chef asking him or her how any home baker was expected to deal with such an unhelpful "recipe" (the most tempting option, I assure you)?

The answer turned out to be none of the above. A few weeks ago, I was perusing one of my favorite food blogs, Smitten Kitchen, browsing innocently through the substantial recipe index when I stumbled upon a recipe for cherry brown butter bars. I stopped dead in my tracks. Could this finally be the answer to my (sugar- and butter-laden) prayers?
Indeed, it was. Turns out that Deb at Smitten Kitchen had adapted a recipe for raspberry brown butter tart (from Bon Appetit) to bars filled with cherries instead of raspberries. And she documented the whole thing, complete with those all-important cross-section shots, and put her stamp of approval on the recipe. It all seemed too good to be true. Was it?

I eagerly e-mailed my mom, who knew all too well that these tarts had become the object of my desire, asking her to confirm that these tarts really did look like the real thing.

Her reply (via e-mail): "om. that's it. I'm sure of it." (For those not in the know, "om" - pronounced "O.M." - stands for "oh my" and is my mom's totally adorable version of "omg.")

So that was it. It was settled. This was the recipe I should use. But for some reason, I was still unconvinced. Or not convinced enough that these were really the real deal, because I kept searching for brown butter tarts. After many hours of tireless searching, I finally came across another recipe from Los Angeles chef Suzanne Goin. Her recipe looked promising, and as a recipe source she seemed trustworthy.

So I did what any self-respecting baker would do. No, I didn't bake each version. Ironically, I wasn't willing to commit the time and calories to such an undertaking (didn't I realize I was baking brown butter tarts?). Instead, I did an ingredient-by-ingredient comparison of all three recipes (Bistro VG, Smitten Kitchen, and Suzanne Goin) to see where differences in flavor and texture might arise.

I had a hunch that, from the photos on SK, the filling might be too custardy and the crust not flaky enough. After several unit conversions and a little bit of Excel work, I figured out that the BVG recipe had much higher ratios of butter than the other recipes, which were pretty similar. To make a long story short, my Excel spreadsheet actually made me more confident in the SK recipe; seeing BVG as the outlier in terms of ratios made me think that perhaps the recipe was faulty to begin with.

So I forged on with the SK filling recipe; I was committed to it, custardy interior and all. As for the crust, I was looking for one that was a deep golden brown (no blonde crusts!) and intensely flaky. Whenever I found a photo of a crust that seemed to embody this ideal, it almost always contained powdered sugar instead of granulated sugar. I'm not sure why this ingredient produces these desired effects, but I knew for sure my crust recipe would utilize it. I eventually found my answer in Dorie Greenspan's tart crust, a fairly common pate sucree variation. Now that I had my crust, filling, and fruit (I opted to make three strawberry and one cranberry), I headed into the kitchen and began.

For all the work I did in researching these tarts, the process of actually preparing them was relatively simple. First, I made the dough, which comes together quite simply and has the added bonus of being ready to use right as it's made. Instead of rolling the dough (a task that always sends me into a stress-induced frenzy), it can be patted right into the tart pans. It takes a bit of practice to get the shells to an even thickness all around, but it was easy work.

While the crusts baked, I set to work on the filling, which was my favorite part of the baking process simply because brown butter is surely heaven-sent from the culinary gods. Its scent is particularly hypnotizing. To merely proclaim it to be "nutty" would be to do it a great disservice. I can only advise you to go brown some butter right now and then please try to capture and bottle that scent and send it my way promptly. Please and thank you.
Like the crust, the filling is quick work and becomes a thick, ribboned concoction spotted with brown butter magic. After assembling the tarts and baking them, it was time for the moment of truth.

How did they taste?

Well, they were everything I wanted and more. My fears about the filling being too custardy were misplaced. While not as cakey as the Bistro VG tarts, the texture was somewhere in the middle of the fudgy/cakey spectrum. Not too dense or airy, but just right. The strawberries turned out to be a spectacular choice for fruit. Their flavor intensifies in the oven, becoming altogether more sweet and tart, similar to the effect oven-roasting has on tomatoes. The real surprise was the crust, though. I was afraid the crust would be more like shortbread than short pastry, but this is the flakiest (and easiest) crust I've ever made. As a whole, the tarts were a resounding success.

The only problem? Given how little effort the tarts require and how big the gratification is, brown butter tarts are all I want to eat right now. I think you'll feel the same.

Strawberry Brown Butter Tarts
As I mentioned in Part I, these tarts are highly adaptable in terms of the fruit you choose to pair them with. I've yet to try out or apples or pears - which I think would require some form of pre-cooking - but feel free to substitute blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, cherries, cranberries, peaches, or plums for the strawberries here. Or try a mixture! I'm currently dreaming of a strawberry-rhubarb version that would be perfect paired with the lovely spring weather we're having.

Yield: 4 (4.5-inch) tarts or 1 (9-inch) tart*

Crust:
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen, who adapted from Dorie Greenspan

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick (8 tablespoons) cold butter, cut into pieces
1 large egg

In the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade, combine flour, sugar, and salt. Pulse a few times to combine. Scatter the butter pieces over the flour mixture and pulse 8 to 10 times, until the butter is the size of peas. Add the egg and pulse in short bursts until the dough gathers into a ball in the food processor. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 5 to 10 minutes, until chilled but still pliable.

Meanwhile, prepare your tart pan(s). Spray them liberally with nonstick cooking spray (especially if the edges are fluted, the last thing you want is precious pastry sticking to the tart pan!).

When the dough is chilled but still pliable (think cold play-doh), begin pressing into the prepared tart pans. I find the best way to do this is to start on the bottom and form an even thickness before working my way up to the sides. Using two fingers, mold the dough to an even thickness (about 1/2 an inch) on the sides, trim any excess, and use the scraps to fill in any gaps on the bottom. Remember that the crust needn't be perfect, but a uniform thickness is essential, as is making sure there are no bare spots.

When the dough is molded into the tart pans, place the pans on a baking sheet and freeze for 30 minutes. As the dough freezes, adjust an oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

After 30 minutes, remove the tart pans from the freezer. Prick the bottom of the dough 3 or 4 times with a fork. Prepare four small (or 1 large, if you're making a single tart) squares of foil - they should be large enough to entirely cover the tart dough. Spray the dull (non-shiny) side with nonstick spray and, sprayed side down, place on top of the dough. Fit the foil tightly against the crust.

Bake the tarts (still on the baking sheet) for 15 to 20 minutes, until they are a pale blonde color. Remove the foil and continue baking for 10 to 15 minutes longer, until they are golden, firm, and fully baked. Remove from the oven and allow to cool while you prepare the filling. The finished tarts can be made several hours ahead.

Filling:
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

7 tablespoons butter, cut into pieces 
1/2 cup sugar
2 large eggs
Pinch of salt
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

In a light-colored pan (i.e., not nonstick; something stainless steel works fine), melt the butter over low heat, swirling occasionally. Once the butter has fully melted, the foam will begin to sizzle and make cracking noises. Continue cooking, stirring constantly with a spatula or wooden spoon, distributing the milk solids (that's what browns) evenly. The butter will begin to take on a brown color, but watch it carefully as brown can quickly turn to black and you'll have a pan full of burned butter. Once the butter has taken on a deep brown hue and smells intensely nutty (and sublime), remove it from the heat immediately and pour into a small bowl or measuring cup. Allow to cool slightly.

As the butter cools, in a large bowl combine sugar, eggs, and salt and whisk until smooth. Add the flour and vanilla extract and whisk again until smooth. When the butter has cooled (it should be warm, not hot), add it slowly to the sugar-egg mixture, stirring until completely smooth.

At this point, you can set aside the filling, covered, until you're ready to use it.

Assembly:
8 medium-sized strawberries, sliced

To bake the tarts, begin by adjusting an oven rack to the center position and preheating the oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange sliced strawberries in tart shells in concentric circles or in an asterisk-like pattern. If you're baking individual tarts, use an ice cream scoop to portion out the filling evenly (giving it a quick whisk if it's been sitting for a while). It may take a little rearranging of the strawberries to make sure there is filling in all the nooks and crannies of the tart. The filling should come up to the top of the crust. If you're making one large tart, I still recommend using the ice cream scoop to portion out the filling, since it's quick and easy.

Bake the tarts on a sheet pan in the oven for about 30 minutes, or until the filling has puffed and no longer looks wet, and a cake tester inserted into the filling comes out clean. Remove from the oven and allow to cool.

Serve the tarts warm, preferably with a scoop of ice cream or dollop of whipped cream.

The tarts will keep for several days in an airtight container, although they will lose some of their crispness. To re-crisp, bake in a low oven (300-325 degrees F) for a few minutes and serve warm.

 *This recipe will make enough for 4 individual tarts or 1 large tart. Because the tart is rich, I would say the entire recipe will serve 8. I know it's kind of awkward (and defeats the purpose) to serve an individual tart to more than one person, but one individual tart can easily feed 2 to 3 people. That said, if you're serving this to company, I'd go for making the large tart; if you don't have a fancy occasion to serve this (say, it's a Wednesday evening), then spring for the individual ones. It'll make you feel special.

My Brown Butter Tart Quest, Part I

I have three words for you: brown butter tart.

Let me elaborate.

At one of my favorite restaurants, Bistro VG in Roswell, they serve brown butter tarts filled with seasonal fruits: apples and cranberries in the fall, pears in the winter, fresh berries in the spring, and stone fruits in the summer. They are magical. For real, they rival cheesecakes for my favorite desserts, and that’s really saying something, if you know how much I love cheesecake.

And similar to my quest for the perfect cheesecake, I’ve also been on a quest to recreate these brown butter tarts. This quest began nearly five months ago. It was a few days before my birthday, in early November, and I was on the phone with my mom, answering her questions about what I’d like to have for my birthday dinner at home. After discussing the finer details of the main meal, I said, “And I assume you’ve got dessert covered,” with a knowing tone.

“You know we’re not going to have cheesecake,” she said. My heart sank.

“NO CHEESECAKE?!?!!?” I wanted to scream. Instead I muttered, “Oh, alright, well, ok. Well, I’ve got to go. See you soon.” I hung up the phone and quietly mourned by cheesecake-less birthday.

But I shouldn’t have been so devastated. Instead of cheesecake, I was happily presented with three brown butter tarts in various flavors: fig, cranberry, and blackberry. They were heavenly, to be sure.

The tarts that started the obsession: (from left) fig, cranberry, and blackberry. I think the visual of them at my own home allowed me to grasp that I could actually make and enjoy the tarts outside of the confines of the restaurant. 

The very next day I e-mailed the manager at Bistro VG asking for the recipe so that I could recreate it for Thanksgiving. It wasn't until a few weeks later, less than a week before Thanksgiving, when I finally had the recipe, straight from the pastry chef at the restaurant, sitting in my hands.

Well, I should say "recipe." Because apart from a list of ingredients and a general guideline, this was no recipe. For starters, it was fit for a small country, what with the five or so pounds of butter and 20+ cups of flour. It's generally not so hard to halve or quarter a recipe with success, but I'd never dealt with a recipe this industrial in size and with no general idea how many tarts could be made with this gargantuan recipe. So I chickened out, not wanting to risk failure on Thanksgiving, my holy grail of dessert holidays, and decided to go the safer route with my beloved (but not nearly as exciting) pumpkin cheesecake and apple crisp.

But I still couldn't shake the thought of homemade brown butter tarts from my mind. Soon it became something of an obsession for me. Anytime I saw a recipe with brown butter I was drawn to it, and I soon had scoured all of Foodgawker, Tastespotting, and Google of every permutation possible of the words "brown," "butter," and "tart."

Maddeningly, there were few recipes to be found for brown butter tarts. The few contenders were either sparsely reviewed and therefore unreliable (the problem with the Bistro VG recipe) or far from what I had in mind.

To be clear, there are three main components to the Bistro VG tart that make them so incredible: the crust, the filling, and the fruit. Let me explain.

The crust:

Everyone loves a good pastry crust. And this one, a deep golden brown and supremely flaky, is what pastry crust dreams are made of (what, you don't have pastry crust dreams?). It's buttery but not too rich, crisp but not tough.

This photo became my guiding light in my attempt to find a crust recipe that would replicate the supreme buttery, flaky qualities of the original. The excellent golden brown color indicates far more flavor than a blonde crust would, and you can practically see the bits of butter in the baked crust. Also, the flakiness is evident at the bottom of the tart.

The filling:

Imagine the moistest and most buttery and nutty cake and you'll have a good idea of what the filling is like. On the fudgy/cakey sprectrum, it's firmly in cakey territory, but it's not airy. The closest approximation I can make is to a denser, moister gingerbread (in texture, not flavor).

No cross-section shots of the original tart make it hard to visualize the texture of this filling, but this photo comes close. The lightness and cakiness of the filling can be approximated on the perimeter of the tart (left side). 

As for the flavor, it's sublime. Bistro VG always serves these warm, a major plus. The browned butter perfumes the entire filling, giving it a nutty and rich character, but it never crosses over into excessively rich. And like my favorite cheesecake, there's also a gradation of texture. The filling that's in direct contact with the fruit becomes a little bit moister and takes on the dueling sweetness and tartness of the fruit. In contrast, the filling nearest the crust is drier and less dense. Perhaps most importantly, it's not overwhelmingly sweet.

The fruit:

The fruit is what makes the tart. Without it, there would be no balance at all. I doubt I'd turn down a browned butter tart sans fruit, but without it, something is definitely missing. (Plus, adding fruit to any dessert makes me somehow think it's less artery-clogging than a cheesecake or chocolate ganache.) Adding fruit lends a distinct sweetness but also a tartness that cuts the butter flavor from the crust and filling.

This is a cherry tart served with pomegranate arils and rum raisin ice cream. The importance of the cold ice cream and warm tart should not be understated. The contrast in temperature (and the custardy sauce that soon forms from the melting ice cream) is magical.

While I've dissected the components of this tart (and literally, I have: "Wait, let me cut open it to examine the texture," I said to my mom the last time we had it at Bistro VG), it's important to note that the finished product is so much greater than the sum of its parts. The way that everything combines - flaky crust, crumbly filling, a piece of sweet raspberry, and all in one bite - is nothing short of divine.

But how to recreate it at home? I'm not afraid of a project, but I'm a baker and a cook, not a recipe developer. The Bistro VG recipe was a good starting point, but I couldn't bring myself to plunge into five pounds of butter headfirst. Fortunately, and thanks to a fortuitous series of events, my brown butter tart quest was about to take a turn for the better, and in a place I least expected it.

Pumpkin Granola

I think I can measure how busy I am on any given day by the number of unread posts in my Google Reader. It seems unfathomable that I used to get my unread blog posts down to zero (yes, zero!), but now any number less than 400 is fine. Even though I read blogs every day, often more than once, the blog posts just never seem to dwindle.

All of this is meant to excuse this long, silent absence over here for the past three weeks. (Three weeks, yikes!) I’ll justify that by saying that I’ve had many tests and, as a result, many three-bowls-of-oatmeal days. I think the hardest thing about Georgia Tech is that it just sort of sneaks up on you. Four weeks until a test seems like an eternity (especially after the most recent one), but then I find myself studying a few days before and wondering to myself, When did we ever learn this? How in the world did they come up with this answer? As an Industrial Engineering major, when why do I need to take Physics II? When will the magnetic field of a curved disc ever be relevant to my life? Can you imagine being a Physics major?! (Turns out they have to take Honors Physics, so no: I cannot imagine doing this to myself.) A lot of these questions I ask myself revolve around physics, because I can’t exactly say I’ll never need to know accounting or probability.

As I said, there have been plenty of oatmeal three-a-days around here. Not that I mind, but it’s not exactly inspiring, and it really doesn’t do much for this space.

Luckily I have this pumpkin granola pushing me back into the kitchen. I’ve wanted to make granola for a long time. I used to buy those expensive (especially on a college student budget) Kashi granola bars that were so good. There was a pumpkin spice flavor that, lo and behold, actually didn’t contain any pumpkin in it at all. It’s like when you read the ingredients on the back of the blueberry muffin mix box (Why is there red dye in this? What is a blueberry-flavored nugget?). Anyway, I forced myself to quit the granola bar habit because at the end of the day, even though they were oh so good, I knew I could make a homemade version that was better for me and my taste buds (and my wallet, although ironically I made this at home over fall break using my parents' pantry).

What I love about this pumpkin granola is how deliciously crunchy it is. I was worried at first it would be too soft but after a day or so it crunched up deliciously. The smell is also incredible. A blend of spices and warm autumn flavors like pumpkin, maple syrup, and apples all get mixed up before being tossed with chewy dried fruit and some toasty nuts. It’s also not nearly as sweet as other granola, but I think that really lets the pumpkin and spices shine.

Now that I’ve tried pumpkin granola I can’t wait to experiment with other flavors. I’m thinking a coconut version or one with other fruits like pears would also be delicious. I also think this would be fabulous as a topping for fruit crisps. Can you imagine topping cinnamon-scented roasted apples with this? I think I may have just found a new Thanksgiving  dessert.

Pumpkin Granola
Adapted from Serious Eats

I halved the sweetener in this recipe, but if you like a sweeter granola go ahead and add another ¼ cup of maple syrup. Use whatever nuts and dried fruits you like. I used almonds and walnuts and dried cherries and cranberries but pecans, pumpkin seeds, raisins, and even dried apples would also be delicious. The measurements here are pretty loose – I just grabbed handfuls of the nuts and dried fruit, but I have pretty small hands, so adjust accordingly. (I’d say my handful is somewhere between a ¼ and 1/3 of a cup.)

Yield:  8 to 12 servings

3 cups rolled oats
1½ teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon allspice
½ teaspoon nutmeg (preferably freshly grated)
½ teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon salt
Handful dried cranberries
Handful dried cherries, roughly chopped
Handful raw almonds, roughly chopped
Handful raw walnuts, roughly chopped
¼ cup maple syrup
1½ teaspoons vanilla extract
½ cup pumpkin puree
1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce

Adjust an oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Line a half-sheet pan with foil or parchment paper.

In a large bowl combine oats, spices, dried fruit, and nuts. Stir to combine.

In a medium bowl, whisk the maple syrup, vanilla, pumpkin, and applesauce. Add to the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly to combine.

Spread out in an even layer on the baking sheet. Bake for 40 minutes, stirring halfway through baking, until the granola is golden and smells heavenly.

Allow the granola to cool slightly before digging in. Stored well in an airtight container at room temperature, the granola will keep for at least a few weeks.

A Trio of Fish Taco Condiments

For my last meal at home, I opted for fish tacos. This is a meal that my family has only recently—in the last few years or so—started to make regularly. Although certain elements are always constants—the fish of course, good spicy salsa, and my mom’s cheese dip—I like to make different condiments to go alongside. Since we eat fish tacos most often in the summer, I also prefer to take advantage of fresh fruits and vegetables. The fresh toppings just taste better in the summer, offering cool contrasts to the spicier fish and salsa.

Usually the condiments are a reflection of whatever we happen to have in the refrigerator at the moment. Case in point: this pineapple and cucumber relish. The pineapple is sweet and juicy while the cucumber offers a crispness and crunch. A little hot sauce rounds out the flavors, and salt (ever the culinary workhorse) brings out the sweetness and juices in the pineapple and cucumber.

The guacamole is usually on the table but it’s taken me a while to get it just right since there are so many factors at play in guacamole. The texture should be creamy but not so smooth that it’s pureed (on the other hand, it shouldn’t be too chunky). I also like the contrasting texture that tomatoes provide: they lend a savory flavor that pairs well with avocado and their juiciness also smooths the guacamole out. In terms of seasoning, I usually go with salt, pepper, hot sauce, and dashes of cumin and cilantro (either dried or fresh). The cumin and cilantro are takeaways from my mom, who has instilled in me the proper way to make guacamole and perfect cheese dip, among other things.

The final condiment, a creamy carrot salad, is my homage to the coleslaw or cabbage that is often served with fish tacos on the West Coast. It’s utterly simple, equal parts creamy, sweet, and crunchy. I love the idea of a carrot salad, but not the heavy mayonnaise dressing that usually adorns it. My solution? A tart yogurt dressing with fresh citrus that pairs perfectly with grilled fish. 

In fact, my favorite part about these condiments is that they are as good complementing a fish taco as they are as dips for tortilla chips or vegetables, with chicken or shrimp, on sandwiches, and of course—like you even need to ask—on their own. Sometimes I’m more tempted by the fish taco accompaniments than the fish tacos themselves, but I’m not sure there’s such a thing as Fish Taco Condiment Night. Not yet anyway.

Pineapple and Cucumber Relish
 
This relish is wonderful with fish tacos, but it’s also great with other seafood like shrimp or scallops or with chicken. Alternatively, serve it as a dip with chips or crudité for a new take on fruit salsa.

Yield: about 2 cups

½ medium pineapple
¼ cup cucumber, diced into ½-inch pieces
Kosher salt
Hot sauce, to taste
1 tablespoon chopped assorted fresh herbs, such as basil, parsley, cilantro, and mint

Dice ¾ of the pineapple into ½-inch pieces and place in a medium bowl. Grate the remainder on the small holes of a box grater. The pineapple will break up and become very juicy and pulpy. Transfer pineapple pulp and all juice to medium bowl with diced pineapple and add cucumber. Season pineapple and cucumber liberally with salt. Add hot sauce to taste (I go with 4 or 5 dashes). Add chopped herbs.

Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve, at least 30 minutes and up to 4 or 5 hours. Serve chilled. Leftovers will keep, covered well and kept in the refrigerator, for up to 3 days.

Guacamole

Guacamole is most aesthetically pleasing when served right after it’s made, lest the avocado oxidize and turn a murky greenish brown. I’ve tried all the “secrets” designed to ward off this unwanted effect, from adding acid to the guacamole to storing it with an avocado pit, and nothing has ever worked. Luckily, leftovers stored in the refrigerator taste just as good, if not better, than freshly made guacamole, and only the surface of the guacamole oxidizes. Simply stir the guacamole a bit and it will be almost as green as new. 

Yield: about 2 cups

2 ripe Haas avocados
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
¼ medium tomato, diced into ½-inch pieces
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Hot sauce, to taste
1/8 teaspoon cumin
¼ teaspoon dried cilantro or 1 teaspoon chopped fresh cilantro

In a medium bowl, mash avocados with a fork until creamy but some chunks still remain. Add lemon juice and tomato and stir to combine. Season with salt, pepper, and hot sauce (I go with 4 to 5 dashes), to taste. Add cumin and cilantro and stir to combine. Serve immediately.

Leftovers will keep, covered well and kept in the refrigerator, for up to 4 days.

Creamy Carrot Salad
 
I use Greek yogurt in the dressing because we have it on hand more often than plain yogurt. However, you can use plain yogurt and omit the water. To shred the carrots, peel them first and then grate on the large holes of a box grater. 

Yield: about 2 cups

2 tablespoons Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon water
½ teaspoon sugar
Kosher salt and fresh black pepper
2 cups shredded carrots





In a medium bowl, whisk together Greek yogurt, lemon juice, water, and sugar. Season well with salt and pepper. Add carrots and stir to combine. Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve, at least 30 minutes and up to 4 or 5 hours. Serve chilled. Leftovers will keep, covered well and kept in the refrigerator, for up to 4 days.

Plum Frangipane Tart

Have you ever tasted frangipane?

Perhaps, like me, you once saw it on a restaurant menu, became intrigued, and then ordered it without an inkling of an idea what it was or what it would taste like.

Mmmm…. Almonds. And sugar. And butter. Delicious. And with fruit? Forget about it. Too good to pass up.

I know. Frangipane. Sounds fancy. But it couldn’t be easier to make. If you are in possession of a food processor or nut grinder, you are mere minutes away from beholding its wonderful taste and smell.

Perhaps, like me, you tried it once and then could not get it out of your head. So much so that the second query on your browser after you type in “f” is frangipane (after Facebook, of course). (This is only a slight exaggeration.)

Perhaps, like me, despite a minor obsession with the stuff, you’ve only ventured to make it once (once!) in the more than two years since first trying it. 

Yes, it turns out that frangipane is just as at home in a cake as in a tart, where you’ll usually find it. But this is not about a cake (delicious though it may be).

Perhaps, like me, you figured it was about time you put your beautiful fluted tart pan to good use, sliced up a few tart and rosy plums, and nestled them in a fantastic concoction of almonds, sugar, and butter. How could this get any better?

Oh, that’s right. A few splashes of crème de cassis.

It’s not often that I tell you to make something rightthisminute. But plums are at their peak right now. Their inherent tartness is softened ever so slightly by baking, offering a welcome contrast to a rich but restrained almond filling and a crisp pastry crust.

This is a tart that’s perfect for company or parties—it’s a beauty—but don’t wait for a fancy celebration to make it. Perhaps, like me, you think plain old Wednesday is as good an occasion as any to enjoy a plum and frangipane tart.

Plain old Wednesdays have never been so good.

Plum Frangipane Tart
Adapted from Bon Appetit via Smitten Kitchen 

In place of crème de cassis, you can you framboise, brandy, or another berry liqueur. If you like you can also add a glaze by melting 2 teaspoons of creme de cassis (or another liqueur) with 1/4 cup of red currant jelly over medium-low heat. Brush the baked tart with the jelly and allow to cool before serving.

Yield: 1 (9-inch) tart (about 8 servings)

For the pastry crust:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
Pinch of salt
8 tablespoons (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons ice water
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

For filling:
2 ounces whole raw almonds (about 1/3 cup)
1/3 cup sugar
1 large egg
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 teaspoons crème de cassis
12 ounces ripe plums (about 2 large), cut into 3/4-inch wedges

To make the crust, set an oven rack to the center position and heat the oven to 375 degrees F. Combine flour, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade. Pulse to combine. Scatter butter over flour and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add water and vanilla and process until moist clumps form.

Gather dough into a ball. Wrap in plastic and flatten into a 1-inch-tall disk. Refrigerate for 2 hours or freeze for 15 to 20 minutes. Once the dough is thoroughly chilled, roll out on a floured surface to a 12-inch round. Carefully lift the dough over a 9-inch tart pan and ease into the tart pan and up the sides, taking care not the stretch the dough. Trim the dough so it is flush with the edge of the pan  If the dough tears, simply patch it up with the scraps. Pierce the bottom of the dough with a fork and refrigerate for 15 minutes.

After 15 minutes, spray a large piece of tin foil with nonstick spray and place in the crust, sprayed-side down. Fill the crust with dried beans or pie weights and bake until pale blonde and the crust is set, about 20 minutes. Remove the foil and beans or weights and continue baking for 10 more minutes, until the crust is golden. Cool on a rack. Maintain oven temperature.

Meanwhile, make the frangipane filling. In the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade, finely grind almonds with sugar. Add egg, butter, and crème de cassis. Process until a smooth batter forms. Pour the filling into the prebaked tart crust. Arrange the plum slices in concentric circles atop the filling and bake until plums are tender and the filling is golden and set, about 50 minutes.

Cool tart on a rack and serve at room temperature. The tart can be made a day ahead and kept at room temperature until ready to serve. Leftovers will keep, refrigerated and covered, for up to 3 days.

Peach and Blueberry Lattice Pie

If I could, I would make cheesecake the quintessential American dessert. Maybe then it would finally garner the attention it so deserves and people would stop making these things called "no-bake cheesecakes," which irritate me to no end. (I'll spare you the rant about a no-bake "cheesecake" not being a cheesecake at all, because pretty soon I'd begin to rant about other terminology that irks me, like "easy peasy." But I digress.)

As it is, it doesn't look like pie, which is firmly ground in its place as the all-American dessert, is going anywhere soon. And to be honest, I've never really understood the lure of pie much anyway. I'm much more of a slice-of-cake or rustic fruit dessert type of girl anyway. Pie is good, no doubt, but it doesn't conjure the same cravings as a slice of dense, frosting-topped cake or warm, bubbly fall fruit crumble. Like I said, I've never understood what was so great about pie.

Until now.

Indeed, I realize now more than ever that my apathy toward pie was likely just mischanneled fear of it. As much as I like to think of myself as an accomplished baker, I'd yet to truly master pie dough, the thing that makes pie so unique, so tasty, for nothing quite comes close to its alluring and fleeting combination of flakiness and tenderness. I believe I once said that I hated it. That was over a year ago, and since then my only attempt at pie dough was the day before Thanksgiving. Note to self: don't haphazardly make pie dough when you are simultaneously juggling cranberry sauces, pumpkin cheesecake, rum raisin bread pudding, and homemade ice cream. It's just not a good idea.

Forming a lattice top crust is a bit of extra work but oh so worth it when the finished pie emerges gloriously from the oven. 

Because pie should not be stressful. Quite the opposite really. It strikes me as such an organic thing: cutting the butter into the flour, rolling it into a misshapen circle, pouring in a sweet filling, and then whisking it out of the oven bubbling hot. It's a very Rockwellesque picture, and certainly no one seventy-five years ago was stressing out about pie. Yet nearly every recipe I've ever seen for pie dough comprises everything I avoid in recipes for baked goods: ranges of ingredients, warnings about temperamental ingredients, and vague descriptions of steps. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I found a recipe that took away all that balderdash (sorry, currently just finished reading HP4 and subconsciously wrote this word, one of the Gryffindor house passwords) and replaced it with something I can get behind: reason and science. Created by a former recipe developer for Cook's Illustrated (he is actually the person who developed the now-famous vodka pie crust recipe), this pie dough is quite unconventional in its technique, but what results is a dough that I'm confident will work for me whenever I decide to make pie, which will be a lot more often than the current one-a-year quota I currently have going.

Beautiful, delicious fresh summer peaches and blueberries: hardly anything else is needed. 

This time, I decided to highlight fresh summer peaches, which have been achingly good this season, with marble-sized blueberries, all nestled comfortably under a lattice crust. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't (vocally) admiring my work as it emerged from the oven, the crust tanned golden brown, the sweet fruit bubbling, and the scent of butter mixing with sugar filling the kitchen. It was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing I'd ever created.

Oh, and it tasted pretty fantastic, too.

Peach and Blueberry Lattice Pie
Crust adapted from Serious Eats, filling inspired by Martha Stewart's Cooking School

It's important to use a scale when measuring the flour in the crust. If your peaches are very ripe, simply peel them with a paring knife. Otherwise, cut an "X" into the bottom of each peach and put them in a pot of boiling water for 30 to 60 seconds, until the skins start to blister and peel away from the flesh. Remove them from the water, place in a bowl of ice water, and, once cool, peel the skins. Taste your fruit before you add sugar to it. My fruit was very sweet, so I added a scant 1/2 cup of sugar. You may need to add up to 3/4 cup sugar. The cinnamon in the filling is optional and lends a very subtle warmth to the finished pie. A bit of ginger would be delicious in its place, too.

Yield: 1 9-inch pie, or about 8 servings

For the crust:
12.5 ounces all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
20 tablespoons (2 1/2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
7 tablespoons cold water

For the filling:
2 1/4 pounds peaches (about 4 large), peeled and cut into 1/2 inch wedges
1/2 pound blueberries
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2-3/4 cup sugar, depending on the sweetness of the fruit, plus 1 teaspoon
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)
1 egg, beaten

To make the pie dough, combine 8 ounces of the flour, sugar, and salt in the bowl of food processor fitted with the steel blade. Pulse twice to incorporate. Scatter butter pieces evenly over the surface and pulse until no dry flour remains and the dough just begins to collect into clumps, about 25 short pulses. Sprinkle the remaining 4.5 ounces of flour over the butter/flour mixture and pulse just until the dough is broken up, about 5 short pulses. Transfer the dough to a large bowl.

Sprinkle the dough with water and, using a rubber spatula, fold and press dough until it comes together into a ball. Divide the ball in half. Wrap each half of dough in plastic and form into a 1-inch tall disk. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours or freeze for 15 to 30 minutes before rolling.

Once dough is thoroughly chilled, flour your surface and rolling pin liberally with flour. Roll out the first disk, turning often and reflouring your surface and rolling pin as necessary. Once the dough has reached a diameter of about 12 inches, carefully lift it over a 9-inch glass pie pan. Ease it into the pie pan, being careful not to stretch it too much. Transfer the pie dish to a foil-lined baking sheet and refrigerate.

Roll out the second disk of dough just as the first. Once it reaches a diameter of 12 inches, carefully lift it to a foil-lined baking sheet. Using a pastry wheel, pizza cutter, or knife, cut it into 1 inch-wide strips. Refrigerate the strips until ready to use.

To make the peach and blueberry filling, combine all filling ingredients in a large bowl. Toss well. If the fruit is producing a lot of juice, you can transfer some of this juice to a small saucepan set over medium-low heat and reduce it for a few minutes (it will thicken some). Allow to cool and add back to the fruit.

To bake the pie, set an oven rack to the middle position and preheat an oven to 400 degrees F. Pour the fruit filling into the unbaked pie shell. Place 4 lattice strips on the pie. Pull back the first and third strips halfway and place a long strip over them in the middle of the pie, at a 90-degree angle. Unfold the first and third lattice strips. Next pull back the second and fourth strips halfway and place another long strip over them, next to the first perpendicular strip. Unfold the second and fourth strips. Repeat twice more on the other half of the pie, once with the first and third strips and once with the second and fourth strips. For detailed instructions with pictures, you can visit this tutorial.

Once the lattice is formed, trim the bottom crust and lattice so that each has a 1-inch overhang. Pinch the two crusts together and, if desired, crimp. Brush the top crust of the pie with the beaten egg and sprinkle with the remaining teaspoon of sugar.

Put the pie, still situated on a foil-lined baking sheet, into the oven. Bake at 400 degrees F for 10 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 375 degrees F and continue baking for about 65 more minutes, until the bottom and top crusts are golden and the fruit is bubbling. Tent the pie with foil if it is browning too quickly.

Transfer the pie to a rack to cool completely, at least 4 hours or overnight. Pie can be made a day ahead. Store pie at room temperature before serving. Leftovers will keep covered loosely in the refrigerator, for up to 2 days.

Mango and Peach Salsa

When I was growing up, our family never had Spaghetti Night, Lasagna Night, Chicken Pot Pie Night, or any other dedicated dinner. Mostly, it was Leftovers Night, not that I’m complaining or anything. However, in the past few years, we have adopted Fish Taco Night.

It comes around frequently during the summer, when fresh produce and warm weather makes the meal all the more enjoyable. In addition to the requisite fish (almost always grilled), we also make a smorgasbord of tasty toppings to accompany the tacos, from raw garnishes like shredded cabbage and diced tomatoes and cucumbers, to more involved but no less satisfying offerings of rice and black beans with corn, carrot salad with a tangy yogurt dressing, creamy guacamole, and delicious and spicy cheese dip (made with beer, it’s outrageously good!).

On our last fish taco night, I was inspired to create a mango salsa. We’ve previously purchased a peach and mango salsa from Costco, but it’s hard to consume a mass quantities of that salsa and the homemade version is so easy and the peaches so good this time of year that it was a no-brainer to make this one myself.

In the past when I’ve made mango salsas, they always turned out more like relish than a cohesive salsa. No disrespect to relish, but I prefer the texture of this salsa, which gets it base from pureed peaches and mangoes, which create a syrupy, almost creamy backdrop to the diced fruit. Hints of lime and hot sauce, which can be adjusted according to your preference, complete the combination of sweet, tangy, and spicy.

This upcoming school year, my roommates and I have decided to initiate Friday Night Dinners (I think the Gilmore Girls reference was lost on everyone but me). Each Friday we’ll celebrate the upcoming weekend by all making a meal together. While I’m sure the requisite pizza and spaghetti will be in our futures, I also have no doubt that they’ll be a few Fish Taco Nights, as well.

Tell me: What would be on your Friday Night Dinner menu?

Mango and Peach Salsa

Use very ripe fruit in this salsa, which will allow you to make the puree by hand and also imbue natural sweetness to the salsa. Adjust the amount of hot sauce to your taste; I use a few dashes, but you may find that more or less is better suited to your taste buds. If you have some, a sprinkling of chopped fresh mint pairs wonderfully here. Finally, don’t forget a pinch of salt, which brings out the flavor of every component of this dish. I can’t emphasize enough how essential salt is to virtually everything I make in the kitchen.

Yield: about 1 cup salsa

1 medium mango
1 medium peach
Juice of 1 lime
Hot sauce, to taste (I use 3 or 4 dashes)
Pinch of salt

Peel the mango with a knife of sharp vegetable peeler. Slice the flesh off the mango, contouring the blade of the knife around the oblong pit. Take about 1/3 of the mango flesh, chop it into rough pieces, and place into a bowl. Using the back of spoon or a potato masher, mash the flesh until it is broken down and almost completely smooth and pureed. Dice the remaining mango into ½-inch pieces and set aside.

Halve the peach. Take one half and, holding it cut-side down, squeeze out the flesh into the bowl with the pureed mango (this is why soft, ripe fruit is essential). Mash the peach and mango together until you have a mostly smooth puree. Dice the other peach half into ½-inch pieces and add to the mango/peach puree along with the diced mango. Add lime, hot sauce, and salt and stir to combine.



Serve immediately with tortilla chips or crudites or cover and refrigerate until ready to serve. The salsa keeps, stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator, for up to a week.

Fig and Balsamic Onion Compote

When my mom came home with a flat of fresh figs last week, I was overjoyed. Fresh figs? In Georgia? A whole flat of them, too? Figs have, for some time, entranced me. They’re not readily available down South, and I read all about them in cookbooks, on blogs, and in magazines. Still, no amount of ogling over their beauty and dreaming of what I could do with them could have ever prepared me for, you know, what to actually do with them when faced with the proposition of thirty or so quickly ripening figs.
             
We enjoyed the first few plain, biting into them like apples and savoring the sweet succulence. They were delicious atop homemade pizza with some creamy cheese to balance the sweetness. Still, I remained indecisive about how to use the rest of them. I knew for sure I wanted to utilize them in a dessert, but it’s been so hot (and humid!) here, that the idea of turning on the oven for an extended period of time hasn't been exactly enticing.

At the moment, I’m still pondering a sweet application that can really let these fresh figs shine, but for now I’m perfectly happy enjoying this sweet and savory fig and onion compote. Perfect atop toasted bread, it marries the caramel sweetness of slowly melted onions with the floral sweetness of figs. I cooked a portion of the figs with the onions and a splash of balsamic vinegar for acidity until everything had melded and cooked down a good bit. Then, for some contrast—both in texture and in flavor—I added some more chopped fresh figs, waited just a moment until they were warmed through, and took everything off the heat to preserve the freshness of the figs. I love the duality of this topping, which would be equally delicious on a cheese plate or as a complement to roasted chicken. The balsamic vinegar provides more tang than sweetness and balances the onions and figs wonderfully. The cooked down figs are sweeter than the raw ones, which have a more intense flavor.

I chose to leave the compote a little bit chunkier so that it would be easier to spread on bread, but to make it into more of a sauce, you could add the deglazing liquid (which also makes a divine bread dipper!). Either way, I was quite pleased with this on-the-fly concoction. And in the meantime, I’ll be sure to report on where those final fleeting figs end up.

Fig and Balsamic Onion Compote

I used a Vidalia onion because they're locally available and in season right now, but because the onion gets caramelized anyway, a plain white or Spanish onion will do fine, too. It's completely optional to deglaze the pan once you've made the compote, but I strongly urge you to do so. You don't want to waste any of the deliciousness that will be leftover in the pan. In addition to topping some nice crusty bread with this, this compote would be marvelous mixed with Greek yogurt or stirred into rice or quinoa.

Yield: about 1 cup compote (and 1/4 cup deglazed sauce)

For the compote:
1 medium onion, medium-diced
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Water
10 fresh figs, chopped into ½-inch pieces, divided

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 sprig fresh thyme (about 2 teaspoons)

For deglazing sauce (optional):
Water
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
Sugar, to taste

Heat a medium nonstick pan over medium-high heat. Add the onions. After about a minute, the onions will start to brown ever so slightly and release a little moisture. Season liberally with salt and pepper. Stir with a wooden spoon and allow to cook for 2 to 3 more minutes. Once a thin layer of browned bits (called fond) has formed on the bottom of the pan, add a splash of water. Scrape the bottom of the pan to release the browned bits. The onions will subsequently take on a caramel color.

Continue this process, cooking for a few minutes, allowing the fond to form, and then deglazing the pan with water, for about 10 more minutes, or until the onions have substantially softened and are a deep brown color.

After the onions have softened and caramelized for about 15 minutes, reduce the heat to medium-low, add half of the figs, and cook for about 2 minutes, or until more fond has formed on the bottom of the pan. Deglaze the pan with the balsamic vinegar and stir to incorporate the vinegar. Add the thyme.

Cook the onions and figs together for 10 to 15 more minutes, stirring occasionally and smashing the figs with the back of the wooden spoon. Once the figs have taken on a jam-like consistency, add the rest of the figs. Stir to incorporate and allow the rest of the figs to warm through, which should take about a minute. Transfer to a separate container.

Serve the compote warm or at room temperature. The compote will keep, covered and refrigerated, for up to 1 week (if it lasts that long).

If you opt to make the deglazing sauce (and I suggest you do because you don’t want to waste anything leftover in that pan), return the pan to medium heat. Add about ¼ cup water and scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to release the browned bits. Add the balsamic vinegar and mustard and stir until smooth. Allow the  mixture to reduce and simmer away until it thickens slightly, about 5 minutes. Season with sugar to taste (about 1 teaspoon should do), adding additional water (to smooth out the flavors) or balsamic vinegar (to amp up the acidity) as necessary. Serve warm or at room temperature, separately or added back to the compote to make a delicious sauce. The deglazed sauce will keep, covered and refrigerated, for up to 1 week.

Fresh Plum Vinaigrette

The first time I walked into Whole Foods this summer and spotted an overflowing crate full of local Georgia peaches, rosy-colored with blushes of orange, and ripe and ready for eating, I was eager to get a bagful, go home, and just dig in. Living in Georgia my entire life, I’ve come to appreciate the splendor of a ripe summer peach, eaten plainly, my hands sticky from the juice.
             
The truth is, my favorite way to eat most stone fruits—from peaches to plums to cherries—is plain. I often find that they don’t need much embellishment to taste really fantastic. After all, the last thing I want to do is obscure the fresh summer flavor that I’ve waited nine long months to experience again.
             
Nevertheless, there are times when a few extra ingredients can really transform a star ingredient like peaches or plums. Take this salad dressing. I’ve talked before about my affinity for salads that have fruits in them and this time I took the concept one step further and decided to make a salad dressing with plums blended right into it.
             
It’s simple, really. Take a few ripe (almost too ripe) plums, puree them in a food processor or blender, add some Dijon mustard for tanginess, rich vinegar for sweetness (I used a black fig-infused vinegar that is similar to balsamic), and extra virgin olive oil to smooth out the flavors. What results is a complex vinaigrette that’s at once sweet, tangy, and rich. The plums add some body to the dressing, helping to keep it emulsified long after it’s blended. Paired with tender greens and freshly-cut stone fruits, this dressing truly epitomizes what summer is all about: fresh, crisp flavors and wholesome ingredients. I’m not sure that anything could ever rival my love for that idyllic peach, plum, or berry, but this comes pretty close.  And that says quite a lot.

Fresh Plum Vinaigrette

There’s not much oil in the dressing because the plums add a lot of body and sweetness that counters the acidity and tang of both the mustard and vinegar. Taste the dressing after you’ve blended it and adjust with more oil if you like a less acidic vinaigrette. If you don’t have a food processor, use a blender to make the dressing.

Yield: about 3/4 cup vinaigrette

2 extra-ripe, medium plums
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar (I used a black fig-infused one)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Cut the plums in half and remove the pits.  Over the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade, squeeze each plum, cut side down, to separate the flesh from the skin. With ripe plums, the flesh should separate pretty easily. Keep squeezing until all the flesh and juice is in the  bowl of the food processor. Repeat with the rest of the plum halves.

Pulse the plum flesh and juice until fully blended. It should be a smooth puree. Add the mustard, olive oil, and vinegar. Process until  blended. Season to taste with salt and pepper (and, if necessary, more oil or vinegar).

Serve with tender salad greens, such as spinach, arugula, or a mesclun mix, along with other fresh stone fruits like peaches, plums, and cherries. I even added some fresh yellow peppers for a sweet crunch. The dressing will keep in the refrigerator (emulsified!), covered, for up to a week.

Simplest Applesauce

If I could use one word to describe my cooking style, it would be simple. My favorite recipes and foods are usually the simplest, with few embellishments and incredibly easy preparations. Case in point: roasted root vegetables and plain cheesecake (it seems I can't get through a post without mentioning cheesecake). I'd so much rather eat a roasted sweet potato with little more than salt and pepper than a concoction that adds a myriad of different flavorings and ingredients so you can hardly taste the sweet potato-ness in the finished product. 

Take apples. I love apples. All kinds. I don't think I've ever met an apple that I didn't like. From Pink Lady to Golden Delicious to Honeycrisp (swoon) to the ubiquitous Granny Smith, I love them all. There is something so satisfying to biting into a crisp apple, juicy and sweet, with a hint of tartness coming through toward the end.

Plain apples, eaten out of hand, are one of my favorite foods. In my mind, they are perfect as is. Sometimes, though, when the mood strikes, I love to make a batch of applesauce. Usually I get the craving for applesauce around the holidays, or when the temperatures drop and a spoonful of warm applesauce seems the perfect antidote to the chilly weather. Keeping true to my simple is best philosophy, I make my applesauce with nothing but apples and water. It's almost embarrassingly easy, but the end product is proof that this strategy works. Fresh apples don't need anything else to taste wonderful. They already have the whole sweet/tart balance going for them, and when cooked down, I think the flavor concentrates into something greater than the sum of its parts.

Make this in the dead of winter, when you've had your share of citrus, to serve alongside any number of dishes. It would be great as a sweet side to poultry or pork, atop pancakes (sweet or savory) or waffles, or as an accompaniment to spice breads or cakes. As for me? I enjoy it alone, with only a spoon and perhaps a sprinkling of cinnamon for some warm spiciness. Yup, typical.

My Favorite Applesauce

Like nearly all foods, I enjoy my applesauce with some real texture so I leave it pretty chunky. If you like your applesauce smoother, or are using it in another application where smoothness is desired, you can use a foodmill to get it more evenly pureed. One of my favorite things about this "recipe" is that it's incredibly adaptable depending on how much applesauce you want to make. I usually make this around the holidays (it's a mainstay on our Thanksgiving table) so I make a large batch. You can adjust the proportions accordingly depending on how much you want to make. I find that sweet/tart apples work best for applesauce because they result in an end product that's sweet without being cloying. Golden Delicious (my favorite apple to eat out of hand), Pink Lady, Jonagold, Gala, and Honeycrisp are all excellent varieties perfectly suited for applesauce. Another great thing about applesauce? It's perfect for using apples that have seen better days or are just languishing, uneaten, in your crisper. This technique also works great with pears, although "pearsauce" just doesn't have that same ring to it, does it?

Yield: 10-12 servings

8 large to medium sweet/tart apples (see note)
Water

Peel and core the apples. Slice them into medium chunks (about 1 1/2-inch pieces) and place in a large pot. Pour in enough water to come halfway up the apples. Heat the apples and water over medium heat for about 30 minutes, or until the apples are very tender. With a potato masher (you could also use a wooden spoon and a bit more elbow grease), mash the apples until they form a chunky sauce. For a smoother applesauce, transfer the whole mixture to a food mill and process the apples until they reach the desired consistency. Transfer back to the pot.

At this point, the applesauce will be a little loose. Reduce the heat to low and simmer the applesauce for 20 to 30 minutes, until some of the water has evaporated and the applesauce is thick. Store the applesauce in the pot or in an airtight container for up to a week. Serve warm or cold.

P.S. I know I said that this year I wanted to post once a week. I also know it's been two weeks since my last post. Unfortunately, this past week was filled with three tests, a project, and lots of homework assignments. Since one of my other New Year's resolutions was to maintain my grades, I see this as a trade-off. I'm hoping to resume my minimum of one post a week from here on out, though. Thanks for reading, as always.

Biscotti for Winter

Once upon a time I didn't like yogurt, stinky cheese, and pizza (gasp!). Thankfully, I've come to my senses and now enjoy all of these things, although the jury's still out on arugula, grapefruit, and cheese straws.

But today is all about biscotti, a cookie that I once disliked but has rapidly become not only my favorite type of cookie to bake but also my favorite to eat. On the baking side of things, I love the ease with which biscotti come together. There's no complicated mixing technique and a single batch makes a few dozen cookies in about an hour.

Of course, I enjoy eating them most of all. I love the crunchy texture of biscotti. I recently started using recipes that require little to no butter or oil, which is traditional in Italian cuisine (usually eggs are the sole source of fat). The lack of fat in the dough prevents the cookies from becoming too soft as they sit out, and I think it also helps them stay fresh-tasting for a long time. (Such is another great thing about biscotti: they are wonderful candidates for make-ahead baking, which is always a plus during the busy holiday season.) If you are normally deterred from biscotti because of their crunchier texture, know that these are definitely not tooth-shattering hard; they will soften up just enough after a brief dip into a hot cup of coffee (or tea, if you're into that sort of thing).
Finally, I absolutely love the infinite number of ways that you can change up the flavor of the biscotti. Because Christmas was two weeks ago, I'm opting to call this specific rendition "winter" biscotti because the combination of flavors - tart/sweet cranberries, slightly salty pistachios, and vanilla-y white chocolate - seem the perfect antidote to all this cold weather (a white Christmas? Seriously?). Never mind that the shades of red, green, and white seem especially suited to this time of year.

The real stars of this biscotti though, aside from the wonderful variation of textures from the different mix-ins, are the almond extract and white chocolate chips. The former is subtle yet just strong enough to attract your attention. I'm not sure how else to describe its contribution to the cookie's flavor besides saying "nutty," but if you love the flavor of almonds then you'll love what the almond extract brings to the party.
As for the white chocolate, I'm reminded of a blog post David Lebovitz did a year of so ago about caramelized white chocolate. I know some people don't like the sweet flavor of white chocolate, but it works tremendously in this cookie to balance out the tart cranberries and naturally salty pistachios. Instead of just a one-note sweetness, the heat from the oven browns the white chocolate just enough to give it a warm, almost caramel flavor. It's sort of like a cross between a toasted marshmallow and the burnt sugar topping on creme brulee. All accented with vanilla. Trust me, it's delicious.

Really, the only mistake I made with these cookies was not making enough. Truly, they were all gone a week ago. (We did give some away, but still....) That is practically unheard of in our house. I recall because a time in the not-so-distant past when I discovered a tin of Christmas cookies, stowed away and forgotten, well past the new year. Whatever time of year it is, though, I'm positive you too will fall in love with these cookies.
Cranberry, Pistachio, and White Chocolate Biscotti
Adapted from Bon Appetit

The original recipe called for dried raspberries of dried strawberries. I've never actually seen either of those (outside of freeze-dried strawberries in Special K) and dried cranberries seem more wintry to me anyway. If you like, you can dip the cooled biscotti in melted white or dark chocolate. This is a great base recipe for any dried fruit and nut biscotti. For any other time of year, you could substitute dried figs, raisins, or dried cherries for the cranberries. In place of pistachios, walnuts or pecans would also be delicious.

Yield: 2 to 3 dozen cookies, depending on how thickly you slice the biscotti

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
2 tablespoons canola (or other vegetable) oil
2 1/2 teaspoons almond extract
3/4 cup shelled, raw, and unsalted pistachios
1 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup white chocolate chips

Adjust an oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with a silicon liner (such as Silpat) or with parchment paper.

In a medium bowl, whisk flour, baking powder, and salt to combine. Meanwhile, in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat sugar, eggs, oil, and almond extract until well combined. Slowly add the flour mixture and beat until smooth. Using a rubber spatula, stir in the pistachios, dried cranberries, and white chocolate chips. Make sure to incorporate the add-ins so that they are distributed evenly throughout the dough (especially the dough at the bottom of the bowl).

Divide the dough in half and shape the dough into two logs, each about 12 inches long, 3 inches wide, and 1 inch tall. Space the logs about 3 inches apart. If the dough is sticking to your fingers, wet your fingertips to prevent it from sticking.

Bake the logs for 30 minutes, until slightly browned and just firm to the touch. Reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees F. Cool the logs on the baking sheet for 10 to 20 minutes. Then, using a serrated knife, cut the logs crosswise into about 1-inch wide slices. (You can also cut the logs into thinner slices; you'll just end up with more cookies.) Turn the biscotti onto their sides (cut-sides down) and bake again for 10 minutes.

After 10 minutes, carefully flip the biscotti over onto their other sides and continue baking for another 10 minutes, until the biscotti are crisp, firm, and golden. Cool completely on the baking sheet before enjoying.

The cooled biscotti can be stored, at room temperature, in an airtight container for up to 3 weeks (if they last that long).

New Year's Resolution: Make More Rum Raisin Ice Cream

I've learned a lot this year. And I've gone through a lot of change this year, too, none bigger than the transition from high school girl to college girl.

My first semester at Tech was pretty much a whirlwind. Truthfully it turned out exactly nothing like I expected and I learned a lot: about Cholesky factorizations, how to calculate the effective temperature of a black body orbiting the sun, and other nerdy and generally uninteresting things (to the average person, that is). I learned how to study for exams, that you have to swipe your BuzzCard multiple times to get your clothes to dry properly, and the lyrics to more Taylor Swift songs than I'm willing to admit. I learned that I'm actually capable of succeeding at Tech, both academically and socially. I learned that I can take care of myself, too: buying groceries, taking medicine when you're sick (during finals...), and doing laundry. (Man, I feel like such a grown-up sometimes.)

And while I normally don't bother making New Year's resolutions, for some reason I feel compelled to this year. Perhaps it's my newly discovered independence. Likely it's the need to make lists and year-long goals that runs in the family. Either way, there are a few things that I want to hold myself accountable for in 2011.

The first is to keep my grades up. I'm taking harder classes this spring and I'm on track to take my first major (IE) classes in the fall, and I'm eager to see what it's all about.

My second resolution is to stay more organized. I've never been a huge organizer, so this will probably be the toughest for me. What usually happens is that I start out with a nice system for keeping things in their place, but after a week or two I get lazy and the clutter becomes overwhelming. Hopefully I can put an end to that cycle in 2011.

The last (and most prevalent to this blog) is to post more regularly over here. While it's difficult to post recipes from school because I can't cook that often, I don't want to use that as an excuse to post infrequently. I'm establishing a once-a-week goal for myself.

I haven't ever said it before (and I probably don't let it show that often), but this space here means a lot to me. I love sharing my ideas (and eccentricities) with everyone who reads the blog, and I only want to make this blog better.

For the new year, I want to share a delicious ice cream that we've made a few times in the past, most recently for this Christmas. It takes all of five minutes to prepare, and then the ice cream maker does the rest. The base is a lush vanilla flavor, and a heap of rum raisins adds a sweet and slightly spicy flavor. You could use this recipe as a starting off point for all kinds of variations. Other dried fruits like cranberries or figs would also work great. Liqueurs like Grand Marnier or even wines like port would do a fine job plumping up the fruit, but you could also use orange juice, apple cider, or cranberry juice if you wanted to keep things non-alcoholic.
Enjoy the New Year, and Happy 2011 to you all! Tell me - do you have any resolutions, food-related or otherwise?

Rum Raisin Ice Cream

Having the evaporated milk and cream cold makes this ice cream come together really quickly. It's important to have the base cold when it goes into the ice cream maker so that it freezes faster and more smoothly. I used spiced rum because it's what we have on hand. We also had only a 12-ounce can of evaporated milk, which was 1/2 cup short of the recipe's two cups. I supplemented the rest with 1% milk and it turned out fine. Either combination (16 ounces of evaporated milk or 12 ounces of evaporated milk plus 4 ounces of milk) would work.

Yield: about 6 cups (1 1/2 quarts)

1 cup raisins
Dark rum
1 cup heavy cream, cold
2 cups evaporated milk, cold (see note above)
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup sugar

Put the raisins in a small bowl and add enough rum to cover. Set aside for about an hour, or until the raisins are plump.

Once the raisins are plump, combine the cream, evaporated milk, and vanilla in a medium bowl. Add the sugar, and whisk until the sugar is dissolved. If the base is not cold, put the mixture in the refrigerator for about an hour to chill.

Freeze the ice cream in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. Meanwhile, reserve about 3 tablespoons of rum from the rum raisin mixture, draining off the excess rum. When the ice cream has reached a soft serve consistency (usually after about 25 minutes), add the rum raisins and reserved rum. Adding the alcohol will make the ice cream melt a little in the machine. Keep churning for a few minutes more, until the ice cream has returned to soft serve consistency and there is no liquid cream at the surface.

Transfer the ice cream to a plastic serving container, cover, and freeze until hardened. The ice cream won't stiffen up completely (because of the rum), but it will firm up into the perfect consistency for serving.