double chocolate torte – smitten kitchen

My in-laws had their 35th anniversary this past week, and if you’ve been taking notes up until now (though why would you) you can imagine that this only created one requirement whichever dessert I brought to a barbeque this weekend: chocolate. Also, if it could have chocolate on top of that chocolate, it would be good too. And did we mention chocolate? Because we’re really into chocolate, and no amount of chocolate would be too much. This guy I married, who thinks that there are few higher kitchen callings than a chocolate-crusted, ganache-coated cheesecake with cubes of brownies inside? He didn’t develop this obsession in a vacuum.

1/2 lb.medium peaksmoussetexture

Epicurious has been such a superstar lately in locating cake recipes so decked out in praise, half my work is done for me, I couldn’t resist calling on it again, this time pulling up some ungodliness by the name of Double Chocolate Torte. One pound of chocolate and three-quarters of a pound of butter later, I think we hit a new record of caloric indecency.

crown of raspberriesdouble chocolate torte

Eyes popped and stomachs rumbled at the sight of this chocolate-roaring beast, which was really a torte because the cake–an almost-flourless cocoa bomb–is just the base for a super-thick layer of mousse. A slick of unsweetened whipped cream tops the mousse layer, then a layer of fresh raspberries (or what would have been a full layer if the ridiculously overpriced raspberries we’d bought weren’t half past-their-prime) and I wish I could show you how gorgeous the cross-section was, but the camera battery had the nerve to die just as we were digging in. You’ll have to trust me: it’s a stunner and I wouldn’t change a thing about it, except to not eat a single thing for the entire day before it. This baby demands your stomach’s complete attention.

if you ever want  a good reason to hate medoughnutsdoughnutsdoughnutsraspberry doughnutdoughnuts

Elsewhere: Over at Priceless.com today, I have some photos and a short blurb about the Doughnut Plant on Grand Street, and I suggest that you don’t go over there at all if you a) are hungry or b) have a weakness for old-fashioned deep fried deserts in new-fangled flavors. Like Valrhona chocolate glazed. Or tres leches-tunneled. Or square ones with homemade jam in burrowed each corner. Mastercard cannot be held responsible for drooled-upon keyboards. Really, it says so in my contract.

One year ago: Moules a la Mariniere and Baked Pommes Frites

Double Chocolate Torte
Adapted from Bon Appetit, December 2000

Makes 10 servings

Cake
8 ounces bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, chopped
1 cup unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
5 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup all purpose flour

Mousse
1/2 cup unsalted butter, cut into pieces
4 large eggs, separated
1 cup whipping cream, divided
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
8 ounces bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, chopped
1/2 cup plus 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar

2 cups fresh raspberries
2 tablespoons red currant jelly melted with 1 tablespoon water
Red currant bunches (optional)

For cake: Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter 10-inch-diameter springform pan; dust with sugar. Melt chocolate and butter in heavy large saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly. Cool to lukewarm. Whisk in sugar. Whisk in eggs 1 at a time, blending well after each addition. Mix in vanilla and salt, then flour. Pour batter into pan. Bake until cake just rises in center (tester inserted into center will not come out clean), about 35 minutes. Cool completely in pan on rack. Cover; chill while making mousse.

For mousse: Melt butter in medium metal bowl set over saucepan of simmering water (do not allow bottom of bowl to touch water). Whisk yolks, 1/4 cup cream and vanilla in small bowl to blend. Gradually whisk yolk mixture into bowl with melted butter. Whisk constantly over simmering water until thermometer registers 150°F, about 6 minutes (mixture may appear broken). Remove from over water; add chocolate and stir to melt. Set aside.

Beat egg whites and 1/2 cup sugar in large bowl to medium-stiff peaks. Whisk 1/4 of beaten egg white mixture into warm chocolate mixture to lighten. Fold in remaining egg white mixture. Pour mousse over cake in pan; smooth top. Chill torte until mousse is set, at least 6 hours and up to 1 day.

Run sharp knife around edge of pan to loosen torte. Release pan sides. Transfer torte to platter. Using electric mixer, beat 3/4 cup cream in medium bowl until peaks form. Spread whipped cream over torte. Top whipped cream with raspberries. Brush red currant jelly mixture over raspberries. Sprinkle with 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar. Garnish with currants, if desired.

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white bean roasted red pepper dip – smitten kitchen

Today is Alex and my second anniversary.

Some longtime readers might remember that Alex and I met through our blogs–yes, we both used to whine publicly about our laughably bad dating lives and, yes, are really glad that phase has passed. Some newer readers might demand to know why they haven’t been privy to this information and the truth is, though Alex and I have been together for almost three years, I still haven’t found a non-awkward way to say “We met on the internet.” What usually happens is that I try to reduce my own discomfort with the way it must sound by, well, making it sound much worse: “In a chat room!” I’ll add, and then “About kittehs!” and then “No, wait! About polyandry!” Once big mouth strikes again, I can’t shut her up and I talk myself into a deeper and deeper hole: “Just kidding! We met on JDate!” “I mean, through friends!” “Uh, at summer camp!” Without fail, just as my blathering really hits rock-bottom–“Actually, he was stalking me. Isn’t that cute?”–it hits me that the truth, well, it might actually be better than the alternative.

dorkalicious

Especially because, if you want to be technical about it, we met because of a recipe. Yep, it turns out that this whole thing I do, “Baby, how does this [obviously-awesome] recipe sound?” and this thing that he does, “Holy moly,” goes back to even before I knew he’d make a handsome dishwasher/heavy groceries-carrier/husband one day. I was swooning over moving into a new apartment with an actual kitchen counter, which had inspired me to make a white bean/roasted red pepper dip before a party the night before. Alex asked for the recipe, I dished it up, we moved the conversation to email, to a bar, over to Paris and then down the aisle, and well, in the words of Alex during the early are-we-going-to-make-a-go-of-this-or-what days, “that pretty much brings us up to today.”

Or yesterday, to be precise, when I decided to actually try that recipe which I’d pretty much made up as I went along and had no confirmation that the results were repeatable. [Fortunately, though I was predictably slow to “get it,” it wasn’t really the recipe that Alex really interested in.] Lucky me, it’s just perfect.

white bean roasted red pepper dip

By the way, Alex’s response to the recipe was: “Thanks. That sounds relatively simple. I don’t have a food processor or a hand-mixer, though. I guess I’ll have to cave and buy one or the other, eventually.” Hoo boy, did he ever.

One year ago: You Won’t Be Single For Long Vodka Cream Pasta

White Bean Roasted Red Pepper Dip

Tired of dips that were nothing but cream and egregious amounts of dairy fat, and bored by all of the white bean dips out there that were nothing but bean-swapped hummus, this has got to be one of the first recipes I ever created. Low-fat and or fat-free cream cheese work equally well in here, as does goat cheese or mascarpone. A sprinkle of chives makes it even prettier, but it will disappear quickly, with or without them.

1 15-ounce can of white cannelini or navy beans, drained and rinsed
1 small jar roasted red peppers, or about 1 cup, drained
3 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 clove garlic, minced
Juice from half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste

Puree everything in a food processor until smooth. Bachelors, your margarita blender will work, too.

Serve with baked pita chips.

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spicy soba noodles with shiitakes – smitten kitchen

Alex has been narrowing his eyes at my ever-growing periodicals stack lately, and I don’t blame him. How did someone whose life so fully revolves around the Web end up with so many subscriptions to print magazines? Hint: I am only paying for one of them. Hint: Most of them are available ink-free on the Web.

That said, he has a point. When you’ve got (at best) 660 square feet of floor area, and (at best) 20 square feet of table/counter area, it is less than ideal to give up any of it to dead tree media. So, I finally caved, or more like focused my attention span long enough to quickly breeze through pages this weekend, and Gourmet? I’m sorry. I hope the sixteen pages I bookmarked over three issues will compensate for my allowing you to collect a thin layer of dust. Your photography still makes me whimper with envy.

udon and edamame, draining

And the thought of those soba noodles with cabbage, shiitake and edamame in the fridge makes my stomach grumble with disappointment that I left it at home today. Though it was not exactly the 30-minute main they promised–though the fact that I was making/snacking on bean dip and Scrubs was on might have prolonged the prep portion of the meal–it was the kind of spectacularly easy thing that can really make the difference between Tofu Pad Thai in a little white box and something you actually can monitor the ingredients of on a Monday night.

sauteed napa cabbage and shiitakes

It also helps that I really love the combination of mushrooms, edamame and cabbage with noodles. I replaced the Korean chili paste with Thai chili-garlic paste because that was what we had on hand, thus I can’t attest to whether a tablespoon of the former would be way too much for a spice-moderate palette. The level of Thai chili paste was perfect.

The only thing I’d change next time is to add a splash of dark-toasted sesame seed oil to round out the acidity. I won’t go as far to call this THE soba dish I will come back to time and again, but for a Monday night dinner with leftovers you still crave on Thursday, it’s not bad at all. Oh, and July/August/September Gourmets? We’re just getting started.

cold soba noodles

Aww: I want to thank everyone for their sweet and smooshy comments on the anniversary post. I love the fact that the internet will come out and celebrate our anniversary with us… Group hug! What is completely unfair is that you were unable to join us for the seriously, ridiculously good dinner at Gramercy Tavern. The vegetable tasting menu made my year. I am not sad, however, that I don’t get to share my new earrings with you.

Serious Eats: In The Myth of French Golden Arches Revulsion, I question the idea that only Americans love fast food.

One year ago: Roasted Garlic Soup with Parmesan Cheese

Spicy Soba Noodles with Shiitakes and Cabbage
Adapted from Gourmet August 2007

Makes 4 servings

For sauce
1/3 cup water
1/3 cup soy sauce
2 to 3 teaspoons Korean hot-pepper paste (sometimes labeled “gochujang”)
1 tablespoon packed brown sugar

For noodles
3 tablespoons sesame seeds
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons finely chopped peeled ginger
1 tablespoon finely chopped garlic
10 ounces fresh shiitake mushrooms, stemmed and thinly sliced
1 1/4 pound Napa cabbage, thinly sliced (8 cups)
6 scallions, thinly sliced
8 to 9 ounces soba (buckwheat noodles)
1 cup frozen shelled edamame

Stir together all sauce ingredients until brown sugar is dissolved, then set aside.

Toast sesame seeds in a dry 12-inch heavy skillet (not nonstick) over medium heat, stirring, until pale golden, then transfer to a small bowl.

Heat oil in skillet over medium-high heat until it shimmers, then saute ginger and garlic, stirring, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add shiitakes and saute, stirring frequently, until tender and starting to brown, about 6 minutes. Reduce heat to medium, then add cabbage and most of scallions (reserve about a tablespoon for garnish) and cook, stirring occasionally, until cabbage is crisp-tender, about 6 minutes. Add sauce and simmer 2 minutes.

While cabbage is cooking, cook soba and edamame together in a pasta pot of boiling salted water (2 tablespoons salt for 6 quarts water) until noodles are just tender, about 6 minutes. Drain in a colander and rinse under cool water to stop cooking and remove excess starch, then drain well again. Transfer to a large bowl and toss with sesame seeds and vegetable mixture. Serve sprinkled with reserved scallions.

Epicurious’ note: If you aren’t able to find Korean hot-pepper paste, substitute 3/4 teaspoon Chinese chile paste and reduce the amount of soy sauce to 1/4 cup.

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pizza, updated – smitten kitchen

Are you in town this weekend while all the good people of the US and A have jetted to some, any edge of the country? Do you not feel bad because it is so gorgeous out, you have to pinch yourself to believe it is so, and now that the city has emptied out you have it the playground all to yourself for once?

giant pink flowerhudson river park

Fine, as usual I am talking about me, me me, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t hope you have it this good. Walking around the city on these three off-days of the year when all the sidewalk-cloggers had the good sense to scatter elsewhere is a dream. You can make pretend, once again, that the land is yours alone, and you’ll put your house right there and your boat tied to that pier and when you’re hungry for a snack, you’ll climb into the cave at Murray’s and whittle yourself a little something to schmear on a tear of a Balthazar baguette. You won’t have to share the swing set with any short people and when you go the Union Square Greenmarket, you won’t be knocked into even once. At 4 p.m., good tomatoes will remain.

pears on scalerusty scalesunflower greens?big fat red radishes

All too fitting with this holiday weekend theme, the New York Times ran an article a few weeks ago about Mario Batali’s vacation home in northern Michigan replete with a pizza oven from Italy installed outside. They included what he said was his pizza dough recipe, but for the life of me, I cannot fathom why he’d be using 6 packets of dry yeast (1.5 ounces, he says) unless he meant cake yeast, and even then, 3 cups of flour makes for a seriously thick pizza dough that is nothing like his famed Otto pie…

heirloom tomato sauceso much basil

Sigh, Otto. We went there in late June for a large group dinner with unlimited wine included in our party’s prix-fixe which led to… well, a staggering hangover but also the absolutely best pizza I have ever had. Ever. And although I have been pretty pleased with my pizza results in the past, this made it clear that there was significant room for improvement. I just couldn’t figure out where.

pizza doughpizza margarita

So, I lined Batali’s recipe up to my standby and adjusted things I just assumed were wrong (like the size of the dough and the crazy amount of yeast), and realized that the only differences between our two recipes are a tiny bit of honey and his replacement of some of the water with white wine. And so I did the same, topping it with a small of fresh tomato sauce from four roma-shaped heirloom tomatoes (shh, we are all allowed some spoiling sometimes) that was so good, I still can’t believe I made it, torn up buffalo mozzarella and some basil from the Greenmarket and oh my god.

I know it’s mainly the peak-season tomatoes that made the difference, but that difference will put all earlier sauces to shame. The hint of wine and sweetness in the dough doesn’t hurt, either. So I’m not saying that if you’ve been using my old recipe and non-heirloom tomato sauce, you need to ditch them immediately for the following recipe. I’m only saying that if you do, you will never go back.

pizza margarita

Still Looking for Something to Bring to that Labor Day Barbecue?

  • Coleslaw City: Blue Cheese Coleslaw, Napa Cabbage and Sesame Seed Slaw, Spicy Radicchio Slaw with Pecans, Pickled Coleslaw, Not Your Mama’s Coleslaw, Green Onion Slaw
  • Potato Salads: Roseanne Cash’s Potato Salad, Dilled Potato and Pickled Cucumber Salad
  • Other salads: Pearl Couscous with Olives and Roasted Tomatoes, Israeli Salad, Mediterranean Eggplant and Barley Salad, Zucchini Carpaccio Salad, Black Bean Confetti Salad, Salsa Fresca
  • Barbecue Standards: Ina Garten’s Barbeque Sauce, Hot and Smoky Baked Beans, Corn Bread with Cheddar, Jalapeño and Green Onions
  • Meats I Actually Like: Tequila Lime Chicken, Pork Riblets
  • Some new stuff the grill: Smoke-Roasted Bell Peppers Stuffed With Garden Vegetables, Grilled Spicy Citrus Ribs Recipe and Grilled Bacon-Wrapped Stuffed Hot Dogs [at SimplyRecipes.com]
  • And too many desserts to list.

Pizza, Updated

A slightly gussied-up version of my standby.

Yield: One small, thin-crust pizza. Can serve two with a big salad.

Dough
6 tablespoons warm water (may need up to 1 or 2 tablespoons more water)
2 tablespoons white wine
3/4 teaspoon active dry yeast
1/2 teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/2 cups flour

Assembly
Cornmeal for sprinkling
Flour for dusting counter
1/2 pound torn-up buffalo mozzarella
Few leaves of torn-up basil

Whisk wine, water and yeast in a medium bowl until yeast has dissolved. Add honey, salt and olive oil and stir. Add flour and no matter how dry it looks, work it with a spoon and your fingers until it comes together as a dough. Add more water one tablespoon at a time if you need, but in my experience, this is almost never necessary.

Sprinkle some flour on the counter and knead the dough for a minute or two.

If you’re like me and always trying to reduce the number of dirty dishes left at the end of the night, wash the bowl you made the dough in, dry it and coat the inside with olive oil. Put the dough in, cover it with plastic wrap, and let it rise for an hour or up to two, until it is doubled.

[Easiest way to tell if a dough has risen enough? Dip two fingers in flour, press them into the dough, and if the impression stays, it’s good to go. If it pops back, let it go until it doesn’t.]

Meanwhile, make some sauce

.

Preheat your oven to its highest temperature. If you have a pizza stone, sprinkle it with cornmeal and put it in the oven. Otherwise, sprinkle a baking pan with the same.

Once the dough has doubled, turn it out onto a floured counter and gently deflate the dough with the palm of your hands. Form it into a ball and let it rest on a floured spot with either plastic wrap over it (sprinkle the top of the dough with flour so it doesn’t stick) or an upended bowl. In 15 minutes, it is ready to roll out.

Do so on the floured counter until pretty darn thin, then lift it onto a cornmeal-sprinkled baking sheet or pizza paddle. Add the sauce, torn-up mozzarella and slivers of fresh basil.

Slide the pizza from the paddle to your preheated pizza stone, or just put the baking sheet in the oven as is.

Bake for about 10 minutes, checking at 7. Slice and serve immediately.

Moderately Easy Tomato Sauce

A more involved, seasonal update of the Basic, Awesome stuff.

Makes enough for one small/medium pizza.

4 roma tomatoes
1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves of garlic, minced
Pinch of red pepper flakes
Splash of white wine
1/2 teaspoon sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt

Bring medium pot of water to a boil. Poach the tomatoes for one minute only, and then drain them. As soon as they are cooled off enough that you can touch them, peel them. The peels should come right off. If they don’t, make a slit in the skins. This always does the trick.

Drain and dry the pot. Put it back on the burner over medium heat. Pour in olive oil and let it heat completely before adding the garlic and stirring it for a minute with a wooden spoon. Add the red pepper flakes and stir it for anther minute. You do not want the garlic to brown. Put the peeled tomatoes in the pot, along with the wine, sugar and salt. Break the tomatoes up with your spoon.

Let the sauce simmer for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes break down. Carefully taste without burning your tongue and adjust seasonings, if necessary.

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hoisin barbecue sauce – smitten kitchen

If there are any structural flaws to the standard backyard barbecue event (or as we do it in NYC, the standard rooftop barbecue event) it is that plates, forks and standing don’t go well together, especially if you are carrying a beer, or say, a Pimm’s cup, and let’s be honest–when am I not?

Sure, we’ve overcome this issue with various bunnage, from hotdogs to burgers and kielbasa, but outside the meat, veggie burger and salads-that-can-be-scooped departments, you’re still SOOL if you crave vegetables while standing.

pink garlic cloveshalf-cup hoisin sauceone tablespoon of ketchupsimmering hoisin barbecue sauce

Alex and I have been getting around it this summer with the not-exactly-revolutionary use of skewers, but this doesn’t mean they have to be boring. We’ve done kielbasa slices with peppers and onions, smothered in spicy mustard and mixed vegetables with my mom’s balsamic/soy/garlic marinade. Should the summer ingratiate itself to us for a little longer, I’ve been dreaming of a speared version of this salad, replete with cubed pork and mango, wound with mint and basil, rolled in that glorious sauce. Or paper-thin chicken cutlets woven back-and-forth through a kebob with a blanched scallion and a balsamic reduction. Off the heat entirely, I’ve been wanting to make watermelon, feta and mint skewers with lime juice, but hey, there is always next summer, right?

The advantages of the skewered approach are ten-fold: the smallest amount of food can make half a dozen skewers and the amount you would otherwise choose for a few people extends itself to one for everyone. As long as you take into consideration needly issues such as grouping foods that cook at the same speeds (pearl onions, sadly, take way long than all the vegetables I once skewered them with), you simply cannot go wrong with any variation you can dream of. [Well, except some pre-made ones we bought at Whole Foods a few weeks ago, urgently overpriced and under-flavored.]

manhattan sunsetmm, pimms cupavocado at sunsetsunflower against east river

Yesterday afternoon, we grilled skewers of chicken, Asian eggplant, zucchini and white peppers from the Greenmarket, sopped with hoisin barbecue sauce on my friend Jocelyn’s roof under the fourth day of some of the most gorgeous weather I’ve seen in longer than I can remember. This is summer’s equivalent of your hair finally looking awesome on the day you are finally scheduled to lop it off, I think. Or of learning to love your unemployed, idle time the day once you finally land a job. Either way, summer has picked a fine time to turn on the charm, being all sweet and coy as it walks out the door, confident that we’ll be waxing nostalgic about in two months, our memories of the hideous 99 degree ick long obliterated. Yeah summer, I’m onto your game. Hell, I invented that game and I won’t be fool…

Aw, shucks: Please don’t go!

brush, hoisin barbecue saucehoisin charred chicken skewers

One year ago: Silky Cauliflower Soup, Deb’s Caesar Dressing, Tuna Salad with Pepperoncini and Dill

Hoisin Barbecue Sauce
Adapted from Food & Wine June, 2001

2 teaspoons vegetable oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup hoisin sauce
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
3 tablespoons sake or dry sherry
1 tablespoon ketchup
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1/2 teaspoon Asian sesame oil (I used the hot stuff)

Heat the vegetable oil in a small saucepan and cook the garlic over moderately low heat until fragrant, about two minutes. Add the hoisin sauce, soy sauce, sake, ketchup and rice vinegar and simmer over moderately low heat, stirring, until thickened, about three minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the sesame oil. Let cool and serve.

Do ahead: The hoisin barbecue sauce can be refrigerated for 2 days, frozen for a month.

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lemon layer cake – smitten kitchen

I know people are prone to wild disagreements over Food Network personality Paula Deen. Sure, some gush that she is a “hot-damn pistol” and exactly like their “favorite aunt, who doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her” even at the expense of their readership and others think she’s just hated on because she’s a successful woman, most people cast a far less sympathetic glance in her direction, if not for her Big Pork connections, then for her Fried Butter Balls, seen as her obvious attempt to “kill us all.”

batterseparating eggsseparating eggszesting lemons

Much like my take on the ever-raging Rachael Ray hate-athon, I really can’t imagine why– offensive labor practices aside–people feel the need to be so all-caps in their condemnations. Call me vanilla, but fact is, in the very first show of hers that I saw, she was teaching her newlywed son some recipes she thought everyone should know how to make, and I instantly longed for a big ol’ Southern grandma to teach me to make a towering lemon cake. [And heck, it’s not like she filled it with corn nuts.] I finally found my excuse to tackle this cake for the birthday of these guys I have known for (groan) 13 years, replete with the nicknames my friend Jocelyn has given them on her blog, of which I will only comment that they are well-deserved.

Deen uses the 1-2-3-4 cake recipe for hers, something I have knocked around a bit on this site because it baffles me that so many bakeries use it as a business model, but it doesn’t mean it is not a great recipe for any baking repertoire: good flavor, fluffy, light, no wonky ingredients and nearly one-bowl. Three layers of this cake are filled and coated with lemon fresh lemon curd, and this whole thing is swaddled in shiny, fluffy swirls of Seven-Minute Frosting, which tastes like marshmallows and is incidentally, fat free.

whisking lemon curdseven minute frostingseven minute frostingdrippy lemon curd

Sadly, Paula Deen’s recipes came up a little short on instruction. I appreciate simplification, but find the Joy of Cooking versions of these recipes to have that eensy bit of extra information that keeps me from freaking out, like I did after whisking the lemon curd until my arm fell off only to realize that according to the more detailed recipe, it actually thickens upon cooling. How about that and can you please re-attach my arm now? The Joy of Cooking also included a temperature-check on the frosting, which I preferred the precision of; though I am sure I still only cooked it for only 7 minutes, the extra detail soothed my anxieties better than wine.

Fine, I’m lying. I mean, it’s a real thick line between being nice to a Food Network host and being nice to my liver, and I strive for balance, okay? And cake, mostly cake.

still frostingshells or somethingnicknamesfour layers

One year ago: Key Lime Tartlets

1-2-3-4 Cake
Adapted from several sources: this cake is a classic

This cake gets its name from its proportion of ingredients: 1 cup butter and milk, 2 cups sugar, 3 cups of flour and 4 eggs, and from cupcakes to layers cakes, as a basic, white cake, it does not fail.

Yield: 3 9-inch layers (for the purpose of this cake) or 24 cupcakes (good to know, eh?)

1 cup (2 sticks) butter, at room temperature
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
3 cups sifted self-rising flour*
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350°F. Using an electric mixer, cream butter until fluffy. Add sugar and continue to cream well for 6 to 8 minutes. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Add flour and milk alternately to creamed mixture, beginning and ending with flour. Add vanilla and continue to beat until just mixed. Divide batter equally among prepared pans. Level batter in each pan by holding pan 3 or 4-inches above counter, then dropping flat onto counter. Do this several times to release air bubbles and assure you of a more level cake. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until a tester or toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean (start checking at 15 minutes if you are making cupcakes).

* Self-rising flour has both salt and baking powder in it, but you can make your own at home with the following formula: 1 cup self-rising flour = 1 cup all-purpose flour, minus 2 teaspoons + 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder + 1/2 teaspoon salt.

Lemon Curd
Adapted from The Joy of Cooking

From the Joy of Cooking: This makes a sensation filling for sponge rolls or an Angel Food Cake. You can also marble it into a cheesecake.

8 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter
3 lemons, zest grated and juiced
Place the ingredients in the double boiler over boiling water. Don’t let top pan touch the water. Cook and stir until mixture begins to gel or thicken ever-so-slightly. Remove from heat and allow to cool. Cover and refrigerate it to thicken.

This keeps, refrigerated, for about 1 week.

Seven-Minute Frosting
Adapted from Joy of Cooking

5 tablespoons water
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
1 1/3 cups sugar
2 large eggs whites at room temperature
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 to 1 cup chopped nuts or shredded sweetened dried coconut (optional)

Whisk first five ingredients together in a large, stainless-steel bowl. Set the bowl in a wide, deep skillet filled with about 1 inch of simmering water. Make sure the water level is at least as high as the depth of the egg whites in the bowl. Beat the whites on low speed until the mixture reaches 140 degrees F on an instant-read thermometer. Do not stop beating while the bowl is in the skillet, or the egg whites will be overcooked. If you cannot hold the thermometer stem in the egg whites while continuing to beat, remove the bowl from the skillet just to read the thermometer, then return the bowl to the skillet, or yell “[Insert your husband/wife/sig-other’s name here]!! Halp! Can you check the temperature of this for me!!!” It might or might not work.

Beat on high speed for exactly five minutes. Remove the bowl from the skillet and add vanilla, beating on high speed for two to three more minutes to cool. Stir in coconut or nuts, if you are using them.

Use this frosting the day it is made.

Lemon Layer Cake Assembly: Add 1 tablespoon of filling to the cake pedestal. Run hands along the side of the cake to remove excess crumbs. Place the cake layers on the pedestal, spreading filling between the layers and on top. Spread the sides and top of the cake with the remaining filling. Frost top and sides of cake with frosting.

Why my cake might look thinner than yours: Or, d’oh! From the looks of Paula Deen’s cake, I assumed it would be too tall for my cake carrier, and made the third layer into cupcakes instead that I’d save for another occasion. Turns out, the cakes might have been just fine (or, I took out too much batter), so I split them into halves, creating a thin four-layer cake instead. Nobody noticed!

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an elaborate ruse – smitten kitchen

“Do you know what the special is at Klee tonight?” I said as I walked in the door from work on Tuesday.
“What?”
“Egg noodles with hazelnut pesto, sprinkled with crushed pretzels.”
“Are you saying that you want to go to Klee for dinner?”
“No. I’m just saying that there is a special that sounds really good. Doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“We haven’t been there in months and months.”
“Debbie, are you saying you want to go?”
“Alex, I didn’t say that. I was just, you know, noting that if we wanted to eat that, we’d have to do so tonight. They won’t have that special again for a whole week!”
“I thought you wanted to make the carrot thing tonight.”

and then

Right… the carrot thing. When Alex and I ate at The Spotted Pig last month, my second-favorite salad (after the mixed bean one, of course) include roasted mixed-color greenmarket carrots, cumin and avocado. I didn’t expect to like it so much–I worried it might be too sweet or heavy, but once again, that heavy helping of lemon juice woke the whole dish up. I have been itching to make it since, and a trip to the Union Square Greenmarket last weekend made it possible. By Tuesday, the avocado was ready to go, and from that point on, everything went wrong.

First, there was the cruel temptation of a neighborhood restaurant’s Tuesday night special that would demand no work, no dishes later, oh and provide us with wine, ideal as we were out. Next, we realized that the orange carrots had turned rubbery, soft and generally ew, and needed to be replaced. Then I decided that although the original dish had used unpeeled carrot, mine were looking a little rough so I decided to peel them taking the gorgeous purple with it! I pouted insolently. Next I realized we were out of ground cumin, which I had forgotten (I told you we are cumin-junkies; seriously, I think we went through 1.5 cups in just over a year). Too lazy to grind my own, I tossed the carrot with the whole-seed variety instead.

rainbow carrotsrainbow carrots

But, it was this last snafu that caused Alex to stand up from the sofa, raise his right finger in the air, clear his throat and declare “This is an elaborate ruse!” You see, I burned the carrots. What? Yes, people, I burn dinner too. It’s not my fault! They cooked really fast, and I resent the implication that I was just trying to finagle for us a (labor-free, dish-free and wine-filled) dinner at Klee.

Which was really good, mind you. I might have to burn dinner more often.

burnt carrots

One year ago: Romaine Pesto and Egg-Stuffed Tomatoes

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tortilla de patatas – smitten kitchen

Because this is one of my favorite dishes on earth, and I make it regularly, it’s gotten a few updates over the years. In August 2013, I veered quite a bit from the original recipe in the book, finding you can use less olive oil, cook the potatoes and onions simultaneously, omitting the strange addition of 2T chicken broth, adding some weights, and streamlining the directions. In September 2017, after a trip to Spain, I added some fresh photos taken with my two year-old “assistant,” not exactly waiting patiently for dinner.

Favorite ways to eat this: Alongside tomato bread or in a spread with other Spanish favorites. Warm, in wedges, with salad (and even jamón serrano) for dinner. Cold, in wedges, with salad for lunch. Cut into cubes and served with toothpicks for parties/cheese courses. As a sandwich filling, on a crusty baguette with aioli. Trust me.

You can add: Truly anything to this — a cup of slivered greens, slices of red pepper, a handful of peas — but I hope you do not. A perfect five-ingredient meal is a rare thing, and shouldn’t be meddled with.

  • 3 to 4 (1 1/4 to 1 1/2 pounds) Yukon Gold potatoes
  • 1 small onion
  • 1 cup olive oil
  • 6 extra-large or 7 large eggs
  • Salt and freshly ground black pepper (don’t skimp)

Prepare potatoes and onions: Peel potatoes and onion and slice them very thin with a mandoline, the slicing blade of a food processor, or by hand. If either are on the large side, first cut them in a half lengthwise so the slices will be in half-moons.

Cook potatoes and onions: Heat oil in an 8- to 10-inch skillet, ideally nonstick, over medium-high until very hot, about 3 minutes. Add potatoes and onions in even layers and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook for 15 minutes, flipping and nudging potatoes around to ensure they cook evenly. Potatoes are done when they are tender when pierced with the tip of a knife. They should not get brown or fall apart in flipping (unless you like your tortillas with softer, more broken-up potatoes, as some do).

Drain potatoes and onions: Transfer potatoes and onion to a colander set over a bowl and drain them. Season potatoes and onion with salt and pepper and let cool slightly, about 5 minutes. [Go make your salad now! Or start cracking those eggs…]

Make the tortilla batter: In the bottom of a large bowl, lightly beat eggs with a couple good pinches of salt and freshly ground black pepper. Stir in drained potatoes and onions. If you have 10 minutes, definitely let them soak together for that long; it makes a difference in how well the finally tortilla stays together. If you’re in a rush, it’s not going to ruin the dish if you skip it.

Cook the tortilla: Add 2 tablespoons of the drained cooking oil* (back to the skillet over medium-high heat. Pour potato mixture into skillet and flatten the potatoes with a spatula until they’re mostly even. Reduce heat to medium-low. Cook, moving and shimmying the skillet and nudging the egg around (so it runs underneath) for a minute before letting the tortilla cook undisturbed until the top is wet but not very runny, and it is golden underneath.

Loosen the tortilla with a spatula then slide it onto a large dinner plate. With your hands in potholders, invert the skillet over the plate, take a deep breath, and flip it back into the skillet. You can do it! Shake the skillet to straighten the tortilla and use a spatula to gently tuck the edges back under, if needed.

Return the skillet to the stove and cook tortilla to your desired doneness, another 2 to 3 minutes if you like an ever-so-slightly loose center (try it and see if you can go back), 3 to 4 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out dry, for full doneness.

Serve: Slice onto a plate and serve in wedges, hot, cold or at room temperature, plain, or with a dusting of smoked paprika and/or squiggle of aioli or mayo.

*Save the rest of the cooking in the fridge for future tortillas, or eggs, or potatoes, or anything you want with a faint onion infusion.

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grandmothers of sils’ apple-yogurt cake – smitten kitchen

I used to be a fennel/anise/black licorice-hater, too. I say “too” because I know that it’s impossible to bring the flavor up without at least someone in the room saying “ew.” Like beets in anything or nuts in cookies, its presence is a deal breaker for a surprising number of people.

But I have always been certain that the foods we like to eat we were introduced to in a way that warmed them to us. Mike and Ikes? Ew. Ouzo with seltzer in tall glasses as we snacked on salty pistachios while sitting out on the balcony of my professor’s hotel room with a handful of my classmates after a long day of painting on the Greek island of Corfu one summer? It was impossible not to love, creating a clear delineation between my anise-hating and anise-loving days on the timeline of my tastebuds.

tastebud timeline

[Oops, got a little carried away with the Tastebud Timeline idea.]

So when I came across a cake recipe in my New Cookbook Obsession that involved a good amount of Sambuca (or ratafia, much more difficult to find), I was torn between wanting to make it and the threat that I would be forced to eat the whole thing by myself because of people’s refusal to come around on the flavor. Turns out, my husband doesn’t much hate the flavor either, and I left everyone else to figure it out for themselves.

While I think we all agree that there is nothing better than cake, cake with a good story behind trumps the competition any day. This one, The Grandmothers of Sils Apple and Yogurt Cake, first introduces us to these grandmothers, apparently something of a phenomenon in Catalonia after they formed a cooking club some 12 years ago with the idea of exchanging and recording traditional recipes that would otherwise disappear with their generation. In another time or place, this might have resulted in some inexpensively bound book for distribution at church bake sales and through immediate friends a family, instead made them famous. They’re on television, they hang out with celebrity chefs and they make grandmothers in the rest of the country green with envy.

applesapple chunksbattercraggy yogurt cake

With good reason. If this cake is any indication of their cooking savvy, consider me hooked. When you bake as much as I do these days, the playing field gets too wide for superlatives, and yet I have found another: This is the moistest cake I have ever made. Demanding a good reason that I should have to wait 31 years to find it, I did some research and realized that this has much in common with the French standard gateau de yaourt.

Still, I think it’s the lemon yogurt, olive oil and anise flavor that makes it unique. You can of course swap things, other boozes like Cointreau or apple brandy for the anise or skip it altogether, yogurt flavors besides lemon, honey for the sugar if you’re trying to give it a Jewish New Year spin, and I’m sure that pear could take the place of apple, if you must. But I’ll be making it just like this from here on out, closing my eyes and imagining a little Corfu sun beyond my squint and some Grandmothers over my shoulder urging me not to skimp on the spirits.

grandmothers of sils' apple & yogurt cakegrandmothers of sils' apple & yogurt cake

One year ago: Giardiniera (Pickled Vegetables)

Grandmothers of Sils’ Apple and Yogurt Cake
Adapted from The New Spanish Table

This is, in my mind, a true coffee cake, not overly sweet and best unadorned. It keeps exceptionally well, and is, if possible, more moist on day three than day one.

Unsalted butter, for greasing the pan
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting the pan
1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
4 large eggs
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1 cup lemon yogurt*
1/4 cup anise liqueur, such as Sambuca
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons light olive oil
3 cups finely diced or shredded peeled and cored baking apples, such as Granny Smith or Jonagold, or a combination
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting the cake
Creme fraiche, for serving (optional)

1. Position rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter and flour and 9-inch springform pan.

2. Sift the flour and baking powder together in a bowl. Place the eggs and granulated sugar in a large mixing bowl and, using an electric mixer, beat until fluffy and pale yellow, about 1 minute. Beat in the yogurt and liqueur until completely smooth. Working in batches, beat in the sifted flour, alternating it with the olive oil. Gently but thoroughly fold in the apples.

3. Scrape the batter into the prepared springform pan, tap it on a counter to level the batter, then smooth the top with an offset spatula. Bake the cake on the center rack until the top is golden, a cake tester or toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean**, and the cake springs back when you touch it, 55 to 65 minutes. Let the cake cool on a rack.

4. Run a thin knife around the side of the cake to loosen it. Remove the side and the bottom of the pan, then place the cake on a cake platter. (The cake can be baked up to 3 days ahead.) Wrap it loosely in plastic until ready to use. Serve the cake sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar, accompanied by creme fraiche, if desired.

* For serious! I can’t tell you how many lemon yogurts I picked up at my totally yuppie gourmet grocery store before finding a single one with real, actual lemon in it and not artificial flavoring. I’m not naming names, but there were brands that I really expected better from. I finally landed on Stoneybrook Farms low-fat with lemon puree on the bottom. Why I went through this trouble when I could have just, uh, squeeze lemon juice into a plain yogurt, I don’t know. But just to warn that if you’re going through the effort of making a cake from scratch, you might want to make sure your lemon yogurt is the real deal.

** For some reason, this never happened for me. Well beyond the baking time (though my oven runs a little cool) the toothpick was still coming out with some damp crumbs attached while the top was golden and springy, so I took it out. It was cooked just fine in the center, so if this happens to you, don’t worry.

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chocolate babka – smitten kitchen

If you’ve ever tried to recreate something you loved when you were growing up in your own kitchen, you know how difficult it can to match your taste memory to the reality of ingredients and step-by-step directions. Sometimes, even when you get the flavor right, it doesn’t feel right, but you hold out for those rare times that everything falls into place.

After realizing that both Alex and my families loved the same decadent grocery store chocolate babka growing up, I set out to find a recipe to recreate it at home. I waded through dozens and dozens, convinced that something was off in each of them, continually closing my eyes and trying to remember exactly what makes it what it is.

two and a quarter poundsreduced to rubblebig fat buttery doughthe kitchen was such a mess

First, it’s completely over-the-top. The chocolate to bread-like dough ratio is unseemly. It often seemed impossible that they could construct something with even more filling than structure. I rejected all of the recipes that didn’t suggest a mind-boggling amount of chocolate.

Second, the quintessential taste is not just chocolate, no siree: it’s chocolate-cinnamon. Rejecting all the recipes that didn’t play on this combination, the stack of possibilities further thinned.

Finally, the chocolate babka we grew up eating had an extra little something-something–streusel topping with a few chunks that always fell into the twists and folds–something I remember clearly from all the times we’d pick the pieces out, or fight over those with the biggest pebbles. Almost all the recipes I looked at involved no streusel.

But just like that, Martha Stewart* saved the day. Unseemly amounts of chocolate? Check. Cinnamon? Check. Streusel? Check. Five sticks of butter? Oh my god I didn’t sign up for this!

spreading the rubbletwist and twistby the time of the streusel

For real, people, this nearly ties with those pecan bars as the most fattening thing I have ever made. Two and a quarter pounds of chocolate. One and a quarter pounds of butter. A pound and a half of sugar. The truth is, this recipe made me a nervous wreck. The cost of the ingredients and caloric heft of them aside, it was a tremendous amount of work, a true labor of love, a task not eased by a kitchen with just a single eensy counter.

But I’m not here to complain, because the effort was not for naught. We cut into a single slice hot from the oven Wednesday night, unable to hold off any longer, and were just stunned. It is exactly what we remember. Callebraut chocolate, other top-notch ingredients and no extended wait on a supermarket shelf made it, dare I say, even better.

I realize that this is not exactly a recipe that anyone will be running out to try this very evening–you’d be correct to be daunted, even if the reward is substantial. But a good lot of the reason I was driven to creating this site was to pass information along where there is a dearth of it: this recipe works. And a recipe that works, and allows you to create something your family loves at home instead of wading through the labyrinth of ingredient lists, packaging dates and other well-placed supermarket doubts, is no small thing in my book, or in my belly.

the oven floor

* Disclosure! Martha Stewart is an advertising partner, but no, this does not mean that I give her recipes any free passes.

One year ago: Ina Garten’s Outrageous Brownies

A new babka: Seven years later, I found a new chocolate babka love which uses a fraction of the chocolate and butter but manages to taste as rich and heavenly (and look as gorgeous) as this. Check it out.

Chocolate Babka

When shaping the babka, twist dough evenly throughout the length of the roll a full 5 to 6 turns. The babka can be prepared up to step 8 and frozen for up to a month before baking. When ready to bake, remove from freezer; let stand at room temperature for about 5 hours, and bake.

Makes 3 loaves (but I made two full-sized and three miniature ones)

1 1/2 cups warm milk, 110 degrees
2 (1/4 ounce each) packages active dry yeast
1 3/4 cups plus a pinch of sugar
3 whole large eggs, room temperature
2 large egg yolks, room temperature
6 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface
1 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups (3 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces, room temperature, plus more for bowl and loaf pans
2 1/4 pounds semisweet chocolate, very finely chopped*
2 1/2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon heavy cream
Streusel topping (below)

1. Pour warm milk into a small bowl. Sprinkle yeast and pinch of sugar over milk; let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes.

2. In a bowl, whisk together 3/4 cup sugar, 2 eggs, and egg yolks. Add egg mixture to yeast mixture, and whisk to combine.

3. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine flour and salt. Add egg mixture, and beat on low speed until almost all the flour is incorporated, about 30 seconds. Change to the dough hook. Add 2 sticks butter, and beat until flour mixture and butter are completely incorporated, and a smooth, soft dough that’s slightly sticky when squeezed is formed, about 10 minutes.

4. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead a few turns until smooth. Butter a large bowl. Place dough in bowl, and turn to coat. Cover tightly with plastic wrap. Set aside in a warm place to rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.

5. Place chocolate, remaining cup sugar, and cinnamon in a large bowl, and stir to combine. Using two knives or a pastry cutter, cut in remaining 1 1/2 sticks butter until well combined; set filling aside.

6. Generously butter three 9-by-5-by-2 3/4-inch loaf pans; line them with parchment paper. Beat remaining egg with 1 tablespoon cream; set egg wash aside. Punch back the dough, and transfer to a clean surface. Let rest 5 minutes. Cut into 3 equal pieces. Keep 2 pieces covered with plastic wrap while working with the remaining piece. On a generously floured surface, roll dough out into a 16-inch square; it should be 1/8 inch thick.

7. Brush edges with reserved egg wash. Crumble 1/3 of the reserved chocolate filling evenly over dough, leaving a 1/4-inch border. Refresh egg wash if needed. Roll dough up tightly like a jelly roll. Pinch ends together to seal. Twist 5 or 6 turns. Brush top of roll with egg wash. Carefully crumble 2 tablespoons filling over the left half of the roll, being careful not to let mixture slide off. Fold right half of the roll over onto the coated left half. Fold ends under, and pinch to seal. Twist roll 2 turns, and fit into prepared pan. Repeat with the remaining 2 pieces of dough and remaining filling.

8. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Brush the top of each loaf with egg wash. Crumble 1/3 of streusel topping over each loaf. Loosely cover each pan with plastic wrap, and let stand in a warm place 20 to 30 minutes.

9. Bake loaves, rotating halfway through, until golden, about 55 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 325 degrees and bake until babkas are deep golden, 15 to 20 minutes more. Remove from oven, and transfer to wire racks until cool. Remove from pans; serve. Babkas freeze well for up to 1 month.

* After chopping the chocolate into moderately sized chunks, I used the food processor to pulse the rest of the chocolate in two batches to small bits. It saved a lot of time!

Streusel Topping

Makes 3 3/4 cups.

1 2/3 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

In a large bowl, combine sugar, flour, and butter. Using a fork, stir until fully combined with clumps ranging in size from crumbs to 1 inch.

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