Martha Meets Lucy

Oatmeal Spice Cake

This weekend I am finally going to go visit my sister, Heather, in Santa Cruz. She’s only lived there for 2 years and I’ve been exactly...well never.

I’m also going to see this girl. And meet her husband. I feel like her husband and I will bond over the Muppets, and she will secretly plot my death or worse, never speak to me again. Which, if I were a crier outside of movies, would make me cry.

But back to Heather. She’s two years younger than me and clearly inherited my mom’s artistic talent*, of which I got none. Sure, I may be a compulsive doodler, but I will never produce a self portrait that comes even close to resembling me. Or a human being for that matter.

She's since embraced SC and toned down the makeup.

In going with her artistic side, she actually has a sense of style. Until jeans, a t-shirt and flip flops become a “style”, I have none. I keep waiting for Stacy and Clinton to show up, but they haven’t...yet.

In a nutshell, now that my sister doesn’t live across the hall from me, and is no longer stealing my things, I like her. A lot. And she apparently cares about my comfort and such because she is surrendering her bed to me and sleeping on the couch.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

You know what else shows love? The fact that I made her favorite cake awhile ago...then ate all of it without her. I like to think she was here in spirit.

Technically, I don’t know if this is her favorite cake. It is however, the only cake I remember her ever making from scratch. She spent one birthday not at all happy with me because I dared to make her birthday cake (yellow cake, chocolate frosting) completely from scratch.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I honestly don’t even know if she remembers this cake. But I do. Because it comes to us from the South, Atlanta to be specific. And while “it was definitely NOT the charming beacon of the South I expected” there was one restaurant that stood out. The Horseradish Grill. 10 years later, and I can still tell you what I ordered...grilled bacon wrapped trout and Oatmeal Spice Cake. The ban on smoking didn't hurt the restaurant at all in my eyes. (I have never smoked, and I live in a state that has banned smoking in restaurants since I was 7...I do not like smoking sections, because even in the non-smoking you still get a side of tobacco laden air with your food).

But this cake. Oh, this was fantastical. And easy. It is the pinnacle of the everyday cake category, but if you wanted to dress it up for company, caramel or cinnamon ice cream never hurt anyone. And it has oats so its clearly suitable for breakfast...right? RIGHT?

The brown sugar coconut pecan topping doesn’t hurt. Unless you take a bite of it when it is just out from the broiler. Then it will hurt. Like hell. So maybe let it cool for a few minutes.

I’m linking to the original recipe here because I think its perfect and decidedly vague like any old family recipe should be. For a touch of clarity, I will suggest that you use a 9”x13” cake pan, and make sure it is broiler safe. Sometimes I add a sprinkle of flaky sea salt to the top after its trip under the broiler. I also add a sprinkle of salt to German Chocolate Cake because I think it tends to be too sweet. If you find you have that same problem, you’ll probably like some salt here too.

Need a nightcap to go with your cake? I'd say something from the cake's home state would do very nicely.

Lamb Skewers

So the Food Network and I have a love hate relationship. I love that they talk about food all the time, but I hate that they allowed Sandra Lee to ever be on the air. I also hate a lot of their programming. If they would just bring back Good Eats and the original Iron Chef*, I would be ALL over that.

Mmmm...blurry herbs and spices

Now, lest you think this is going to be me ranting...again, I’m going to tell you right here and now that I lovvvvve Aarti Party. Seriously, I love that show. Aarti is just so cute and bubbly and she started as a blogger and is a professionally trained chef. But did you catch the part about being a blogger? Yeah, that means she is not above making fun of herself on air, or sharing those embarrassing moments that should probably be forgotten about.

I might have a slight girl crush and some serious hair envy.

Look at that hair. Its gorgeous. And doesn't she just look like she would be so much fun to gossip with? (Oh, and photo courtesy of Food Network)

And if Aarti wants to tell me that I can make a ground lamb skewer with no bread based binders, I’m going to believe her. Because as it turns out, she is not lying. These lamb skewers are bound together through the miracle of baking soda. (Seriously? What can't baking soda do?). These skewers were juicy, tender, and they'd be a great introduction to Indian food. I happen to love lamb and its slight gaminess, but if that's not your thing, I'm sure ground beef or turkey would be great too. Ooh, or shape it into patties instead of skewers and make an Indian lamb burger with naan as a bun. They're great as is. If you make them for a party, you better invite me.

*I’m sorry Iron Chef America, but I can not and will not watch you. You are a pale imitation of the original.

Strawberry-Sour Cream Ice Cream

Ya’ll, I’m starting to feel bad. I’m starting to worry that I’m using too much equipment that people with normal amounts of kitchen storage just don’t have. The KitchenAid. I know they’re expensive and an investment and most people get theirs via getting hitched, but those of you that don’t have one will not get to know the joys of homemade brioche* Then there was a waffle iron. I thought everyone would own one. I should have realized that just because I can’t live without one doesn’t mean that applies to everyone.

 

(If you don’t want to buy one because it “only” makes waffles, you are wrong. I use it to make paninis too. Boo-ya.)

(And there is nothing wrong with “only” making waffles. They are a gift from God to breakfast. Amen)

There is more specialty equipment in this house than in a small restaurant. Meat grinder? Sausage stuffer (hehehe)? Coffee grinder dedicated to spices? Dehydrator? Meat slicer? Chaffing dishes? Pasta roller? Ricer?

Check to all of them. And I’m sure I’m forgetting something.

Oh yeah, the ice cream maker. My old one, may it rot in hell, would not freeze ice cream. The engine ran too hot and would melt the freezer solution before the ice cream was frozen. One time I actually plugged it into an extension cord and put it in the freezer while it was still running. It still wouldn’t freeze.

Then, this baby came into my life. And it freezes like a dream. Sure, its a little loud, but I think all ice cream makers are and that’s why I run it in the garage (or the guest room). The ice cream making possibilities are endless, especially if you buy David’s ice cream magnum opus.

 

Then make the peanut butter chocolate ice cream. And the vanilla. And the sweet potato. Then when spring rolls around and locally grown strawberries decide to grace you with their presence make the Strawberry-Sour Cream ice cream. Its the easiest ice cream to whip up on a lazy afternoon...especially when summer rolls around and it is next to impossible to leave the pool because there are no eggs involved. No heating cream. No tempering. You can make it when you refill you cocktail. Yay for multitasking!

So you slice some strawberries. Add some sugar and vodka (you don’t want to be drinking alone, so let the strawberries have some) and let them sit for an hour.  Give em’ a stir when you realize the ice in your drink has melted. Dump the strawberries juice and all into a blender (or get out your immersion blender). Add some sour cream and regular cream and give it a whirl. Put it in the fridge and take a nap. When you wake up, pour it into the ice cream maker and freezer according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Here, have a close up too.

I like it the best straight from the ice cream maker, unhardened. I think the flavor of the strawberry and the tang of the sour cream really comes through that way.

Yeasted Waffles and Other Obsessions

Things I’m obsessed with this week:

Finding an Irish dessert that doesn’t involve Guinness. Do the Irish people just not eat dessert? Do they drink it instead? For the love of all that is good and Irish I need to know.

Draw Something. Best thing to happen to procrastination since Words with Friends. (Play me! User name for both: notdeana).

The fact that this girl is going to be in the same country STATE as me very, very soon. There are big plans that revolve around eating.

Corned beef. I’m cooking another one as we speak. There were no leftovers from the last one and I NEED LEFTOVERS. Or you know, a freshly cooked corned beef to use as leftover.

The smell of homemade pickling spice. It smells like Christmas, but better. I need a pickling spice scented candle.

Learning how to curse in Polish so my dance teacher understands my swearing.

This face scrub. I bought it at Whole Foods for $16.It makes your skin all soft and smooth, but its not mean to your face like an apricot scrub. If you love the smell of Tea Tree Oil like I do, it smells amazing. And a jar lasts forever. 

My sister gave me this face mask (also from Whole Foods) for my birthday and I love it. Its super smooth and creamy. It looks and smells like chocolate pudding. (And I still don’t know if I should eat it or put it on my face.)

One product to detangle, repair, shine, seal, and smooth hair? Who doesn’t want that?

The Hunger Games Trilogy. I read them all in under 24 hours. And I want the cookbook.

And last but definitely not least,

Not pictured: lots of maple syrup

 WAFFLES!

Specifically, Marion Cunningham’s yeast risen waffles. They are the lightest, crispiest waffles to ever come out of my waffle iron. They’re yeasty, barely sweetened and begging for some Grade B maple syrup (or sliced local strawberries). And as good as the batter was on the first day, I actually liked it better on days 2 and 3. The batter got more complex, and ever so slightly sourdough-ish. I wanted to use is as the bread for a sandwich, but by the time I was done with breakfast it was gone. Oh well, maybe next time. (Brain Blast: Yeasted Rye Waffle Rueben. If you make it, please invite me over. I’d do the same for you.)

Guinness Braised Corned Beef

Lat year on St. Patrick’s day I was at a funeral for my “Aunt” Sheila. She was amazing. She traveled the world and had such interesting and funny stories about living in Belgium, England, Italy, and Israel. But she had a gift. When you were speaking, she made you feel like the only person in the room. Questions and comments were insightful, encouraging, and usually very funny. She had a gift for making friends, and she made every friend feel like they were her best friend.

 

Sheila was also very much a Type A personality. So much so that she planned her funeral and wake down to the very last detail. And she paid for all of it to guarantee it would be exactly what she wanted.

And she wanted it to be Irish. To have a funeral on St. Patrick’s Day you have to have a bar. There is really no way around it. Guinness, Harp, and Jameson were all being very freely poured during the wake. You could always tell when Sheila had imbibed a little too much because she started singing Irish drinking songs. To go with the beer and whiskey, they served the most American of all Irish foods, corned beef.

 

 

And I couldn’t eat it. I had given up meat for Lent (and was doing a much better job with it than I am at not drinking this year) and didn’t have any. Which is kind of a big deal because corned beef is one of my very favorite foods. I had cabbage and potatoes and Guinness which felt very Irish, but it wasn’t the same.

 

So I made corned beef this week. And it was delicious. Sweet, salty, and malty. Sheila would have loved it, then demanded I share the recipe with all of you (she was a big supporter of my old, very short lived blog). So I am. Before she tries to smite me. Because you better believe she is telling the man upstairs that he isn’t doing it right.

Sherried Sardine Toast

Confession time: I hate bananas. Wait that’s not the right confession. Let’s try again, shall we? Confession: I love canned tinned fish. There I said it. And you know what? I’m not ashamed, even if Top Chef made me feel like I should be this season*. Tinned fish can be delicious. And so much more affordable than it’s fresh counterpart. Sure, some fish (salmon and tuna) are better after being mixed with mayo and some flavorful add-ins (this changed my life people. And I wish I were exaggerating.), but others are delightful without any help. Smoked trout or oysters? All I need is a fork.

 

Which brings us back to sardines. I love sardines. But not everyone does. Even people who have never eaten a sardine are quick to tell you how much they hate them. Ummm...why? They’re amazingly good for you. They're sustainable. And I'm not the only person that likes them.

 

 

I’ve been making this sardine toast for a couple years, and I am not alone. This is the perfect sardine introduction dish. The sherry vinegar cuts through the richness of the fish and the avocado, although lemon juice or apple cider vinegar work equally well. The herbs are easily changed too. Want to go South of the border? Swap parsley for cilantro and add some green onion (and Tapatio if you have it). Don’t have any fresh herbs? Dried dill works amazingly well. Make the recipe as written, but add a smear of Dijon mustard under the avocado, and suddenly you could be in France.

 

 

Ahhh, the powers of canned fish.

Heidi's Cabbage Soup

I like to assign people theme songs. Not ringtones, theme songs. Then when their name pops into my head or I see them, I start singing their song in my head.

Or out loud. There may be dance moves.

Someone who's now forever linked with macaroni and cheese got assigned “Hot n Cold” by Katy Perry. Because that’s what the whole relationship was. Every time it came on I would oh-so-lovingly serenade him with it...then he put two and two together and figured out why it was his song. It wasn’t a compliment.

It’s no longer his song. He no longer merits a song (ooh, burn). But not to worry, the weather has since been reassigned “Hot n Cold”. It was 80 something degrees out yesterday. It felt like summer. It was rather glorious. Today? It’s cloudy. And Southern California cold (translation: I put on a sweatshirt, but I still wore my Rainbows). It’s in the low 60s people.

And when the weather turns cold (stop laughing), what could be better than soup?

Answer: A Hot Toddy, but it is too early in the day for such a thing.

Which brings us back to soup. Cabbage soup. I’m sure I’ve already over shared enough today, but I have to share one more thing: I love cabbage. Seriously, I go nuts for it in all its many forms. Slaws, kimchi, sauerkraut, roasted, braised, sauteed...I love them all. So when I saw the recipe for Cabbage Soup in Super Natural Everyday, I knew I had to make it. It spoke to me.

Cabbage, potatoes and beans may be some of winters humblest ingredients, but in Heidi’s hands they manage to have star power. Even with a punch of curry powder, slivers of cabbage still manage to add their particular brand of nuttiness. Creamy potatoes and garbanzo beans add texture, heft, and protein. The soup is somehow hearty enough to fill you up, but light enough to not bog you down. (Or what I call the Phở effect).

This isn’t the Katy Perry of soups. Its not flashy. Its not whipped cream bras and fireworks. Its the song you listen to when you’re sad because it feels like a hug.

PS: In case you're curious, my theme song is "Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel.

Thomas Keller's Brioche

I was watching the Barefoot Contessa this week and she made something she called “French Toast Bread Pudding”. And she kept going on and on about how she invented baking French toast in a stroke of brilliance. Which, of course, irritated me to no end.

Either you’re making baked French Toast or you’re making bread pudding. The only differences are: time of day served and the size of the bread. Full slices of bread in the morning? Baked French toast. Cubes of bread served after dinner? Bread pudding.

There is no such thing as “French Toast Bread Pudding”. Its redundant. Like saying souffléd chocolate soufflé. And Ina, honey, you can’t claim you invented baking French toast in 2012 when Martha’s been making it since the 90’s.

What does this have to do with brioche? Brioche makes for the best French toast (bake or otherwise) and bread pudding. And homemade brioche makes it even better. I would know, as that is the fate some of my brioche met.

It looks like a lot, but it was made with miniature loafs. Which means I had to eat triple the amount of slices.

Unfortunately, brioche really is one of those doughs that you need to have a stand mixer to make. There really is no way around it that I know of. For starters, the bread is sticky. That’s one of the reasons brioche has an identity disorder. Secondly, I have no idea how one would work 20 tablespoons of butter into dough without it.

Oh, but if you can make this brioche, it is magical. Its a bread masquerading as cake. Or is it a cake masquerading as bread? Either way, it is buttery and tender (from the cake flour and the butter) and begging to be smothered in béchamel and cheese or soaked in custard and fried.

Before the firt rise. Doesn't it just look buttery?

And it just feels cool. After the first rise, you push the bubbles out of the dough. But the bubbles feel teeny tiny and oh so plentiful. Its like someone hid Pop Rocks in the the dough. Or the first sip of a cold, freshly opened soda. Lots of little bubbles just exploding everywhere. I’ve never felt a bread like it.

 

Before I finish (and I’m almost done) there is one last thing to mention. This recipe is from The French Laundry Cookbook. Which means I’ve been congratulating myself for the past 5 days on popping my Keller cherry. And yeah, it also means it is probably the best brioche any of us will ever eat.