Bread and Butter Pudding

We are not big dessert eaters; which is to say, I don't plan and execute dessert for every meal. We all enjoy the occasional sweetie, but The Child is the only one who regularly asks "What's for dessert". (Hope springs eternal, I suppose. She would consume her weight in sugar if allowed).

The thing about dessert is that all too often it calls to mind huge effort: separating eggs and frothing and macerating things, folding, whipping, and all the other (when you think on it) rather violent sounding contortions required for a mere slice of something after the roast, especially on a weeknight. Or maybe I just don't make dessert often enough and so make these associations because of the fuss I go to for holidays and occasions.

This is a dessert that bursts that particular bubble and that's a good thing because really, a sense of occasion is just as important as the occasional occasion.

In my experience a bread pudding has always been something rather heavy, studded with far too many raisins, not especially sweet and if there was any edibility, it stemmed from some kind of tasty sauce which did nothing to alleviate the overall density of the so-called dessert. (I apologize to those of you who adore that sort of pudding. You can have my serving).

This pudding is nothing like any of that. Which is why I love it. And why I make it every once in a while to the delight of the entire family. There are rarely any left-overs but if there are, they make a tasty breakfast.

The concept here is not unlike a pain perdue (lost bread), where the bread soaks in a lovely little bath before cooking. Which is probably why it is equally nice for breakfast as for after-dinner.

I serve this with strawberries but there's no reason you couldn't use any fruit you fancy and last night The Spouse was wondering if there was some whipped cream in the house (there wasn't). This is a dessert that makes a very nice starting point to any additions or amendments you might want to make.

Bread & Butter Pudding with Strawberries

4 large eggs
1 c. half-and-half
11 T. sugar
2 T. dark rum
1 T. pure vanilla extract
8 slices white bread (something like country potato, with a bit of heft to it)
4 T. unsalted butter, softened
1 pint fresh strawberries, hulled & sliced

Whisk together the eggs, half-and-half, 7 T. of sugar, rum and vanilla. Set aside

Spread top of each slice of bread with generous amount of butter. Cut slices in half on the diagonal. Overlap bread slices in oiled 9x13 pan. Pour egg mixture over bread and let stand 1 hour.

Heat oven to 400° degrees. Sprinkle pudding with 2 T. sugar. Bake until puffed and golden brown, and pudding has set, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine strawberries with remaining 2 T. sugar. Let stand while pudding bakes. Serve strawberries with bread pudding.

Twists: Lemon Tart with Somethin' Extra

Last summer, when we were in Chicago, I got to spend some time with my dear friend Nicole, who lives in France but was in the States visiting family. When we met she gave me this pretty little jar saying, "I have no idea what you do with it but I thought it was fun". Confit de violette? Violet jelly?

Well, sure. I'm not at all opposed to the use of flowers in cuisine. I have had some very lovely experiences with edible flowers.. the peppery nip of nasturtiums in a summer salad, a breathtaking rose ice cream...and though I say it myself, I do some rather nice things with lavender honey (grilled duck breast and a chicken/chevre thing, to name a few).

When I got the confit home I opened it. Holy mother! The fragrance was intense. Intense in a "dab some, sparingly, on all your pulse points" sort of way. Which gave me pause because the complaint I hear most often about flowers in food is that it makes the diner think she is eating linen water. In fact, 2 or 3 people said words to that effect at my Easter table last night. Only in this case, they were comments of surprise, because the guests were eating a lemon curd tart with confit de violette and they loved it.

It had occurred to me that the light purple of the confit would be a nice accent on the bright yellow of the tart. To confirm, I had tasted the confit and, to my surprise, the strong perfume wasn't present in the jelly itself. Oh, it tasted of violet to be sure, but it had a much mellower, less perfumy flavor than I had thought it would. So, what the heck?

The only problem was that when I tried to pipe the jelly onto the tart it was entirely too slippery to make the little beads I'd envisioned. So I ended up just spreading it gently onto the tart, which was then covered with a layer of whipped cream.

It was a magical pairing. The tongue first took the tart of the lemon, barely noticing the violet until the floral notes opened up in the back of the throat...a little sweet whisper on a cloud of lemon and cream.

The good news? The product (and many other delicious sounding treats) are available on the web for only a few euros per pot.

Lemon Curd Tart with Confit de violette

Prebake pie crust in a tart pan and allow to cool.

Lemon Curd
1 c. sugar
3/4 c. unsalted butter
1/3 c. fresh lemon juice
zest from the lemons
3 eggs plus 1 egg yolk at room temperature

In the top of a double boiler, combine the sugar, butter, juice and zest. Place pan directly over moderate high heat and stir until sugar melts.

Beat together the eggs and egg yolk and strain into hot mixture, stirring constantly. (You don't need to temper the eggs if you stir quickly enough because it leaks slowly through the strainer).
Cook over barely simmering water for 15-20 minutes, stirring often, or until the mixture has thickened quite a bit. It will thicken up more as it cools but you want it to have a good start.

Pour the curd into a jar or bowl, cover tightly with buttered waxed paper and chill. The curd will keep for up to 3 weeks.

Note: you can make orange curd in the same way; simply substitute orange juice and zest for the lemon.

Whipped Cream
1 c. heavy cream
1/2 t. vanilla extract
2 T. sugar

Whip cream until thick. Stir in vanilla and sugar.

Spread crust with lemon curd. Dot confit on top of the curd. Spread with a thin layer of whipped cream

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I would have taken a prettier picture of the tart but it was practically gone before I remembered to pull out the camera.

Christmas Tradition: Eggnog Cake

A couple years ago I'd gone to pick up The Child from a playdate. The mom was busy in her kitchen, making a raft of eggnog cakes for her family gathering. The house smelled like heaven and made me fiercely hungry so even though I don't usually have sweets in the afternoon, I happily accepted her offer of a slice. The cake was wonderful. Moist and satisfying, but not too rich. I'm not even the biggest fan of cake, much preferring pie as a rule, but this cake was delightful. I begged for the recipe.

At first my friend was hesitant, possibly even a little shamefaced. I began to think she was one of those people who doesn't share recipes (rather a huge character flaw in my book but there are people like that). Then she looked around a little conspiratorially and softly said, "Well, if I give it to you, you have to promise that you'll never tell anyone where it came from".

An odd request, but one with which I was willing to comply. "But why?" I asked. "Did you steal it from the CIA?"

"No, it's just that...well..." and her voice lowered to a whisper. "It calls for cake mix".

Oh. Is that all?

Personally, I find nothing remotely shameful in using cake mix. In fact, as someone who has made her share of genoise and sponge cake from scratch, I don’t know why one would bother when a mix will do quite ably. (Health concerns, which are legit, can be addressed by purchasing one of the many natural/organic products on the market. Trader Joe’s has some excellent ones and no, they aren’t paying me to say that). There are times and places for mixing up a cake from scratch but I've compared notes with a number of very competent bakers and we all agree that the average and even above-average person cannot tell the difference.

I have a baking pan that makes 6 baby bundt cakes. They are more ample than a cupcake, just the right size for dessert. Or tea. Or breakfast. They are also very pretty, simply dusted with some confectioner's sugar. I've taken to mixing up several batches, wrapping them in cellophane with a pretty ribbon for gifts. It's my tradition to give them out to all the teachers and staff at The Child's school. Actually, the tradition was forced on me; after giving them out the first time I started being asked, ever so coyly, by various folks if they'd be getting another eggnog cake "this year". Hey, you give the people what they want.

These cakes also freeze well so there are always a few on hand for last minute gifts or unexpected guests. Which is a nice thing to have in your back pocket during the holidays.

So here is the recipe, sans the name of the angel who gave it to me. Which is really too bad, because she deserves the credit. But a promise is a promise.



Eggnog Pound Cake

1 package yellow cake mix
1/8 tsp. nutmeg
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups commercial eggnog
2 tbs. rum (or brandy or sherry, pretty much anything but tequila or gin)
1/4 cup butter, melted

Combine cake mix, nutmeg, eggs, eggnog, melted butter and liquor in a large mixing bowl.

Beat with electric mixer about 4 minutes or 450 strokes with a whisk. Pour batter into greased 10 " bundt or tube pan.

Bake in 350 oven 45-55 min. or until a long wooden skewer inserted in the thickest portion comes out clean.

Cool in pan 10 minutes: invert cake onto a rack and cool thoroughly.

Sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar.

Note: I am a sucker for bundt pans. Williams Sonoma carries a line of very beautiful ones, in all sorts of amazing designs. But the first few times I used them the cakes wouldn't release from the pan. (I made a number of trifles back then). You just can't properly grease and flour a pan that doesn't have straight sides. I have finally figured out the trick: those wonderful cooking sprays that include flour. You can cover all the interstices of the design, it's no where near as messy as fussing with oil and flour and the cakes pop out with their designs in sharp relief.

Ambrosia: Pat Wells' Fruit Tart

Having sung the praises of Pat Wells: At Home in Provence, I'd be remiss if I didn't give you a taste of the simple brilliance of this book. I suppose that strictly speaking I'm violating a copyright here so I apologize in advance to the legal community. But I'm not taking any of the credit.

The only adjustment I make to this recipe is that I don't use Wondra, a superfine flour, which she calls for in the cream. I use regular unbleached flour and can't tell the difference.

This recipe is perfect for any berry or stone fruit you have on hand. It's an excellent way to use up Italian prunes if you have, like I do, a neighbor with an abundant tree. With purple figs this recipe is a revelation. It's also very fun because it looks so superfantastically pretty. I use a long rectangular tart pan when I make this and the fruit all lined up looks so artistic. Creates the illusion of hours spent fussing when really this takes absolutely next to no time to whip up.

Pat Wells Fruit Tart
© 1996 by Patricia Wells, Scribner, New York, NY

One 9 inch fluted tart pan with removable bottom

The Crust
unsalted butter, for greasing the tart pan
8 T. unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1/2 c. sugar
1/8 t. pure almond extract
1/8 t. pure vanilla extract
a pinch of sea salt
1- 1/4 c. plus 1 T. unbleached all-purpose flour

2 T. finely ground unblanched almonds

The Cream
1/2 c. heavy cream
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 t. pure almond extract
1/2 t. pure vanilla extract
2 T. honey
1 T. unbleached all-purpose flour

About 1-1/2 pounds of fresh berries, stone fruit (pitted & halved, but not peeled) or figs

Confectioners' sugar for garnish (assuming you remember and I rarely do)

Preheat the oven to 375° .

Butter the bottom and sides of the tart pan and set aside.

In a large bowl, combine the butter and sugar and with a wooden spoon, stir to blend. Add the almond and vanilla extracts, salt and flour and stir to form a soft, cookie-like dough. Do not let it form a ball. Transfer the dough to the center of the buttered tart pan. Using the tips of your fingers, evenly press the pastry onto the bottom and side of the pan. The dough will be quite thin. (If you are using a small size tart pan, you'll have some dough left over. Press it into a flat round, wrap with plastic wrap and then with foil and freeze for another day).

Place the pan in the center of the oven and bake until the dough is slightly puffy and set, about 12-15 minutes. Sprinkle the almonds on the crust. (This will prevent the crust from becoming soggy and trust me, if you've ground them very fine it won't make for a gritty experience).

While the crust is baking, prepare the cream. In a medium-size bowl combine the cream, egg, extracts and honey and whisk to blend. Whisk in the four.

Starting just inside the edge of the pre-baked pastry pan, arrange the fruit. If using berries, line them up until the pan is full. If using stone fruit or figs, neatly overlap the halved fruit, cut side up, at a slight angle. If using a round pan, make 2 or 3 concentric circles, working toward the center. Fill the center with one or two halves of the fruit.

Pour the cream evenly over the fruit. Place in the center of the oven and bake until the filling is firm and pastry is a deep golden brown, 50 to 60 minutes. Remove to a rack to cool. Sprinkle with confectioners' sugar just before serving.

Hot Milk Sponge Cake

The Child loves to bake. She did not inherit this gene from me. I can bake and I do, but it rarely gives me the sense of satisfaction that she gets. Which is fine because every household should have at least one serious baker.

The first thing she ever became adept at baking was a "Cinderella" cake, from a child's cookbook. It's awful. But she liked it. (Because she never met a cup of sugar she didn't like). The only good thing about this cake was that it taught her the basics of cakery. For that we are grateful.

A few months ago I suggested that, given the really truly awful nature of Cinderella Cake, she should try her hand at something tastier and that is when I introduced her to this perky little sponge cake, which I adapted from an old Mennonite recipe.

This cake is very good without any adornment, but The Child is not about the unadorned anything. She wanted to make 7 Minute Icing but I wanted to not have to monitor the whole boiling-hot-sugar-syrup-whipped-around-in-a-mixer thing so decided that this was the perfect opportunity for her to learn that most valuable of life skills, how to make ganache. And voila! a pretty little cake, just in time for tea. (She decorated it, as you can see, with extra chocolate chips).

Hot Milk Sponge Cake

Preheat oven to 325° F.

2 eggs
1 c. sugar
1 t. vanilla extract
2 inch piece of vanilla bean
1 c. all-purpose flour
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
1/2 c. milk
1 2-inch piece of vanilla bean, cut in half lengthwise
1 t. butter

8-inch round cake pan, greased and floured

In a mixing bowl and using an electric mixer, beat the eggs well. Add in the sugar and vanilla extract and continue beating until everything is light and fluffy.

Combine flour, baking powder and salt in a separate bowl and whisk together. By hand, fold dry ingredients into egg-sugar mixture.

Combine milk and butter in a saucepan. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the milk and add the vanilla pod. Bring milk to a boil and then remove from heat. Discard vanilla pod.

Slowly add the hot milk mixture to the batter, stirring gently to combine.

Pour batter into prepared cake pan and bake for 30-35 minutes, until a tester comes out clean.

Cool on a baking rack.

When cake is cooled, frost with Chocolate Ganache.

Chocolate Ganache

1 c. heavy cream

9 oz. dark chocolate chips

Place cream in a sauce pan over medium high heat. As soon as little bubbles start to form, add the chocolate chips and stir until chips are thoroughly melted. Pour over cake and allow to cool before serving.

Applesauce Cake

It started last summer. Our apple stick had yielded a lot of fruit and I was thinking of things to do with the bounty. Of course, pie, but there were so man, I had to think of some other uses. I started to crave applesauce cake and wrote about it in my blog. Well, there's apparently something about applesauce cake that spoke to a deep and ancient place in my readership. Because there was much virtual yumming going on.

And it became an icon, an in-joke. When someone had something to celebrate, I "baked" them an applesauce cake. References to applesauce cake abound in both posts and comments. Maybe there's just something sort of amusing about applesauce cake. Say it. It sounds kinda funny.

But applesauce cake is also very yummy. I'm a bit of a purist when it comes to cake. While nuts and raisins hold important places in my culinary adventures, in pastry not so much. Somehow, it just feels like too much work to eat a slice of cake that's full of bits. Pure and simple, that's the way to go. But if you like those things in your applesauce cake, by all means add them in.

This cake is very pleasant as is and unadorned. (Especially for breakfast). It is also very nice with a snowfall of confectioner's sugar or a saucing of creme anglaise or whipped cream. But it is out-of-this-world with a candied ginger buttercream.

Lorraine's Applesauce Cake

1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 1/4 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg pinch of cloves
½ teaspoon powdered ginger
2 cups applesauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, cream the butter. Add the brown sugar and continue mixing. Add the eggs, 1 at a time, and vanilla, then mix until well blended and fluffy.

In a separate bowl, sift together the dry ingredients. Add to the creamed mixture alternately with the applesauce. Pour batter into a greased and floured loaf or tube pan and bake until firm to the touch, about 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool in the pan, then turn it out.

To serve dust with powdered sugar or frost with Gingered Vanilla Buttercream Icing.

Gingered Vanilla Buttercream Icing

3 c. confectioner’s sugar
1 c. butter, softened to room temperature
1 t. vanilla extract
1-2 T. whipping cream
¼ candied ginger, chopped up fine

In a standing mixer fitted with a whisk, mix together sugar and butter. Mix on low speed until well blended and then increase speed to medium and beat for another 3 minutes.

Add vanilla, 1 T. cream and the ginger and continue to beat on medium speed for 1 minute more, adding more cream if needed to reach spreadable consistency.

Clafoutis

The first time I ever had clafoutis (clow (as in, "Ow! That hurts!)-foo-tea) when we first moved into our house, 10 years ago. My friend Nicole had come to help me unpack my kitchen and brought along a swellegant little supper for us, which included a clafoutis for dessert. It was a little bowlful of heaven.

I have a sweet tooth but am not usually one for the big, gooey dessert. Dessert is, in fact, not a standard course in our house; usually making an appearance only at dinner parties and even then, I've sometimes been known to forget to serve it. And unless I'm serving dessert to ChouChou, who is the world's greatest chocoholic, I prefer fruit desserts like lemon curd tartlets or Tarte Tatin. Clafoutis is my idea of a perfect dessert, full of cherries baked in a very light custard-like cloud of yum, not too sweet and not too filling. It is also very quick and easy to make and virtually impossible to screw up.

Clafoutis is traditionally made with cherries and so holds a place as a go-to dessert for summer parties. It can be made with other fruits (although in France it is then called a flognarde (or flaugnarde. Which I don't think that sounds nearly as dreamy as clafoutis). The hard-core traditionalists do not pit the cherries, claiming that the pits impart a stronger flavor. That is no doubt true, as cherry pits have an almond-like thing going on. But I personally don't regard dessert as an extreme sport, nor does it seem very thoughtful to ask guests to risk the threat of dental work.

Recipes vary. Some stick to a straight-on custard approach: sugar, eggs and cream. Period. Others go for a more cake-like consistency by using flour or cornstarch. I do something in-between, using just a little flour to bolster the custard and give it a wee bit more body. Clafoutis is best served at room temperature the day it is made. Although I've been known to eat left-overs for breakfast.

Cherry Clafoutis

2 T. kirsch (although since I never have kirsch in the house, I use vodka, red wine or even water with a little almond extract in it)
1/2 c. plus 2 T. sugar
2 pounds pitted cherries (you can use frozen cherries if you like)
2 large eggs
6 T. heavy cream
6 T. milk

3 T. flour
Confectioner's sugar for garnish

Preheat the oven to 425 ° F.

Combine the liqueur and 2 T. of sugar, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Mix in the cherries and toss to blend. Pour everything out into baking dish. Put in the oven and bake about 10 minutes, until the fruit is hot.

Transfer the fruit to a colander to drain. (Reserve the juice...it makes a nice little addition to mineral water or champagne).

Lower the temperature of the oven to 350° F. Return the drained fruit to the baking dish, arranging it in a single layer.

In the bowl of an electric mixer beat the eggs on high for a minute or two until light and frothy. Add in the 1/2 c. of sugar and beat until well-blended, another minute or two. Add the cream, milk and flour; beat until blended.

Pour batter over the fruits, filling just until the cherries are covered. Bake until the batter is golden and firm, 35-40 minutes.

Let baking dish sit on a rack to cool. Sprinkle with confectioner's sugar before serving. You might also serve the clafoutis with some ice cream or whipped cream that you've flavored with some of the juice from the pre-baking. (The cream will turn a very pretty shade of pale pink).

Berry Cobbler

Deep in August blackberries are redeemed, suddenly transformed from pernicious weed to kitchen staple. The bushes which crowd alleys and dead-ends are suddenly rich ground for back-to-nature foraging and the siren call of a warm cobbler for dessert sends me into the garage, scrambling for a bucket or basket to press into service.

A typical Saturday afternoon will find The Child and I berrying, perhaps accompanied by The Neighbor Girls. The kids will be motivated by filthy lucre, as they will likely set up a stand to sell their berries. (Being that they are all terribly cute and personable kids, passersby can't help but stop and pay the exorbitant sum of 5 cents a berry). I will be motivated only by pure, culinary desire.It won't take long for us to pick what we need for a hot summer will guarantee an abundance of berries.

If the day isn't too hot or the thorns too thorny, I might be tempted to pick enough berries to make jam. But all I really need is enough for cobbler.

Cobbler is, for me, the essential summer dessert. Though I have come to master claufoutis and a simple, gorgeous fruit tart (both recipes from Patricia Wells), it is a cobbler that says, "Summertime". While any stone fruit or berry will do, my favorite is a combination of peaches and blackberries. The peaches turn purple with berry juice but retain their firmness and flavor. Warm from the oven with a little dollop of whipped cream or ice cream, this is summer distilled...simple, redolent of jammy fruit, evocative of childhood. It's also really great for breakfast.

This is essentially my mom's recipe, with only a few, tiny modifications. It is one of the best ways I know to enjoy the dog days of summer.

Dame Judi's Fruit Cobbler

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

For the dough:
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1 T. sugar
1- 1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
3 T. butter
1/2 c. milk

Combine the dry ingredients in a bowl. Cut in the butter until coarse grains form.
Stir in milk and mix just until combined.

For filling:
3 c. prepared fruit of your choice
(If using stone fruits, remove stones and cut fruit into halves or quarters, depending on size of fruit. You don't want bitty pieces.)
1/2 c. sugar
1-2 T. cornstarch, depending on how juicy the fruit is
1/2 c. water (or less, again, depending on how juicy the fruit is)
Combine filling ingredients and place in a deep baking dish.
Glop dough by spoonfuls on top of fruit.

("Glop" - advanced culinary term usually used only by graduates of the Cordon Bleu)

Sprinkle dough with cinnamon sugar, if desired.

Bake for 25-30 minutes until filling is bubbling and biscuit dough is cooked through and browned on top. Allow to cool for at least 15 minutes to allow cobbler to set up a smidge before serving.