R & R

I don't subscribe to Sunset magazine. A random copy of it arrived in my mailbox the other day anyway. Thumbing through it, I realized it was not the same magazine my mother used to subscribe to, with Michigan-ized enchilada recipes and how-to-build-your-own-deck instructions. Instead, I found a recipe developed by some organic farmer-restaurateur in Canada for Rhubarb Upside-Down Cake with Caramel-Rosemary Sauce.

Putting aside for a moment the fact that the title of this dessert is far too long, it occurred to me that rosemary, cream, and sugar just might work drizzled over a cake with fruit on top. Or on bottom. Hard to say with an upside-down cake. Regardless of direction, I got started. An acquaintance has a lovely rosemary bush growing in his yard; he donated a healthy sprig to this endeavor. Green & Black's makes the best white chocolate bar I've ever had (let's face it, white chocolate doesn't excite anyone); it imparted a lovely vanilla flavor to the cake.  Berkeley Bowl, of course, supplied the rhubarb.

The cake was perfectly edible on its own. The flavor and texture were pleasing, and the tart rhubarb is always a nice contrast to anything sweet. But the sauce... oh, the sauce! Cream, infused with rosemary, gets stirred into caramelized sugar with a touch of lemon juice. First the sweetness hits the taste buds, and then the rosemary, yet the rosemary is anything but an afterthought. After the cake was gone-- I had help eating it, I swear-- I found excuses to dip a spoon into the remaining sauce: my smoothie needed a boost, my coffee wasn't sweet enough (whoa-- not delicious), my tongue needed some rosemary cream sauce, etc...  I love that rosemary, usually an herb reserved for savory dishes, is featured so prominently in this dessert, and it works. 

Truthfully, I omitted half the recipe: the cake is also supposed to have a warm rhubarb compote poured over it, alongside the rosemary caramel sauce. Next to all that should be a scoop of Sour Cream Chamomile Ice Cream. Handmade, of course, featuring chamomile I grow myself. I admit I am curious about the ice cream. But in addition to this dessert's title becoming Rhubarb Upside-Down Cake with Rosemary-Caramel Sauce and Warm Rhubarb Compote Accompanied by Sour Cream Chamomile Ice Cream, its being also becomes too complicated. The unexpectedness of the rosemary is the limit for one dessert. More herbs, flavors, and sauces would just make it garish.

I suppose that's the trouble with getting pretentious-- it's hard to know when enough is enough.

Rhubarb Upside-Down Cake with Rosemary-Caramel Sauce
(adapted from Sunset magazine, April 2011)
Cake
1/2 lb rhubarb, cut into 1/2-in slices (2 cups)
1/2 C + 3 TBSP granulated sugar
3 oz white chocolate, chopped
1/3 C unsalted butter, room temperature
2 egg whites, room temperature
3/4 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/3 C cake flour 

2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 C milk

Sauce **

1 C whipping cream

1 rosemary sprig

1 C granulated sugar

1/2 tsp lemon juice

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter or spray a 9-in round cake pan (or 8 one-cup ramekins). [Optional: line pans with parchment paper cut to fit bottom. Butter/spray paper.] 

2. In a bowl, toss rhubarb with 3 tsp granulated sugar. Spoon evenly into pan or ramekins.

3. Melt white chocolate in a double boiler. Whisk until smooth, 2-4 minutes. Let cool.

4. Beat butter and 1/2 C sugar in a bowl until fluffy. Add egg whites and vanilla. Beat until well-blended. 

5. Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in another bowl. Beat flour mixture into egg mixture alternately with milk (half at a time), until smooth. Stir in chocolate. 

6. Spread batter evenly over rhubarb. Bake until golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out almost clean (28-35 minutes). Let cool in pan. 

7. Meanwhile, heat cream and rosemary in small saucepan over medium heat until bubbles form at edge of pan, stirring occasionally, about 3-5 minutes. Remove from heat. Discard rosemary. 

8. Stir granulated sugar with lemon juice and 2 TBSP water in a 12-in frying pan. Cook over medium-high heat, occasionally swirling mixture around sides to wash down sugar crystals, until deep golden, 5-6 minutes. Immediately remove pan from heat, add cream (it will bubble up), and whisk until smooth. Transfer to serving bowl.

9. Loosen cake from pan/ramekins. Invert over serving plate(s). Remove paper, if used. Spoon a bit of sauce over slices, and serve. 

 ** My sauce turned out more custardy than caramely. This is probably due to my impatience with all things sweet. To achieve a more golden sticky caramel sauce, one must follow the recipe.

Sausage and Peppers

My dad used to talk of opening a sausage and pepper stand.  He'd make his fortune that way, selling only one thing, cooked and flavored to perfection.  No fancy packaging necessary, no exotic ingredients needed.  Just really good food.


My parents always made sausage and peppers to be eaten in a roll: they left the sausages whole, and added layers of sauteed onions and green bell peppers.  My critique of this presentation was that the sausages would slide across the roll and splurt out one end or another, usually to land in my lap by way of the front of my shirt.

Several grease stains and many years later, I had dinner at my cousin's house before going to a show, and she told me over the phone she'd make me a little sausage and peppers.  She served it to me in a bowl, with clear evidence of TOMATOES in the dish, and no roll in sight.  I felt sorry for her, not knowing how to make sausage and peppers and all.

As I ate the bite-sized pieces out of the bowl, I secretly enjoyed the flavors and textures, with the tomato adding a pleasant acidic balance to the dish.  I think we ate a little sourdough bread with the meal, using it to dip up the juices at the bottom of the bowl.  By the end of the night, my shirt was still stain-free.  I've been hooked on her method ever since. 

I discovered cute, funky-shaped sweet peppers at the farmer's markets in Los Angeles, and prefer to make sausage and peppers with them, though I'm probably being my usual food snob self there.  My favorites are the purple and pale yellow ones I find sometimes; this weekend I bought a small green, an even smaller yellow, and a long reddish-yellow one, along with a few varieties of heirloom tomatoes from the same farmer.  I bought a couple of sweet Italian sausages at-- where else?-- Berkeley Bowl, and served this with a seeded Semifreddi's baguette.  I don't use any cheese these days, but note that this dish, be it in a bowl or on a roll, is delicious with a very light sprinkling of grated Pecorino-Romano or Parmegiano.

Sorry, Dad.

Sausage & Peppers
Serves 2

adapted from Several Members of the DiStasi Family

2 sweet Italian sausages, sliced into bite-sized pieces

1 cup bell peppers, cut into thumb-sized strips

1/2 cup tomato, cut into chunks

1/2 medium onion, sliced

1 clove garlic

salt, pepper, and maybe a little oregano

1. Saute onion and garlic in a little olive or canola oil over medium heat for 2-3 minutes.  Add sliced peppers and saute another 3-4 minutes, until shiny and beginning to soften. I add my salt, pepper, and oregano here but "real" cooks add it at the end.

2. Add sausage pieces. Continue to saute until sausage is nearly done, about 8-10 minutes.  Peppers and onions should become soft but not mushy.

3. Add tomatoes and cook another 2 minutes, or until tomato pieces have softened and released some liquid but haven't disintegrated.  Sausage should be fully cooked by now.

4. Serve in bowls with warmed baguette, and sprinkle with grated cheese, if desired.

Black Pepper and Sweet Potatoes

Yep, that's what I've put in cakes lately. 

You've probably seen the movie Chocolat with Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp (omigoditsreallyhimplayingtheguitarthatistotallyhotlovehim!), about a woman whose Maya ancestors passed on the tradition of chocolate-making and pepper-adding.  The book, by the way, ends with totally different characters falling in love.  Don't get me started on the-book-versus-the-movie.  Anyway, thanks to the movie, I knew about adding cayenne to hot chocolate, which, though it sounds vile, in fact heightens the flavor of the chocolate.  No seriously, it does.  I've tried it.  But what I hadn't thought of was adding pepper to chocolate baked goods, so when I came across this French Chocolate-Almond Cake recipe, I was intrigued.

It looks dense, but is incredibly light and melts in your mouth!  Well, practically. 

The pepper and cinnamon in this recipe are optional, according to the authors.  According to me, you can't pass up the opportunity to add black pepper to your chocolate cake and actually have it turn out well.  The first time I made this cake, I used pepper that had been sitting in my spice cabinet for way too long. I think I bought that container of pepper the last time I lived in Los Angeles.  That was what, 2005?  It was one of those Costco-sized containers. What was I thinking?  Who uses that much pepper?  Nevertheless, the cake came out perfectly, with just the right kick of pepper at the end.   For the second go-round, I decided to get a fresh supply of black pepper, which Berkeley Bowl sells in bulk.  Apparently, there is such a thing as too fresh.

My dad's old buddy, Gian (who knows EVERYTHING about food), reminded me of the cayenne-into-chocolate possibility, which he says the Spaniards do as well.  So I'm thinking that for the third go-round, I'm going to add mostly cayenne to the cake, and just a touch of too-fresh black pepper, since it was a bit strong in Cake Number Two.  I am quite certain that the particular heat of the cayenne will complement the airiness and perfect sweetness of the cake, without any of those elements being overpowering.

The same issue of Vegetarian Times that featured the Okinawa sweet potatoes had a recipe for a Chocolate-Sweet Potato Torte, which I made and which turned out well.  The two are variations of the same cake, though I prefer the pepper and cinnamon version, since those ingredients get a chance to shine, whereas the sweet potato just disappears.  Though come to think of it, that might be a good thing.



French Chocolate Almond Cake

(adapted from Moosewood Restaurant New Classics, which adapted it from Julia Child)

**Be sure to start with ALL ingredients at room temperature, including the eggs. 

1 tsp instant coffee granules

2 tbsp hot water  
(I use 2 TBSP espresso instead)                

4 oz bittersweet chocolate

1/3 c butter

1/2 c sugar

3 eggs, separated

1/3 c unbleached white flour
1/3 c finely ground almonds    
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground black pepper

1/4 tsp cream of tartar

a pinch of salt

2 tbsp granulated sugar

2 tbsp confectioners' sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Coat an 8-inch springform pan with cooking spray and dust lightly with flour.

Stir together coffee and water in a small saucepan or double boiler.  Add chocolate and stir on lowest heat until smooth and blended.   Remove from  heat and set aside.

Beat together butter and sugar with an electric mixer or whisk until light and creamy.  Add egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Beat in reserved chocolate mixture.  Set aside.

In a separate bowl combine flour, almonds, and spices.  Set aside.

Whip egg whites (*see note below) in medium bowl until white and foamy.  Add the cream of tartar and salt, and whip until the whites form soft peaks when the beaters are lifted.  Add granulated sugar and continue to whip until whites are stiff and glossy.

Combine the mixtures: fold the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture alternately with the egg whites in two or three batches.  DO NOT OVERMIX!  The fluffiness of the egg whites are what make the cake melt-in-your-mouth-y. 

Pour batter into prepared pan.  Bake cake in center of oven for 20-25 minutes.  When done, the top will be slightly cracked, the center will be soft and slightly puffed, and a toothpick inserted about 2 inches from the edge will have a few crumbs adhere to it.  Cool on rack for 10 minutes. 

Dust lightly with confectioners' sugar and serve slightly warm or at room temperature.  

Two notes: 
1. Egg whites are finicky creatures.  If there is even a speck of yolk in them, they will not whip up properly.  Ditto for water, soap, chocolate, dryer lint, chicken grease, and tofu.
2. The cookbook actually says the secret to this cake's texture is a healthy amount of elbow grease while whipping the whites by hand with a whisk.  Who does THAT?

Okinawa

I have a thing for purple.  My bedroom was a soothing shade of lavender for years.  I own more than one pair of purple shoes.  Heck, I was even Violet Beauregard in the school play in third grade.  So when an article in Vegetarian Times (January 2010) featured varieties of sweet potato that included a purple one, I knew I had to have some.

It turns out these are not easy to come by.  I finally found them at Berkeley Bowl, selling for almost three times as much per pound as every other variety.  But, I reason, I buy less than a pound at a time and I NEVER waste them.  No, I devour them.  They are the sweetest sweet potato I've ever tasted. They tend to be a bit drier and starchier than other varieties, but that just means I add a little extra butter and milk. Truth be told, most of the time I don't bother to mash or butter.  I roast them in the pan with chicken, so they get lightly coated with the drippings, and become so sweet and tender that they practically melt in my mouth. 

Mashed, with skin on.

Add these Okinawa sweet potatoes to a laundry list of purple foods I've been eating lately.  Tomatoes.  Radishes.  Cherries.  Plums.  Bell peppers at the farmers' market when I lived in the Midwest.  Asparagus comes in purple too, but I was sorely disappointed to discover that it releases its color and turns green when steamed.  Ugh, what a waste.

Purple is so unexpected in the realm of food.  It feels somehow extra-special, powerful, surreal, as if any food that accumulates such an intense pigment has to be other-worldly and somehow magical.  Not sure I'll develop X-ray vision or superhuman strength any time soon, but I will have fun trying.