Punch Request: Fruit Punch Delight

I got a request for some non-alcoholic punches that didn't include fruit juice concentrates. Here's one from the Milwaukee Ward Relief Society Cookbook:

Fruit Punch Delight

2 c. strawberries
2 bananas
1 c. sugar
1 (20 oz.) can crushed pineapple (drained liquid reserved)
3/4 c. pineapple juice from crushed pineapple
1 qt. orange juice
1 1/2 c. water

Combine strawberries, bananas, pineapple and sugar in blender. Blend until well mixed. Combine with remaining ingredients and stir well. Chill and serve. Makes 3 quarts.

--Gertie Weilder, Pat Leake

Good golly, it's a fruit punch that uses actual fruit! 3 quarts isn't a whole bunch, though--I like to think of punch in terms of gallons.

Blueberry & Blackberry Boy Bait: Cooking the Books

It's September 11, 2011, and I celebrated the second day of being in a Toxic-Free Zone (TFZ), media-wise. I invited a friend over for movies, made up a big super nacho, and, because nothing makes a TFZ quite like the scent of baked goods, I baked.

Specifically, I baked a Boy Bait...with variations from the original recipe (I know you're all terribly surprised).

Variations:

• I used blueberries and blackberries.
  
• I used a whole lot more blueberries than called for -- a whole big pint container, not just one cup.
  
• Yes, and then blackberries in addition to that...a 4 oz package.
  
• I didn't use nutmeg, because, well, I found out I didn't have any nutmeg in the house.
  
• I did have cinnamon, though.
  
• I ran out of sugar -- what sort of baker am I? -- so filled out the "sprinkle on top" sugar measure with cinnamon sugar.

I recommend upping the amount of fruit like I did. Otherwise, you're having much more cake than fruit. This gives you a good duality. And, yes, I said "cake" -- it's much more cakey than a clafoutis or any crumble, crumb, or whatnot.

The recipe came together just fine. A survey of other boy bait recipes online show that others are way more complicated, with whipping of egg whites and folding in of same, and cutting cold butter into flour... this is easier.

In the original post, I talked about how I liked how the ingredients list was ordered. Well...I take it back. The first measure of sugar, the butter, and the eggs should be together, at the top of the list, and then the dry, then the milk, then the toppings. So sayeth me.

I would serve this slightly warm with ice cream, or completely cooled with whipped cream or Cool Whip. I didn't, though, and it was just a touch on the too-dry side...and that was with the extra fruit!

Island Delights: Four Recipes, No Rum

The whole concept of A Little Something is, really, party tidbits. Little bits of food to serve at parties. Little bits of food to soak up some wine or cocktails. Even the picture on the cover has a glass of wine.

So, you'll understand my dismay at the following group of recipes, all of which are clearly missing a vital ingredient:

Rum.

Rum.

Sure, sure, they'll say "add some light rum" but that's hardly how one writes a cocktail recipe. Tell me I'm wrong here.

Island Delights

Relax, sip, and enjoy. Add some light rum or a scoop of vanilla ice cream if you like. These drinks are excellent with nachos, flavored nuts, potato skins, guacamole, black bean dip, chips, and of course, your favorite something.

Makes 1 to 2 servings

Strawberry Banana Colada

1 banana
1/3 cup frozen strawberries
2 tablespoons canned cream of coconut
1/4 cup pineapple juice
1/2 cup ice

Piña Colada

1/4 cup canned cream of coconut
1/2 cup pineapple juice
1/2 cup ice

Island Paradise

1/2 cup frozen sweetened strawberries
2 tablespoons canned cream of coconut
1/4 cup orange juice
1/4 cup pineapple juice
1/2 cup ice

Strawberry Daiquiri

1/2 cup frozen sweetened strawberries
1/4 cup sweet-and-sour mix
1/2 cup ice

Place all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Garnish with fresh fruit slices or wedges if desired.

A daiquiri is not a daiquiri if it doesn't include rum. Okay, purist might well say that a daiquiri isn't a daiquiri unless it's just rum, lime juice, and simple syrup. And coladas aren't coladas when they're just fruit.

Call 'em something else, please. "Island Paradise" is fine by me.

Or, call 'em Frozen Drinks. Some of my friends (Heather & Philip, of Picaroon Blog) used to host a Frozen Drinks Party every summer, where they supplied the booze and everyone brought frozen fruit, ice, and other add-ins. A good time, every year.

Okay, okay. I'll admit it. I don't tend to do frozen, blended cocktails. I like my margaritas on the rocks. I like my daiquiris in theory. But I'm being crotchety, and A Little Something has let me down on this group of recipes.

Henceforth, I'm going to pretend that these are Frozen Drinks, or Mocktails, or Fancy Drinks For Baby Showers And Children's Parties. I'm an information architect; labels are important. With the right label, I'll stop this recipe rant.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Puff: A Reminder About Altering Recipes All You Want

It's time for our semi-regular reminder about how most recipes are more about method and less about specific implementations. The Betty Crocker's Outdoor Cook Book has more than its fair share of brand-specific recipes, and relies a bit more on canned/tinned/processed foods than modern sensibilities tend to allow (in public, at least -- in private, even Chefly Husband eats ravioli right out of the can sometimes).

Thing is, all the glorious 1960s short cuts? Can be slowed down. And, really, if you're picnicking, sometimes it's all about reclaiming an older, slower, simpler something.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Puff
Ideal to carry to picnic site and reheat.

1 pkg. (16 oz.) frozen rhubarb, thawed
1 pkg. (10 oz.) frozen strawberries, thawed
1/2 cup sugar
1 can Betty Crocker Bisquick Refrigerated Biscuits
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon

Heat oven to 375°F (quick mod.). Mix rhubarb, strawberries, and 1/2 cup sugar in sq. pan, 9x9x1 3/4". Cook 5 min. over medium low heat. Place biscuits on top of hot fruit. Make hole in each biscuit and put a little butter and mixture of sugar and cinnamon in each hole. Bake 25 to 30 min. Cool. Cover top of pan with aluminum foil; place pan on outdoor grill. Heat until aluminum foil feels hot. Uncover and serve with cream or whipped cream, if desired. 8 to 10 servings.

Let's give a bit of thanks that the temperature is given in degrees, and not just with the guidance of "quick moderate." Even "hot" and "very hot" temperatures vary depending on who's judging. I trust that it's good to know how long one can put one's hand in an oven of a certain temperature, but as I don't cook in a wood stove, and don't intent to, I'm happy with °F.

I've not seen refrigerated Bisquick biscuits before. If you want to be a recipe purist, your best bet is going to be "can o' biscuits" -- choose your favorite brand.

If we're slowing down this recipe, though, how's about making your own biscuit dough? Use your favorite recipe that makes 8 or so big biscuits. No need to worry about cutting the dough into rounds; you can cobble the top with little bits of dough you tear off.

Did I say "cobble"? Well, sure. The recipe may say "puff," and I'm not going to say the dough won't puff, but it's a cobbler. Cobble away.

Other ways to slow this down: don't use packaged frozen fruit. Go to the store. Rhubarb's in right now, as are strawberries. Get a pound of one, and a pint or quart of the other, and slice up into nice even-ish chunks. If there's no rhubarb, you can choose some other fruit. Or, if you're not a strawberry person, how's about some nectarines, or blueberries?

I'm not opposed to frozen fruit. I have lots in my freezer right now. But it takes only a smidge longer to use in season fruit and feel a touch more connected.

Plan For Future Happiness: Tutti-Frutti

I've been gorging myself on berries lately; 'tis the season, after all. Blueberries with breakfast. Blackberries with lunch. And while I'd love to tell you about how you can set up jar after jar of preserved summer splendor, let's face it: I live in a tiny 1937 apartment, I have no storage space for such bounty, and my stove top lacks the oomph needed to efficiently get a big kettle of water boiling sufficiently to make preserving jams and jellies and whatnot a pleasant experience. Also, unless you've gone out and picked your own fruit, odds are you don't naturally have enough fruit on hand at any given point to do a proper day of canning. Favorite Recipes from Matinicus Island Maine has the solution for you: preserve the fruit you get as you get it, in a crock, no fuss, no muss.

Tutti-Fruitt

Put 1 pint brandy into a stone jar, add various fruits as they come into market. To each quart of fruit add same quantity of sugar, stir mixture each morning until all fruit has been added. Strawberries, raspberries, apricots, peaches, cherries, pineapple are the best to use.

-- Mrs. Day's Mother's

Aaaaah, tutti-frutti. All fruits. Let's get this out of the way: Yes, you can purchase the fruit especially for this.

You can also use this as a way to keep the fruit that you bought too much of at the store that day you swore you were going to drop thirteen pounds before your high school reunion.

Strawberries should be washed and hulled; you needn't slice them up. Raspberries should be washed. Halve your apricots and take the stones out; you don't need to skin them. Peaches, on the other hand, you'll need to peel (it's not as hard as it seems, but it does involve a big pot of boiling water and a big bowl of ice water; ask if you have questions). Cherries should be washed, stemmed, and pitted. Pineapple should be purchased already cored and peeled.

Okay, the last one was a joke. Though I won't mind if you do buy it pre-prepared. But you can honestly do it yourself.

You can use other berries (blue, black), or other stone fruits (plums, plums, plums) (and nectarines). Use the juicy soft fruit that you have on hand.

All that stuff is easy. The stone jar might be a bit more difficult. If you're lucky, you'll have a big 5 gallon pickling crock at hand. I have one, and yes, you may be jealous. My mother-in-law gave it to me. Okay, she might have given it to us, but I've thoroughly claimed it. To do this recipe up right, you're going to need at least a 3 gallon non-reactive container. You also have to be able to disinfect the hell out of that beastie; fermentation is our friend here, but mold is definitely not. You're also going to want to keep this puppy in the dark, and keep it covered; bugs and vermin are also not our friends.

When is it ready? Well, one could argue that it's always pretty much ready. But if you want to make it extra super duper special, keep it fermenting away until Christmas time. Yes. Really. Even if you started it with the very first strawberries of March. December. And wouldn't you appreciate a taste of spring and summer in the bleak mid-winter?

Now, you might be asking yourself how to serve your tutti-frutti. Try it over ice cream. Try it under whipped cream. Try it whooshed up a bit in a blender with some cream cheese and yogurt to make a dip for gingersnaps. Try it on pancakes or pound cake or chocolate cake. Try it in a cake -- perhaps we can scrounge up a good old fashioned tutti frutti cake recipe from someone's grandma in one of these books.

When the fruit's all gone (or even before), use the syrupy liquid as, well, syrup. Your waffles will thank you.

You Don't Spell It, You Eat It: Fig and Raspberry Clafouti

It's brutally hot in DC today--we hit 100°F (37.7°C, for those of you who, you know, use metric). I had two hearty pasta dishes flagged as blog fodder, but couldn't bear to even think about boiling a big pot of ... no, don't make me say it. Nothing heavy, please. Nothing steamy. Something simple...

So, you'll think I'm crazy when I say that today's recipe from The Wine Lover's Cookbook: Great Recipes for the Perfect Glass of Wine involves....baking. Yes. I'm saying you should turn on your oven. Even though it's brutally hot out. You can scurry out of the kitchen when it's on, and place yourself in front of a fan or an air conditioner (or both); it'll be okay.

Fig and Raspberry Clafouti
Recommended Wine: Sauternes
Alternative Wine: Port

Clafouti is not a terribly well-known dessert. Its origins are in the south central part of France where a batter cake, typically made with black cherries, is a traditional and much loved delight. This version resonates with the lush, honeyed sweetness of late summer figs and slightly tart raspberries, a truly magical combination that wraps its flavors around the honey-like quality in aged sauternes. Port is a suitable alternative that works well with the fig flavors.

2 cups quartered figs
2 cups raspberries
1/2 cup sliced, blanched almonds
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup milk
3 tablespoons port
2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into bits

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Arrange figs cut side up in buttered 8-by-8-by-2-inch baking dish and sprinkle in raspberries. In a blender or food processor, finely grind the almonds with the flour. Add 1/3 cup sugar, eggs, milk, and port and blend well. Stop occasionally to wipe down sides as necessary. Pour the custard over the fruit, dott with butter, and sprinkle with the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar.

Bake on the middle rack of the oven for 30 to 40 minutes, or until the top is golden and the custard is set. Let cool for 20 minutes. Serve with a dusting of powdered sugar.

Serves 6

I love figs, and no doubt the suitable-for-August heat has me thinking of late summer fruit instead of more seasonally appropriate choices (see: aforementioned black cherries). Usually, when I have figs, I rip off a hunk of bread, smear on some chevre, and then tear open a fig and smoooooooosh it in on top of the cheese. I eat. I repeat. Figs never seem to last long enough to end up in a cooked dish. Well, you know what I mean, figs keep, but they don't last near me. They are not safe; guard them if you want to have any share in them.

A few Sundays back, Chefly Husband and I went to some friends' house for grilled lamb and shiraz; dessert was clafouti. So I say with confidence: this is a good hot day dessert. Yes, your kitchen will heat up. Unless...

Do you have a yard of your own? With plenty of beautiful sunlight? You can give a solar oven a try. I've a friend (who I haven't seen in far too long) who has had great success with her solar cooking. Use that sun for something other than skin damage and keep your kitchen cool.

Since it's summer, I'd stick with the sauternes and leave the port for a cooler day. I also think that a nice ice wine would be good with this, like, oh... Argyle's Minus Five riesling. It's the wine so tasty, it's finally got my sister interested in tasting wine!

If you've no figs available, add more raspberries, or blackberries, or plums (pitted), or cherries (pitted or not, up to you and your estimation of your guests' ability to navigate around the pits gracefully), or... you get the idea. Clafouti is a friend of fruit; use what you can lay your hands on.

The Wine Lover's Cookbook, by Sid Goldstein: Chilled Summer Peach Soup

Time for another family favorite off the cookbook shelves: The Wine Lover's Cookbook: Great Recipes for the Perfect Glass of Wine by Sid Goldstein (Chronicle Books, 1999). What I love about this cookbook is its unabashed love of the grape. Every recipe has a recommended wine pairing, and an alternative (sometimes much more daring) pairing. If I haven't mentioned it enough lately, I love wine. Chefly Husband loves wine. Heck, our dog Puck loves wine (corks; we don't let him drink alcohol--that would be irresponsible). I think this book came into our hands from his parents; in fact, I'm pretty darned sure of it. You can still get it at Amazon, new, or from lots of sellers, used, for really reasonable prices. If you like cooking (I don't assume people coming to a cookbook site do, by the way), and you love wine (which I hope you do), this is a book you need.

It's hotter than all get out in DC today--nothing compared to what it will be like in July and August, but it's just the first of June, and I'm wilting. So, for today's recipe...something cool and refreshing.

Chilled Summer Peach Soup
Recommended Wine: Riesling
Alternative Wine: Gewürztraminer

What more could you ask from a summer soup than for it to be refreshing and require virtually not time on the stove? Despite the fact that soups in general are difficult to match with wine, this luscious peach soup is a tantalizing, appetite-stimulating summer beauty that marries perfectly with the peachy quality in many Rieslings. The flavor match is almost equally good with off-dry (slightly sweet) Gewüztraminer.

6 large, ripe peaches
1 tablespoon honey
1 cup plain yogurt
1/3 cup peach nectar
1/8 cup Riesling
1 tablespoon minced crystallized ginger
1 tablespoon fresh mint
1 tablespoon chopped fresh chives
1/2 teaspoon minced orange zest
1 teaspoon five-spice powder or curry powder (see Note)
Garnish: mint sprigs, plain yogurt, 24 raspberries

Place peaches in boiling water for 2 minutes. Remove and place in an ice-water bath. Gently pull off skin. Halve and pit peaches.

In a food processor or blender, purée peaches, honey, yogurt, nectar, wine, crystallized ginger, mint, chives, orange zest, and five-spice powder.

Refrigerate, covered, for at least 2 hours. Adjust sweetness level, adding a little more yogurt to make sure that the soup is not so sweet that it will overpower the wine. Ladle into soup bowls. Garnish with mint sprigs, a small dollop of yogurt, and 4 raspberries per bowl placed carefully on top of yogurt.

Note: Five-spice powder is a combination of cinnamon, star anise, fennel, cloves, and Szechwan pepper and is found in the Asian grocery sections of most markets.

Serves 6 as an appetizer.

Okay, how psyched am I that I remembered the code for a ü without having to look it up? My HTML coding days may be in the past, but they linger on. My cockiness was short-lived though, as I first typed 1/2 cup Riesling. I swear, I wasn't trying to get you all soused on the soup.

The way Sid writes recipes, well...it's not how I write recipes. He's very, very precise. Downright meticulous. He could have said "purée the ingredients," but instead lists them all out. He doesn't even shorten things--I'd probably shorten "crystallized ginger" to "ginger" in the instructions, as there's no other ginger to be had in the recipe, but we'll stick with Sid. Yes, even with the "4 raspberries per bowl placed carefully on top of yogurt."

Yes, it's fussy.

Yes, it's not necessary.

But, oh, if you put yourself in Sid's hands, and trust in his recipes and instructions, you're going to be in for an amazing time.

Chefly Husband just came out of the den, where yet another closet has been converted to wine storage. I asked him about the provenance of the book, and he says that he stole the book from his parents. A little more prodding got the whole story: he boldly borrowed the book, and then they bought another for themselves, which pretty much meant he didn't have to give it back.

I'm very, very glad of it; this is a helluva book. We'll have fun this week.

Super Easy Preserving: Pickled Cherries

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm glad that I posted Hot Spicy Candy, but I just can't stop thinking about these cherries... The County Fair Cookbook doesn't specifically link them to a county fair (ooo, the scandal!), but the nearest one it does talk about is the Long Island Fair in Old Bethpage, New York. According to the Fair's website, the fair's got a good blend of history and activities:

The Long Island Fair is the oldest continuously operated fair in the country having begun in 1842, first in farmers’ fields or empty lots, then in Mineola at the present site of the County Court House complex, and finally moving to Old Bethpage Village in 1970 (History). The Fair features rides, amusements, entertainment for young and old, and agricultural and horticultural competition for cash prizes common to Long Island a century ago and is the only New York State sanctioned agricultural and horticultural fair for Long Island. Prize competition is open to anyone not only in vegetables, fruits and flowers but also for baking, crafts, hobbies and agricultural skills – cross cut sawing and corn husking.

Rock on, Long Island agriculture! The fair runs for eight days in mid-October, so you've got time to plan your trip up to (or down to, or over to, I suppose) Old Bethpage. Old Bethpage: It's closer to civilization than Smithtown. Okay, so odds are the Chamber of Commerce isn't going to hire me to write their new tagline...and really, you have to go even further out on the island to get to the heritage of the next recipe.

Wickham's Fruit Farm is over 200 acres of farmy goodness next to Peconic Bay in Cutchogue. The Wickham family has been farming those acres for about three hundred years. This feels like a good time to say that the first time I came to the East Coast, I was in a cab in Boston, and said to the cabbie, "Today, I saw things that are older than my state!" The cabbie replied, "Honey, in Boston, there are things older than dirt." That's how I feel about saying one family's been doing anything for 300 years in one spot in this country, especially when that family has a very non-native last name. Anyway. The Wickham story is pretty darned compelling, but what you really need to know is this: they make cider, and they make donuts, and I'm betting that means they make...

...cider donuts...

Cider donuts are one of the best things in this crazy world of ours, and it's fall now, so I suggest you hightail it to the nearest place you can, and get yourself some.

But this is a blog about cookbooks and recipes, so let's look at one of the Wickham family recipes.

Wickham Family Pickled Cherries
"No need to process these cherries in a water bath," says Mrs. Wickham. "They'll keep all winter on the shelf. We serve them as an accompaniment to poultry or meat."

Sour cherries (any amount)
Cider vinegar to cover
Sugar

1. Wash, stem and pit the cherries. Place them in a bowl and cover with cider vinegar. Let stand overnight.
2. Pour off and discard the vinegar. Measure the cherries and add an equal amount of sugar to them. Let stand until the sugar dissolves, stirring occasionally. Put the cherries in very clean jars and cover. Store in a cool dark place.

Look at that... preserving without processing! Putting up fruit doesn't get much easier than this, folks.

In step one, I'd suggest covering the bowl with cheesecloth or cling film, and leaving the bowl out on the counter -- not in the fridge. If you're wondering how to get "very clean jars," I'd say that those of you with dishwashers are going to need to run the washer on hot, and let the washer do the drying, too -- don't let 'em drip dry. Heat is your friend for sanitation purposes. For those of you more like, well, me, with only a sink and a dish drainer to help you out, wash the jars well in hot, soapy water. Let dry. Then, sanitize the buggers. I know, I know, part of the charm of this recipe is that you're not processing the jar in a water bath, but sanitizing is your friend, and a big ol' pot of boiling water goes a long way towards ensuring food safety. If you just can't bring yourself to do it with boiling water, or you have any inklings that your jar can't take the heat, use bleach -- 1 tablespoon per gallon of water. Soak for 20 minutes, drain. Let air dry. If you want to rinse the jar after that, do so only with boiled water.

Yes, I'm the sister of an Extension employee. Food safety is important. Don't muck about with bacteria.

And, it's STILL the easiest darned preserving method I've seen, other than "put fruit and booze in a jar, let sit for months, then drink." This one even has the benefit of creating food, not, well, booze, so it's ... at least different.

Sour cherries can be hard to find; you can use frozen, I guess, but better to find an orchard and pick your own when you can. When measuring the cherries and sugar, measure by weight, not volume, if at all possible. As it's not baking, I won't yell at you if you don't have a scale, and have to go the volume route.

Picnic Soup #2: Tomato and Buttermilk Soup

I didn't eat/enjoy/recognize avocados as food until after college (Face masks? Sure. Food, no.). If one of your fellow picnickers shares my old hesitation, you're going to have a hard sell with Cold Avocado Soup. Try this alternative, from Outdoor Dining:

Tomato and Buttermilk Soup

2 cups (16 fl oz/500 ml) tomato juice
1 cup (8 fl oz/250 ml) buttermilk

This simple soup is cool and refreshing; if desired you can add some chopped tomato, cucumber, and fresh herbs. You can also vary the proportion of tomato juice to buttermilk.

Combine the tomato juice and buttermilk.

Serve Tomato and Buttermilk Soup chilled with open sandwiches, which become extra special when you make them with savory butters.

Variation: Combine buttermilk and apricot nectar for a refreshing drink.

Serves 2

Two ingredients! Just two! No cutting, no dicing, no blanching, no skinning, no skimming, no heating... it's simple, alright! Other than a glorious opportunity to stain things tomato red, this is something you could easily make with any kid old enough to stir the sugar and Kool-Aid packet in to the 2 quart pitcher.

Or was that just my childhood?

This soup shares a page with lots of savory butter suggestions. Pink peppercorn butter, which is "particularly good" with roast beef. Anchovy butter, for eggs, watercress, or cucumber. Herb butters. Walnut butter. If you can whir it up in a food processor, Outdoor Dining suggests you make it into a compound butter. I actually agree, and was just exhorting my brother in law in Pittsburgh to use some of his bumper crop of tarragon to make a compound butter. Compound butters (savory or sweet) freeze beautifully, and it's great to be able to cut off a hunk of a seasoned butter to melt on your grilled whatever.

Picnic Soup #1: Cold Avocado Soup

I'm going to go see the Indigo Girls at Wolftrap next week, and have been driving everyone around me a bit crazy by my obsessive menu planning. One thing that has stuck, however, was the idea of a cold soup, transported in a growler I got at a beer pub ages ago. I keep saying "a growler of gazpacho!" It took a while to hit on the gazapcho, though, and Outdoor Dining offers two potential growler-fillers. The first:

Cold Avocado Soup

2 avocados, halved and seeds removed
1 small white onion, chopped
2 cups (16 fl oz/500 ml) chicken stock
1 cup (8 fl oz/250 ml) buttermilk
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 red bell pepper (capsicum), halved
1 teaspoon Tabasco sauce

A rich, cold soup is a lovely start to a summer picnic; it is easy to carry in a large glass jar or vacuum flask.

Scrape the avocado flesh into a food processor or blender. Add the onion and stock and process until smooth.

Pour into a container and stir in the buttermilk and salt and pepper to taste. Put aside until ready to serve.

Put the bell pepper under a broiler (griller) until the skin blackens. Transfer to a paper bag and leave for about 30 minutes. Scrape off the blackened skin. Put the bell pepper into a food processor or blender with the Tabasco and purée. Transfer to a small jar.

To serve, add a dollop of the bell pepper purée to each bowl of avocado soup.

Serves 4

Menu
Cold Avocado Soup
Scallop and Bell Pepper (Capsicum) Salad (page 83)
Cookies

Why is this soup not coming with me to the concert? Frankly, the idea of garnishing on site seems pointlessly fussy. I know, I could just serve the soup sans puree, but...you should see how lovely this soup looks in the picture. Pale green, with a rush of vivid red. It's gorgeous. The soup will have to wait for a time that I'm eating outside...but within steps of the kitchen.

Every single recipe in Outdoor Dining is accompanied by a beautiful full-page photo. André Martin did the food photography, and Donna Hay, the food styling. Together, they make every dish look like something you simply have to try, right this very second. It's worth picking up a copy of the book (used, as it appears to be out of print), as the photos add so much.

I'm heading out of town for a wedding, so will be doubling up today, and when I return.

Cake Day!: Rhubarb Cake

It's Cake Day here chez Take One Cookbook. I've got a Bacardi Rum Cake baking away in the oven as we speak, and the scent is heavenly; it's distracted me utterly from all things non-cake. So, let's delve for the last time into the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008, and go for something seasonal and cakey from Aunt Agnes:

Rhubarb Cake
Agnes Bachman Pengilly

1 1/2 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. butter
1 egg
1/2 tsp. salt
1 c. sour milk or buttermilk
1 tsp. soda
2 cups flour
2 cups rhubarb

Topping - 3/4 c. white sugar, 1 tsp. cinnamon. Put on top of cake. Bake 30-35 minutes.

Get the feeling that, in my family, one is just expected to know how the heck to bake? Let's break this down for the non-Spratts/Bachmans/Mellbergs/McKenzies out there:

Pan: Use a 9 x 13. Yes, I know.
Oven temp: 350°F
Method:

• Cream the butter and sugar together.
  
• Beat in eggs.
  
• In a separate bowl, sift together dry ingredients.
  
• Alternate adding flour mixture and sour milk or buttermilk to the butter/sugar/egg mixture.
  
• Toss the cut up rhubarb in a bit of flour (so that it disperses nicely in the cake, or so my mother always told me).
  
• Top as directed.
  
• Bake as directed.
  
• Cool in pan.
  
• Serve hunks of cake topped with Cool Whip, whipped cream, or, heck, warmed up in a bowl and then topped with ice cream or whole milk.

Rhubarb cake...it's so darned moist, tangy, and tasty! I remember lots of rhubarb in the family, growing up. I never even thought to try buying it in the grocery store, though, as everyone back home seems to have it in their gardens -- well, assuming their house was built and garden established by someone in my Grandpa's generation. But, yes, it's purchase-able in grocery stores, and it's in season, so, get yourself some! Eat it raw, dipped in sugar; or make a compote, if cake-baking seems too much for you. Or, mmm, try it in a strawberry-rhubarb pie... I love late spring!

If you want to go the sour milk route, take 1 tablespoon of lemon juice or white vinegar, and put it in your 1 cup liquid measuring cup. Top off with enough milk to make 1 cup. Let stand for about 10 minutes, and voila! Soured milk. Don't just use milk that's past date in your fridge; you don't want spoiled milk. If this sounds too chemistry-class for you, just buy some buttermilk.

This cake is great warm, or at room temperature. It's, of course, a good dessert, but it's equally tasty for a homey breakfast. Go get a couple stalks of rhubarb (which is a vegetable, even though normally eaten as a fruit), and enjoy the tang.

We'll Put Prunes In Anyting: Prune Pie

The one dish that says "Mom & Family" to me beyond all others is vinaterta, an Icelandic layered torte with stewed prunes between the layers. It's nice find out that the German side of her family also would put prunes in anything. From the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008:

Prune Pie
Magdalena Berger Bachman
Neva Spratt Bachman

1 c. prunes - cooked and pitted (1 lb.)
Beat well and add
1/2 c. cugar
2 eggs
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 c. milk
dash salt
Put in crust and add strip top and bake.

Another recipe where you'd best know what the hell you're doing. Do you have a favorite pie crust recipe? Use it. Do you know what temperature your oven prefers for pies? Use it. And then we come to the prunes.

Dried, or fresh? A quick internet check shows recipes using both (sometimes in the same pie). And, yes, I do call fresh prunes "prunes" -- Grandpa had a prune tree in his side yard. Regardless!

When in doubt about a family recipe, call on family. I gave my mom a call, and she was sort of surprised by my question. "Dried, of course! Why?" I explained about not wanting to lead anyone astray, and through a twisty conversation, she assured me that the Bachman family prune pie was really very very very good, and then secured a promise that I would make it for her when next we are together.

My grandma died when I was three; I don't have first-hand memories of her. But, oh, the stories. Everyone says she was the best pie maker ever. Grandpa had an entire lot devoted to gardening, and that which he grew, she canned, or froze, or baked into pies and cakes. The lot is gone now; when Grandpa and Grandma Fran moved into assisted living, the house was sold and the lots divided. A new, big house was built, and it's more than a little bit strange to know the garden's gone. I don't know if the prune tree remains.

Now All We Need Is A Gang: Grandma's Old-Fashioned Apple Dumplings

I grew up in the 1970s, and cut my entertainment consumer teeth on the offerings of the Walt Disney Company. I saw everything, and loved it all. I didn't necessarily understand it all, but that's part of the fun of a Disney movie -- you can still laugh along. Take The Apple Dumpling Gang. I adored that movie! But... I didn't really know what apple dumplings were. In fact, I didn't have an apple dumpling until ...

Crap. I've never had an apple dumpling. Okay, we'll fix that! And, just because we can, I'll use a recipe from The Fruit of the Spirit: 100th Anniversary of Bittinger Lutheran Parish (Chefly Husband suggests I can try it right away, if I just clean the kitchen! Love is strong in our household, but the cleaning instinct needs a little bit of a push here and there.).

Grandma's Old-Fashioned Apple Dumplings
Kristen Shawley

6 med. sized Granny Smith apples
2 c. flour
2 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
2/3 c. shortening
1/2 c. milk

Peel and core apples. Cut in half. For pastry, sift flour, baking powder and salt together. Cut in shortening, until particles are the size of small peas. Sprinkle milk over mixture and press together lightly, working dough only enough to hold together. Roll dough as for pastry and cut 12 squares and place 1/2 an apple on each. Fill cavity in apple with sugar and sprinkle with cinnamon. Pat dough around apple, to cover it completely. Fasten edges securely on top of apple. Place in baking pan and cover with sauce (recipe follows). Bake at 350° for 35 to 40 minutes. Baste every 15 minutes, during baking. (Unbaked dumplings with sauce may be frozen. If frozen, increase baking time to approximately 1 hour.)

Sauce:
2 c. brown sugar
2 c. water
1/4 c. butter
1/4 tsp. cinnamon

Combine brown sugar, water and cinnamon in a medium saucepan. Cook for 5 minutes; remove from heat and add butter. Stir until butter is melted.

According to Wikipedia, apple dumplings are a Northeastern thing -- so I don't feel so terrible that my Northwestern self grew up so deprived -- and that they are a common dessert but also breakfast.

Oooo, I'm a fan of hot pastry for breakfast. Hot pastry, with milk or ice cream. For breakfast. Hot, sauce-covered, sugary, healthful apples.

Setting A Man Trap: Blueberry Boy Bait

Okay, okay, once you see the size of the pan required, you may not believe that I chose this recipe based on the name and not the pan. But, really, when I found "Blueberry Boy Bait" in The Fruit of the Spirit: 100th Anniversary of Bittinger Lutheran Parish, I first started giggling madly, then started thinking that I hadn't watched Gidget or Tammy and The Bachelor in far too long, and then that I really needed to post this recipe.

Blueberry Boy Bait
Ethel Buckel

2 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/2 c. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
3/4 tsp. nutmeg
2/3 c. softened butter
1 c. milk
2 eggs
1 c. blueberries
1/4 c. sugar
1/2 tsp nutmeg

Cream butter and 1 1/2 cups sugar. Add eggs. Combine flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg in a separate bowl. Add milk, alternately, with combined dry ingredients. Pour into 9 x 13-inch pan. Top with blueberries, 1/4 cup sugar and 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg. Bake at 350° for 40-50 minutes.

Despite the off-putting lack of serial commas, this is just a delightful recipe! I particularly like that instead of saying "1 3/4 c. sugar, divided" in the initial recipe list, they break it out for you, in order and volume of use. Some folks may prefer it the other way, but for me, a serial ingredient list is as important as a serial comma.

Serial commas: they're good enough for the U.S. G.P.O., they're good enough for you.

Back to the title. It seems like this is going to hav eto be something simple enough for a novice cook to whip together on her own (yes, "her"... I think it's safe to say that whomever came up with this recipe was pretty much trying to help a girl get her boy, though I wholeheartedly support boys using it to bait girls and girls using it to bait girls and so and so and so forth) without much supervision from her mother (yes, "mother" ... for the sake of the rest of this post, let's just role play and think that Mrs. Lawrence is trying to help Francie/Gidget to ensnare Jeffrey/Moondoggie -- embrace your 1959 teen romance). It should also be incredibly tasty. I'm surprised there's no vanilla or cinnamon to up the smell of the bait, but nutmeg -- so linked with pumpkin pie -- is going to bring a lot of good baking spice to the man trap.

We're in season for blueberries in the US, and I've seen some great buy-one-get-one-free specials at the grocery store. The pick-your-own farms around DC aren't open for blueberries yet; maybe later this summer I can cook the book on this one, with freshly-picked local (false) berries.

Even if you've already sprung a perfectly serviceable trap, why not try out the boy bait when next you need a 9 x 13 baked good? At the very least, file it away for Independence Day, where the blue will play nicely with some cut strawberries and vanilla ice cream.

Candied Citrus Peel

What do the lebkuchen and brandied fruitcake drops have in common? Besides both being from Christmas 101, that is.

The use of candied citrus peels.

In fact, a lot of holiday recipes call for candied citrus peel of one kind or another (or, heck, in combination). Moreover, you can dip candied citrus peel (I'd call it CCP, but that's just one C short of the Soviet Union, and I'd have weird cognitive issues with that) in melted chocolate and give it out as presents to your neighbors, coworkers, and holiday hosts and hostesses. Yes, really! Honestly! Homemade goodies are a great thing to bring to parties, and this one doesn't take long at all.

Candied Citrus Peels

Makes about 3/4 pound

Make ahead: The candied peels must stand overnight before rolling in sugar. They can then be stored, in an airtight container at room temperature, for up to 1 month.

2 medium grapefruits
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar plus additional for coating
1/3 cup light corn syrup

1. Using a sharp knife, cut off the tops and bottoms of the grapefruits so they can stand. Cut off the rinds in thick, wide strips where the rind meets the fruit. Cut the rind into long strips about 1/2 inch wide. Place in a medium saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to medium and cook at a gentle boil for 5 minutes. Drain and rinse under cold running water. Return to the pan, cover with water, and repeat the procedure.

2. In a medium saucepan, bring the sugar, corn syrup, and 1 1/4 cups water to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Add the peels and reduce the heat to medium-low. Simmer until the peels are translucent and tender, 20 to 30 minutes. Drain the peels. Arrange the peels, not touching each other, on a wire cake rack set over a baking sheet. Let stand at room temperature overnight. Roll the peels in additional sugar to coat. (The candied peels can be prepared up to 1 month ahead, stored in an airtight container at room temperature.)

Do you hate grapefruit? I do. Oh, don't get me wrong... give me a nice can of Fresca, with its chemically wonderfulness, and "grapefruit flavor" will be okay. But when it comes to citrus, grapefruit just isn't my thing.

If you're like me, you can substitute 3 oranges, or 4 lemons for the grapefruit. The peels for either of these fruits will need longer simmering times -- 30 to 40 minutes.

And, heck, if you're feeling frolicsome, you can substitute other citrus, too. Try lime. Try... bergamot. Try whatever floats your candying boat. Just remember to simmer until translucent and tender.

Dollars to donuts, what ever you try, it's going to end up tasting a damned sight better than the mass-processed crud you can get in the supermarket.

Brandied Fruitcake Drops

I love fruitcake. I never understood the gags about people passing around fruitcake year after year, because, well, my grandma made good fruitcake. And I love the dried fruits. I love the spices. I love the whiff of booziness past. I love the colors! It's like all of Christmas in a dense, sweet, crumbly cake. Oh, yes.

Some people say they hate fruitcake. To them, Rick Rodgers says, "these moist and chewy cookies have been gobbled by many an unsuspecting professed fruitcake hater." So, let's get to the conversion (it's nigh on religious) to fruitcake love, via Christmas 101:

Brandied Fruitcake Drops
Makes 3 dozen.

Make Ahead: The cookies can be baked up to 1 week ahead, stored in an airtight container at room temperature.

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup brandy or bourbon
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup chopped candied fruit for fruitcakes (a combination of candied orange and lemon peels, candied cherries, pineapple and citron) or any dried or candied fruit you prefer
3/4 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

34 walnut halves, for decoration

1. Position the racks in the center and top third of the oven and preheat to 350°F.

2. In a medium bowl, using a hand-held electric mixer at high speed, beat the butter and brown sugar until light in color, about 2 minutes. Beat in the egg. Add the buttermilk, brandy, and vanilla, and beat until the mixture is fluffy, about 1 minute. Using a wooden spoon, add the flour, baking soda, and salt, and mix to make a soft dough. Stir in the chopped candied fruit and walnuts.

3. Using about 1 tablespoon for each cookie, drop the mixture about 1 inch apart onto nonstick baking sheets. Press a walnut half into the center of each cookie. Bake, switching the positions of the cookie sheets from top to bottom and front to back halfway through baking time, until the edges of the cookies are lightly browned, about 20 minutes. Transfer the cookies to a wire cake rack and cool completely. (The cookies can be baked up to 1 week ahead, stored in an airtight container at room temperature.)

Ever feel like a recipe is repeating itself? The Make Ahead slug at the top of ever recipe is repeated at the end, in a quieter, gentler parenthetical aside. No italics. No special fonts. Just a reassurance.

If you like fruitcake, but have never made your own, start with this. It's not that fruitcake is hard to make, it just takes quite a while. There's the soaking, the straining, the brushing, the whole rigamarole.

And, yes, you can put together your own blend of dried and candied fruits to make this (or to make full-on fruitcake). Do not just buy a tub of "fruitcake blend" at the grocers... it's going to be cloying and strange. If you don't want to assemble your own, then order fruitcake fruits pre-blended from King Arthur's Flour. When I make fruitcake, that's what I get. I also tend to get the wee small disposable baking pans from King Arthur's; they work, they work well, they make for nice gift giving.

It may be time to thaw another fruitcake, come to think of it. I've three from the last baking round stashed away, well wrapped and waiting to convert another person to the church of fruitcake love.

Sauerkraut Candy

Be not afraid.

There is no actual sauerkraut in this candy. (Though, let it be known, sauerkraut goes great in sweets, especially in chocolately sauerkraut cake. No, really.)

Trust me. Trust the editors of the Farm Journal's Homemade Candy. This is good stuff.

Sauerkraut Candy Comes Back

Most youngsters never heard of Sauerkraut Candy, but oldsters know it well. The "sauerkraut" is shredded coconut and you team it with penuche. Many grocery stores throughout the Midwest sold it from barrels during the Gay Nineties. It held its place in the sun until World War I. Then for some reason it almost disappeared. Make it once and you may stage a revival, for the candy tastes extra-good.

Sauerkraut Candy
You can't miss with this combination of lots of coconut in penuche

2 c. light brown sugar, firmly packed
2 c. white sugar
1/4 c. light corn syrup
1 1/3 c. dairy half-and-half
1/4 c. butter (1/2 stick)
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 c. shredded coconut

Combine sugars, corn syrup and half-and-half in a 3-qt. heavy saucepan with buttered sides. Cooked over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Continue cooking to the soft ball stage (238 to 240°).

Remove from heat; add butter and salt without stirring. Cool to lukewarm (110°). Add vanilla and beat until creamy; mixture loses gloss and becomes opaque.

Fold in coconut all at once. Pour onto buttered and chilled platter or into an 8" square pan. Cut in slices if thick or in 49 squares if molded in pan. Makes about 2 1/4 pounds.

You may be wondering what the heck penuche is. I'd never heard the word before. Turns out, it's a brown-sugar fudge. I know, I know... fudge overload. But it's more caramel-y than the average fudge; Wikipedia describes some uses:

Penuche is also used as a boiled icing flavor. It was once very popular in Hawaii where the name was localized as Panocha or Panuche. "Panocha" is said to come from the Spanish word for raw sugar. Hawaiian cooks often reminisce about both panocha fudge and icing. As an icing, it was common as topping for prune cake. Other names for Penuche include Noochie and creamy praline fudge.

Ooooo. Oooo, I like the idea of a prune cake, and of a brown sugar fudge-tastic icing. This appeals to my inner Icelandic self, which believes that all winter holidays should have pastries made from prunes (see: family recipe for vinaterta, which I should really post here at some point).

I was stopped in my tracks by the phrase "Gay Nineties"; when did we stop giving decades cute monikers? The Roaring Twenties is the last one that springs easily to mind. Surely we could come up with some more.

I think the author of the recipe pulls a few punches, or is willfully ignoring the obvious. If "for some reason" a recipe with a Germanic name drops from public usage sometime within the lifetime of folks who ate it during the Gay Nineties, it's not a big mystery. It's called The War. Even sauerkraut wasn't called sauerkraut anymore; it became Liberty cabbage.

Coconut is one of those things that I adore, that I know many people loathe, and that I can't understand anyone disliking. It's so mild. So tasty. So delightful. Chefly Husband, thankfully, adores it, even though his father twitches at the mere thought of the shredded horror.

Cranberry Sauce With Port

I searched through my journal to find a copy of my cranberry sauce recipe. Evidently, I've never tried to write it down. I do have several process-y entries about it, including these snippets from Thanksgiving 2004:

Used food processor, because, well, have food processor, and shredded my Brussels sprouts and grated my Gruyere. Will also use food processor, because, well, have food processor, to slice potatoes for gratin. Will not use food processor for onions, because, well, have pride. ...

Have also made cranberry sauce. Told Mom about it. "Is it good?" she asked. It's cranberries, an orange, port, and honey. What could be bad about it? Also zested the orange, for use in the parsnips. ...

It's 3:19 now, and there's a glass of port in the living room calling to me in a quiet and syrupy way. "Wendy!" it calls. "Wendy! Time to relax for five minutes."

3:20 PM, and still no bra. ...

My cranberry sauce is too tart on its own, but is lovely in company with everything else, and a gravy packet is heresy, but if you use 1 cup water and 1/4 cup port instead of 1 1/4 cup water? The heresy tastes like heaven.

It's cranberries, an orange, port, and honey. Let's write it up a bit more, then.

Cranberry Sauce With Port

1 bag fresh cranberries
1 orange (zested, with zest removed for other side dish use)
1 cup tawny port
several tablespoons honey, to taste

Open cranberries, and wash in a colander. Get rid of any unsavory berries. In all my years of doing this, I've never had a truly unsavory berry pop up, but better safe than sorry. Peel and chop the orange. You can supreme it if you want, or if you have a chefly husband about who needs something to do with his hands and knives and time. Put fruit into a heavy sauce pan, add port and two tablespoons honey, and bring to a simmer. Simmer, uncovered, until most of the berries have burst and the sauce is starting to thicken. Dip a tasting spoon in the sauce, take out, let cool, and then taste to see if the sauce needs more sugar. Seriously, let the sauce on the tasting spoon cool. You don't need a burnt tongue to make Thanksgiving happy. Add more honey if you want, or don't. Take off heat, pour into the dish you'll serve the sauce from, cover with cling film, and pop it in the fridge to cool and set up some.

Great on Thanksgiving. Great on sandwiches (turkey, or peanut butter, or ham, or cheese...). Tasty tasty stuff.

This year's berries may well have ginger in them, too, because the ginger looked nice at the grocery store last night.

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.

Easy As Pie

Got an extra set of refrigerated pie crusts lurking around? Why not throw together another pie for the Thanksgiving feast? It'll take 5 minutes of prep time, and it's as tasty as it is easy.

Easy As Pie

1 21 oz can cherry pie filling
1 16 oz can whole cranberry sauce
3 T cornstarch
honest dash or five of cinnamon
prepared crust for 2-crust pie

Preheat oven to 400°F. Mix together first 4 ingredients. Line pie plate with one of the crusts, fill with cranberry/cherry mixture, cover with second crust. Seal crust, vent, and place in hot oven. After 20 minutes, shield crust edge with aluminum foil. Total baking time: approx. 50 minutes. It'll be golden and bubbly when it's done. Let cool on a rack for an hour or so. Don't cut into it until it's cool, or you'll have messy slices that don't look like pie so much as goop with bits of crust. Still tasty, though.

If using refrigerated crust, total prep time on this pie is less than 5 minutes.

Pineapple-Buttermilk Sherbet

Thanksgiving reminds me not so much of my father, but of not having my father around. See, he's a Christmas tree farmer, and when we were kids, Thanksgiving was when the tree harvest started up, so he was usually gone for most of the holiday weekend. So, I think of Dad, and of missing him, which happens a lot more often since I'm 3000 miles from him most days of the year these days.

I remember talking with my dad about making ice cream; he brought up memories of childhood and making pineapple sherbet with no fancy equipment, just forks and a pan and a regular freezer. So, in honor of missing Dad at Thanksgiving, here's Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Favorites's take on his fondly remembered treat.

Pineapple-Buttermilk Sherbet

This simple and delightful sherbet requires no special ice cream-making equipment -- just a fork. It has a tangy flavor and gives the illusion of rich creaminess. Pineapple-Buttermilk Sherbet will keep, stored in an airtight container in the freezer, for 1 to 2 weeks.

2 cups nonfat or regular buttermilk
2 cups undrained canned crushed pineapple (20-ounce can)
2/3 cup sugar

In a bowl, stir together the buttermilk, pineapple, and sugar until the sugar has dissolved.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and place it in the freezer. After about an hour, when the mixture has begun to harden, stir it with a fork until it becomes slushy. Cover and return to the freezer for another hour or two, until it is very stiff but not frozen solid. Stir it again with a fork and serve. If the sherbet has frozen hard, remove it from the freezer to soften for about 30 minutes before serving or whirl it in a food processor, scraping down the sides several times, for about 2 minutes, until well blended and smooth.

Makes 5 to 6 cups
Serves 8
Preparation time: 5 minutes
Freezing time: 3 to 5 hours

So darned simple, there's really no excuse not to give it a try. And, hey, your turkey's out of the freezer by now, so you have room!

This is the last of the Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Favorites posts for now; tomorrow, it's Thanksgiving dishes from my home, and then we'll start a new cookbook.

Should it be regional? Time-specific? Boozy? Something to help you prep for winter holiday treats? Cookies? Candies? Punches? Something to get you through bring-a-dish parties? Pot lucks? Office shindigs? What do you want to explore in more depth?