CINNAMON STREUSEL COFFEE CAKE

BAKE TOGETHER FOR FRIENDSHIP


My suitcases lie open on the bedroom floor, socks strewn from one end of the bed to the other; piles of clean laundry grace my creamy carpet, begging for attention, silently crying “Me! Take me!” each time I slide through the room. We scurry around the house in preparation, counting out purchases, checking our lists, dashing to this computer or that to finish a bit of work, answer an e-mail or two. The car has been given the once, twice, thrice over, new tires installed and brakes changed. Boxes of cookies and treats both salty and sweet begin to fill the basket that accompanies us on each road trip. And the second From Plate to Page workshop hovers expectantly on the horizon, luring me with promises of excitement, adventure, learning and friendships old and new.

October means the coming of autumn, chill, crisp weather brilliant with sunshine. The leaves gently turn from jade to burnished gold and drift down lazily, elegantly from their perch, carpeting the now exposed, austere park, devoid of all greenery, nestled amid the trees. The market stalls transform from vibrant cherry and raspberry red, violet, pale apricot and bright canary to darker-hued autumn colors of garnet and aubergine, burnt orange to flame, creamy chocolate, wine to pomegranate and gold, mellowing from dazzling jewel tones to an earthier, more carnal palette. Delicate berries redolent of summer, fragrant, girlish beauties shyly baring their all to the world and curious fingertips relinquish their place to the fleshy, voluptuous, worldly women of autumn, tough old roots and gourds, thick-skinned pomegranates, figs and grapes offering teasing resistance to eager tongues or stinky, gnarled carrots, pumpkins, onions and fennel, gritty with dirt, defying tenderness.


Smirking jack-o-lanterns, pale slashes gaping across orange, eyes burning in devilish delight; ghostly apparitions gliding between houses as mysterious as graveyard silence hanging heavy as mist; noises of impish laughter drift through the darkness, strange forms flash through circles of light which drip onto the sidewalks and mischief reigns, swallowing each one of us up in some netherworld of festivity: Halloweens of my childhood come back to me as a spirit haunting. Visions of my younger brother and I treading carefully across the lawn draped in a bedsheet, coin-sized circles cut out of the white allowing us to just barely find our way come back to me with fondness and glee. Knocking on door after door, amazed at the creativity of the decorations: construction paper cats in inky black, arched backs, hissing and spitting, scarecrows of jutting straw and baggy clothes, red lights amid shadows flooding driveways, screams emanating from hidden loudspeakers; the streets where I grew up in that tiny town a joyous and terrifying carnival of surprises, children and adults alike masquerading as someone whom they were not all in the celebration of Halloween.

Young woman, I traded in the balmy evenings and warm ocean breeze of a Florida October for the foggy chill and romantic autumn season of Europe. Throughout my years in France and Italy, Halloween has taken a backseat to All Saints’ Day, the pagan festivities a far away second to the solemn religious ceremony of visiting the dead. Flowers spill out onto sidewalks and into the streets in front of every flower shop as the first of November rolls around; armloads of chrysanthemums find their way into cemeteries, brightening and soothing the sadness. In Italy, these days of Tutti i Santi and Ognissanti (All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days) are sacrosanct, families picking up the grandparents and driving miles and miles, sometimes to the other end of the country to spend a few hours at the family plot, brushing off dead leaves, discarding withered blooms and saying prayers amidst the fresh bouquets.


And bakeries are filled with seasonal treats. No candy corns nor caramel popcorn balls grace the shelves of shops, but rather Pan dei Morti: a rich, dark, earthy pastry heady with spices, infused with a multitude of flavors; cocoa, cinnamon, nuts, wine weave in and out of each mouthful, each flavor distinct yet balanced and blended together into one surprising taste, the flavor of autumn. And as you chew, the crackle of ground cookies and figs and the crunch of pine nuts remind you of dead men's bones, a sweet reminder of loved ones long gone. I miss this intriguing confection, a reminder of that Halloween period in Italy, as beloved as those long ago evenings of my girlhood spent trick or treating for a treasure trove of sweet, store-bought goodies. This is just one of autumn’s little treasures, an Italian tradition that I hold deep in my heart and which ignites memories each October.

And once again, I will be in Italy. We pack up the car, almost ready for our trip down, JP, Simon and I, heading back to our old stomping grounds, to friends who were once family, to see and breathe in the sights and sounds, the aromas and sensations that we lived day in and day out for so many years, so many years ago. They drop me off for a weekend in Tuscany where I will hug Jeanne, Meeta and Ilva once again, no doubt screaming, screeching, laughing, shedding a few tears. And then another From Plate to Page, our second, another group of eager students ready to work (no shop) for 3 full days of writing, styling, photographing, cooking, eating, talking, living. And we learn as we impart knowledge, appropriate as we share, growing together in our craft, our art, our profession during a weekend that flies by all too quickly.

And then it ends as it began, with hugs and tears and laughter and the promise to keep in touch. And my men come to scoop me up, heavy with goodies from our fabulous, generous sponsors, camera and computer overflowing with pictures, and off we go to hit the road one more time. We head up to Milan where we will visit old friends and new, stroll through this beautiful city we once knew so well and still love. We will spot changes in the décor while memories will return as shops and restaurants pop into view. And then we leave Simon for three months.


And as the temperature drops to nippy, as brilliant mornings droop to bleak afternoons, the furnace bursts to life, sweaters are tugged more closely around the body and we wander into the kitchen, pulled in, captivated by the heady scent of coffee and cajoled by the warmth of a freshly baked cake heavy with cinnamon. What better way to celebrate autumn than with a coffee cake to share with our closest friends and loved ones, simply, over a cup of something steaming hot and the latest gossip or plans for a brighter future? Abby, wonderful, warm Abby, has offered us her Cinnamon Streusel Coffee Cake for our October Bake Together adventure, an event to share with friends countries and continents apart.


Please find the recipe for this fabulous Cinnamon Streusel Coffee Cake on Abby’s blog HERE… and follow her so you, too, can join in on our monthly Bake Together! And keep posted on all our Bake Together treats and results on Twitter with the hashtag #baketogether. (Nota bene: I replaced the sour cream in the recipe with buttermilk)


And for all those who could not make our second From Plate to Page Workshop in Tuscany, you can join us live as it happens through Twitter by using the hashtag #plate2page. And for all workshop impressions as well as updates and news on all future workshops, please visit our Plate to Page website and sign up for e-mail alerts! Don’t miss anything!


And please visit the Plate to Page website blog for our latest three guest posts in our on-going series featuring fabulous, talented professional food stylists, photographers and writers. This month, Cape Town food writer and journalist Sam Woulidge, Chicago-based Prop Stylist Paula Walters and Seattle-based food stylist and photographer Kelly Cline each share their personal and professional journey as well as thoughts, insights and advice on each of their professions.

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COCOA MACARONS FOR PINK OCTOBER

AND A THOUGHT…

No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it to anyone else.
~ Charles Dickens

Sometimes occasions come around that inspire the need to take action. We have each done our part, made a gesture no matter how small, to bring about awareness for a good cause or donated money, goods or time to help someone in need. From leaving a pile of old coats and cuddly sweaters for the homeless person who lives in a makeshift shack outside of Paris as winter sets in to dropping a few coins in a hat on a street corner, from purchasing too many boxes of cookies from the adorable daughter of our next door neighbor to making phone calls for our candidate of choice, from taking to the streets to giving our time in a shelter, we have all made an effort. Now, as I sit at my laptop in the comfort of my own home, surrounded by my family (listening to my husband and son chatter together amid the noise of puttering) and enjoying good health, I think of those close to my heart who have suffered at the hands of one evil or another. I have sat with one of my college roommates as she received chemo; I have spent hours upon hours, weeks and months listening to the labored words of my husband as he had to make decisions on his own father’s behalf; I have telephoned my cousin to tell her about my brother’s illness and death only to end up discussing her own brave fight against breast cancer; I have been stunned and amazed by the courageous behavior of two very close friends made through the internet as they face their own struggle with cancer, blown away by their humor and grace in dealing with something so dreadful. I have lost my own father and brother to an illness still, sadly, without a cure.

A day wasted on others is not wasted on one's self.
~ Charles Dickens

It is Pink October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I cannot but remember the two times I entered a clinic to have lumps removed, confused, stunned and trying to deal with the fear of the unknown. I was one of the lucky ones, educated, informed and having the means with which to do something about it. Others are not so lucky, like the poor woman I found standing in front of the banks of elevators at the Breast Clinic in Manhattan, alone, hysterical, crying for help as the tears coursed down her cheeks, one woman, one moment that is seared into my memory. And I know that no matter how small and insignificant my words or my actions, if I can reach out and help one person or be the means of educating one single man or woman then I will feel as if I have made a difference. Deeba and I selected Pink October as our monthly Mac Attack Challenge theme for the second year in a row. We understand the importance, the urgency of spreading the awareness of this still incurable disease. We understand that there is still a long way to go not only in research and finding that cure, but in simply making more women (and men) aware, educating them that they have the power to anticipate, screen themselves as I did those many long years ago, and at least begin to take matters into their own hands and help themselves.

Keep love in your heart.
A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.
~ Oscar Wilde

Pink is the color of October. Now, one thing that I have learned along the way is that a most crucial element in dealing with a challenge such as an illness is friendship. Kind words. A hug. Support, encouragement and laughter. Sharing the burden just a little, making us forget the pain and worry for even a few minutes or a few hours. Chocolate and chick lit where a chick flick isn’t possible, when distance divides. And baking together. From Mactweets, where we gather together each month a bevy of Macpassionate bakers in our virtual Macaron Kitchen to Bake Together where Abby Dodge offers us her recipes, shares her love of baking, her encouragement and her own virtual kitchen to bake together across space, miles and continents, there is always a place for the healing power of friendship, camaraderie and conviviality. And food.

I will share two recipes from these two groups that offer each of us a way to spend just a little time with friends, to spread laughter, help each other face challenges whether in baking or in life, a way to get to know each other a little better and widen our circle of friends and support. This is one reason we have all come to food blogging, knowing that we will meet like-minded souls, many of whom will become allies and companions, collaborators and mentors, friends with whom we can share our woes and successes, our knowledge and our support. Today I offer you… French Macarons for Pinktober! As I have only one macaron eater chez moi and he really loves my chocolate macs the best, I have used my regular recipe, adding 1 tablespoon cocoa powder to the dry ingredients and about ¼ teaspoon pink food coloring paste whipped into the stiff egg whites to get a cocoa macaron with a faint pink tinge. I sprinkled the shells with candied rose petal bits or cherry-flavored sugar crystals then sandwiched the halves together with a thick, rich semisweet chocolate ganache swirled with a dab of my favorite cherry jam. Luscious…to be eaten in moderation. And with a friend or two.


Please find the basic and my favorite Chocolate Macaron recipe and well as the best Chocolate Ganache filling HERE. Adjust to taste by adding cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla or any other flavored sugar as you please.


And this month of October: THINK PINK!


Follow Deeba and I on our monthly macaron adventures on the Mactweets blog. And join along, the more the merrier, and see how baking together ignites your creativity, inspires your imagination, gives you courage to try and laughter when you fail… and a whole lot of new friends.



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CAFÉ LATTE RIZ AU LAIT

BEWITCHED


A secret vice, stolen moments, the giddy covert activities of a schoolgirl usually so well behaved and never naughty. The second her back was turned, up I would steal, silently, invisible to her ever-watchful eye and snatch mouthfuls, long pulls on a straw or sips grabbed by stealth while ice cubes pressed up against my hungry, eager lips, threatening to clatter against the glass, tumble out and give me away. There was something magical, alluring about those tall, dreamy iced coffees my mother would fix herself. How I detested the bitter taste of her morning coffee, yet how I loved the creamy, sugary goodness of these summer afternoon libations she prepared only for herself: a splash of coffee, rich with milk, ever so sweet like coffee ice cream or candies popped in your mouth surreptitiously, frosty with ice cubes galore clinking and jiggling so elegantly against the glass. She protected those summer treats like a mama bear protecting her young against scavengers and outside intruders, so I was reduced to snatching gulps each time she stepped away, leaving that bewitching glass of heaven unattended, ignored. Try as I might, no matter how small I made myself, hanging around nonchalantly, inconspicuous in a corner of the kitchen, waiting, she always knew what I was up to and the warning came out sharp and business-like… “Stay away from my iced coffee!”


Yes, this was the only form I could or would take my coffee, until those heady years of college when drinking pot after pot of strong, aromatic coffee in some all-night diner became a ritual. Thick white ceramic mugs placed in front of each one of us, my girlfriends and I, and that silver coffee pot crowned by swirls of steam passed from hand to hand. Sugar, milk and a plateful of thick, dense, hot homebaked southern biscuits washed down with our now favorite addiction. The taste for coffee came upon me gradually, so long averse to the disagreeable acrid flavor in those freshman years. Friday or Saturday nights after hours, after parties, after girls’ nights in, slipping away to spend a few hours under the harsh lights of our favorite joint, hard wooden benches and sticky tabletops only adding to the charm and devilry, coffee and laughter just seemed to be a part of the sweet memories.

Did it take weeks or months to develop an inclination, nay, an overwhelming appetite for the dark, bitter brew? When did I develop a partiality, an absolute weakness for coffee? Even after all those years of iced, my predilection soon became for the hot, nearly scorching… I was once told a story that my great-great grandfather drank cup after cup of scalding tea, the hotter the better and I sometimes wonder if this tendency, this veritable need for my liquid to be hotter than hot is genetic somehow. Yes, one will rarely find me drinking iced coffee these days; pour it hot, halfway up the side of the mug, if you please, allowing room for scalding milk. Hot and milky and just a tad sweet, a third of a small, rectangular cube, more to caress, enhance and accentuate the exotic, troublesome, delightfully severe flavor of coffee than overpower it.


Which brings me to my love for all things coffee. Shall I condemn those long-ago purloined sips of mother’s frothy, chilly drink or those crazy, joyous, giggly, tipsy evenings out on the town with my best friends? Shall I blame it all on nights spent sitting with the girls, gossiping, bemoaning our single state and complaining about men, spoons stuck out of pints of luxurious, silky, frosty coffee Hagen Dazs like so many invitations to serenity? Coffee-drenched ladyfingers the crowning glory of luscious Tiramisu; cool Panna Cotta like a smooth, velvety café au lait; espresso-drunk chocolate genoise, dense and moist, the perfect backdrop for a rich mocha frosting; a nutty layer of meringue kissed by the earthy fragrance of the bean, the perfect, crispy, lightest of dacquoise, cradling froths of cream like an edible, ethereal cappuccino… My pleasure, my weakness, my downfall… Do I, one must ask, break more easily under the temptation of chocolate or coffee? Coffee or chocolate? Chocolate, I must admit when pressed just a bit too adamantly, was my first love, seducing me oh so easily with that first taste. My knees still go weak, my heart pounds, my tastebuds tingle to life when the exhilarating, inebriating odor encircles my senses, that first sensation as it touches my lips, my tongue, whether dark or light, crispy, crunchy, gooey, or smooth it knocks me over and I am enslaved. Yet, yet… coffee is my very adult addiction, learning to love the provocative brew as I stood on the threshold of womanhood, discovering the two as one and I was moved to intoxication.

Riz au Lait is a simple, homey favorite reminiscent of childhood and nursery, the verdant French countryside and afternoons curled up in front of a roaring fire with a good book, comfort food at its best. Espresso kicks it up a notch, giving an adult twist to an old treasured family treat. Make it creamy and just sweet enough and the fascination takes hold, my subjugation to this magical potion complete.


CAFÉ LATTE RIZ AU LAIT
Coffee-Flavored Rice Pudding for 6 to 8

7 oz (200 g) uncooked rice for risotto or pudding
3 ½ cups (850 ml) whole milk or half low-fat milk + half light or heavy cream
½ cup (100 g) sugar or to taste
1 Tbs + 1 tsp (about 5 g) instant powdered espresso
1 vanilla bean
Pinch of salt
1 Tbs (15 g) unsalted butter

Place the rice in a colander with tiny holes (so as not to lose any rice out the bottom!) and rinse under running water until the water runs clear. Drain.

Place the rinsed rice in a saucepan and cover generously with water; bring the water to a boil and allow to boil for 5 minutes. Drain the rice.

Return the drained rice to a medium-sized saucepan with the whole milk (or half low-fat milk and half cream), 1 tablespoon of the sugar, the espresso powder and a pinch of salt. Using a small, sharp knife split the vanilla bean down the center and scrape out all of the seeds. Add both the seeds and the pod to the other ingredients in the saucepan. Bring it just up to the boil and then immediately turn the heat down to very low and, placing a cover atop the saucepan but leaving it ajar, allow the pudding to simmer, stirring very often, for 30 to 35 minutes or until the rice has absorbed almost all of the liquid. The rice should be very soft almost melting in the mouth, not al dente. The pudding should be creamy, neither runny nor dry.

Remove the saucepan from the heat and remove and discard the vanilla bean pod. Stir in the tablespoon of butter and about 2 tablespoons of the remaining sugar. Taste and add as much of the remaining sugar until desired sweetness. Spoon into individual serving dishes, glasses or bowls.

Top with heavy cream, either a drizzle or a dollop of whipped. Dust with a tad of cocoa powder.

Riz au Lait is best eaten warm but this particular pudding is delicious at room temperature and even stays creamy when chilled (if, for example, there are any leftovers).


And for CAFFÉ CORRETTO RIZ AU LAIT, simply stir in a tablespoon or two (or three) of Amaretto or coffee-flavored liqueur at the end of cooking to taste.




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INDIVIDUAL APPLE UPSIDE DOWN CAKES WITH SALTED BUTTER CARAMEL

HOMEBAKED WITH LOVE...AND CONVENIENCE


When I was a girl way back when (way back in the Dark Ages, as my sons love to remind me), homemade snacks, baked with care and attention, started their very short life in a box, can or plastic container. Cakes and brownies were fine powder smelling sweetly of chocolate or heady with vanilla, blended ever so lovingly with an egg * crack * whacked sharply against the edge of the mixing bowl, a splash of milk until a thick, luscious batter ribboned down into the largest baking pan we had. Pudding rich and creamy was born of the same exquisite dust, creating as if by magic the most velvety of desserts by the mere addition of milk. Cans popped open revealed swirls of sumptuous frosting and the scritch of a plastic lid being peeled back from a dense white tub exposed a flourish of luxurious, elegant whipped topping. Four basic ingredients, if you will, which, when combined, made for an abundance of wonderful, delicious desserts, treats prepared from the heart.

As we grew a bit older, still under the mysterious influence of the Powers That Be during that long ago age of the newfangled, Space Age era of gadget cooking, the fascination with all things packaged, we celebrated this new form of convenience cooking and dining by whipping up Tuna Noodle Casserole, a recipe learned in the Girl Scouts, with canned tuna and cream of mushroom soup and topped with crushed potato chips; lovely, shimmering jello molded into something so elegant, studded with jewels of canned fruit; after-school snacks made with melted marshmallows and our favorite cereals; fabulous, flavorful Surprise Burgers made delicious for our grade school selves with jarred spaghetti sauce and a slice of processed cheese in all of its day-glo glory! Ah, the food of the Sixties.


And the food of the Space Age Sixties morphed gently into the food of the dyn-o-mite, jumping Seventies. The variety of treats that could be whipped up in a matter of minutes or just a few more from the boxed and the bagged was beyond our wildest dreams and we loved it all. It was stuffed with chemicals and laden with high fructose corn syrup but what did we know or care? It was the height of a thoroughly modern food revolution, a time of convenience when our hours could be better spent playing outside, going to club meetings or doing homework. Our moms (or, well, my mom) loved the ease and my dad loved the rapidity and, quite simply, we loved the flavor. We had been tentatively stepping over the edge into from-scratch baking, trying out muffins, cookies and even candy that we had learned in Home Economics or youth group outings, but the boxed mixes turned out such perfect, tasty treats every time, why bother? And the grocery store shelves were groaning under a veritable cornucopia of fabulous, flavorful goodies that were just screaming to be bought, taken home and tasted. Our creativity and imagination knew no bounds with such an abundance of sweets and ready-to-eat-and-bake to choose from.

So maybe it is because I have grown up. My years of discovery and travel have turned on my curiosity in such a way that the pre-packaged have little charm for me anymore except as an occasional jaunt back into my childhood, a decadent little sinful eating in the privacy of my own bedroom. Or maybe my palate has evolved, becoming accustomed to French and Italian tastes so that foodstuffs like American candies, packaged cookies, flavored yogurts and even cake mixes taste cloyingly sweet with an odd chemical aftertaste. Or maybe having lived in Europe where for years there really was no pre-packaged, boxed or canned and all baking was either picked up at the corner bakery or homemade from scratch. But over the years as a gourmande, a wife, mother and friend who loves nothing better than offering a cake, cookies or a pie, sharing the love and spreading the smiles, I have discovered the joys and pleasure of homebaking with flour, butter, cream, eggs and bars of chocolate.


Yes, once in a while I’ll buy a box of chocolate chip cookies (LU of course!) or chocolate-covered marshmallows if I am feeling rather decadent or need the comforting blanket of childhood memories, but would I ever use one or the other as the basis of a home-baked treat for my family? Or even a boxed cake mix? What is the point when whipping up something from scratch is so easy? If I have the time and the energy, I will create something spectacular, a baked good both time consuming and demanding patience. But no time on my hands? Sons begging for a sweet snack or breakfast tout de suite? There are so many easy, one-bowl favorites that take the same amount of time as boxed. And if I want a fun family activity, a day spent baking with my children (when they were small, of course)? Why assume that they will only eat something made with overly sweet children’s cereal or candies from a plastic bag?

You see, I bring this all up because I am rather stunned and confused at the deluge of everything from Rice Krispie Treats made with every possible high sugar breakfast cereal on the market to my favorite dessert, the ambrosial, heavenly Italian Tiramisu made not with delicate ladyfingers but Twinkies, as just two examples, all over apparently highly-respected or at least much-talked-about, popular food blogs! Cakes made from boxed mixes and even canned frosting grace the posts of more than one Big Name food blog. Baked goods and after-school treats stuffed with Oreos and candy bars. Call me a food snob, if you will, but I don’t get it. Haven’t we moved on? Don’t we in the food blogging world have the desire and the goal to achieve something healthier, tastier, slightly more elevated than what my own parents made 40 years ago when all of this was new and exciting? We have knowledge and information at our fingertips, we have time and all the necessary cooking utensils so why not use it all towards something a tad more noble?


As fun as the Rice Krispie treats of our childhood are, can’t we have our children baking something healthier or at least something with real flour, sugar, eggs and milk? I remember bumping into a very good French friend of mine whose daughters I tutored in English at our local public library many years ago. I was browsing through the very large English language video collection, looking for more films to watch with my sons and she asked me to recommend one or two that she could play for her daughters to help with their English. I suggested a few of our favorites, all old black & white flicks, explaining to her that the old films had plainer, simpler language that was much easier to understand than recent cartoons – the kind her kids watched on tv – which were full of slang, confusing conversations and was much too speedy and fast paced for them to capture what was being said. She looked at me in horror exclaiming, “My girls won’t watch old black & white movies!!” As so many parents are when it comes to food. Are so many moms and dads stuck in a time warp, longing to offer their children what they enjoyed as kids or are they simply hanging onto old traditions and wives tales, believing that their children will only eat the over-processed, overly sweet foods of our own youth before we knew any better? My lovely friend Lael wrote an article about baking French macarons from scratch with her daughters. Lora the Cake Duchess recently showed her children happily making cookies while my own sons started with one-bowl chocolate cake, chocolate chip banana bread and Tiramisu. No brainers, really, wouldn’t you say?

So what the fascination with retro baking? Some may imagine that starting with a boxed cake mix is easier than starting from scratch. Or cheaper. Some may believe that children will only eat snack foods stuffed with candy corns and high fructose corn syrup or that Twinkies can replace ladyfingers for an exciting new taste sensation. Or maybe some think that baking from scratch is complicated, messy and time consuming. Or impossible. But this is simply not true, a series of myths that the food blogger must battle to break. I have several friends who had never baked a cake from scratch in their life yet made my one-bowl wonders with great success. Friends of my son began baking my brownies, quick breads and snack cakes while still in high school and all on their own and loved it all.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand the dilemma so many of us working folk and/or parents often find ourselves in when in need of a quick dessert or in front of demanding, hyperactive kids in need of an afternoon activity or a treat. I understand the attractiveness of “quick and easy”; of having no time yet the desire to offer my family something homemade and from the heart, the “short on dollars and time” argument. Yes, I do. I also understand the joy and the fun of getting the children involved in a family fun project and interested in cooking. And I even get the whole “let’s get the girlfriends over for movie night and a fun snack” bit. But, really? Rice Krispie treats? To be honest, there are so many fabulous, fast and easy recipes one can make to create a warm, wonderful homemade snack that is pure, delicious and sure to be loved by one and all.


And I have one for you! And in only four individual portions it is the perfect snack to whip up when you don’t want or need leftover cakes or cookies hanging around. Apples and salted butter caramel sauce make this a luscious autumn snack or dessert and it is both simple and fast. And so much better than a Rice Krispie treat. In my own humble opinion.




INDIVIDUAL APPLE UPSIDE DOWN CAKES
Served with Salted Butter Caramel Sauce

These cakes are dense, moist and fragrant, filled with a wonderful, warm touch of cinnamon and the fruitiness of the apples. The perfect autumn snack and wonderful to serve on girls’ night in front of a chick flick or as a family dessert or a snack with the kids. Easy and fast with all the satisfaction and goodness of homemade.

¼ cup (60 ml) water
2 – 3 Tbs granulated brown sugar
1 large apple, peeled, cored and diced

3 Tbs (45 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1/3 cup (70 g) granulated white sugar
1 large egg
¾ cup (105 g) self-rising flour
¼ tsp ground cinnamon
¼ cup (60 ml) milk

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Butter 4 individual molds, each able to hold about 2/3 cups (150-160 ml).

Place the water and brown sugar in a skillet and heat until the sugar is melted and the mixture begins to bubble or steam. Added the chopped or diced apple and cook, stirring, for 10 - 12 minutes and the apple is tender and beginning to caramelize. Divide the cooked apple into the four molds.

Cream the butter and sugar in a medium-sized mixing bowl until blended and fluffy. Add the egg and continue beating until thick and pale. Blend in the milk and finally the self-rising flour and cinnamon. Beat until smooth. Divide the batter evenly between the four molds on top of the apples.

Place the molds on a baking sheet and bake for 20 – 25 minutes until the top is golden, the cake set and a tester inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from the oven, carefully lift or slide the molds off the baking sheet onto a cooling rack and allow to cool.

Carefully slide a sharp knife around each cake to loosen from the mold and invert onto a dessert place. Drizzle each cake with as little or as much Salted Butter Caramel Sauce as desired. Serve immediately.



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PEA, MINT & FETA RISOTTO WITH ROASTED TOMATOES AND PARMESAN SCONES

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY...


Fall rain is somehow different from summer rain. June and July were unusually chilly, the days of bright sun alternating with dreary gray, intermittent with rain. We stayed crouched in front of the television, waiting impatiently to begin living the walks and outings, the promises of summer, as we usually do this time of year. And then, as quickly as it disappeared, the sun would make a return appearance and we would enjoy a few more days of lovely weather, as if the rain simply rushed through to cleanse and refresh. Then off I flew to the States where I was greeted by the scorching heat, heat seeping under my skin, clothing pressing to my body like unwanted hands holding tight, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps each time I stepped over the threshold. The heat in Oman was heavier on the skin, pressing, harassing, choking, all the more so for the long sleeves we wore. Short bursts outside followed necessarily by cooling breaks indoors or in the Gulf breeze, icy lemon mint drink in hand.

Gorgeous, welcoming days of autumn fluttered around me upon my return to France. Comforting, cajoling with the promise of long strolls followed by picnics, moods refreshed. Yet since this weekend we sit shivering in the damp chill of the apartment, Marty pacing back and forth between hallway and living room searching desperately for a much-needed and expected ray of sunlight splashing across the carpet, his usual spot for a snooze. To no avail. We scooch on an extra layer of sweaters, sauté onions to be slipped into simmering broth sweetened by warm, plump golden raisins and ladle the liquid gold over steaming couscous, cupping our hands around the toasty bowl as we breathe in the fragrant wisps of comfort. The rain of autumn is unrelenting in its harshness, its all-encompassing moodiness envelops us in dark thoughts, our limbs heavy, our brains soft. No glimmer of hope in a fall drizzle, no hint of sun waiting patiently in the wings. We stare out the window and think that it will never, ever end.


Today, as I glance out at the pewter sky, rooftops hazy in the thick, heavy gloom, I try and conjure up autumns past. Our trip to Italy looms on the horizon, and I am sorely praying for a truly Tuscan autumn. Leaves turning to gold and burnished red, flaming orange pumpkins, porcini and chestnuts in hues of chocolate snuggled side by side with deep purple figs in a festive embrace. Autumn’s colors are romantically deep and moody, the rustle of leaves and the breeze tickling our senses with mystery. Oh, we had rain in Italy, torrential rain, but I choose to remember the beauty that surrounded me on those special days of cool sunshine, impeccably dressed men and women hurrying down Corso Vercelli or heaps upon heaps of artichokes green, jade, violet threatening to tumble from market stalls; the heady scent of Parmesan in tremendous wheels, smoked scamorza and taleggio as Franco and Vittorio shout Buon Giorno! Come Stai? from the brightly lit area behind the chilly cases; as the tortellini and ravioli turn to pumpkin and mushroom and deep purple grapes hang in elegant bunches from the dark foliage spread across our terrace. Yes, the furs and quilted jackets come out, the sun is brilliant and the smell of chestnuts haunts us from every street corner. That is my autumn.

But as the weather turns unexpectedly in its precipitation, I wonder at the urgency, the need to skip entirely over gentle summer, an entire season. I long not for the searing, seething heat of New Orleans, Florida or Oman, but the quiet warmth of the ideal summer, of long days with windows flung open, feet up, our moods as relaxed and calm as the weather. I dream not of a torrid, aggressive, sweltering canicule as we have know so well in another life, but a temperate, peaceful turning towards autumn. Suitcases emptied of beachwear and shorts; sandals flung into the closet as sunglasses are tucked into etuis, I have been digging out thicker knits, shrugging on fleece and trying to squeeze into trousers not worn for a year. Happily, we drive down to Italy so I can stuff my biggest suitcase with a wide selection of summery, fall and cold weather outfits, shoes and coats galore, whatever I might possibly need. But I pray for a cold, crisp, bright autumn. And the food that goes with it.


But for now, until them, I hold onto summer in the kitchen. The bright reds, greens and brilliant white of the clean, fresh foods of a hot weather season bring cheer to the gloom, warmth to the icy bleakness and visions of Mediterranean islands. Slow roasted cherry tomatoes are fruity and smoky, peas sweet and tender, aromatic mint a breath of outdoors, feta adding saltiness and zing to salads, pizzas and pasta. I bring the three together in a dish to warm us up on a chilly day in a damp apartment and it works wonders! Risotto is soothing and comforting and I pop the traditional Risi e Bisi (Rice and Kisses), Pea Risotto, by adding lots of chopped fresh mint and crumbled feta to the mix instead of parsley and Parmesan and serve it with sweet, tangy roasted cherry tomatoes, an extra flavor boost. Served with fluffy scones rich with Parmesan cheese and a bottle of red wine and the meal is complete. And we sit back, warmed and satisfied and dream of Italy.


Don’t miss my latest article on Huffington Post Food in which I analyze The Disappearing Pause Déjeuner, a veritable family tradition in France.

And if you haven’t yet voted, there is still time. Life’s a Feast is up for a Blogger’s Choice Award in the category Best Food Blog. Every vote counts and I would greatly appreciate yours!


Last but certainly not least, visit our new From Plate to Page website. Keep up to date on our workshops and don’t miss one single guest post from our illustrious and talented guests, each a professional food writer, stylist or photographer, who have come to Plate to Page to generously share their story, experiences and views on the evolution of their profession.


PEA, MINT & FETA RISOTTO WITH ROASTED CHERRY TOMATOES


1 small onion, finely diced
3 Tbs (45 g) unsalted butter
1 Tbs olive oil
1 ½ - 2 cups young, tiny sweet peas, fresh or frozen
@ 5 cups (1 ½ litres) chicken or vegetable stock, warm
9 oz (250 g) round rice for risotto, Arborio, Vialone Nano or Carnaroli
Handful of chopped fresh mint
3.5 – 5 oz (100 – 150 g) chopped or crumbled Greek feta
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Firm cherry tomatoes, about 4 or 5 per person
2 Tbs olive oil
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
3 peeled and crushed (not chopped) garlic cloves
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Begin by roasting the cherry tomatoes:

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Place the individual quiche tins on a baking sheet.

Stir together 2 tablespoons olive oil with 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar in a glass baking dish or pie plate. Season with a little salt and pepper and add 2 peeled and crushed garlic cloves. Toss the cherry tomatoes into the flavored oil and roast for about 20 minutes or until the skins are split and shriveled and the tomatoes start to show signs of roasting (a bit golden). If you like, turn on the overhead grill for the last couple of minutes to color. Remove from the oven and allow to cool while preparing the rest.

Prepare the Risotto:

Heat half the butter and the olive oil in a large skillet. Add the chopped onion and, stirring, cook for a couple of minutes until softened and just starting to turn golden. Add the peas and a few tablespoons of the warm stock and cook for a few minutes to defrost the frozen peas or up to 10 minutes for fresh peas until tender.

Add the rice and toss with the shallots and peas until all the grains are coated in oil. Cook for a minute or two until the grains of rice become more translucent. Pour on two ladlefuls of broth and cook, stirring continuously and gently, until the liquid is almost completely absorbed. Continue cooking the risotto over medium heat, adding 2 ladlefuls of broth at a time, stirring constantly and allowing each addition of liquid to be almost absorbed before adding more broth. This should take between 20 and 25 minutes total cooking time from the moment the rice is added to the peas.

A few minutes before the rice is done, stir in a large handful of chopped fresh mint and the chopped or crumbled feta, more or less as you please. Taste and add a bit of salt only as needed – the stock and the feta are both salty so taste to see if any additional salt is necessary. Add pepper.

When the risotto is finished, the rice should be meltingly tender, the risotto creamy and smooth. Remove from the heat and stir in the remaining butter. Serve with the warm roasted cherry tomatoes and the Parmesan Scones.


PARMESAN SCONES
Adapted from the Sept-Oct 2011 French Saveurs magazine


10 ½ oz (300 g) flour
1 sachet (0.4 oz/11 g) baking powder
1 tsp salt
7/8 cup (200 ml) heavy cream
3 ½ oz (100 g) grated Parmesan
2 Tbs milk for brushing the tops of the scones

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Blend the flour, baking powder, salt and grated Parmesan cheese together in a mixing bowl and make a well in the center. Pour the cream into the well and, using a fork, stir together rapidly until the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough begins pulling together. Scrape out onto a floured surface and knead quickly until the dough is smooth and homogenous.

Roll out the dough to a thickness of about ¾ - 1 inch but no more (about 1 ½ - 2 cm) and use a biscuit cutter to cut rounds about 2 inches wide (about 5 cm). Place the rounds of dough on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet, gather the rest of the dough together, roll out again, and finish cutting into rounds.

Lightly brush the tops of each scone with milk and bake for 15 minutes until puffed up and the tops are golden. Remove from the oven and allow to cool just a bit before serving. With butter, of course.



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BAKED CHOCOLATE TARTLETS WITH SALTED BUTTER CARAMEL SAUCE

STARTING OVER – STEP 4 (DARE!)

Your work is going to fill a large part of your life,
and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work.
And the only way to do great work is to love what you do.
- Steve Jobs

“I’m exhausted,” he sighs as he plops down onto the sofa and rhythmically begins rubbing his temples, weariness spread across his entire body. “I don’t know up from down and the Rat Race just makes me crazy!” Looking for comfort, a bit of reassurance and maybe one of her good, old-fashioned pep talks, he waits for her to decide what to say. Ironing, when not baking, has always been her way to center herself, focus her thoughts and clear her head, and once again he finds her in the corner of the livingroom, steam curling around her head, ready to listen. You see, instead of taking a much-needed and deserved six-month’s rest, he dove right in, grabbing at projects right and left, trying his hand and heart at this and that, looking for the perfect fit, the next step in his starting over.

Back and forth, back and forth; her arm follows the path of the iron hypnotically. With each wrinkle of the smooth cloth that disappears under the searing pressure, so goes a wrinkle of stress, a spot of confusion, one pessimistic thought. She glances his way but briefly, yearning to make a connection yet avoiding direct eye contact – his eyes, though, are turned towards the window, staring off into some hazy distance on the horizon – and begins listing for him all of their accomplishments, reminding him of their dreams. She goes on, discoursing on how this crazy, modern world and all of those sadly caught up in the rules and limitations set by some noisy majority, a crowd of strangers out to instill a sense of guilt and self-castigation, mean little to them and those willing to live by their own set of rules and happiness. “This is our adventure!” she exclaims. “You know deep down that it will be all right. We are on the right track.” Her soothing voice reaches towards him, ringing an odd but savory truth. And he pushes himself up and gets back to work. She turns off the iron, calmer now, and…


And she got right into the rhythm, inspired by his work ethic and stick-to-itiveness: she succeeded in putting herself on a schedule (sort of), fixing goals and deadlines (mostly kept), staying off of social media and away from her friends during her working hours (well….) and actually getting things done (yes!). After a month, a very long month away, she is buckling down, with his tacit encouragement and his calming presence (not to mention his iron eye) and has begun to attend to her work seriously: writing and submitting, magazine articles, recipes, book projects and proposals. Nose to the grindstone, she is surprised when she gets to the end of her day, crawling between the cool sheets, and realizes that she accomplished what she had set out to do. She smiles to herself, half satisfied, and mentally notes what she will attempt tomorrow.

Your time is limited so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.
- Steve Jobs

We are all home together again, JP and I and both the boys. And Marty, happy dog. Somehow, now that the boys are grown, they are less reluctant to spend an evening in with the parents, one big happy family. We are back to cooking meals, real meals, and eating at the kitchen table, discussing projects and plans, trips and school. With, of course, the occasional pizza dinner in front of a good (or not so good) movie. Mealtime as a family has always been our strong point, as odd a family as we are with our rather unconventional lifestyle. Through thick and thin, adolescent doldrums, arguments and disagreements, come rain or shine we have always gathered around the dinner table of an evening, neutral territory. Leaving our differences behind, we come to the meal ready to chat, laugh and learn. The topics are anything that we dream of: tales of country, king and wars; stories of school, work or people; memories of time shared, spent or traveled; places seen, experienced and lived.

Simon has been gone for a year and a half, Clem for two months and I for one. As things slowly return to normal, the two remaining are pulled out of their slump and things begin to find their rhythm. JP and I are neck deep in our individual projects, Clem is back to school and work fulltime after an exciting and successful summer interning, designing, creating, networking, hobnobbing. Simon, finally returned from his volunteer stint in New Orleans and then Florida where he has been taking care of his grandmother and her dog, has been researching, planning and organizing the next stage of his life. So we have all been busy, busy, busy. And now, on top of everything, we are planning our drive down to Italy where I am headed to From Plate to Page and where we will be leaving Simon for an internship in Milan.


I haven’t had the time to update our personal travelogue, my heartfelt, comforting advice on Starting Over… but believe me, we have been rushing madly forward, devising plans, working on several projects in parallel, our fingers in so many pies. Something, anything has got to click. And it will. Like cats, we always tend to fall on our feet and what is life if not an adventure? You see, I’ve been overseeing my home, rearranging what was disarranged while I was away, helping to get Simon on his feet through careful negotiation, some loud arguments, weighing options, group decisions and gentle hand holding. I listen to JP as he recounts tales of his research or clinical adventures, lets off steam or discusses opportunities. I do laundry while waiting for ideas to gestate and take form, drink coffee and eat cake while thumbing through a mindless novel when I need to refuel or frustration needs to be fended off, and I write. And write. And write. Happily and oh so luckily I have girlfriends out there in the world who support me, encourage me, advise and inform me. We all need guidance and kind words, and that is part of Step 4…for who can Start Over if one doesn’t dare….dare to venture out into worlds unknown, reach out and make new contacts, call attention to oneself? He is doing it as well as I, each in our own domains and our own ways.

Chocolate is a perfect food, as wholesome as it is delicious, a beneficent restorer of exhausted power. It is the best friend of those engaged in literary pursuits.
- Baron Justus von Liebig

And in between my many projects, my writing, Plate to Page planning and organizing, I have been pulling myself out of a slump both writing and baking. Man, as they say, cannot live on bread alone and that usually means chocolate. Back in the mood to bake, I have been pampering my family with sweet treats almost everyday. Macarons, Pecan Caramel Chocolate Cake, fudgy brownies (to come) and they have been gobbling it all up, pleased as punch that crazy mom and her endless baking are back! And with all of our projects, we certainly need to refuel and all the good things chocolate does to body and soul are the ideal nourishment.

It has been shown as proof positive that carefully prepared chocolate is as healthful a food as it is pleasant; that it is nourishing and easily digested...
that it is above all helpful to people who must do a great deal of mental work.
- Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

An absolutely stunning recipe, my Baked Chocolate Tartlets begin with a tender, delicate, perfect pie crust based on the French style of replacing granulated sugar with powdered and adding milk to the egg used to bind the dry ingredients into a dough. The filling is mousse-like, light and airy from whipping then brief baking, melting on the tongue in an ethereal cloud yet deep in chocolate flavor like a brownie or flourless cake. And serve these scrumptious, elegant tartlets with a classic Salted Butter Caramel Sauce, a local tradition, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, a dollop of whipped cream or simply with a dusting of powdered sugar. Perfect. Just perfect.


BAKED CHOCOLATE TARTLETS WITH SALTED BUTTER CARAMEL SAUCE

For the Pie Crust:

1 ¾ cups (250 g) flour
1/3 cup (40 g) powdered/icing sugar
8 Tbs (115 g) unsalted butter, slightly softened, cubed
1 large egg yolks
Scant ¼ cup (50 ml) milk, slightly more if needed

Sift or whisk together the flour and powdered sugar in a large mixing bowl. Drop in the cubes of butter and, using the tips of your fingers and thumb, rub the butter and flour together quickly until all of the butter is blended in and there are no more lumps. Add the egg yolk and the milk and, using a fork, blend vigorously until all of the flour/sugar/butter mixture is moistened and starts to pull together into a dough.

Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface and, using the heel of one hand, smear the dough inch by inch away from you in short, hard, quick movements; this will completely blend the butter in. Scrape up the smeared dough and, working very quickly, gently knead into a smooth, homogeneous ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 to 30 minutes.

Lightly grease with butter the sides and bottoms of 6 individual tartlet tins (4 to 4 ¼ inches/ 10 ½ to 11 cm wide) and place the prepared tins on a baking sheet.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and unwrap. Working on a floured surface and with the top of the dough kept lightly floured to keep it from sticking to the rolling pin, roll out the dough and line the tins by gently lifting in and pressing down the dough. Trim the edges. Cover the baking tray with the lined tins with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes. This can also be done ahead of time.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Remove the baking tray from the refrigerator and discard the plastic wrap. Cut or tear squares of parchment paper larger than each tin. Prick each tartlet shell with a fork (not too hard or deep as you don’t want holes going all the way through the dough) and place a square or parchment over each. Weigh down the parchment with pastry weights or dried beans, pushing the beans into the corners. Bake for 15 minutes. Remove from the oven, carefully lift out the parchment squares and beans, pressing the bottoms down with your fingertips if puffed up, and prepare the Chocolate Filling.

For the Chocolate Filling:

3 ½ oz (100 g) good-quality dark bittersweet or semisweet chocolate (70%)
8 Tbs (110 g) unsalted butter
4 large egg yolks + 1 large whole egg
¼ cup (50 g) + 2 Tbs (30 g) granulated white sugar, as needed

Increase the oven temperature to 400°F (200°C).

Melt the butter and chocolate together in a heatproof pyrex bowl over a pan of just simmering water or in a bain marie, stirring gently, until just melted. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly. In a large mixing bowl using an electric mixer, beat the egg yolks and the whole egg with the sugar on high speed for 5 minutes until very light, airy and mousse-like. Decrease the beater speed to medium, gradually beat in the melted chocolate and butter in a stream until blended.

Pour into the pre-baked tartlet shells, evenly dividing the chocolate filling in between the 6 tins; using a soup ladle makes this easier. Slide the baking sheet with the 6 filled tins into the oven and bake for 8 minutes or until the top is just set, having formed a slight crust.

Remove from the oven, slide the tarlets off the baking tray and onto a cooling rack and allow to cool.


For the Salted Butter Caramel Sauce (Caramel au Beurre Salé):

1 cup (200 g) granulated white sugar
3 ½ Tbs (50 g) salted butter
1 cup (250 ml) heavy cream

Melt the sugar in a medium-sized saucepan over medium-low heat and cook until completely melted and caramel in color. Lower the heat to low and whisk in the butter in about 3 or 4 additions. Continuing to whisk, add the heavy cream in a slow stream; the caramel may foam up, but keep whisking, as it will calm down once all the cream is added and will turn to… a smooth caramel. Once it is smooth and creamy, remove from the heat and allow to cool at least to tepid before serving.


Take a bigger bite ...

PECAN CARAMEL CHOCOLATE UPSIDE DOWN CAKE

SOMETIMES A FLOP IS NO FLOP!


Success!

I hate failure. More particularly, I hate failure in the kitchen. My dread of a baking fiasco began so many years ago when, young girl barely in her teens, I attempted to recreate in our own kitchen the cranberry muffins I had fallen in love with during 7th-grade home economics class. Those cranberry muffins, warm and delicate vanilla-scented cake laden with plump, tangy ruby red fruit and memories, my first love, were my initiation into the joys of baking. But after a disastrous re-edition of these muffins for my family a year or so later when I mistakenly blended in 3 CUPS of solid shortening instead of the required 3 tablespoons, producing a muffin top afloat a pool of liquid fat, I pushed this newfound love to the back shelf like a rejected suitor, and didn’t dare make an attempt to produce a baked good until my college days. I was horrified at my error, felt it deeply and have been scarred ever since.

I am not one of those bloggers who grew up learning to cook from the best. No mother or grandmother whipping up those special dishes she was famous for, sharing kitchen secrets, taking me by the hand and showing me the ins and outs of how to be an amazing cook. Baked goods were mostly from a box, no matter how passionately prepared. I grew up in a Space Age kitchen where we reveled in every new-fangled food invention, from the powdered and freeze-dried, the boxed, canned and frozen. So, while my chic New York cousins were dabbling in gourmet fare and preparing dishes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, I was living the American Culinary Dream of the 1960’s and 70’s: recipes learned at Girl Scout Camp, all the odd flavor and textural combinations I could make starting from a peanut butter sandwich and, well, boxed brownies.


And how many years did it take before I could turn out a decent loaf of yeast bread? How many loaves of sweet quick bread or cream tarts ended up in our well-fed trash bin for lack of experience and understanding, my rushing precipitately through a recipe in not enough time or simply trying to substitute one thing for another in my mad desire to bake? We all make mistakes, but some of us use that fallen soufflé or leaden loaf of bread, curdled custard or green cake tasting of metal or reeking of oven cleaner as an inspiration, a learning experience, an incentive to work harder and try again. While those of us who doubt our own talents or who lack patience and self discipline drag our sorry body out of the kitchen and go and hide in the bedroom, nose buried in a novel, waiting for the baking gods to forget we exist or, better yet, to flog us silly for our inexcusable behavior!

My dirty little secret.

I approach new recipes and experiments tentatively, as I do most things in my life. Self-doubt is in constant battle with my sense of adventure and curiosity, each elbowing the other for just a little more room, trying to force their way forward like teens at a standing-room-only concert. Each dish that I serve, every cake or sweet treat that I pull out of the oven gets the once over, a poke and a prod, a taste and my brow furrows with apprehension, my fists clench with tension and my heart pounds in worry and anticipation of the worst. Too dry? Undercooked? Flavorless? Just plain didn’t work? And my men just sneer or slap their foreheads in disbelief, wondering why I just didn’t stick to the tried and true or angry because “There you go again, complaining, all flustered about nothing and not able to enjoy what you put so much time and energy into.” Call me crazy (and they do), but I just cannot help myself or my baffling, complex reaction.


But then sometimes an apparent flop turns out to be an unexpected success. I lovingly measure and stir with pleasure, feel the knife push through a fragrant mound of pecans with that gentle, satisfying give and snap, watch the smooth, creamy batter ribbon down thickly into the pan, the heady scent of chocolate tickling my nostrils and setting my tastebuds aquiver. Anticipation mounts as I peer into the oven, nose practically pressed against the burning window. And I wait. I pray. I watch as the cake rises and firms, hoping aloud that the edges don’t burn or turn crusty before the center is set. And I pull it out and place it on the rack with a clickety clack, allowing it to cool just as it demands. So what can go wrong? My instinct kicks in and….

I love The Weekend Baker! This fabulous book for bakers of every level is a wonderful collection of homey, comfy recipes both old fashioned cozy and contemporarily cool by my wonderful friend Abigail Johnson Dodge (Abby to her fans and friends). This is a book for a passionate home baker such as I to read, coddle, indulge in and dream over. I have made several of Abby’s recipes from The Weekend Baker, Bon Appetit Magazine and from Desserts 4 Today and they were each stunning and so delicious. So after much thought and consideration, I decided to make her Nutty Caramel-Chocolate Upside Downer, a cake I was sure would please everyone in my family. So I made the caramel – a snap – and chopped the pecans – pure pleasure – and whipped up the chocolate cake batter – simple and sumptuous! And the cake baked. I followed the instructions to a tee – although I knew that my caramel had turned out too watery; I ran and twittered Abby asap… but it was too late and neither one of us could figure out the snafoo. And so as I flipped the cake over onto my pristine white cake platter, well, the caramel did not so much ooze thickly down, velvety smooth, lusciously creamy as caramel should but rather it rushed out of the pan, ran down watery and thin and puddled onto the table. So of course, hysteria set in. I screamed, cursed and panicked! I succeeded in salvaging the cake – well I am being a bit overdramatic as the cake was in perfect shape, but, yes, I made my usual scene. So there was no caramel other than the lovely essence that had soaked into the top of the chocolate cake now studded with pecans. After allowing the cake to cool, we sliced. We tasted. And, lo and behold, we absolutely loved it!

So my flop was no flop at all. No gooey caramel dripping elegantly down the sides, but the cake was perfect, dense, moist with an incredible chocolate flavor heightened by the crunch and earthiness of the pecans. And my sons, the biggest test of all, two fine young men who refuse my baked goods more often than not for such reasons as “I don’t like the flavor of caramel.” “It isn’t the chocolate cake I asked for.” “Why don’t you just keep making the cake I like the best instead of always trying new recipes?” and my favorite “Stop all the baking already! Stop forcing food down our throats!” Well, they couldn’t eat this cake fast enough.

Abby’s Pecan Caramel Chocolate Upside Down Cake was a roaring success.


The Weekend Baker is a fabulous and perfect gift for anyone who loves to bake: beginner, the more advanced or you!

Disclaimer (as bloggers love to say!): I purchased this book on my own. It was a gift from no one and no one asked me to say wonderful things about this book. Yes, Abby is a great friend of mine, but I bake from this book because I love to bake and I absolutely love the recipes in this book.


PECAN CARAMEL CHOCOLATE UPSIDE DOWN CAKE
From The Weekend Baker by Abigail Johnson Dodge

For the Nuts and Caramel:

¾ cup (6 oz/170 g) firmly packed dark brown sugar (I used packed light brown sugar)
5 Tbs (71 g) unsalted butter
2 – 3 Tbs water (I used 3 and it was obviously too much)
1 ¼ cups (6 oz/170 g) coarsely chopped nuts (I used pecans, Abby suggests adding slivered blanched almonds and walnuts as well), toasted

For the Cake:

1 1/3 cups 170 g) flour
½ cup (45 g) unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch process), sifted if lumpy
¾ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp baking soda
¼ tsp table salt
10 Tbs (145 g) unsalted butter softened to room temperature
1 cup (200 g) granulated sugar (Abby’s measure was 227 g)
1 tsp vanilla
3 large eggs, well beaten
½ cup (115 ml) buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C) and position the oven rack on the middle rung. Lightly grease the sides (not the bottom) of a 9 x 2-inch (23 x 5-cm) round cake pan.

Prepare the nuts and the caramel:

In a small saucepan, combine the brown sugar, butter and water. Set the pan over medium heat abd cook, stirring often, until the butter is melted and the mixture is smooth. Bring to a boil and pour into the prepared pan, swirling to coat the bottom evenly. Scatter the toasted nuts evenly over the caramel and gently press into the caramel.

Prepare the cake:

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt and whisk until blended. In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter with an electric mixer on medium-high speed until smooth. Gradually add the sugar and continue beating until fluffy. Beat in the vanilla. Add the eggs one at a time, beating briefly after each addition. Sprinkle half the flour mixture over the butter/sugar and mix on low speed until the dry ingredients disappear. Add the buttermilk and beat until blended. Add the remaining dry ingredients and beat just until blended. Scoop the batter by spoonfuls into the pan evenly over the caramel and nuts. Very gently and carefully spread to even out the cake batter, trying not to disturb the nuts. Tap the pan a few times on the counter to settle the batter.

Bake in the preheated oven about 45 minutes until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from the oven when done and immediately run a knife around the sides of the pan to loosen the cake. Using a thick, dry kitchen towel to protect your hands, invert a large serving or cake plate on top of the pan and, holding both the pan and the plate, invert them together. Leave the pan over the cake for about 3 minutes to allow the caramel to drip onto the cake then lift off the pan. Using a small spatula or knife, scrape out any caramel that remained stuck to the pan and spread on top of the cake.


Serve the cake warm or at room temperature.

Just slightly undercooked, but just the way we love it.

Take a bigger bite ...