Daring Bakers' Challenge: Bakewell Tart

Or is it a pudding? That's the great debate here with month's Daring Bakers' Challenge, the Bakewell Tart. The June Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar. They chose a Traditional (UK) Bakewell Tart... er... pudding that was inspired by a rich baking history dating back to the 1800's in England.

Bakewell Tart History and Lore

Flan-like desserts that combine either sweet egg custard over candied fruit or feature spiced ground almonds in a pastry shell have Medieval roots. The term “Bakewell pudding” was first penned in 1826 by Meg Dods; 20 years later Eliza Acton published a recipe that featured a baked rich egg custard overtop 2cm of jam and noted,

“This pudding is famous not only in Derbyshire, but in several of our northern counties where it is usually served on all holiday occasions.”

By the latter half of the 1800s, the egg custard evolved into a frangipane-like filling; since then the quantity of jam decreased while the almond filling increased.

This tart, like many of the world's great foods has its own mythic beginnings…or several mythic beginnings. Legend has it in 1820 (or was it in the 1860s?) Mrs. Greaves, landlady of The White Horse Inn in Bakewell, Derbyshire (England), asked her cook to produce a pudding for her guests. Either her instructions could have been clearer or he should have paid better attention to what she said because what he made was not what she asked for. The cook spread the jam on top of the frangipane mixture rather than the other way around. Or maybe instead of a sweet rich shortcrust pastry case to hold the jam for a strawberry tart, he made a regular pastry and mixed the eggs and sugar separately and poured that over the jam—it depends upon which legend you follow.

Regardless of what the venerable Mrs. Greaves’ cook did or didn’t do, lore has it that her guests loved it and an ensuing pastry-clad industry was born. The town of Bakewell has since played host to many a sweet tooth in hopes of tasting the tart in its natural setting.

"Bakewell Tart History and Lore" is courtesy of Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict, and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar, where you can find even more juicy bits on the Bakewell Tart... er... Pudding.

Now, fortunately for me, I was ready to make this tart. I had just recently spent another day in Brentwood, picking cherries and apricots for jams, sauces, and the like, when along comes this challenge requiring, ahem, jam. Kismet, people.

The hard part became deciding which kind of jam to use. I had white cherry, black cherry, and vanilla apricot. All of which would be perfect with almond, I might add. But wait, I just happen to have 4 mini springform pans that were given to me as a gift so many years ago I couldn't even tell you (not out of embarrassment but simple forgetfulness), that I've never before used. I know, shameful.

But it is my lucky day. And as such, I even had a relatively successful crust experience. (Me + crust usually = unhappy face.) I don't know that I would use these particular vessels for this purpose again (the crust was very difficult to arrange in such small, high-sided pans) but they did come out quite dashing if you don't mind me going English on you for a spell.

In the given recipe, the quantity of jam used was up to the user. I added the greater quantity recommended (1 cup - split between 4 tarts in my case) and must say that I would have liked a tad more. As pointed out above that even throughout the history of the recipe, the jam to almond filling ratio dwindled, I think I would have preferred the olden days. Yes, more jam, please. I found the filling to be quite sweet and jam provided the perfect foil.

Thank you ladies, for another delicious challenge!

Please see Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Ambrosia and Nectar for the Bakewell Tart... er... Pudding recipe.



Apricots in Vanilla Honey Syrup
inspired by Christine Ferber

1 pound ripe apricots
1/2 cup sugar
2 oz honey
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

Wash apricots, cut in half and remove pits. In a large bowl gently combine apricots sugar, honey and vanilla bean. Cover with plastic wrap and allow to macerate under refrigeration at least 2 hours or overnight.

Drain apricots, reserving liquid. Heat liquid in a large non-reactive pot and boil gently until the syrup reaches 220 degrees. Add apricot halves and vanilla bean; bring to a boil and cook for approximately 5 minutes. Pack in jars and seal according to your preferred method, or transfer to a medium bowl and store in the refrigerator. Makes approximately 1 pint (16 ounces).

These apricots are delicious as a jam or could be used in myriad baking applications.

Sweet Memories

Sometimes it's hard to remember. For me, I should say. But then there are some things that just stick. I, for one, have limited reserves up there in the ole noggin; I suppose not everything keeps because I'm holding on to some of that space for those memories that are lasting.

I don't remember when I tasted my first fresh apricot, but I always remembered not to buy them at the local grocery store, no matter how good they looked. It must have been something about that first one. (Now, dried apricots are a different thing. They're around at any time of year, and given the right kind - I prefer the tart, chewy California apricot halves over the sweet, squishy, whole Turkish apricots - they are utterly delicious.)

But then, only about a year ago, I found myself face to face with fresh apricots; this time, hanging from a tree. Now, those I do remember. And when I told a dear someone about these ambrosial stone fruits, her memory swept away to the childhood friend and afternoons roosted in an apricot tree; but by the end of the story, all I remembered was the part about the pie. During that time of year, when not lazily feasting on the sticky sweet bounty of that tree in which she was perched, her great-grandma (I guess that would be my great-great-grandma) made an apricot pie with halved apricots, face-up in milk, with maybe only a little flour and sugar to set things just right. Though she didn't remember the recipe, only watching it being made, she most certainly remembered loving everything about it.

I'm fortunate enough to have a history of some amazing cooks and bakers in my family lines. You haven't heard of any of them, but if they can create those kinds of memories in the minds of their children, grandchildren, and so forth, then that's all that matters. I have a few raggedy cookbooks filled with old recipes of ladies such as these, so naturally, I referred to them when trying to recreate this apricot milk pie. No luck, I have to say, but it seems the Pennsylvania Dutch have a milk pie within their culinary annals; just what I was looking for. Sometimes called Stingy, Flabby, or Poor Man's Pie, it is said to be a pie often made for children as a way to utilize leftover scraps of pie dough. Depending on the recipe, it is little more than milk, flour and sugar.

Pie crust and I don't really get along, so when I saw this recipe for "The Great Unshrinkable Sweet Tart Shell," I jumped on it - it was just perfect for me, as shrinking is probably my greatest ruin. I don't remember if I've ever had a crust shrink on me to such a degree as this. But I can't fault the recipe, I didn't follow it exactly I must say, I did rush things a bit, so here I would have to lay the responsibility on my impatience. But that's a whole 'nother story. The next time I make this pie, and believe me, there will be a next time, I would go with an unsweetened dough and I might even throw an egg yolk in there to make this more of a custardy pie (do watch the baking time and temperature if you decide to run with that one). Be sure to use ripe apricots; I leaned toward the less-ripe side because I love the tartness of apricots in that state, but I found that they were a bit too sour to marry well with the flavor of the milk custard.

Apricot Milk Tart
with help from Teri's Kitchen

1 unbaked 10" tart shell (use your favorite recipe)
14 perfectly ripe apricots (wouldn't hurt to have a few more for sampling purposes)
1 1/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
Fresh nutmeg

Preheat oven to 400°

Wash and gently dry apricots. Cut them in half and remove the pits; arrange the apricots face up in the tart shell.

In a medium bowl wisk together milk, flour, and sugar. Pour mixture over and around apricots to fill the tart shell.

Bake for 20 minutes. Reduce oven to 350° and bake an additional 35 - 40 minutes. Remove from the oven and grate fresh nutmeg over the tart. Tart will appear wet in the center, but will set as it cools. Serve at room temperature.

At its best eaten within a day or two, and completely appropriate for breakfast.

Old Yeller

You must think the worst of me. I can't seem to keep up with you, and when I do stop by, I'm just recycling old recipes. Wait, I haven't been doing that, I don't think. But it's never too late to start, right?

If it wasn't convincing enough the first time I mentioned it, that chocolate beet cake I made a not so long ago is well worth the effort. So much so, that when I got yellow beets in my veggie box last week, I thought they should have their fair shake at something sweet just the same. Actually, the whole thing was born out of the fact that the beet flavor in the chocolate cake was nearly undetectable. I began to wonder if it was because the chocolate covered something up, or simply that beets are meant to be used in cake. Obviously, I dreamt of the latter.

If you've been with me this whole time now (and, Thank You), you know that I've been trying (sort of) to restrain the creative impulses that lead me to abject failures. All I needed was one glint, one half spark, a little eek of hope that this yellow beet cake thing could be done. And there it was, a recipe for Golden Beet Cupcakes with Dulce De Leche Buttercream. Hooray!

Now, I didn't use that recipe, you should know; it only inspired me to go on with my own show. Here, I went for a plain golden vanilla cake, sans frosting. This cake is even better, more moist, and less beety on the second day, thought I would not think poorly of your impatience. (Admittedly, when warm, the aroma enhances the beet flavor, perhaps too much if not for a serious beet advocate.) A generous scatter of powdered sugar gives this cake a near-powdered-donut character, and you'll be pleased to know that beets just might be meant for cake.

Vanilla Beet Cake
inspired by Red Devil Cake and No Recipes


3 medium yellow beets
3 eggs
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
¾ cups sugar
¾ cups light brown sugar
6 tbsp butter, melted
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups flour
1½ teaspoons baking soda

Preheat oven to 350°. Butter a 9 in square or round pan.

Place beets in a small pot with and add cold water to cover; cook until fork tender (beets can be lifted, but easily fall, from a fork when pierced). Allow beets to cool until able to handle; cut ends from beets and slip skins off beets to peel. Puree beets in a food processor, and set aside (you will need 1½ cups of the puree).

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and Kosher salt. Add the sugars, butter, vanilla, and 1½ cups of beet puree; whisk until thoroughly combined.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour and baking soda; stir well with a whisk or fork. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients a little at a time, whisking until smooth.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out nearly clean; the cake may look slightly underdone. Cool for at least 20 minutes before removing from the pan. This cake is best if cooled completely before serving, or even the next day.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Strudel

The May Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Linda of make life sweeter! and Courtney of Coco Cooks. They chose Apple Strudel from the recipe book Kaffeehaus: Exquisite Desserts from the Classic Cafés of Vienna, Budapest and Prague by Rick Rodgers.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I went to culinary school. In everyday life, I try to avoid this topic of conversation; my boastfulness is most enjoyed over imaginary accomplishments. Nonetheless, I did spend a few good years attempting to hone my craft. Or something like that.

Anyhow, I did have a few classes in the pastry wing during my tenure and within the dining hall of that building, only windows separated noshing students from a particular class of aspiring pastry chefs. Now, all cooks took a short class on baking, mine taught by a small, charmingly grumpy old Frenchman who muttered "I hate cooks" under his breath just often enough to keep everyone on their toes. And while we learned to make sponge cake, dinner rolls, and cookies, the class beyond that glass wall made puff pastry, yeasted doughs, and on one notable occasion, skillfully stretched dough tissue thin across two 6 foot tables joined end to end. It was truly impressive; I never before would have imagined such a thing possible.

Leave it to the Daring Bakers to bring it all back with strudel, May's challenge brought to us by Linda of make life sweeter! and Courtney of Coco Cooks. While we were given free reign with the filling, the strudel recipe itself is taken from Kaffeehaus: Exquisite Desserts from the Classic Cafés of Vienna, Budapest and Prague by Rick Rodgers.

Strudel is actually quite simple. The dough is little more than flour, water, and vinegar, and to my surprise, quite easily stretches to a paper thin sheet. True, I wasn't attempting a 12-foot length, but I did manage a fourth of that with no trouble. If you've stretched pizza dough before now, you can do this.

In the strudel recipe, it is recommended that you allow the dough to rest 30-90 minutes, but due to time constraints, mine rested overnight. It didn't seem to make any difference in flavor, though it may have added to its manageability. All in all, I find it simply an argument for patiently awaiting the 90 minutes to pass. It was suggested that we double the dough recipe in order to allow for some trial and error, but I got along so well, I ended up with two strudels. (Lucky me!) The original recipe contained an apple filling, though I chose to do both a cherry and a cannoli-like filling. While I felt that the ricotta filling was not nearly as successful as the cherry (the ricotta, in my opinion, became a tad rubbery), there were some huge advocates, and, at the very least, it would make a killer filling for (no mystery here) cannoli, but that's a different challenge.

For the complete strudel recipe, check out make life sweeter! and Coco Cooks. Thanks again, Ladies!

Cherry Lime Filling
inspired by cherry season

3 cups cherries, pitted and halved
½ cup sugar
Zest and juice of 1 lime
¼ tsp almond extract
Dash ground ginger
¼ cup walnuts, chopped fine
½ cup dry breadcrumbs

In a large nonstick pan, cook cherries and sugar until juice becomes very thick and syrupy (it should bubble vigorously and seem as if there is little juice left). Remove from heat and stir in lime zest, juice, almond extract, and ginger. Allow mixture to cool.

Combine walnuts and breadcrumbs; set aside.



Sweet Ricotta Filling
inspired by epicurious.com
and Daring Cooks’ May Challenge


1½ cups fresh ricotta
¼ cup sugar
½ tsp orange flower water
¾ cup bittersweet chocolate chips
Dash cinnamon

Combine all ingredients; mix well, set aside at room temperature until needed.

Do chill if you plan on using this filling for cannoli.

Daring Cooks' Challenge: Ricotta Gnocchi

It seems the Daring Bakers have decided look beyond their ovens and hit the stovetop. Yes, we now have Daring Cooks out there, each ready and willing to tackle a monthly challenge. For the inaugural challenge, Lis and Ivonne, the founders of Daring Bakers, and now Daring Cooks (which have joined forces in the Daring Kitchen) have decided on Ricotta Gnocchi from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers.

I am a huge fan of gnocchi, whether potato, semolina (double yum) or ricotta. So this challenge was a great pleasure to take to. On top of it all, I saw this as an opportunity to revive my currently defunct (but never forgotten) tribute to cheese, Serious Cheese. While I can't say that was successful (you haven't seen any new posts lately, have you?), it did get me thinking about how much I've missed making cheese.

Making ricotta is quite simple. It is the first cheese I ever made, way back when before I really even seriously dabbled in cheesemaking. It doesn't require any fancy equipment or ingredients, just milk, acid (lemon juice, vinegar, or citric acid) and heat. Oh, you will need some cheesecloth; but there are so many more uses for cheesecloth than cheese alone, and it's reusable, so a little goes a long way.

As for the ricotta gnocchi, they too are quite easy; here the trick is starting with a well-drained ricotta (Ms. Rodgers suggests testing the ricotta by placing a teaspoon or so on a paper towel; if after a few minutes you notice a large ring of dampness around the ricotta, it will need to be drained further). Beyond that, it could be that the most complicated part of this recipe is shaping the dumplings themselves.

While the recipe called for hands as the tool for the job, I chose to go with spoons. Okay, I'm gonna get all French on you now: quenelles. While many of you, I'm sure, know what a quenelle is, allow me to educate those who don't. Traditionally, a quenelle is a poached dumpling based on a forcemeat (finely ground mixture, typically of fish or meat), shaped into a three-sided oval using two spoons. More often than not, in the present, a quenelle refers to the oval shape itself, not the ingredients being manipulated.

Rooted in classical French cuisine, I'm sure you could imagine making a quenelle is no easy task. And I don't recommend you go into this quenelle thing thinking they'll look like they should, either. After some practice I'm still, well, practicing. But I can tell you it's worth the try; broaden your horizons and at the very least, you'll get beautiful dumplings, with or without sides.

Homemade Ricotta Cheese recipe via Serious Cheese

Please check out Lis or Ivonne's blogs to get the full recipe for Ricotta Gnocchi from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook.

Daring Baker's Challenge: Abbey's Inspiring Cheesecake

The April 2009 challenge is hosted by Jenny from Jenny Bakes. She has chosen Abbey's Infamous Cheesecake as the challenge.

Ahhh, cheesecake. And not just any cheesecake, but any cheesecake. Yes, Jenny from Jenny Bakes brought us her friend Abbey's cheesecake recipe, and allowed us to play with it. (Thanks Abbey! Thanks Jenny!) And if there's anything you've learned about me, it's that I love to play with my food.

One of my all-time favorite desserts hails from Thailand: mango with sticky rice. I first met up with this idea while working at a Thai restaurant, quite a few years back, and have been obsessed ever since. It is, on its own, in and of itself, quite perfect.

I am fortunate to live not far from a favorite Thai restaurant offering the most sublime adaptation I've tasted yet. Soft, sweet, sticky rice, steaming hot and topped with just a dab of salty coconut sauce, sesame seeds and chilled slices of the most faultlessly ripe mango. It really is something else. Knowing I could never recreate this dish with such exacting detail (I'm really bad at choosing mangoes, for one), I have always dreamed up ways to bring these flavors together in a different expression.

And here we are, Coconut Mango Cheesecake. I chose a neutral crumb (Nilla Wafers) so as not to compete with the addition of sesame seeds. I also chose to use mangoes at a time when they're not yet at their best. (The favorite Thai restaurant won't even serve the favorite Thai dessert when the mangoes aren't just right.) I originally intended to somehow incorporate sticky rice into this cheesecake, though I never quite figured out how. I didn't give up, see, I just put a reign on the wild ideas this time around. That happens, every once in a while.

Sometimes I'm just so impatient for the right season to roll around. So, if you do what I did (and don't be coy, I know it happens from time to time), seek out The Perfect Purée of Napa Valley, they produce some of the finest fruit purees you can find. Obviously, in season fruit is best, but in a pinch or on the outskirts of that season, these purees are a great substitute. Just so you know, if I could have a do-over, I would've tried a little harder to get my hands on some.

Coconut Mango Cheesecake

Crust:
1¾ cups Nilla Wafer crumbs
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
4 oz (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted

Cheesecake:
3 – 8 oz packages cream cheese
½ cup sugar
1½ cups coconut cream (Coco Lopez or the like)
4 large eggs
1 teaspoon salt

Mango swirl:
1¼ cup mango puree (approx. 2 mangoes)
1 egg yolk
½ cup sugar

Preheat oven to 350°

Mix together the crust ingredients until uniformly moist. Press into an even layer across the bottom and roughly halfway up the sides of a 10” springform pan. Set crust aside (in the freezer if you can).

Combine cream cheese, sugar, and coconut cream and beat together at low speed until smooth. Add eggs, one at a time, fully incorporating each one before adding the next. Be sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl in between each addition, this helps prevent lumps within the mixture. Set cheesecake filling aside.

Peel mangoes, and cut flesh away from the pit; puree in a food processor until smooth. Measure (roughly) 1¼ cups of the puree into a small bowl and add to it 1 egg yolk and ½ cup sugar; whisk together until fully incorporated.

Pour cheesecake batter into prepared crust. Dollop large spoonfuls of the mango puree over the surface of the cheesecake. To swirl: carefully dip the bowl of the spoon in and out of the cheesecake, pushing the mango puree slightly into the batter. Next, place the spoon, tip first, down into the batter, and swirl back and forth in circles. All the while, take care not to scrape the crust up into the cheesecake.

Bake for 55-65 minutes. It should still be rather wobbly, but not evidently liquid in the center, and it should not be firm at this point. Turn the oven heat off and allow the cheesecake to rest in the oven for another hour. After removing from the oven, allow the cheesecake to cool completely before refrigerating. Serve chilled.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Lasagne of Emilia Romagna

Here I am, with yet another Daring Bakers' challenge, overdue. Not out of idleness or neglect, no, this time it was the oven. (I swear.) And while I managed to bake a cake without one, this challenge was one project I couldn't tackle in its absence.

The March 2009 challenge was hosted by Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande. They have chosen Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna from The Splendid Table by Lynne Rossetto Kasper as the challenge.

Fresh pasta is something that I love, but don't make...ever. I don't have a pasta machine, and while I am inclined to change that, I must admit there are quite a few other limited-use gadgets that I would prefer to find within the spatial limitations of my own kitchen. In other words, I was very happy to take on the challenge of making fresh pasta, completely by hand.

Yes, I know, I say that as if such a thing is a wondrous accomplishment, as though I have discovered the newest source of renewable energy or solved one of those mathematical equations that stumped everyone but the young, disgruntled janitor in that movie that everyone seems to love. And while it might be the everyday for some, and surely was for many more in the past, it is quite a feat for someone (me) who has adapted quite well to these times of convenience. I'll say it again, I made fresh pasta completely by hand. Now I'm just bragging.

Have I even told you how much I love this lasagne, specifically? Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna is over-the-top rich meets down-to-earth comfort. Imagine sheets of fresh spinach pasta layered between bechamel (a creamy white sauce) and a hearty meat ragu, finished with a browned and bubbly crust of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. Try this once and you, too will understand.

This time around, I decided to put a twist on an old favorite. (Sure, this may have been the first time I've made this dish, but not the first time I've eaten it.) I went all vegetarian. I know, I know I talked all about meat sauce, and the meat sauce is part of what makes it in some ways, but this one turned out pretty darn alright if I may say. Still hearty, still decadent, and maybe even a little better for you. Believe you me, I'm no vegetarian, but taking a break from meat every now and again isn't such a bad thing.

But enough of that. Make this. Eat this. Love this. You will.

Thanks to Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande, for testing the Daring Bakers' boundaries and getting me to make fresh pasta. (Please check out their blogs for the recipe for this challenge.)

Vegetable Ragu

1 yellow onion, finely diced
2 medium carrots, finely diced
1 bulb fennel, finely diced
2 celery ribs, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups vegetable broth, low sodium (or homemade)
29 oz can petit diced tomatoes
Flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add olive oil, onions, carrots, fennel and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are caramelized and begin to soften. Add celery and garlic and continue to cook until aromatic.

Add broth and reduce heat to just above a simmer. Add tomatoes and keep just at a simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook until the sauce is very thick or has reached the desired consistency.

Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the chopped parsley. Serve over polenta or with tender, homemade pasta.

You Devil

While elbow deep amidst several components for a baking project I had planned last weekend, our oven decided to take a little vacation. I can't be too upset, the task could easily be put on hold, and the stove top works just fine, so this little interruption was simply nothing more. But then, the beets in my fridge started to call out for help; they were losing their muscle.

Now, I love beets. I haven't always, in fact, I think I hated them as a kid. More accurately, I avoided them. I'd like to think of myself as someone who will try anything, but I wasn't always that way (though I tell myself I was). So when I finally gave them a chance, I fell in love, with dirt (and that I did eat as a kid). I think beets taste more like the earth than anything else, and that is what I love, so much. A gift from the earth, and a sweet one at that. So kind of the earth to think of us, wouldn't you say? I love them most oven roasted in their skins, rubbed with oil and salt beforehand. Boiled beets just won't do.

Then what to do with a few sad, lonely beets and no oven? I was at a loss, so I turned to the website of the farm from whence I adopted these garnet jewels. And there it was, a recipe for chocolate beet cake. I had heard of this before, beets in cake. Carrots aren't unheard of, so what could be so wrong with beets?

Peel the beets, boil the beets, puree the beets. Mix together some eggs, sugar, oil, salt and vanilla, then add the beets. Now for the dry ingredients. Oh wait, I forgot to preheat the oven and prepare my pan.

Oh wait, I don't have an oven. This is what got me here in the first place.

Prepare the dry ingredients, don't combine just yet. Bring wet ingredients, dry ingredients, and cake pan to work tomorrow. Combine at work, pour into prepared pan, bake, cool, and enjoy.

While I don't suggest you follow the preceding method, I do suggest you give the following recipe a try. Simply delicious, decadently moist chocolate cake, with a dense crumb, yet light enough to enjoy more than one piece without pause. I may have found a new favorite way to have my beets.

Red Devil Cake
adapted “from a Mollie Katzen book”
via Mariquita Farms


3 medium red beets
3 eggs
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
1½ cups sugar
½ cup canola oil (or other neutral tasting oil)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1½ cups flour
¾ cups cocoa powder
1½ teaspoons baking soda

Preheat oven to 350°. Oil a 9 in square or round pan.

Peel and halve beets. Place in a small pot with and add cold water to cover; cook until fork tender (beets can be lifted, but easily fall, from a fork when pierced). Puree beets in a food processor, and set aside (you will need 2 cups of the puree).

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and Kosher salt. Add the sugar, oil, vanilla, and 2 cups of beet puree; whisk until thoroughly combined.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, cocoa, and baking soda; stir well with a whisk or fork. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients a little at a time, whisking until smooth.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan.

While delicious on its own, it would equally benefit from copious amounts of softly whipped cream.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Chocolate Valentino

Ahh, chocolate. If there was one month I would expect to do something with chocolate, it's February. And this month, we're having a go at flourless chocolate cake. The February 2009 challenge is hosted by Wendy of WMPE's blog and Dharm of Dad ~ Baker & Chef. They have chosen a Chocolate Valentino cake by Chef Wan; a Vanilla Ice Cream recipe from Dharm and a Vanilla Ice Cream recipe from Wendy as the challenge. (Though, truth be told, the ice cream flavor was less important to the challenge than the fact that it be homemade. Score!)

Now, I must say, this was quite a simple recipe, only three ingredients required. Does it sound like I'm complaining? Clearly, you misunderstand. I have confessed to a certain level of sluggishness before now, I believe. So yes, three ingredients, right up my alley. But here, as with any recipe lacking a laundry list of components, quality and technique are key. The chocolate has not a thing to hide behind, it is the recipe. And while chocolate may be the star, it wouldn't amount to much of anything without a stellar supporting cast. Butter and egg yolks provide moisture and richness in texture, as whipped egg whites provide the lift for this decadent chocolate creation.

For the ice cream, well, let's just say I'm going through a caramel (ahem, carmel) phase. Since the Caramel Cake of November's challenge, I have had this uncontrollable need to play with caramel. At times a loveless venture, occasionally afflicting a blind rage, I have become obsessed with caramel in general. (I haven't even told you about the Caramels from Alice Medrich that were an optional part of that November challenge. I've attempted them, twice, and while I haven't been successful, this is one challenge I plan to master. Someday.) And then there's the Salted Caramel ice cream at Bi-Rite Creamery in the Mission District of San Francisco. This frozen sweet makes silent all who hold it and jealous those who don't.

It's true the ice cream at Bi-Rite Creamery inspired the decision to go with this particular flavor. Unbeknownst to me, I was not alone in this love for salted caramel ice cream, and I'm late to catch on as well. I decided to go with a milk-only ice cream, rich with egg yolks. As if sparing the cream somehow made up for the highly indulgent flourless chocolate cake it would accompany. Ignorance is bliss.

Check out the blogs of our fearless hosts this month for the Chocolate Valentino recipe. As for the ice cream: if you don't have an ice cream maker (and simply don't live near Bi-Rite) you can still enjoy this frozen treat, and once again, for all things ice cream, David Lebovitz is your man.

It is important to use good salt in this recipe. Try fleur de sel or Maldon sea salt (or other mild-tasting sea salt); and even Kosher salt will do in a pinch, but ordinary fine table salt is far too harsh. If you don’t have salted butter, just use a little extra salt. Don’t forget, saltiness diminishes in foods as they get colder, so don’t be afraid that you’ve ruined anything if it tastes too salty before it’s frozen. That being said, don’t go crazy.

Salted Caramel Ice Cream

inspired by Bi-Rite Creamery and David Lebovitz

3 cups (750 ml) whole milk, divided evenly

1½ cups (300 gr) sugar

4 tablespoons (60 gr) salted butter

scant ½ teaspoon sea salt

5 large egg yolks

¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

Add sugar to a medium saucepan in an even layer. Heat the sugar over moderate heat until the edges begin to melt. Use a silicone spatula to gently stir the liquefied sugar from the bottom and edges towards the center, until all the sugar is dissolved. Continue to cook, stirring infrequently until the caramel starts smoking and begins to smell like it's just about to burn. Don’t worry about any undissolved lumps, what doesn’t dissolve will eventually or be strained out later.

Once caramelized, immediately remove from heat and stir in the butter and salt, until butter is melted, then gradually whisk in 1½ cups of milk (keep the other 1½ cups milk refrigerated until needed). The caramel may harden and seize, but return it to the heat and continue to stir over low heat until any hard caramel has melted.

Whisk the yolks in a small bowl and gradually pour some of the warm caramel mixture over the yolks, stirring constantly. Scrape the warmed yolks back into the saucepan and cook the custard using a silicone spatula, stirring constantly (scraping the bottom as you stir) until the mixture thickens. If using an instant-read thermometer, it should read 160°-170° F.

Pour the custard through a fine mesh sieve set over a medium bowl (1 qt or larger). Stir in the reserved cold milk and the vanilla. Refrigerate at least 8 hours, stirring occasionally, or until thoroughly chilled.

Freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Eat right away, or chill in the freezer until firm.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Tuiles

Ahhh. A new year, a new challenge. This time around, we're talking the whisper thin lightness of tuiles. French for "tile," tuiles are traditionally thin, crisp cookies with a gently curved shape resembling that of, you guessed it (Didn't you?), a roofing tile.

This month's challenge is brought to us by Karen of Bake My Day and Zorra of 1x umruehren bitte aka Kochtopf. They have chosen Tuiles from The Chocolate Book by Angélique Schmeink and Nougatine and Chocolate Tuiles from Michel Roux. These lovely ladies were also kind enough to allow for a savory option with a recipe from Thomas Keller. And me being me, I resolved to go with a savory tuile, and beat my own drum while I was at it.

Years ago, a friend gave me a recipe for panelle, aka fabulously amazing chickpea fritter-like things. While very popular as Sicilian street fare, these were, for me, a new found food so delicious, I wondered what took me so long to find them. Then tuiles came to be the challenge du mois (of the month, people). The light bulb over my head burst and I decided on chickpea flour, the primary ingredient in panelle. And while I was unsure it would work, I couldn't stop myself from this possible brush with disaster.

So, imagine that (and my surprise). An actual experiment that did not go horribly South! Never mind that I yielded less than half of what I should have - I ate the "bad" ones (oops, that's broken, oops that's broken). Simple to make, delicious to eat, and so thin and light, you can hardly tell you're eating buttered chickpea flour. Now that's amazing.

Thank you Daring Bakers for another fabulous discovery in the world of baking! If you'd like to see the recipes, head on over to Bake My Day and take a look! If you'd like to know what I did, keep reading...

Savory Chickpea Tuiles
inspired by The French Laundry Cookbook

65 g/2.25 oz chickpea flour

1 Tbsp + 1 tsp sugar

1 tsp kosher salt

8 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened but still cool to the touch

2 large egg whites, cold

Preheat the oven to 400°

In a medium bowl, mix together the flour, sugar and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk the softened butter until it is completely smooth and mayonnaise-like in texture. Beat the egg whites into the dry ingredients with a whisk until completely incorporated and smooth. Whisk in the softened butter scraping the sides of the bowl as necessary and whisking until the batter is creamy and without any lumps. Transfer the batter to a smaller container, as it will be easier to work with.

Make 3, 2-inch hollow circular stencils spaced ½ inch apart (I used a thin plastic organizing folder). Place a Silpat (or similar) on a cool baking sheet. (If your baking sheet has raised edges, leave the Silpat on your counter and move it to the baking sheet just before baking.) Have a rounded surface such as a large-handled whisk or rolling pin clean and standing by.

Place the stencil in one corner of the sheet and, holding the stencil flat against the Silpat, scoop some of the batter onto the back of an offset spatula and spread it in an even layer over the stencil. Run the spatula across the surface of the stencil to remove any excess batter. Be sure not to leave any voids in the batter.

Lift the stencil and repeat the process, filling the Silpat while leaving about ½ inch in between the rounds.

Bake for approximately 3-4 minutes (watch the first couple of batches carefully to get the timing right), or until the batter is set and you see it rippling from the heat. There should be very light browning.

Remove the pan from the oven and, using a thin knife, transfer the tuiles to rest on the rounded surface. As the tuiles cool, they will lose their ability to bend, so work quickly.

Wipe the Silpat clean and allow it and the pan to cool before continuing with the next batch. Cooled tuiles may be stored in an airtight container for up to 2 days.

When Life Gives You Sour Grapes

Welcome back. Or rather, sorry to keep you waiting. I won't mince words here: August was a tough month. And who am I kidding, where has September gone? In these past weeks, with many things to say, and no time to say it, came failed attempts at cooking up something worth talking about. There may have been a success (or two?), but we'll get into that another time.

As for the now, it's sour grapes. I have one rule when it comes to produce: if you've never before seen it, buy it. And that's how I came up with sour grapes. Clusters of firm, bright green jelly beans, they were. I snuck a taste; they snapped open between my teeth, quickly sending an acid-induced shock throughout my body. Good grief, what could I possibly do with these? Actually, I kinda liked it. Okay, I really liked it. They tasted like unsweetened sour candies in need of...sweetness.

After a brief investigation of these sour grapes, I found that they must have been none other than under ripe wine grapes, with which one could make verjus, a flavorful alternative to vinegar for use in savory sauces and the like. Still, sweeter is what I searched for, and I found not a shred of evidence that such a thing could be accomplished. And after these past months, I wasn't up for any more disappointments in my experimental efforts.

Jelly. I could do something with jelly. A cookie, a jelly-filled shortbread cookie, maybe a tart. Oh wait, I know, pâte de fruit. Sure, maybe it had taken a couple of days, and countless hours searching for the appropriate cookie recipe before it even dawned on me. But why not those jewel-like candies of firm fruit jelly dusted in sugar? Tart and sweet and not too firm by the end of it all (overly toothsome pâte de fruit I find unappealing, you should know). Perfect. Life's not so sour after all.

The sugar used for dusting is important. I used evaporated cane juice. Don't make the same mistake, it melts on the surface of the candies within minutes; use regular white cane sugar. And if you prefer, many pâte de fruit recipes out there call for pectin rather than gelatin (like this, and that).

Sour Grape Gelées
adapted from epicurious.com

½ pound sour grapes
4 (¼ ounce) envelopes unflavored gelatin
1 cup water
2 cups sugar plus additional for tossing

8-inch square nonstick baking pan, lightly oiled

Wash and stem grapes. Puree sour grapes in a food processor and transfer to a fine meshed strainer; press on solids to extract as much pulp as possible, leaving only skins behind. You should have ¾ cup of pulp in the end (add water or applesauce/apple puree to supplement if necessary).

Add the water to a 2-quart heavy saucepan; sprinkle the gleatin evenly over the surface of the water and let stand several minutes to soften. Heat gelatin over medium-low heat, stirring, until dissolved; add sugar and stir until dissolved.

Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat again to medium-low and boil, uncovered, without stirring, 13 minutes (watch carefully so that mixture does not boil over). Remove from heat and allow the mixture to stand for 5 minutes, skimming and foam that may remain on the surface. Stir in sour grape puree (do not scrape up any bits that may have settled on the bottom of the pan), and pour into the prepared baking pan. Let stand at room temperature until set, at least 12 hours.

Run a sharp knife around the edge of the gelatin and invert onto a cutting board. Cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips, then cut strips into 1-inch pieces. Just before serving, gently toss gelées in a bowl of sugar to coat, brushing off excess.

Gelées, without sugar coating, keep in an airtight container at cool room temperature 2 weeks.

Plum Puckered

What does one do with a prolific plum tree? If only I had one to tell you about. Oh, but I do know someone who does, and with those plums, I made jam. I have been in quite a jammy mood lately, I have.

Turning fruit into jam is one of cooking's greatest permutations. Though not the same, the fresh sort and its simmered variant, neither is any less delicious. True, you can not mimic the flavor of a fresh, perfectly ripe, still warm from the sun specimen that dribbles juice down your chin if you're not careful, but there is something to be said for trying to hold on to that perception beyond the summer months.

But now, what to do with this jam? Its bittersweet, translucent jewel-like quality should not be limited only to toast; not that toast is unworthy, or a lesser vessel. What I mean is, few things celebrate a lovely jam better than the thumbprint cookie. Buttery, shortbread rounds with a dimple full of tart jam. Can't think of a better way to use up those plums.

And with what's left, I highly recommend trying the plum sorbet. Delicious.

This was so simple...plums, sugar, heat, and voila. Such sweet and juicy fruit; what remained was so very little (be prepared). I left the skins out for fear the jam too bitter, and to my surprise, it was still very much so. And what a sweet surprise, it mellowed after a few nights rest.

Plum Jam
yields about 1 ½ cups

3 cups plums, peeled and pitted
½ - 1 cup sugar (or to taste)

Simmer fruit and sugar in a medium pot over low heat, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until the fruit has thickened well enough to round up on a spoon.

Enjoy fully with warm toast or in your favorite thumbprint cookie.


Buttery Thumbprints with Plum Jam
adapted from marthastewart.com

1 stick unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 Tbsp all-purpose flour
2 Tbsp cornstarch
1/2 cup plum jam (any flavor jam will do)

Preheat oven to 350°

Combine butter and sugar in a medium to large bowl; beat together until light and fluffy. Add egg yolk and vanilla; beat well. Whisk together flour, cornstarch, and salt; add to the moist ingredients and mix just until combined.

Roll dough into ½ -inch balls; place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Make a deep indentation in the center of each ball with your thumb.

Bake for 10 minutes, remove from oven, and lightly press the centers down again. Fill the center of each cookie with about ½ - 1 teaspoon of jam. Return to the oven and bake about 10 to 12 minutes more. The cookies should only show signs of light browning on the bottom and still remain a golden buttery color atop.

Place on a wire rack to cool. While it is tempting to sample cookies fresh from the oven, the jam will be screaming hot, so give them a few moments. This recipe makes about 3 dozen, depending on the size of your thumbprint.

Midnight Canning

So much fruit. Pounds and pounds of fruit. At the time, I was simply relishing the joy of finding yet another "one" on the tree. How did it become so much?

Years ago, I entertained the notion of canning. It sounded like such a grand idea, preserving the best of the season to be enjoyed year round or, even better, being able to give the gift of jam. That was ages ago. But today, I have over 30 pounds of fruit (it seems) on my kitchen countertop. I'd better get started.

Blenheim apricot jam. Sweet little apricots, they are; even moreso in the jar. White nectarine preserves, stone fruit butter, peaches and more peaches, what about the rest? Looks like I'll need more jars.

Preservation is an art, somewhat lost. But really, it is so simple, I don't know what took me so long to come around. And I have so much to look forward to, lovely summer fruit for months to come.

As (surprise!) I was not prepared to preserve such a mountain of fruit, I wasn't able to find all of the accoutrements (aside from lids and jars) at the last minute. While I got by with a pair of tongs and crossed fingers, I highly recommend, at the very least, scoring an actual jar lifter that is intended to do the job of lifting hot jars in and out of boiling water. Also, if you only have one large pot, you can get by: after filling jars, return to the same pot, crank up the heat, and start the timer after the water comes back up to a boil.

For more information, please refer to the veritable authority on American home canning at freshpreserving.com. Or, for truly extensive information, including a completely different take on the role of sugar in canning, take a look at this from Colorado State University.

Stone Fruit Butter
yields about 2 pints

4 pounds stone fruit (such as peaches, apricots, and nectarines), peeled and sliced
½ cup sugar
Juice of 1-2 lemons

Simmer cut fruit and sugar in a medium saucepot until fruit has softened; puree fruit.
Continue to cook over low heat, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until the fruit has thickened well enough to round up on a spoon. Add lemon juice (to taste) to brighten the flavor.

Enjoy fully with warm toast.


For preservation:

Fill a large pot with enough water to cover jars by at least 1-2 inches.

In a second pot, fully submerge 2 clean pint jars (or 4 x ½ pints), and new, unused lids in 180° degree water for at least ten minutes prior to filling; keep the bands clean and to the side. Remove jars from hot water as needed.

Ladle warm butter into hot jars, leaving ¼” headspace at the top of the jar. Remove any air bubbles by sliding a plastic (non-metal) spatula between the jar and the fruit; clean away any fruit butter from the rims of the jars. Set the lids onto the jars and screw on the bands just until firm and snug, do not try to make it as tight as you can. Carefully lower jars into pot of boiling water, cover and process for 10 minutes.

After 10 minutes has passed, take the pot from the heat and allow the jars to rest for 5 minutes before removing, this will help with any temperature shock that could potentially damage the jars.

Remove jars, set upright with 1-2 inches of space between the jars; allow to cool for 12-24 hours. After cooling, check for a seal by removing the bands and attempting to pop off the lid with your hands; you should not be able to do so. Upon passing the seal-check, replace band and store jars in a cool, dry place for up to 1 year. If instead the lid pops open, all steps, including reheating the butter, should be repeated.

A Lazy Day Dessert

I have a sweet tooth. I didn't actually, for quite some time, but when it found me again, it had become insatiable. In order to keep this part of myself under a certain control, and let me start by saying will power is not involved here, I tend to limit my purchases of those things sweet. By this I mean all of the wonderful little snacky things you might buy from the bakery down the way or the candy maker across the street (fortunately, or not, as the case may be, I do not exaggerate).

So when the sweet tooth does rear its ugly crown, I turn to my own creative efforts. And not because I can not justify buying myself a confectionary treat; but because often, my pajama-bottomed bottom just doesn't want to go anywhere.

On this particular day, I was inspired by a recipe I happened to find in a book all about small plates. Normally, I eschew this kind of cooking, as it is something I enjoy eating much more than taking the trouble to prepare. But this recipe was just as easily made in a baking dish (as opposed to individual ramekins) and I just happened to have all ingredients on hand (I knew I had that buttermilk in the fridge for something).

I had some blackberries, nearing their end, and decided they would be the perfect addition to this simple lemon pudding cake. The cake, leavened by whipped egg whites, is so light and airy that you can hear little bubbles bursting with each nudge of your fork. Such a lovely, bright dessert, reminiscent of a luscious lemon curd. And, oh, how the soft, silky richness melts in your mouth; when I say cake, I really do mean pudding.

The lemon flavor in this cake is not for the faint of heart; it is very tart. If you prefer sweet over sour, substitute Meyer lemons or add another tablespoon (or two) of sugar to the batter. The berries may be omitted all together if you prefer a plain lemon pudding, and if you have no interest in turning the berries into sauce, simply scatter fresh berries across the bottom of the baking dish before adding the batter.

Berry Bottomed Pudding Cake
adapted from Big Small Plates

6 oz. fresh blackberries, rinsed
¼ cup water
2/3 cup + 1 Tablespoon sugar
½ cup fresh squeezed lemon juice (approx. 3-4 lemons)
Zest from juiced lemons
1½ cups buttermilk
4 Tablespoons butter, melted
3 large eggs, separated

This recipe requires a water bath for a small baking dish (8 x 8 or 9 x 13, for example) or eight 4 oz. ramekins.

Preheat oven to 350°.

1. Combine blackberries, water, and 1 Tbsp sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Smash berries with a potato masher or slotted spoon; cover and cook until slightly thickened. Remove from heat and strain berries through a fine meshed strainer, pressing on the solids to push as much through the strainer as possible. Pour berry sauce into the bottom of a 9 x 13 (or similar) baking dish.

2. In a large bowl, combine the 2/3 cup sugar and flour. Add the lemon juice, zest, and buttermilk.

3. In a separate bowl, combine the egg yolks and melted (but not hot) butter; add this to the buttermilk mixture.

4. With a stand mixer (or by hand) whip the egg whites until soft peaks form. Fold the egg whites into the batter with a whisk.

5. Pour the batter into the baking dish straight away (the egg whites will begin to deflate as soon as they are added to the batter).

6. Place the baking dish in a water bath (the water should come at least halfway up the sides of the dish). Bake for 25-30 minutes; the cake should just begin to crack yet still be jiggly. Cool to room temperature.

Serve with fresh whipped cream if desired.

100 Degrees before the Fog

It felt wrong to do what I was doing, Simmering a pot on the stove whilst one baked away in the oven. It was nearly 100 degrees outside. Unspeakable heat, especially for these parts. What was I thinking?

And then came the fog. The temperature dropped faster than seemed possible. Suddenly, it was downright cold. Hmph, I knew what I was doing (after all).

Polenta is one of those things, I love it, but I don't make it often, though it's easy enough; I don't have an excuse, really. It is so comforting and warms me to the core. And having been treated to fresh pasta and Bolognese sauce during a recent lunch, I was still hungry for it; a perfect accompaniment for my polenta, I figured.

This slow-cooking fare is perfect to prepare when your space needs some warmth from the kitchen. And while it may be fit for a different time of year, I'm sure for someone, somewhere, it's just the thing.

As much as I love to cook, I don't do it every day, and when I do, I often prepare enough to get me through to the next opportunity. That being said, these recipe portions are large though well suited to paring down. For the polenta, use whatever grind suits your taste, from fine to coarse; I used regular old cornmeal. I happened to have egg yolks in the fridge, so I threw them in, but they're certainly not necessary to the success of the dish, it simply adds richness.

Basic Polenta

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
½ yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups chicken broth
2 cups yellow cornmeal or polenta
4 egg yolks, room temperature (optional)
½ lb Parmigiano Reggiano finely shredded, ½ cup reserved
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 325°

1. In a Dutch oven (with a lid), sweat the onions and garlic in oil; do not allow any browning.

2. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil.

3. While whisking constantly, pour the cornmeal in a thin stream into the pot. Once the cornmeal is fully incorporated, the mixture will begin to bubble vigorously and can be dangerous, so use caution. Cover the pot, and place in the oven for 1 hour. Stir the mixture about every twenty minutes during baking.

4. Remove the polenta from the oven and whisk in the Parmigiano Reggiano and egg yolks (if using). Season with salt and pepper to taste after the cheese has been added to ensure proper seasoning.

5. Serve immediately (garnished with more fresh grated cheese) as a side dish or on its own with a simple tomato sauce.

Hearty Meat Sauce

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 lb ground bison (or whatever you prefer)
½ yellow onion, finely diced
2 medium carrots, finely diced
2 celery ribs, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups beef broth, low sodium (or homemade)
29 oz can tomato puree
Flat leaf parsley, finely chopped (optional)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add olive oil, onions and carrots and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are caramelized and begin to soften. Add celery and garlic and continue to cook until aromatic. Add ground bison and cook, stirring and breaking up the mean as it begins to brown.

2. Once the meat has browned sufficiently, add broth and reduce heat to just above a simmer. Allow liquid to reduce by half.

3. Add tomato puree and reduce heat to a low simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook until the sauce is very thick or has reached the desired consistency.

4. Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the chopped parsley. Serve with polenta or a tender, flat pasta.

Just a Bowl of Cherries

Cherries make me smile. I don't know what it is. Their bright colors, their shiny coats; they're just so cheery. And when the first of the season arrive, it all rushes back. I remember sunny picnics, stuffing handfuls of the glossy fruit into my mouth 'til my cheeks burst, biting away the juicy, sweet-tart flesh only then to forcibly hurl the pit through the air, seeing how far I could make it go. (How can you not love a fruit that is celebrated with it's innards spat in contest? Though cherries aren't the only ones: watermelon, pumpkin, olive, umeboshi [pickled plum], peach, persimmon, and probably something else I'm missing, can all claim such reverence.)

And there sat the little bags of cheer, ready to be scooped up and taken home. I wanted to bake with them, something simple and light. I came this close to making clafoutis (it's been all the rage), and may still, but I really wanted cake, and for some crazy reason I wanted it without butter. I came across a recipe that was nearly perfect, it was made with butter, but melted butter at that, so it seemed olive oil would be a flawless substitution. I love olive oil cakes; light and clean with a tender crumb and that second (really, third) piece feels less shameful.

As I have learned not to experiment much with baking, I have also learned what I can play with, so in this case, I did play a bit. As for the oil, use any that suits your taste. I used extra virgin olive oil, and while the batter was strong with its flavor, it became much less apparent in the baked cake. I used 2 x 7.5 inch ceramic tart pans, but a single dish that would result in a shallow cake just the same would work fine, too. If you would prefer a cake fit for presentation out of the pan, a springform works, but you would likely have to increase the baking time. And the cake is even better the next day (more moist).

Cherry Cake
inspired by Joy of Baking

1 pound (454 grams) fresh cherries, pitted
1 ½ cups (210 grams) all purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
¾ cup granulated white sugar
½ cup olive oil (extra virgin or light)
1/3 cup milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Zest and juice of ½ lemon

Preheat oven to 400°. Oil 9 x 13 baking dish.

1. Rinse, dry, and pit all the cherries. (In the absence of a cherry pitter, use a paring knife to cut the cherries in half and pop the pit out with your thumbnail.) Scatter cherries across the bottom of your baking dish.

2. In a small bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

3. Beat the eggs and sugar until thick and lemon colored, approximately 3-5 minutes. Incorporate the oil, milk, vanilla, and lemon juice and zest. Add the flour mixture and stir just until moistened.

4. Pour the batter over the cherries in the baking dish; spread the batter evenly.

5. Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until light golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean.

Serve with fresh whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.