An Incredible Egg

I want to tell you a story. It's about a farm with stretching pastures, rolling hills, and wandering chickens. Happy chickens, I'll bet. Here, they scratch and peck, feeding off the fresh green shoots of the newly grazed grass left behind by their neighboring cattle.

It's Marin Sun Farms. A little utopia of a farm where the land and animals are treated as precious rather than commodity. It's the kind of place I simply wish there were more of.

Fresh eggs from Marin Sun Farms are among the most beautiful I've ever seen. Colorful, hardy shells give way to show a rich golden yolk, so thick and rich in flavor. And to David and his chickens, I say thank you for your gift.

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.

Daring Bakers Challenge: Danish Braid

For this, my second Daring Bakers Challenge, it has come to laminated dough. Roughly defined, laminated dough is multiple layers of fat and dough; puff pastry, croissant and Danish dough all fall into this category. Essentially the rising or puffing action is a result of the fat melting between the layers of dough, creating a space between said layers that is then lifted by the steam released from the fat. Simple, huh?

Now let's talk Danish. Danish (and croissant, incidentally) dough is a little different in that it contains an additional leavening agent: yeast. This component will produce a pastry that is soft and tender rather than crisp like puff pastry. Let's begin, shall we?

Okay, I won't go into too much detail about the dough. It's quite repetitive (as is the nature of laminated doughs), and I wouldn't want you getting sleepy now, would I? I have had the privilege to work with laminated dough before, so this was not uncharted territory I must say, but for me, the myriad filling options became the challenge.

The original recipe was an apple Danish braid, its crust flavored with orange and cardamom. As exotic as that sounds, I felt the dough flavoring limited me to sweet applications (not that I know what I'm talking about) and I was far more interested in using something a) savory, and b) if fruit, a more seasonal choice. I'm not very good at following recipes, as you can tell. (That is my biggest challenge, telling the cook in me to sit down and shut up while the baker in me tries to flourish.)

So, I left out the flavorings, reduced the sugar in the dough just a touch, and carried on. There were two fillings I had in mind, a savory and a sweet, and then I spied The Silicone Spatula creating a tomato, basil, and cheese filled braid. Okay, duh. I love cheese. And I love cheese with tomatoes and basil. How awesome is that? (Thanks, bel!) Now I would have to make three. Rosemary ham and Gruyere cheese (love cheese), Caprese-style, and something peachy.

The recipe would produce two large braids; while I aimed for three medium sized ones, I ended up with three larger ones. Turns out, I rolled the dough much thinner than I should have (Did I mention the whole following-the-recipe-is-difficult thing?). And I was supposed to let the braids proof far longer than I had (Where is that recipe?).

So how did they turn out?

Ham and Gruyere. So simple, almost boring. I added a sprinkle of caraway seeds; it seemed so naked. Out of the oven, cool for a stint. Um, WOW. Boring, no way; this stuff sang. The tender, buttery, slightly sweet dough was the perfect compliment to the gooey, nutty Gruyere and that hint-of-rosemary ham.

Sure, the dough didn't rise quite as it could have, it was too thin and under-proofed, but the dough to filling ratio was perfect, not too much of anything. And the caraway, "Good call," I was told. Yeah, sometimes I get it right.

Now the one I was ready to love (and inhale), the Caprese-style. I love the flavor combination of tomatoes, basil, and fresh cheese. It began with a layer of tomato jam (whole canned tomatoes slowly baked for several hours in olive oil), topped with basil and fresh ricotta from Belfiore Cheese, then oven-dried heirloom tomatoes, and finally, thick slices of Belfiore's fresh mozzarella. Goosebumps, people.

Unfortunately, this one fell short for me. I didn't season it well enough, and the dough was too sweet and buttery (what?!) for this type of filling. This pastry begged for a few slices of pepperoni; that would have been something. Danish a la Hot Pocket, anyone?

And finally there was the Frog Hollow Farm peach. I read about these peaches years ago, before ever imagined I would be living in the same state as this magical place. A place where the peaches were so sweet, juicy, and delicious you could cut them in half, place a nub of butter where the pit once laid, bake it in the oven, and have peach pie. Yes, at Frog Hollow Farm, the peaches are legendary for their sugar content. So how trilled was I to see them in a local market? Kismet, I tell you. These were eat over the sink peaches, lick your elbows when you're done peaches, like the ones I ate off the tree as a kids peaches. I was a pretty lucky kid.

I made an almond filling for the base of the braid, sliced up some peaches, skin on, and arranged them over the almond mixture. A little sprinkle of superfine sugar and cinnamon over the top of the braid, and I'm ready for the most amazing peach pie Danish I'll ever eat. But alas, it was not so. The almond filling was a bit too toasted and took away from the delicate peaches, and really, it just wasn't sweet enough. It is a little early for that famous Frog Hollow peach, I suppose.

I can't complain one bit. I've made something I probably never would have, if not for the inspiration from the Daring Bakers and this month's hosts, Kelly of Sass & Veracity (and you can get the recipe here), and Ben of What’s Cookin’? And I had great fun doing it, despite any impressions of disappointment I may have allowed. (Just ignore that.) Life is good.

Getting Picked up in Brentwood

I should be keeping this a secret, but it's just too good. And it was passed down to me, after all, it would be selfish not to fess up. I went picking in Brentwood, a small town in the California Delta graced with fruit trees, corn fields, and a farmstand on every corner, once you get past the newly planted suburbia, that is.

Not having been there before, I wasn't quite sure what to expect; it is, or so I thought, that awkward time when the bounty of spring is long gone, and the fruits (and vegetables) of summer are not quite ready.

What seemed roughly 20 pounds of fruit plucked by hand from the first farm turned out to be closer to 40; apricots, peaches and nectarines, oh my! Some so ripe, they began to split and burst before even making it to the car. Could these beauties survive the long trek home, I wondered? At that, not before a few more stops out of town; there are berries, corn, beans, and tomatoes to be had.

And in answer to my question: barely. Such tender little babies, a good third of them destined for cobbler and sorbet before nightfall. I'm hoping the rest might stick around for at least a few more days. I've got plans for them.

There is nothing that compares to ripe fruit from the tree. Nothing. And these days, there's really no other way to get it than to do it yourself. They may have suffered bruises along the way, but the beauty here is on the inside. They are fresh, juicy and delicious. Nectar dripping to the toes. Eat these in the kitchen, it's easier to clean up afterwards.

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.

Daring Bakers Challenge: Opera Cake!

Woo-hoo!

I am thrilled to be a part of this group of Daring Bakers! Allow me to elaborate: every month, the Daring are given a challenge (in secret) of the baking sort. It could be savory, it could be sweet. There's a place where everyone can meet and trade secrets or horror stories. And then, all at once, we tell the world all about it. (This is my first one, can you tell?)


In the short time I've been a part of this group, I have only emailed the founding members (Lis and Ivonne), I dunno, too many times to count, so I would like to thank them for their time, as I can't imagine what else they would have time for. If you are interested in learning more, details abound at the Daring Baker's Blogroll.

I'm so enamored with the whole thing, in fact, that I've written all about it. If you care to read on, I must say I appreciate your tenacity. If you just want to make this cake, check out Cream Puffs in Venice.


Now, back to the nitty gritty. Opera Cake. And light Opera Cake, at that (light flavors and colors, no dark chocolate here). I was a little taken aback by the first challenge I'm getting my hands on, here. Buttercream, almond sponge, not easy stuff.

I had lofty aspirations, I was getting all carried away with my ingredients. I would buy almond meal (not make it), only the best butter (for the buttercream), and nothing but pure white chocolate would do (for the glaze). Then I went shopping. I'll make the almond meal (no time to run all over town), the butter I normally use is just fine (no need to be fussy), and white baking chips are a reasonable substitute (white chocolate is how much per pound?).

Once I got over that part, I needed equipment. Any excuse to go to the restaurant supply store is a good one; my answer to the kid in a candy store. Seriously, I could spend all day there. And no, I don't really need a Robot Coupe (ultra-duty food processor), a Vita-Prep (ultra-duty blender), or a portable nacho cheese cart. But, I do need a 1/2 sheet pan, a cake spreader, and some pastry tips (you never know when you might need a pastry tip).

First, I went with the buttercream. (Oh yeah, the flavor of my cake will be lemon.) So, there was some mention in the recipe about the sugar temperature being too high (a buttercream consists of a meringue, which is eggs beaten with a heated sugar syrup, then plenty o' butter beaten into the meringue), but I didn't let that stop me. I made the buttercream, no problem. It was actually quite easy. "What's all the fuss about?" I wondered. But it didn't make very much; and then my eye caught the singled-out egg yolk that didn't find its way in there (which is maybe why it didn't make so much). Drats.


Then I made buttercream again, and again, and again. Yes, my second and third time were complete failures. And the third time, I did exactly what I did the second time (overheated the sugar syrup). Nope, didn't learn anything that last time, apparently. Oh wait, now I get it, it's not that easy, quit being a show-off (yes, inner dialogue). So the fourth time went okay. And it was better than the first. The end result, luscious lemon buttercream so good I ate it by the spoonful. Good thing I made more.


Then came the joconde. Fancy name, no? It is essentially an almond sponge cake, wherein the almonds take place of most of the flour. Because this cake depends on egg whites to do the leavening, and fat deflates egg whites (which almonds have plenty of) this is a challenging cake. Everything must be ready to go, ingredients combined quickly, and into the oven before the cake has time to settle into the pan. Phew.

Mine did come out a bit lopsided, but I was happy with it overall. After cooling, it was time to assemble. This is the dreadful part, for me, anyway. I sat there staring at each piece of the puzzle, hoping I would like it just the same when it was all put together.


For three layers of cake, the first was brushed with a lemon syrup (simply sugar, a touch of water, and fresh lemon juice in at the end), reminiscent of lemonade itself. I skimped a bit, not sure if I really wanted a lemonade cake, but in the end, I should've been more generous (note to self). Then a layer of buttercream. Buttercream is not easy to spread, people! Seriously, when did this happen; it's icing for goodness sake. It's just cake and icing. Hah!

Another layer of cake, some syrup, more buttercream, repeat. Okay. Now the glaze part. The glaze was essentially a white chocolate ganache (white chocolate with enough cream added to keep the chocolate soft after setting). Well, as I said, I had white baking chips, more of a white chocolate substitute, you could say. Actually, I have to give this one the thumbs up, the coco-nutty notes (hello, palm oil) really complemented the intense lemon flavors in the cake.

Warm = fluid. This is how ganache works. Now put that on butter. Hmm. So, yes, I chilled the cake, I waited as long as I could to let the glaze cool, and most of it ended up on my kitchen counter. Good thing, 'cause it would have been too thick otherwise. Charmed life, eh? I usually realize this after the panic.


I brought the finished cake to work, couldn't bare to let it win multiple staring contests at home. One of my colleagues had a piece for breakfast. Probably the greatest compliment I've ever had. Me eating it for breakfast doesn't count.