Frosty B*tch

Yeah, I've been called that a few times in my life. But this post ain't about my attitude.

Frosting's never been my thing.
-Gobs of it on store-bought cakes make me ill. I can't stand corner pieces with frosting on three sides; I eat middle pieces that only have frosting on top.
-I got into a tiff once with a college housemate who insisted I ate her Betty Crocker frosting that was wallowing in the fridge.
-My Thank-God-the-CSTs-Are-Over Cupcakes were frosted with what was supposed to be buttercream but which was really just a big pile of fat and sugar. Several hours after inhaling his, one student asked me, "Um, Ms. DiStasi, did you make that frosting?"

Yet I can't quite give up on frosting altogether, and am determined earn my title in the gastronomic realm, not just the interpersonal realm. Michael Recchiuti's Chocolate Obsession  has a decadent yet simple recipe for Devil's Food Cupcakes with White Chocolate-Espresso Frosting. I've made it twice now, and both times the cupcakes were perfect. The first batch of frosting was tasty also. Too bad it was the consistency of gravy. The cupcakes were drowning in it. Of course, those close to me know the first question to ask me is, "Did you actually follow the recipe?" The answer was "No," as it usually is, but my improvisations generally don't lead me so far astray. I guess adding liquid espresso in place of instant-dissolve espresso powder isn't quite an even exchange.

The second batch of frosting was equally tasty, but I followed the recipe more closely (note I didn't say exactly) and after a stint in the refrigerator, I got frosting that stayed in place. At least until the frosting reached room temperature.

Tasty, but espresso granules are too easily mistaken for pieces of dirt.

 For my third batch, I have returned to the use of liquid espresso instead of espresso granules, as the recipe calls for, since the granules make the frosting gritty. At least, mine do, since I refuse to buy the instant-dissolve stuff Recchiuti suggests. I cut back on the cream to compensate for the extra liquid, and added a bit more white chocolate to increase the solid-at-room-temperature fat content. I dumped a bit in the stand mixer, along with a few heaping tablespoons of confectioners' sugar, which I figured was sort of like an ode to my failed buttercream. This frosting is verging on cloying thanks to the extra white chocolate and sugar, but pipes quite nicely.

EPILOGUE:  

ALMOST PERFECTION

The cupcakes and pseudo-buttercream frosting turned out as well as I could have hoped for, and I prepared a batch to bring to friends I met for drinks last night. I even added a little decorative espresso bean atop each one. However, since my car had been sitting in the sun all day, the frosting didn't even make it out of Oakland, much less to the peninsula. Guess I'm not a frosty enough b*tch to keep the cupcakes cool. 

TOTAL DISASTER

Devil's Food Cupcakes with White Chocolate-Espresso Topping
adapted from Chocolate Obsession by Michael Recchiuti

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 cup granulated sugar

1 egg

1/2 cup whole milk

1/4 cup vegetable oil (I use canola)

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 cup espresso

1/4 tsp grated lemon or orange zest

2 + 3/4 oz white chocolate, chopped

1 TBSP espresso

1/2 cup (minus 1-2 TBSP) heavy cream

For the cupcakes:

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line 12 muffin cups, or spray with cooking spray.

2. Sift flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking powder and soda, and salt into a medium bowl.

3. Combine egg, milk, oil, vanilla, and espresso in another bowl and whisk by hand. Grate zest directly into bowl.

4. Pour wet ingredients into dry. Whisk to combine. Distribute batter evenly among muffin cups (they should be about half-full). 

5. Bake until cupcakes are puffed and springy to the touch, about 15-20 minutes. Let cool completely in pan on wire rack, then remove from pan.

For the topping:

1. Put white chocolate in bowl. Set aside.

2. Combine espresso and cream in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Pour hot cream over chocolate and whisk until melted. 

3. Recchiuti says to place bowl in ice-water bath for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally. I just stuck the bowl in the fridge for an hour. Either way.

4. Place frosting in pastry bag or zipper bag with corner snipped off. Pipe frosting in swirl pattern over cupcakes and garnish with cocoa powder or a single espresso bean.

She's Such a Granola

Last week, I was supervising three students while eighty-something of their peers went on an end-of-year field trip. As these three watched a movie, one began helping herself to a bag of granola that belonged to the teacher whose room we were using had broken into. A second student commented, "That stuff is so NASTY. Ugh. How can you eat that?" The first replied, "Well, Mr. [Granola Owner] loves it. He eats it all the time. So." The third kept quiet, but also didn't eat a single clustered oat out of that bag.

I was reminded of similar conversations at my own high school in which we labeled health- and environmentally-conscious students "granolas." I don't think I got labeled a granola, though I not only ate granola, but ate HOMEMADE granola, which is even more granola than eating the store-bought kind.

Years later, I craved my dad's homemade granola, and wanted to change the stigma of granola from Something That Burned-Out Hippies Eat to Something That Martha Stewart Would Make. I called my dad for the recipe, thinking he had invented his, or at least had modified it significantly from its original source. But no, his recipe was lifted directly from some 1970s vegan how-to-get-holy-while-chanting-naked-with-of-all-your-white-hippie-friends cookbook that was probably printed on reclaimed toilet paper and bound with recycled inner tubes. He told me he began making it during his kitchen shifts at sesshin, his Zen Buddhist meditation retreats. While he was fully clothed, I'm sure, this news was not any I intended to spread around my social circles, and would definitely not convince skeptics of the merits of granola.

Mr. Granola Owner Teacher, though, may be just the ally granola and I need. He happens to be in the middle of a health and fitness campaign whereby he has lost over 30 pounds and competed successfully in his first triathlon. All this, of course, is attributable to his love for and liberal use of granola. 

Non-flavored, Non-Naked Granola
adapted from Some Hippie Cookbook

4 cups rolled oats
1/4 to 1/2 cup sunflower seeds
1/2 cup walnuts (sometimes I like to add halved almonds too)
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup honey (I use agave)
1/8 cup oil, such as canola
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup raisins


Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
1. Mix together oats, salt, sunflower seeds, and walnuts. 
2. In a separate bowl, combine oil, honey or agave, and vanilla. 
3. Add wet ingredients to dry, and coat oat mixture evenly. Spread on shallow baking sheet. 
4. Bake for 20-25 minutes, stirring every 8-10 minutes. Mixture will be slightly wet but golden brown. 
5. Add raisins. Store in airtight container.

NOTES

*The original recipe says to add the walnuts at the end, but I like them toasted, so I include them in the mix to be baked. 

* You can add other goodies to the mix, such as cranberries, dried apple bits, or cherries. Other nuts work well, too. One of my recent batches included unsweetened shredded coconut. Fabulous.

*This recipe is fairly low in sugar, so it doesn't form the clusters that commercial granola does. This is great for those monitoring their sugar intake, but less great for teachers and their students who like to eat granola straight out of the bag. I like eating it as a cereal in the morning with a bit of milk. 

*Fresh fruit is fantastic in the bowl in the morning. Sliced banana and blueberries are my favorites.

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.

Names that Start with J

Most people react positively to the news that I have started this blog.  A few (including one notable co-worker) wrinkle their noses, raise their eyebrows, and make remarks such as, "Seriously? A food blog?" as if it were the most trite waste of bytes on the Internet.  And it may be, but such a reaction from ordinarily positive people confused me.

Then last month, in a friendly red Netflix envelope, "Julie & Julia" arrived. I knew the premise: Julie cooks her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, something I was eager to see since my mother cooked her way through at least some of the recipes.  I still have her tattered, splattered copy, the spine of which has disintegrated; the book is held closed with a rubber band. I didn't know much about the life of Julia Child before watching the movie, though I'd suspected there was something decidedly un-French about her all the times I'd seen her on public television, eating her way through piles of ingredients ready for whatever she cooked with Jacques Pepin that day. Meryl Streep was perfect in that role, and I loved the movie, even if Julie got a little whiny at times.

Of course, it turns out that Julie, whiny or not, started a food blog about her year-long project with Child's book, which I imagine spawned a hot trend of food blogs in the last few years. Now I understand that nauseated reaction from a select few; clearly my idea was far from novel and I have been living under a large rock for the past few years, which is why I hadn't seen the movie yet and didn't know that everybody and her grandmother writes one of these. 

I'm not cooking my way through anything, except perhaps several bags of flour and sugar, but I am blogging about whatever I manage to accomplish, wrinkled noses be damned.

Winter Blahs?

Winter is not my favorite season.  Or my second favorite.  Or my third. Grays and browns dominate the winter landscape in Chicago, where I spent 3 very long winters.  It's ugly.  It's cold. It's gloomy and depressing.  And while I don't live there anymore, I find the bright colors of vegetables from the farmers' market just as cheery as I did when I bought them in Chicago in January. Oh no, wait-- there is no farmers' market there in January.  Because farmers can't grow vegetables in the Arctic Tundra.

I've gotten spoiled living here in California, what with its year-round growing season and truly amazing variety of produce.  But even I was surprised by the glowing jewels of color that made their way into my bag last weekend.  When people speak of winter produce, the image of row after row of Swiss chard pops into my head, with little room for anything else.  While there were plenty of greens in my bag, there were also greens that weren't green, balls and sticks of orange, and marbles of magenta. 

The radish practically glows pink

I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

Antioxidants Shmoxidants

Apparently, cinnamon is the latest health food. It has super-duper antioxidants, and has anti-inflammatory and anti-microbial properties.  It's slated to be the next food packaging component, since it can inhibit the growth of yuck.  One article even claimed that cinnamon has more antioxidant power than garlic.  My Italian ancestors must be having a collective conniption fit right about now.

I'm all for antioxidants.  I spend a lot of money to avoid carcinogenic ingredients (funny how they abound in the cheap stuff), and read labels obsessively.  But when I came across a cinnamon supplement at CVS the other day, I couldn't help but wonder when bottled air would arrive on the shelf. 

My annoyance is due in part to the fact that cinnamon is ridiculously easy to incorporate into one's diet.  It tops many fruits and several flavors of ice cream with ease.  It's practically required in pies and turnovers.  It can flavor cookies alone or in tandem with other spices.  It practically rules the month of November. I put it in my oatmeal every morning, along with about 19 other toppings.

My friend Leilani insists that cinnamon has no place in savory dishes.  I disagree.  I make a Moroccan chicken concoction that may or may not be authentic, but which is delicious and  contains liberal amounts of cinnamon.  In fact, half the cuisine of the Middle East would be off-limits if Leilani's rule were true.

I also make a lamb stew of questionable authenticity which requires spoonfuls of cinnamon, and not just because I have a point to make to Leilani.  Stews amuse me because there are endless variations to be tried.  I have made this dish with purple sweet potatoes, orange-fleshed sweet potatoes, and with Yukon Golds.  I have added noodles. I have omitted noodles.  I have tried wine in the liquid.  I have varied the spice ratio. I have added carrots and celery, and chunks of squash. I have thrown in whatever vegetables need to be used up.  It's always satisfying. It's always fragrant. And it always contains cinnamon.

Sol Food

It's a Puerto Rican restaurant.  Get it?

I stopped there for lunch the other day, wanting to try something on the menu I hadn't tried before.  I chose a Nino Pobre (how the heck do you make the tilde work on this thing?), which is this restaurant's version of the classic Po' Boy, only the prawns are dredged in a plantain batter.  I don't know who thought of that, but it's delicious. It paired perfectly with the side of maduros I ordered.   I can't think of much that doesn't pair well with maduros.  I have also been known to eat just maduros for a meal in extreme cases. And in Guatemala.

The problem, though, was when I paid for my food. Sol Food ain't the cheapest place in town, but the total was more than I expected.  And I'm pretty good at estimating. In fact, I won a prize once at a math seminar for coming the closest to the actual number of jelly beans in a jar. The point is, I knew I had been overcharged, yet was surprised into paying the total and stepping aside to calculate more precisely. I was still correct and had still been overcharged by the third or fourth time I checked my calculations.  But the line at Sol Food never disappears, and I didn't really want to wait in line for the $3 I was owed. I figured it was about how much should go in the tip jug anyway, so I said nothing, waited for my food, and left. 

I don't suspect Sol Food of overcharging its customers regularly, and still cannot figure out how I was charged more for my food than I should have been, since my order, stapled to my bag, was correct.  I was annoyed at them and at myself for tolerating it.  But if it does happen every so often, and people don't complain since the line is long, or the staff is too busy, or the amount is too small...

I still love this place, and will eat here again.  And I will also get a receipt.