LEMON RISOTTO (RISOTTO AL LIMONE)

THE WEEKEND BEFORE THE TRIP


My suitcase lies open at the foot of my bed, clothes spilling out as items are piled up, tossed on to the top higgledy-piggledy. Shorts and flip-flops, swimsuit and sandals, lipstick in every shade of pink, clothes for a conference and clothes for a shopping mall, clothes for strolling the French Quarter of New Orleans and clothes for lounging around the house in the heat of a Florida summer. Frantically have I been working, packing, writing a presentation and blog posts, planning, organizing and wishing that I had more time!

The weekend passed quickly and enjoyably with friends visiting. Husband cooked and I entertained, mostly talking about food. Saturday afternoon and Sunday allowed us the chance to rediscover our city through the eyes of a tourist. JP was group leader, escorting us from one site to another and regaling us with tales of the city’s history. Pointing out gorgeous buildings old and new, admiring the view of the silvery city spread out and shimmering below us as we stood perched atop the Butte Sainte Anne, we crisscrossed Nantes trying to get everything in, not missing one interesting or intriguing thing. The Cathedral offered a cool respite from the afternoon’s heat as much as an ice cream eaten on the Place Royale as the fountain of the Loire and her tributaries danced and spattered behind us. And of course we brought our guests to the Talensac market on Sunday morning, pushing our way through the weekend crowd as we chose what to have for lunch. I spent a lot of time chatting with Marie-Noelle, talking kids and food and, well, mostly food. She fed my desire to discover more local food traditions and recipes, and I filled a sheet of paper with names and ideas, cakes and tarts to try and I even invited myself to her house so she can teach me how to make certain traditional plats, dishes, her way, the French way. Two days spent with her and I am fired up to get cooking and writing.


At the end of this week I will actually be in New Orleans! I cannot believe it! All the planning and discussing and it is finally here! I will be so sorry not to see my wonderful friend Lael there (and hope she is healing well and quickly), and I will miss her humor and warmth, but I will be dashing around the city with Gwen and getting to know Sarah, Andie, Dianne and Nancie better – and in person. I have been working my little tail off preparing my talking points on Food and Culture, which I will happily be presenting with Jay of Bite and Booze. I am also extremely excited to be working alongside Dianne of Will Write for Food, who is to moderate our presentation. This will be my first American food blogger conference and my first trip to New Orleans and I am equally thrilled and excited about both. See, I keep using the same words over and over again, my head is simply spinning with, yes, I’ll say it again, excitement!

And then I am off to Florida to see my mom and my baby boy. Together, the 3 of us will shop and eat, shop and eat and, yes, shop and eat some more. Sadly, my man will be left behind with his new projects, the older son who starts back with his third year of studies and, of course, The Marts. Being separated from JP is never easy no matter how often I fly off to the States without him, but as I, the woman of the family, leave for a few weeks, the three men bond which warms my heart. And when he stays behind and allows me the luxury of a long visit with my mother, well, more shopping for us!


I have left you with very little food for thought today. I have neither waxed eloquent on a subject near to my heart nor posed a curious philosophical question. I have delighted my readers with no quirky tales of my past nor caused the heat level to rise to simmer with provocation and romance. I count the minutes of every day, marking off items on a list as I complete preparations, jotting down thoughts on a sheet of paper already heavy with ideas. I listen to Simon as he chatters on and on about New Orleans, thrilled to be able to guide me virtually around his city and suggest where to find the best Po’Boy in town. Gwen and I shoot e-mails and private twitter messages back and forth, back and forth as we prepare our speeches, pack our suitcases, try and squeeze into jeans that absolutely fit just last year and talk about food. Friday morning, she’ll be taking me to breakfast at Café du Monde for coffee and beignets, New Orleans style, and then I’ll take her to Sucré, New Orleans’ famous pâtisserie where we are expected and where we hopefully will get to meet Chef Tariq Hanna. Then we may just be ready for the excitement and activity of the conference! Laissez-les bons temps rouler!


I leave you today with a favorite summer recipe. I am not sure why this silky, creamy, luxuriously rich risotto has become a summer mealtime favorite, but it has. Maybe it is the clean, tangy lemony flavor that fills the mouth with each bite, or maybe because it makes the perfect summer meal just served with a crisp, cool mixed green salad topped with summer’s best juicy, ripe, sweet tomatoes and tossed with a tart vinaigrette. With a glass or two of a beautiful chilled white wine. Whatever the reason, this is an absolute must-make for anyone who loves risotto, lemon, summer or, to put it bluntly, eating. Seriously. And now I rush off to throw a few more things onto the pile of clothes on my bedroom floor, hoping that at least some will fit, polish up my presentation one more time before printing it out and start dinner for the man and I. Have I forgotten anything?

And maybe this time you can leave me a suggestion or two about what you may, in the future, want me to write about... or a question or two you might want to ask me. Feel free. I am open to suggestion, though I beg you please, only serious suggestions and questions permitted.


LEMON RISOTTO
From I Risotti fromAnna de Conte’s Italian Kitchen

Serves 4 – 6 as a first course or side dish or 4 as a main dish served with a mixed green salad tossed with a Balsamic vinegar and olive oil vinaigrette.

2 pints (1.25 liters) light chicken or vegetable stock, homemade if possible, or if not…. I use 2 broth cubes
2 oz/4 Tbs (60 g) unsalted butter
1 Tbs olive oil
2 shallots, finely chopped
1 branch celery, finely chopped
10 oz (300 g) rice for risotto (arborio or carnaroli)
½ unwaxed, untreated lemon
5 or 6 fresh sage leaves or ½ tsp dried sage
Leaves from a small sprig of fresh rosemary or ¼ tsp dried rosemary
1 egg yolk
4 Tbs freshly grated Parmesan
4 Tbs heavy or light cream
Freshly ground black pepper

Bring the stock to a boil and remove from heat. Some recipes say to leave it on a low simmer during the preparation of the risotto, but I never do.

Heat half of the butter and the tablespoon of olive oil in a large skillet, pot or terra cotta risotto dish. Add the chopped shallots and celery – what the Italians call the soffritto - and gently cook for a few minutes until translucent and soft. Add the rice and stir to coat all of the rice well with the fat. Cook, stirring, for a couple of minutes until the rice is translucent. Pour a ladleful or two of the hot broth or stock over the rice, stir and allow to gently boil until the liquid is almost completely absorbed by the rice.

Continue to add the broth, ladleful by ladleful, or two at a time at the most, over the course of the cooking period, stirring constantly, allowing each addition of broth to be almost completely absorbed by the rice before adding more liquid.

Meanwhile, grate the zest from the half a lemon and mix it into the finely chopped fresh sage and rosemary or with the dried herbs. Mix this into the rice halfway (about 10 – 12 minutes) into the cooking.

Continue until the rice is meltingly tender to the bite and the risotto is thick and creamy. This should take more or less 20 minutes. Do not worry if you do not need all of the broth. Or if you do not have enough broth then simply add water at the end as needed.

Squeeze the juice from the half lemon. In a small bowl, combine and whisk together the egg yolk, the grated Parmesan, the cream, the lemon juice and a generous grinding of black pepper.

When the risotto is cooked and the rice is very tender, remove the pan from the heat and stir in the egg, cream and Parmesan mixture along with the remaining butter. Cover the pan and allow to rest off the heat for 2 minutes before giving the risotto an energetic stir until well combined. Serve at once.


I usually serve this Risotto al Limone simply with a large, tossed salad dressed with a clean, tangy vinaigrette made with Balsamic vinegar and a good quality extra-virgin Italian olive oil. Add a loaf of fresh bread and maybe a plate of Italian cheeses or cold cuts and it is the perfect meal. Especially wonderful in the summer.

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GLAZED LEMON BUNDT CAKE

BARBECUE FANTASIES


A barbecue culture. From Girl Scout campfires to front yard grills, from Fourth of July parties on backyard decks, Brooklyn rooftops or lakeside park to summer bonfires, I’ve lived and eaten my way through many a tremendous barbecue. Foot longs nestled into soft, warm buns, burgers flipped and chicken dripping with spicy sauces were our mainstay, those homey barbecue staples both north and south, always causing endless minutes of agonizing distress and indecision, never being able to decide which to choose, wanting it all yet knowing that I would never be able to eat one of each. Tables groaning under the weight of endless bowls of cool, crispy coleslaw, tangy with vinegar, creamy potato salad studded with gems of celery and carrot bits or speckled with chopped fresh herbs; steaming bowls of baked beans, heady with the salty bite of bacon, thick with molasses, as spicy or as smooth as you please. Potatoes tossed whole straight into the fire, snuggled deep down into the coals then opened like presents, peeling back the shimmering silver foil to reveal the crispy skin and meltingly smooth flesh of a truly “hot potato”. Pyramids of sweet corn on the cob, dripping with butter, its saltiness mingling ever so perfectly with the sugary corn; each kernel cracking under the bite of your teeth, digging into the tender-cooked nibs, the best part of the meal hidden underneath her silky husk.

Wash it down with glasses of fruity sangria, just a spritz of lemon, or a frosty beer. Cans of soda spilling out of coolers, tucked into mounds of ice itself just waiting, begging to be scooped up in spite of the drinks and spilled into a glass, crunched and slurped to stave off the August heat. Bright red watermelons sliced by the dozen and passed around like candy, as sweet as sugar, black seeds spit across lawns, a favorite summer occupation for kids and adults alike. Cold watermelon, an outdoor meal’s best friend, followed quickly by ice cream in a rainbow of colors, a flavor for everyone; or sheet cakes in lemon, vanilla or chocolate slathered with whipped cream and piled with berries of red, white and blue.


Drunk on food and laughter, the summer barbecue rarely seems to change from one American backyard to the next, one Fourth of July to the next. Yes, in Florida we often added shrimp, plump and pink and marinated in something citrusy, crunchy with coconut or savory with the flavors of Asia. Or maybe there were T-bone steaks, grilled until beautifully charred on the outside, pink and tender on the inside, turning the family barbecue into something surely more sophisticated and elegant. The pleasure and excitement of youth group bonfires heightened as the Sloppy Joes were passed around. Often the parties stayed outside, crowds of guests mingling as they might, the talk loud, the laughter infectious, steaming plates of meat carried from grill to table in an endless parade, forks stabbing at this or that, spoons carrying mounds of food to plates already overflowing; hobnobbing with this clutch of people then that one, an impromptu game of football adding noise and movement to an already vivacious garden party. And how many childhood barbecues around a swimming pool? While the adults manned the grill, sipped mixed cocktails and talked about their next cruise, the kids would splash in the water, playing shark or water tag and trying to play pranks on the parents. Exhausted, wrapped up in damp towels, we would plop down hungry around the picnic table on the patio, paper plates laden with everything we could squeeze onto it: a burger and a hot dog, slaw and beans, piles of chips, grab a soda and eat to our fill, probably knowing that thick slices of watermelon and ice cream bars waited for us after. Or, better yet, toasted marshmallows and S’Mores.

Once in a while, the meal was eaten at the table, indoors: plates passed to and from the grill as seconds and thirds were called, platters of sides shuffled from one end of the table to the other as desired. This was certainly a well-loved summer ritual every year up in New York whenever we stayed with Aunt Millie, Uncle Al and the cousins. After a day running around the park or, older, maybe taking an exciting trip into the city, we’d gather round the diningroom table for the summer barbecue. Yes, one kosher hot dog followed by one hamburger and all the fixings – which always included Marci and Uncle Al’s famous and fabulous coleslaw - most likely followed by cinema night, all the cousins packed downstairs in the den watching Top Hat or Swingtime. Or barbecues up in Albany at Sandra’s in their huge backyard, eating steamed clams followed by popsicles while we watched the fireworks.

I loved Saturdays when dad would wheel the stand barbecue out into the driveway in front of the house and fire up the coals. Mom would buy plastic containers of slaw and potato salad and bakery buns, maybe roast sweet potatoes in the oven until so soft the crispy skin would fall away from the flesh, which would just melt in the mouth, sweet like candy. And of course there was always watermelon, those huge sugary Florida watermelons that we would pick up at one of the small farmer’s market stands that stood in any number of gas station parking lots along South Patrick Drive, piled up next to the mountains of local tomatoes and peaches, bright, sweet and fragrant. Dad would flip burgers that he made himself, always studded with chopped onion. Happy we were in spite of the stifling heat with no shade to protect or comfort us, bare feet dancing on the burning cement sidewalk, just happy for the barbecue. And we would finish standing in the grass, leaning against the lamppost and having watermelon seed spitting contests like millions of American kids from coast to coast.


But these are typically American experiences, ones so many of us grew up with, those sweet memories tucked away in our minds, popping out every summer when the air blows a certain way, when the temperature climbs to searing with only the hint of a mild ocean breeze rustling our hair. I’ll be home, back in Florida, in a couple of weeks and I can already imagine walking through the deli section of the grocery store, wiggling my way through the barely-clad beach crowd, each baring as much skin as allowed, dressed down to tanks, shorts and flip-flops and grabbing what for an impromptu picnic or barbecue. But we were invited to a barbecue here in France last weekend and I must admit that JP and I, although not knowing at all what to expect, were as excited as kids to be there as visions of those American do’s swished and dashed through our brains.

Do the French ever let their hair down? I’m not so sure. We arrived, walking around the house and onto the well manicured expanse of green lawn and shook hands with the host (a former work colleague of my husband) and his lovely wife (who I liked quite a lot). Their 3 children stood quietly by, politely greeted us, kissing each of us on the cheeks in the French manner then stood patiently waiting to be dismissed. Organized and orderly, just a handful of close friends, beautiful food and plenty of wine, the French concept of a barbecue, as we quickly discovered, is just another elegant meal albeit served and eaten al fresco. The grill was tucked away in a lovely little alcove, part of a well thought out décor of leather swing chair and Moroccan chandelier. A wooden picnic table was laid out for 6 just outside the kitchen entrance and prettily decorated with dishes, wine glasses and cloth napkins tied up in ribbons, equally elegant children’s table off to the side. Marinated duck breasts were lined up on the rack over the flames as we sipped our first bottle of sparkling white wine and nibbled thin slices of bread spread with rillettes and taramasalata. Instead of piling food on plates willy-nilly and wandering from group to group, this was a quiet, sophisticated version of the barbecue, but lovely it was. The sun was warm on our shoulders, the food was plentiful and luscious, the wine flowed and the company nice… although I was indeed astonished that the two former colleagues of my husband continued to call him Mr. D…. instead of JP. Oh well, I’ll never get around the formality of the French, no matter the situation.


And as the meal wound down, as their huge Airedale shuffled over to the barbecue and proceeded to gently and quietly lick the meat and marinade essence off of the grill, as the wine glasses were drained and replaced with delicate demitasse cups, the Glazed Lemon Cake I had baked and brought was sliced and served to an eager table. A foolproof cake I have been making for twenty years or more based on a Maida Heatter recipe, this is a fabulous, moist cake, oh so lemony thanks not only to the lemon zest added to the silky batter but to the gorgeous tangy sweet lemony glaze slathered on the top and sides. The glaze (and do not be stunned or put off by the quantity! Use it all!) soaks into the dense pound cake and forms a wonderful thin crust on the outside of the cake as it dries and infuses the entire moist cake with its tart lemony goodness. Don't let the simple demeanor or plain-Jane outward appearance fool you: this is the perfect cake, delicious and flavorful, fantastic for a dinner party dessert, barbecues, picnics, lunchboxes and snacks. Or feeling decadent? Top with freshly whipped cream.


GLAZED LEMON BUNDT CAKE
A family favorite for twenty years. Mostly from Maida Heatter.

3 cups (420 g) flour, very lightly spooned into measuring cup then sifted
2 tsps baking powder
½ tsp salt
½ pound (1 cup/225 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
2 cups (400 g) sugar
4 large eggs
1 cup milk, preferably whole milk
1 tsp vanilla
Finely grated zest of 2 lemons

Adjust the oven rack one-third up from the bottom. Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C) and generously butter a Bundt pan (or 9 x 3 1/2 – inch tube pan) and dust with flour, tapping out the excess.

Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt into a small bowl and set aside. In a large bowl using an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, scraping the bowl as needed to keep the mixture smooth and blended. Beat in the vanilla.

On lowest speed, beat in the dry ingredients in 3 additions alternating with the milk in 2, beginning and ending with the dry, beating only until blended and smooth after each addition and scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Using a rubber spatula, fold in the grated lemon zest.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan then level the top by rotating the pan briskly back and forth.

Bake the cake for an hour or a bit more, until puffed, the top is a golden brown and it is completely set in the center (lightly press the top of the cake to tell and a tester inserted in the cake should come out dry).

Let the cake stand in the pan for about 3 minutes and then cover with a rack and invert. Gently remove the pan, leaving the cake upside down (if using a tube pan instead of a Bundt pan, I would flip back upright). Place the cake on the rack over a large piece of aluminum foil or wax paper and prepare the Lemon Glaze.

LEMON GLAZE
To be prepared just before using; use right after it is made.

1/3 cup (about 85 ml) freshly squeezed and strained lemon juice
¾ cup (150 g) granulated sugar

Stir the lemon juice and sugar together until thick and well blended. Brush all over the cake (top, sides and inside the “tube”) heavily and evenly until you have brushed on all of the glaze. Allow the cake to cool completely before, using wide, flat, metal spatulas, gently sliding onto a serving platter.



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FABULOUS EASY ONE-BOWL CHOCOLATE CAKES

AN EMOTIONAL LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE


Shadows amid the starkness of pure black and white, moody and ethereal; mystery fills the empty spaces, statements clear and honest fill in the blanks. Sharp lines drawn across faces and bare torsos like the scratch of a stick pulled across the damp sand, withered and wrinkled, each deep, shadowed crease speaking years of experience; eyes burning out of the glossy surface, admitting so many secrets, hiding so many more. Black melting into gray, something ominous, sinister oozes out of each photo, emotions raw, almost palpable, a persona created from an idea, a vision. Or colors both sharp and hazy at once, rich hues of feminine pink, gold and orange of sunsets and dirt, the blues of skies both limpid and stormy. Colors emotional, sensational, creating a fairytale land of objects both living and not that feed my soul and nourish my imagination, forcing me to feel and think, inspiring me, urging me to create. Breathtaking images of life captured in a moment, a breath, so real in their falseness, portraits not portraits but rather images that reflect a yearning, an emotion, a memory, a dream inside of me.

Louise Bourgeois by Annie Leibovitz, 1997

Annie Leibovitz. We watched Life Through a Lens, the film of this renowned photographer, her life and her work as seen through the eyes of her sister. I, of course, know Annie Leibovitz and her stunning work, have loved it and been in awe of it for years, but I have never really looked at it so closely nor understood it before now. We were immersed in images, her story illustrated by a never-ending continuum of shots, each more moving and breathtaking than the last. She may not have been born with a camera in her hand but she was indeed born with a vision and a gift. As I watched her work, her passion perfectly balanced with a certain nonchalance, her seemingly casual process so intensely thoughtful, I realized that what I reach for, yearn for, grope wildly for is to achieve this same visual effect and emotional impact with my writing. Artists, craftsmen, visionaries such as she are far and few between and mere mortals such as I can only hope, yet to be able to capture in words what she captures on film, to have such a verbal imagery as she has one visual are the stars for which I reach.

I have often tried to explain why I sometimes have such difficulty looking at this painting or that. Standing in the presence of a Van Eyck, a Grünewald, Turner, De Kooning or Pollock, I have felt my heart pounding, jumping and skitting through my body and up into my throat, my breath choked and my mind swept away, dizzyingly. I avert my eyes, turn my back, the depth and complexity too much to bear. The darkness burns inside of me, the searing light blinds, raw emotions claw and tear; the intense beauty of any one of these masterpieces has the power to overwhelm me, and I understand the power true talent wields. And as hard as I try and explain what passes through me, I cannot. It is beyond words.

And I have been entranced by words as well, words strung together one after the other in such a way that it veritably, literally takes my breath away and leaves me speechless. Writing so magical, thoughts and ideas captured so perfectly in sentences that I have had to close the book and place it on the table next to me while the words soaked in, penetrated my mind, my body, the sensation practically physical. It takes a true command of a language, the mastering of vocabulary, the total control of characters and plot, like a painter masters and controls his or her brush, the weight against the canvas, the precise hue of each color, the length and depth of each stroke. Whether witty, humorous or angst-ridden and bleak, words strung together like music, each note, the beat and rhythm laced together just so to create a well-written symphony; music so soul-searingly earnest able to captivate and hypnotize, transport the listener, the reader away to another realm.

Susan Sontag, quai des Grands Augustins, Annie Leibovitz, 2003

Like Annie Leibovitz’ photographs. She tells a story, captures a moment, a thought, an emotion and allows the viewer a glimpse into what she sees. She manipulates our emotions until she has us eating out of the palm of her hand, right where she wants us, experiencing the array of emotions that she has decided she wants us to experience. And we find ourselves reading a story into that one image or series of images that she has pieced together and chosen to tell. She weaves a fairytale with pictures in such a way as I dream of being able to create with my words. A story fleshy, voluptuous, emotions raw and complex, a beauty both light and dark, lined with the wrinkles of time and scarred with my experience. I search for words, just the right ones as I play with and attempt to manipulate how a reader feels. I want to be able to paint a picture in black on white that inspires and excites, disturbs or burns with love and yearning. I want readers to nod their heads and shout, “Yes! Yes! I have been there, I know how you feel!”, tears shed, hearts melting, blood pounding, the heat rising. I want to stir up images of childhood glorious, silly or downright sad. Or elicit torrid passion and fervor. I want to touch someone, anyone, the way her photographs move me.

Out of breath. Skip to kitchen…..


My kitchen experience this weekend was one of chocolate, black on white. Not so much short on time as short on energy, I desired to satisfy a chocolate craving as quickly and as easily as possible. Two one-bowl chocolate cakes, as simple, easy and quick as a fabulous, homemade from-scratch cake can and should be. Baked and served side by side, we, my men and I, tested and tasted both glorious versions: one lighter and fluffier, the other denser and chewy, both offering an intensely luscious chocolate flavor, equally satisfying, equally addictive. Both made with pantry ingredients almost always on hand, both using vegetable oil rather than butter so when the craving hits there is no need to wait for butter to soften to room temperature. One version is eggless so takes the “pantry staple” idea one step further: the ideal cake for either the egg-free diet or for those days when we open up the refrigerator to find…. no eggs on hand.

Frost one or the other with either a Chocolate Ganache or my Simple Chocolate Buttercream. Or dust with powdered sugar.

SPECIAL CHOCOLATE CAKE


My family’s absolute favorite, a light and fluffy texture, always moist with a deep chocolate flavor, this is the perfect chocolate cake when one wants just that: a simple yet intensely flavored chocolate cake. It is ideal either baked in one layer in a 9-inch cake pan and served simply dusted with powdered sugar, the perfect snack or breakfast treat, or, for an elegant, sophisticated dessert, as a smaller 7-inch round layer cake sandwiched with simple buttercream.

6 ounces (1 1/4 cups/175 grams) flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
5 ounces (scant 3/4 cup/150 grams) sugar
½ - 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2/3 cup (150 ml) warm milk
2/3 cup (150 ml) vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat the oven to 325°F (170°C). Oil and line with parchment paper either one 9-inch (23 cm) round cake pan or two 7-inch (18 cm) round cake pans.

Put the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cocoa powder, sugar and cinnamon in a large mixing bowl and whisk to blend. In a separate mixing bowl or a large liquid measuring cup, whisk together the warm milk, the oil, eggs and vanilla.

Now it is simply a question of pouring the wet ingredients into the dry and blending well either with a whisk or a wooden spoon, although I prefer using a whisk. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients. For a smooth, lump-free batter, pour about a quarter of the liquid ingredients into the well, and with small, brisk circular movements, whisk with just enough of the dry until you have a thick, smooth, lump-free batter in the center. Add some more of the liquid, pull in a bit more of the dry, and briskly whisk again until, aha! your batter is smooth. Continue until all the dry ingredients have been incorporated into your (now) lump-free batter, add any remaining liquid and give it a go. Pour this batter into your prepared pan(s) and bake for about 30 minutes (for one 9-inch round pan and depending on your oven) until the center of your cake or layers is just firm to the touch, completely cooked through. The cake should start to pull away from the sides of the pan just after it is removed from the oven. If baking in two 7-inch round pans for layers, the baking time will be closer to 20 minutes.

Remove to racks, let cool for about 10 minutes, then slide a sharp knife blade around the edges to loosen, turn the cake out onto racks, peel off the parchment paper, flip back upright and let cool completely.

EGGLESS “LICKITY SPLIT” CHOCOLATE CAKE
From ideals Hershey’s Chocolate and Cocoa Cookbook, 1982


Much denser than my Special Chocolate Cake, this one-bowl cake has the advantage of being completely eggless, so perfect for either those whose diet does not include eggs or for a day when we are in the mood to bake but discover that, yes, we are out of eggs. Dense to the point of being somewhat chewy, this is a moist, very chocolaty cake that tastes wonderfully like a candy bar. Perfect with or without frosting or ganache and dusted simply with powdered sugar, this chocolate cake is amazingly addictive!

1 ½ cups (210 g) flour
1 cup (200 g) sugar
¼ cup (30 g) unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
¼ tsp ground cinnamon, optional
1 cup (250 ml) water
¼ cup (62 ml) + 2 Tbs vegetable oil
1 Tbs vinegar *
1 tsp vanilla

* I only had cider vinegar in the house and it worked perfectly.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Grease a 9-inch (23 cm) round cake pan with vegetable oil, bottom and sides, then line the bottom with a round of parchment paper.

Combine the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda and salt (and ground cinnamon, if adding) in a large bowl. Combine the water, vegetable oil, vinegar and vanilla. Using the same method as described in the above Special Chocolate Cake recipe to avoid lumps and produce a smooth batter, whisk the wet ingredients into the dry until well blended and smooth. Pour into the prepared pan and bake for about 30 to 35 minutes or until the center is just set and a tester comes out clean.

Remove from the oven to a rack, let cool for about 10 minutes, then slide a sharp knife blade around the edges to loosen, turn the cake out of the pan, peel off the parchment paper, flip back upright and let cool completely.




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LEMON, BLUEBERRY AND POPPYSEED MUFFINS

The best thing one can do when it’s raining is let it rain.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Our hopes were dashed to the ground before we could even find a steady footing. Summer had burst upon us sunny, hot and bright. I had painted my toenails my favorite shocking pink and had dug out my sandals; husband had slipped on his shorts and folded away his sweaters. We spent a few afternoons with the dog walking through the park, watching in wonder and amusement as Marty learned to feel comfortable wading into the cool water of the Erdre. His reluctance edged away just a little each time we went, each time he tentatively stuck a paw in the river, took a hesitant lick then waded in a little further than the previous visit. The heat pounded down on us as we strolled further into the park and poor Marty was reduced to a panting bundle of exhaustion, anxious for another refreshing dip on our way back to the car.

What pleasure not having to slip on a jacket and grab the umbrella whenever we desired a bit of fresh air and a stroll into the center of Nantes to run errands. I had begun waxing eloquent on the beauty of summer, extolling the limpid, aquamarine skies and the warm kiss of the breeze on my skin before the bite of the searing heat made us yearn to find our way back to the cool apartment. Yet here we are, one more time, sitting in the house taking refuge from, yes, the rain. Again. We duck out just long enough to walk a now miserable Marty or dash to the market to pick up an ingredient or two for a meal.

But we try and look on the bright side of things. We’ve taken advantage of the atrocious weather to clean and reorganize, getting Simon’s bedroom ready for his return, straightening our respective “offices” and workspaces for more efficiency and comfort. We recently, finally, decided to sell my clumsy camera, traded it in towards a new one for JP while I took possession of his. He has been giving me lessons; one day I, too, will master and control my camera and begin taking fabulous food photos! Oh yes! We watch movies, read and write. He cooks and I bake and we even let the dishes pile up in the sink, testing our limits, seeing which one of us breaks down first and does them. I have been preparing my presentation on Food & Culture for IFBC, working with the girls to finalize details for our second From Plate to Page workshop and trying to keep up on my everyday writing obligations.

Clouds come floating into my life,
no longer to carry rain or usher storms,
but to add color to my sunset sky.
- Rabindranath Tagore

I have always loved rainy days when I could enjoy them indoors, watching the mist rising up from the sidewalks merging into the rushing drops as they fall like thick masses of twine from above. The windows fog up only catching the occasional spatter against the panes. The brilliant white stone of the buildings on the further side of the square fade to yellow in the somber, drab gray of the backdrop of sky. The lights dim, the room taking on mysterious hints of an old black & white film. Curling up with a good book in my corner of the sofa, all cozy and comfy, steaming mug of coffee perched within easy reach, then all is well in the world. But when I have been promised summer; when I have felt the warmth of the sun on my skin and the gentle kiss of a mild breeze; when we have enjoyed scorching afternoons and balmy evenings; when July rolls by and fades into August and summer has been a mere thought, ephemeral, fleeting; when the promise of those heady days of summer rich with picnics and outdoor romps bleeds painful and dark across the canvas of an all too early Autumn; when our plans are dashed to the ground and we are kept prisoner, lonely, anguished, sullen prisoners in our own home, then all is no longer well in our world.


What’s with the weather, anyway? Blue skies augured another lovely day as I tumbled out of bed this morning. After working for an hour I realized that I still needed to dash to the market for fruit, vegetables and something appropriately lunch-like. The boy, home for the weekend, was still a-snooze and JP decided to slip on his hiking boots and head outside for a bit of country air. I was on my own. It was pushing 10:30, 10:45, 11:00 a.m. and the market becomes a battle of nerves, a contest of wills as the morning moves towards noon. Jostling through the crowds, elbowing one’s way through the narrow aisles choking with shoppers, strollers and the mindlessly oblivious, working one’s way up the market between the chilly glass cases and the wooden stands filled to capacity with the late-Sunday morning crowd is more than some can endure. So I knew that it was time to leave. I tied on my pink hightops, shrugged on my raincoat, grabbed the basket and ran. The sun was indeed out, albeit rather hesitantly, so no need to take my cap (or so I thought). I calmly, cheerfully did my marketing, scooping up a brown paper bagful of gorgeous mirabelles, tiny jewel-like plums of an elegantly golden yellow streaked with the reds and purples of a sunset; sweet, sweet Reines-Claudes; peaches and nectarines; a basket brimming with good things. Yet as I stepped out of the market, I was met with a veritable deluge. What?! I thought that we were finally finished with this madness! And then, as I stood there wondering how quickly it would pass and whether or not I should wait it out or go ahead and make a dash for it, I thought of JP. Out on his lovely promenade in the countryside, his Sunday morning healthful stroll out in the green.


Well, all’s well that ends well and although we both arrived home rather damp, to say the least, we dried off and warmed up, no worse for wear and sat down to a hot lunch. JP had taken some shots with his new camera and I had gotten some chores taken care of and some letters sent. I still hover somewhere between love and hate when it comes to the chill, damp, dreariness of these unexpected rainy days, between the coziness of our safe haven indoors and the yearning to be outside warming in the summer sun. Autumn seems to want nothing more than to claim her place well ahead of schedule. But I realize that with my trip to New Orleans and Florida nearing that I should appreciate and enjoy the cool season we are having while I can. I have been warned that Louisiana in August makes the searing, stifling heat of a Florida summer seem meek in comparison, so I am bracing myself. Yet how I look forward to discovering this magical city, the kingdom of gastronomy and all the good things she has to offer. How excited I am at the prospect of the conference; meeting and spending time with people, friends I have come to know only on the internet; attending the sessions and learning so much; speaking on a subject of which I am so passionate about, food and culture, and hopefully inspiring others to think about it, see it in a whole new light. And how happy to find myself in Florida with my mother in my childhood home; how much pleasure derived from rediscovering old school chums and old haunts; how anxious I am to see my baby again, to shop with him, eat all that I can’t get in France with him and just see him all grown up. So, yes, I will put up with the rain just a little while longer, content, knowing what awaits me shortly.

And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than down.
Without the rain there would be no rainbow.
- G.K. Chesterton

And Mathilde always brings a ray of bright sunshine whenever she comes over to bake with me. We made the absolutely delicious, fruity Greengage Galette and we made these Lemon, Blueberry and Poppyseed Muffins from a cookbook that I had offered her for Christmas. She is passionate about baking, but as a beginner I wanted to offer her a book that was both simple and inspiring, and this one by Trish Deseine certainly is. Tangy lemons and sweet blueberries are the perfect match and nothing says Summer more. Add to that the subtle crunch of poppyseeds and these muffins are not only simple enough for a beginning baker to make but absolutely delicious. The only change we made to this recipe other than adapting the quantities of lemon and poppyseeds to our own taste was the addition of whole blueberries to the muffins, which, for some odd reason, Ms. Deseine does not do. Go ahead, make these yourself and prolong the warm days of summer for just a little longer, no matter what the weather is outside.


LEMON, BLUEBERRY AND POPPYSEED MUFFINS
From I Love Cake by Trish Deseine

12 normal muffins + 9 mini muffins

1 cup + 1 Tbs (150 g) flour
1 tsp baking powder
¾ cup (150 g) granulated brown sugar
1 Tbs poppyseeds, or more or less as you like
Juice and finely grated zest of 1 lemon
¼ cup (125 ml) vegetable oil
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
½ cup fresh or frozen blueberries, lightly tossed in a bit of flour just to coat

Icing:
Juice of 1 lemon
3 – 4 Tbs powdered (confectioner’s) sugar
A few blueberries to decorate

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Line muffin tins with paper cups.

Place the flour, baking powder, sugar, the poppyseeds and the finely grated lemon zest in a large mixing bowl. Stir or whisk to combine.

Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in the vegetable oil, lemon juice and the lightly beaten eggs. Stir or whisk together gently just until combined and well blended. Do not over mix. Fold in the blueberries.

Fill the muffin cases ¾ full. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, depending on the size of the muffins, removing from the oven when slightly puffed, set in the center (the surface may be just cracking) and beginning to color a golden brown. Remove the paper cases with the muffins from the tins and allow to cool on racks.

Mini Muffins

Prepare the glaze by stirring the powdered sugar into the lemon juice until smooth and slightly thickened – taste and add a bit more sugar if you want it sweeter. Carefully spoon glaze onto each cooled muffin, making sure to cover the entire surface. Serve decorated with a blueberry tossed in a bit of granulated white sugar perched on each muffin, if desired.



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BROWNIE CHUNK VANILLA ICE CREAM AND MOCHA MACARONS

EMPTY NEST


Is this what it is, the so-called Empty Nest Syndrome? Our baby boy, Simon, has been in the States for the past year and our older son, Clément, left us for his summer internship early July. We are told that our home should be filled with an oppressive emptiness, the weight of loneliness heavy on our hearts. We should yearn for the company of our dear children, their presence a necessary part of our happiness. Shall we feel abandoned, as the experts say, craving the bustle and camaraderie, desiring for nothing more than overseeing their needs and wants, preparing them hot, wholesome meals and providing them with clean and lovingly ironed laundry? Do we feel the chasm their desertion has left; are we jealous that they have quit the bosom of the family for greener pastures and the companionship of others? Just two lonely parents who have given their every waking moment for the last twenty years to a pair of beloved, darling offspring, parents now wandering aimlessly around an empty space, a home no longer a home without the noise and laughter, the demands and the exciting challenges of parenthood? A family no longer quite a family?


Who are we kidding? We hugged each son goodbye, making sure that their suitcases were filled with all necessities and clean clothes. We made sure that they would be heading to a safe haven, a roof over their heads and food on the table. Maybe a motherly tear or two was shed as I waved goodbye. And then, well, let the fun begin!

The Empty Nest just happened to coincide with JP’s sabbatical, a time when he would be home full time; no office, no office hours, no long work days away from home. How could we possibly deal with such total upheaval, these major changes all happening at one time? Without the sons to cushion our face-to-face daily existence, would we manage to fill our hours with activities not centered on them and find subjects to talk about together? Would we risk having nothing to do and nothing to say to each other? Well, if you follow my blog and understand the message nestled within the words, you will understand that, in fact, our days have been filled with joy and laughter, projects and outings. We force ourselves to separate for several hours a day simply to accomplish our individual tasks as the urge, day after day, is simply to be together, side by side, doing something, anything, nothing. Our newfound freedom, for this is what it is, allows us to do as we please when we please, and we have.

So many bloggers are writing post after post about their babies and toddlers, offering images of chubby hands and arms reaching into baskets of berries or scooping up sweet treats, stories of young children crawling into bed with them in the morning or dragging dirt into the house after a rambunctious morning outside. Not us! Those days are long gone and we find the solitude delicious, the freedom exhilarating! Neither chubby, darling toddler nor loud, demanding youth taking up our space and our time. Neither childish babbling nor adolescent kvetching to break the silence. There are no schedules to coordinate nor mealtimes abandoned for more interesting invitations, no eyes rolled in disbelief as we head early to bed or invite them to take a trek in the woods with us, no picking up after messy boys or worrying when they don’t come home at night. Just calm and serenity, lazy days dotted with bursts of energy and exertion as we see fit, quiet meals and long mornings in bed. Date night is every night and the only one we need take into account is one small Boston Terrier.

Until September: Simon returns home with the hopes of going back to school and Clem will be back for another year to continue his studies. The house will once again be filled with young men, both our own and their friends, the Young Dudes who have taken into the habit working together in the back bedrooms, popping out once in a while to enjoy a meal or a bit of tv. Doorbells buzzing, music blaring, cutlery clattering on plates, laughter ringing throughout the house and the dog bouncing after the boys in the hopes of being invited into the bedroom to crash. The house will no longer be our own to do as we please and once again we’ll be needed and argued with, confided in and made fun of, just like old times.


But maybe, just maybe, it will be different this time. Maybe they have grown up thanks to the time away and the responsibilities that were placed on their young shoulders, adolescence morphing into adulthood. Maybe their teen grumblings and unreasonable demands, their hormonal mood swings and irrational bickering will have been replaced by rational adult conversation and trust in our experience and opinions. Maybe the old skulking around, their secretiveness and mistrust will have miraculously transformed into a well-meaning sharing of confidences and a desire to meet us half way. All joking aside, we have always enjoyed our children’s company when their intelligence, kindness and humor were not overshadowed by all of the stereotypical adolescent woes and boorish comportment. We have been lucky not to be stricken by any Empty Nest Syndrome and thoroughly enjoy, appreciate and delight in our time alone, yet, truth be told, we do somehow miss our boys and being involved in their lives. We do love having them join us at a restaurant for a meal or for a picnic and a trek in the vineyards. We love hearing all about their activities and discussing their future plans with them. We love their wicked sense of humor and their clever musings. We do, after all, miss being a family.


So, until then, we will take advantage of our time alone and enjoy every single second of it.
We’ll do as we please without the risk of being caught in an uncompromising position or being accused of being old. We’ll run our lives according to our own schedule and our own whims without the judgmental glances of those two. And then we’ll prepare the house for the return of our two prodigal sons. And then we will celebrate.


Meanwhile, we cook and bake for two. I have been cutting back on the sweets but I have too long neglected Mactweets. Deeba and I decided that the theme of July’s Mac Attack challenge would be Ice Cream and Macarons, certainly a match made in heaven. I have long been craving a rich vanilla ice cream dotted decadently with chunks of pecan brownies. And what better to go with Pecan Brownie Chunk Vanilla Ice Cream than Mocha macs, that fabulous combination of chocolate and coffee, my personal favorite?


MOCHA MACARON VANILLA BROWNIE CHUNK ICE CREAM SANDWICHES

MOCHA MACARONS
The stunning combination of chocolate and coffee, the two flavors perfectly balanced and complimenting the other; neither one too heavy, bitter nor rich to overpower the other. A delicate macaron, the outside elegantly crisp and the inside satisfyingly dense and chewy, the best macaron shells I have made yet. Perfect with the ice cream or filled with your favorite chocolate ganache.

For the shells:

7.2 oz (200 g) confectioner's/powdered sugar
4 oz (115 g) finely ground blanched almonds
3 large egg whites (about 4 oz/ 112 g)
1 oz (30 g) white granulated sugar
1 Tbs unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp powdered (not granular) instant espresso powder

Follow the method and instructions here or here for the macarons.


VANILLA BROWNIE CHUNK ICE CREAM
From Donvier Ice Cream Maker Recipe & Instruction Booklet’s French Vanilla Ice Cream

Makes about 1 quart (1 liter) ice cream

3 large eggs
2 cups (500 ml) whole milk
1 cup (200 g) granulated white sugar
2 cups (500 ml) light cream
2 tsps vanilla
1 – 2 cups coarsely chopped pecan brownie chunks

Whisk the eggs and the milk together in a large saucepan until very well blended. Whisk in the sugar. Over medium-low heat, cook the mixture, whisking continuously, until thickened, about 10 minutes. It should smoothly coat a spoon. Allow to cool and then whisk in the cream and the vanilla. Refrigerate overnight.


PECAN BROWNIES

Bake a pan of brownies using your favorite recipes or make one of mine:

Fudgy Brownies (for an 8 x 8 or 9 x 9-inch square pan)

- or –

Best Big Pan Brownies (for a 15 ½ X 10 ½ x 1-inch (38 X 27 x 2-cm) jelly roll pan with ½-inch sides)

The fudgier the brownie the better. Adding pecans, walnuts or another kind of nut (try it with salted peanuts!) adds a satisfying crunch to the brownie and to the ice cream.

Once the brownies are cooled to room temperature, coarsely chop and reserve 1 to 2 cups, depending on how much you like to add.

Prepare the ice cream:

I used a hand-crank 1 pint (500 ml) ice cream maker, making half the custard base at a time. Once it was thickened to a smooth, creamy but still workable (not stiff) ice cream, I scraped it into a plastic freezer-friendly ice cream container and stirred in brownie chunks. I repeated with the second half of the custard base and added more brownie chunks. My brownies were slightly overdone and a bit dry so that they crumbled in the ice cream, but it is still delicious. I also added swirls of liquid caramel au beurre salé.



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RASPBERRY-BLUEBERRY CINNAMON COFFEE CAKE

GOOD DAY, SUNSHINE!

Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.
~Sam Keen

Sunday. Summer has finally swept over us like a warm blanket. Waking earlier than usual, our sleep disturbed by a tumult of angst, a jumble of confusion, we felt the sun squeeze through the slats of the shutters and reach towards the bed, chasing away the discord of the night like a prayer chasing away the darkness and fear. We knew that today was the day to head outside of the city for a walk or a ride, a day to revel in the second coming of summer. After what has been a melancholy, dismal season, overnight the world has seemed to shift to right.

We pulled out the bikes from the garage, loaded them into the car and headed out, deciding on a whim to pedal the Canal de la Martinière. This short 15-kilometer canal was constructed for commercial reasons in the late 19th century at a time when Nantes was a major port city. The passage from the Atlantic to Nantes was made, up until this time, by traveling the Loire River, but the Loire wasn’t always navigable nor reliable due to the seasons, tides and the constant build up of sand, and another access had to be built for the ships carrying products and goods. So a network of canals and basins was built to ease the passage of this transportation and create a waterway that was constant throughout the seasons. The canal, which would even afford access to large ships, saw an important and intense activity for about 20 years until, in 1913, technological progress allowed for a return to the Loire River for transport. The Canal became, until its re-use during WWII for naval purposes and followed by the German Occupation, simply a great boat cemetery. And finally, after a brief period of use by NATO in the Fifties, its uses were exhausted and the canal was no longer needed.

Today, we ride up the now boat-free canal, her borders dotted with lone men or fathers and sons nestled companionably amongst the reeds, fishing poles reaching deep into the water. July in France finds the roadway that lines the canal unencumbered with Sunday strollers who are to be found here in the beautiful weather of June and September. These summer months only give us the occasional group of friends out for a bit of fresh air and men decked out from head to toe in professional biking gear like some odd, local leg of the Tour de France, men still working through the month until they can join their wives and children who are already out at the beach enjoying the long summer school vacation. Today’s ride is easy, almost languorous even though it is somewhat of a physical effort.

In summer, the song sings itself.
~William Carlos Williams

We’ve never been a vacation family; you know, those who grab at each and every opportunity to pack suitcases, close up the house and head out of town to some beach spot, second home in the mountains, a fancy cruise or jazzy club. No skiing, boating or camping, no safari adventures or road trips to odd and unusual places. “School out”, unlike for most French families, does not mean bags and baggage and good-bye city, hello outdoors and sun. Nope. Neither JP nor I were raised that way. His family rarely went anywhere, the plight of true blue collar working families in those days. And my own father had only 2 weeks off every year and that meant visiting relatives, moving our family life to another home, either our grandparents’ or my aunt and uncles’. All those other weeks of school holiday were spent running in and out of the house, playing ball in the street or biking up to the public swimming pool. And time spent in the cool of the public library, reading to my heart’s content. Spending school holidays at home was a much-loved way of life.

So, needless to say, fancy holiday spots or time away for the sake of “getting away from it all” are just not part of our culture. When the boys were small and we lived in Italy, we would place them on an airplane alone and pack them off to their grandparents’ in the French countryside for the month of July where the two of us would join them in August; JP and I would enjoy the calm of summertime Milan for one month as lovers rather than as parents, a time for ourselves. That’s not to say we didn’t have some fabulous family adventures: JP and Clem took month-long trekking holidays in both France and Morocco; the four of us spent an incredible summer discovering New England, driving from the Poconos, up through New York all the way to Montreal, then back down again via Vermont, Connecticut and Long Island. Enchanting and memorable! We’ve traveled around Italy, thrilled to share culinary, historical and visual discoveries with our sons. We’ve visited New York City from top to bottom, from Brooklyn to Queens, the Bronx and Manhattan and loved every inch of it, every restaurant, monument, museum, zoo and park. Yes, we love to travel and are thrilled now that our boys want to travel and discover the world as well.

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon;
to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
~ Henry James

But vacations are best spent at home, that quiet time when the city empties out, when the French abandon their homes, apartments, markets, restaurants and streets. For those of us living in France and sticking around, spending the soothing summer months in our own apartments, a kind of Zen-like sensation settles upon the city and it is a true pleasure to take walks through the streets, window shop and stop for an ice cream without having to push our way through crowds of students, parents with small children and strollers, gaggles of teens oblivious to the world around them. No traffic slows down our occasional excursion outside the city for a walk in the vineyards or forest on the rare sunny day. No noise breaks the calming silence as we sit in our livingroom and read, windows thrown open to catch the soft breeze, weather permitting. We gather up the courage for the occasional bike ride or picnic enjoying the empty space we are sure to find. The vacation spirit descends on our city and even those of us left behind find serenity and peace from the madness of the rest of the year. We have always wondered at the number of people who feel the obvious need to escape hearth, home and city every chance they can, every weekend, every school and work holiday. We have created a home that we love filled with books, kitchen paraphernalia, our music and films and we are absolutely content. Why leave, indeed?

Yet now that Nantes is unnaturally calm and quiet, there is little to inspire me: no holidays or special events, no festivals and no bustle of young people in our home. All I want to do is curl up with a book and a cup of coffee or a bowl of bright, sweet, juicy summer fruit and a film. I am finding it difficult to gather together the energy to bake, even more difficult to find motivation and imagination to write. Summers home are slow and languorous, although both of us try and work on our many projects. Neither son is at home, so we can live the days at our own rhythm, our own pace. The house is ours and ours alone to do as we please. Yet little conducive to work and thought.

And when I do feel the urge to bake, I choose recipes that are simple and laid back, taking little effort and time to put together. I try and take advantage of the gorgeous summer fruit, the sweet nectarines and peaches, plums and berries that are now abundant on the market. There is nothing we love better than a simple coffee cake, nothing rich or heavy, no creams or frosting, no guilt-inducing chocolate to speak of. A cake light and airy yet so rich in flavor and topped with the perfect amount of fruit is truly a favorite in our house, eaten morning, afternoon and for desserts. This is truly summer at her best when, indeed, the living is easy.


My wonderful friend Abby Dodge has taken upon herself to gather us around her table, in her kitchen for a bake together. Each month she proposes a recipe and challenges each of us to bake along, twisting, tweaking and adapting the recipe, as we desire. This month she proposed a simple Summer Fruit Cake topped with berries. I turned to her cookbook, The Weekend Baker, where she had introduced the same cake with slight variations, variations that suited me just fine. I added raspberries to her lone blueberries and just about doubled the amount of fruit to create this fabulous coffee cake, redolent of warm cinnamon and bright with the sweetness of a jumble of berries. As there were only the two of us to enjoy this treasure, the cake lasted several days, and stayed moist and delicious to the last slice. We absolutely loved it and you will too! Hurry before summer ends and the berries fade away. But no need to fear, frozen berries work the charm!


Don’t miss the International Food Blogger Conference held in the grand city New Orleans 25 – 28 August. Great food, great fun, so much information and a group of incredible speakers! I will be presenting the topic Food & Culture with Pim of Chez Pim. Register now!

RASPBERRY-BLUEBERRY CINNAMON COFFEE CAKE
From The Weekend Baker by Abigail Johnson Dodge

1 1/3 cups (170 g) flour
¾ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp baking soda
¾ tsp ground cinnamon
¼ tsp salt
6 Tbs (85 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1 cup (200 g) granulated white sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla
2/3 cup sour cream (I used 3% lowfat fromage frais)

For the topping:
1 cup berries, one kind or mixed (I used slightly more than a cup of a mixture of fresh raspberries and frozen blueberries)
2 – 3 Tbs granulated brown sugar
1 Tbs flour
½ tsp ground cinnamon

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Lightly grease and flour a 9 x 2-inch (22/23 x 5-cm) round cake pan, tapping out the excess flour. I lined the bottom of the cake pan with a round of parchment paper, lightly buttering the pan then again the parchment before dusting with flour.

Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and salt in a small bowl and whisk to combine.

In a large bowl, cream together the softened butter and sugar with an electric beater until creamy, light and smooth. Beat in the eggs one at a time, adding the vanilla with the second egg. Using a rubber spatula, fold the combined dry ingredients into the butter mixture in 3 additions (in thirds), alternating with the sour cream in 2 additions, beginning and ending with dry. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 10 minutes.

Once the cake has been slipped into the oven, prepare the topping by combining the sugar, flour and cinnamon in a medium-sized bowl then toss in all the berries until evenly coated.

Once the cake has baked for the initial 10 minutes, carefully pull the pan out of the oven and sprinkle the fruit topping all over the top of the cake, trying to evenly distribute the berries. Go ahead and sprinkle on any remaining flour/sugar/cinnamon remaining in the bottom of the bowl.

Return the cake to the oven and bake for another 30 minutes or until the cake is slightly puffed, the center is set and a tester inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Remove the cake to a cooling rack and allow to cool for 10 minutes. Run a sharp knife carefully around the edges to loosen the cake from the pan and invert onto a rack, remove the parchment then invert onto a serving platter so the berries are on top. Serve warm or at room temperature.



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