Egg Hunt

Crunch Dough

Certain tart doughs suit different fillings; different recipes suit certain shapes. For the streamlined, minimalist baker, it's swell to have a go-to, all-purpose recipe that suits a variety of needs, but if one has the time (and inclination), why not play?

A sturdy winter tart made with dried fruits and preserves benefits from a biscuit-like crust such as the Italian pasta frolla. Because the pastry is so lean, it holds it shape nicely against jammy fillings, and it's sweetness carries the entire dessert beyond the realm of pastry to candy-like confection (for a crust that will stand up to the most syrupy of fillings I'll sometimes replace a portion of flour with cornmeal). An additional benefit to using such dough is its wonderful flavor; as it is usually perfumed with orange or lemon zest it perfectly complements the tastes of the season. 

Another sweet dough is the buttery pate sucree . Like pasta frolla, it's quite tender, but a high butter-to-sugar ratio makes for a more delicate crumb. Crisp and crumbly, its the perfect nest for ginger-kissed pastry cream topped with fresh raspberries.

There is pate brisee for savory fillings, pate sablee for the daintiest palette, puff pastry for the adventurous, and filo for those so inclined.

And then there's crunch dough.

Crunch dough's claim to fame is that it was taught to the staff of Chez Panisse by Jacques Pepin. And because the former pastry chef of Quince worked at CP, I also learned the secret to its production (okay, it's not that big of a secret since it's appeared in several cookbooks, but let me feel special!). This is the must-have recipe for free-formed tarts. As you'll see, it's ingredients echo a classic pie crust, but it's all about technique. Made correctly, it will produce flaky, buttery layers that shatter when bitten, especially when baked upon a pre-heated pizza stone.  Sans stone? Not to worry, a sheet tray will suffice.

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Crunch Dough  

1 c AP flour

1/2 tsp sugar

pinch of salt

6tbl cold, unsweetened butter, cut into small cubes and refigerated until needed

3-4 tbl ice water

Combine sugar, flour, salt.  Cut one-third of the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse cornmeal. Cut in the rest of the butter, just until the largest pieces are pea-sized.  Drizzle in the water one tablespoon at a time and lightly toss the mixture between your fingers between each addition*. After the water is added, continue tossing the mixture until it begins to form a ball (if it refuses, add a little more water). Press and flatten into a disc, cover with plastic, and chill for an hour before using. Allow to sit at room temperature five minutes, then roll out into a 14" disc.  Refrigerate for at least a half an hour, then continue with your recipe (to prevent the crust from becoming soggy, scatter cookie crumbs over the rolled-out dough before adding filling).

*This "tossing" technique also works wonders with biscuits and scones.

Surviving Winter

Lassen Volcanic National Park contains over 100,000 acres of hot springs, lava rock, mud pots, and steam vents....all of which are covered by 20 feet of snow. An hour's drive from the Indian Valley, it's the best place in the area to snowshoe, toboggan, cross-country ski, and to generally enjoy the best of the winter season.

That's right. Winter.

Last year at this time I was sidewalking down Valencia in my shirtsleeves, looking for tulips in Golden Gate Park, shooting afternoon hoops at the elementary school near my apartment, climbing Kite Hill in a sweatshirt, sweaty from the exertion. Welcoming asparagus, green garlic, and rhubarb. Candying rose petals. Scouting thrift stores for camp shirts and tank tops. Flirting with the carefree bachelors of  Upper Market. Schlepping down Irving for pho and mooncake and a $10 haircut. Enjoying the air.

Here, now, it's snowing. It snowed yesterday, and it will probably snow again tomorrow. We keep a plastic sled in the back of the truck.

Saturday was spent 6,000 ft above sea level in the bowl of an active volcano. Wool socks, down jacket, snowshoes tied to my boots. The windchill was below zero and avalanche danger was considerable. The snow beneath my feet was three yardsticks over my head. I was surrounded by ravens. The isolation is staggering- inside the snowglobe there is no sound.

Spring feels like a rumor, but I know it's coming, creeping toward us from the south. I tasted it in the rhubarb I bought last week; soon there will be strawberries and rose geranium leaves, afternoons on the chaise lounge in the backyard, and weekends spent exploring the lava-devestated landscape of Lassen Volcanic.

I can't wait! 

Irish Soda Bread

Remember the girl who would show up for school on St. Patrick's Day with a Clancy Brothers' album, dance steps to demonstrate, and her father's  shillelagh? Ummm...(cringe)...that was me. In my hand-loomed Irish sweater (the matching tam at home) and shamrock pin I "rocked" (or not) the fourth grade with Whiskey you're the Devil and seven-step jig.

You know I grew up eating soda bread.

This is the American-ized version of my Nana's bread (she turns 96 next month, god bless her!), and by American-ized I mean there are currants and caraway seeds and a tiny bit of sugar.  It's at its best with butter, marmalade, and milky tea, but it's also good in an "Irish Benedict", with poached egg, irish bacon, hollandaise, and a pint of you-know-what.

Be a hero and provide the party with a loaf!

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Irish Soda Bread

4 c AP flour 

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

2 tsp sugar

1 tbl caraway seeds

1 c currants, soaked in hot water for a few minutes (or hot whiskey-watch for flames!), dried completely

1 1/2- 2 c buttermilk

Melted butter

375 degree oven

Into a large bowl, sift together the flour, soda, and salt, then add the sugar, caraway, and currants. Add the minimum amount of buttermilk and, with your hands, lightly mix until it almost comes together, adding more liquid as needed.

Turn onto a floured surface and gently knead a few times until it's a cohesive, yet sticky mass. Remember- the more you knead the tougher the loaf. Use the lightest touch possible.

Divide the dough in half and form two rounds, patted into a 6" dome. Brush with the (cooled) melted butter and cut a cross into the bread- to let the devil out!

Bake for 35 minutes on a greased cast iron skillet or baking sheet, or until it's nicely browned and hollow when tapped on the bottom.

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Oh, whisky you're the devil
You're leading me astray
Over hills and mountains
And to A-mer-i-kay
You're sweetness from the Bleachner
You're spunkier than tea
Oh, whisky you're my darling, drunk or sober

Aaah, Rhubarb

"Aaah, rhubarb" the cashier sighed as I bought the first stalks of last season. "I looovvvee rhubarb. I grew up on a farm in Minnesota and every spring my mother would make rhubarb pie".

"Aaah, rhubarb", the cashier sighed this morning as I bought the first stalks of this season. "When we were growing up, me and my brother used to dip it in sugar and eat it raw, right from the garden".

Aaah, rhubarb. I remember eating my first slice of rhubarb pie while playing cards on my friend's porch. I was reluctant to try it because I'd never heard of such a thing and was sure it would taste terrible. My friend's mother talked me into accepting a piece, and I was shocked at how delicious it was.

"Blech, rhubarb!" I've heard before. "My mother used to make stewed rhubarb every year. Just thinking about it makes me gag".

"She could have chosen any pie in the world to make, and she always made rhubarb. I mean, come on- rhubarb?!"

Aaah, rhubarb. Welcome, Spring!

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Rhubarb Ice Cream

2 1/2 lb rhubarb, chopped into 1/2" pieces (should yield 8 cups)

1 1/2 c sugar

1/2 c water

12 large egg yolks

2 c milk

2 c heavy cream

large pinch of salt

1/3 piece of vanilla bean, or 1 tsp vanilla extract

juice of one lemon, or to taste (optional)

Combine rhubarb with 1/2 cup sugar and the water and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the rhubarb is soft. Puree, place into a large bowl, and combine with the heavy cream. Set aside.

Scald the milk with 1/2 of the remaining sugar, vanilla bean if using, and the salt. Meanwhile, whisk together the yolks with the rest of the sugar, whisk a small amount of the hot milk into the yolks, then slowly whisk in the rest of the milk. Put mixture back into pot and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until the custard coats the back of your spoon. Immediately strain into the rhubarb and heavy cream mixture, and add vanilla extract, if using. Chill for at least four hours, retaste, and adjust seasonings as necessary. If the tartness of the rhubarb has mellowed too much for your liking, stir in lemon juice to taste. Freeze according to ice cream manufacturer's instructions.

yield: 2 quarts

Buttercream

I wish I can say I enjoy making wedding cakes...and I wish I can say I easily say "no".  Call me a soft touch or call me a sucker-I'm making one this August.

I don't make a lot of cake. Let me rephrase that: I make A LOT of cake- walnut tortes, lemon bundts, gingerbread, the occasional cupcake, boston cream pie. Upside-down cakes and pound cakes. Budinos and tres leches.  What I haven't made many of are classic layer cakes, filled with what-have-you, frosted with buttercream. 

I'm a perfectionist (anal) in the kitchen, and maybe (okay, definitely) a bit neurotic. Buttercream, as a medium, is no friend to my nervous system. No matter how smooth a surface one creates with it, it will never be flawless, and my latent OCD will not allow me to walk away from the inevitable bump and dink one spots at close range. I can think I'm done, it's over. Goodbye forever. I can be in the next room, resting, blood pressure returning to normal, and I'll hear a voice from the kitchen whining "Mommy, I have a boo-boo".  I'll smooth its brow, find another nick, and the cycle renews.  This is why I (and, I suspect, many others) tend to coat cakes with ganache.

That said, I think buttercream is fantastic, not just for eatin' but creating.  I love whipping yolks 'til they're puffy and pale-colored (or whites until they've reached soft peaks) streaming in hot sugar-syrup, watching the formula turn from limp to fluffy as the whisk spins, adding the softened butter chunk by chunk, the adrenaline rush if the mixture curdles, and the miracle of it coming back together into a glorious, glossy finish.  And the best  part- how my hands feel and smell after handling all that butter.

But a wedding cake- ugh. Luckily I'll be making it with a partner, who approached me with the project. She's a fine gal who works as a nurse (but received a degree in pastry from CIA) and has, like me, limited wedding cake experience. Between the two of us we've made- outside of school- exactly two. I alone heard the "nooooo!!"  in the pit of my stomach, but my mouth has a mind of its own. To my horror, it chirped "Sure! That sounds like fun!".  Oy vey.

Bombe

Many people by now would be sick of Plumas winter weather- snow, followed by rain, followed by blizzard- but I'm one of those weirdos who loves the cold.  Little is more exhilarating to me than hiking through crunching snow, surrounded by tall pines and waterfalls, and spotting the occasional bear track along way (yikes!).

So yesterday I had a hike planned, but by the time we reached Round Valley Reservoir (an alpine lake reached only by an unplowed, twisting mountain road) the wind had picked up and rain was mixing with snow, so we decided to go home and watch the Law & Order marathon and the Academy Awards ... and because the whole day was stretched ahead of me, I made an ice cream bombe.

I didn't set out to make anything so elaborate. The plan started as salted peanut ice cream, but because I had so many peanuts left over I made some brittle. Too many peanuts+no chocolate=not good, so I threw together my favorite chocolate cake- recipe halved- and some chocolate glaze and slowly built the bombe (okay, not technically a bombe since I formed it in a loaf pan, as opposed to in a dome-shape, but let's not dither) during commercial breaks.

Bombe, from the bottom up: layer of chocolate cake, layer of salted peanut ice cream, layer of crushed peanut brittle, another layer of salted peanut ice cream (wouldn't milk chocolate ice cream be divine?), another layer of chocolate cake, a layer of chocolate glaze, and topped with more crushed peanut brittle.  Then it had to freeze for many hours until it was solid enough to handle, so I didn't get to try it until this morning (for breakfast, okay?). 

Got a sweet tooth? Then this is for you- much like a frozen Snickers bar. It's pretty great, very American and fun, but I snacked on so much peanut brittle yesterday that I'm kind of sick of its flavor- for now. I need is another weekend snow day so I can mess around with some more combinations!

Peanut Brittle 

1 cup salted roast peanuts

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup light corn syrup

1/2 cup water

1 tbl butter

1 teaspoon baking soda

Set aside a large, foil-lined baking sheet.

In a large pan, mix together the sugar, syrup and water.  Wet your hand, then wipe off any syrup that clings to the side of the pan, using as much water as necessary. Heat over medium high heat until mixture reaches 280 degrees.  Add butter and nuts and return to heat, stirring,  until the mixture is liquid and amber colored. Remove from heat and stir in the baking soda (careful-it will foam up). Immediately pour onto a foil-lined pan, and spread to desired thickness. Let cool, then break into smaller pieces.