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.

Cooking the Books: Tangy Cucumbers

Some things in life seem so basic, so natural that to discover them writen down can come as a shock. "Wait, there's a recipe for that?" I cried, when I came across the basic natural it's-always-that-way cucumber dish in the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008:

Tangy Cucumbers
Betty Mellberg McKenzie

1/2 cup white vinegar
1/2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
Water

Slice cucumbers into a bowl. Add above and then put enough water to just cover the cucumbers. Keep in fridge. They get better the longer they sit.

"Seriously, a recipe?"

But then, if this isn't the only way you were ever served cucumbers as a child, this is just the sort of thing you need. (No hyperbole there; it seems we always had a jar of these in the fridge, which is a neat trick, because I could eat all the cukes in one sitting without trying.) It is, indeed, tangy, as the title (and the vinegar) suggest. You could fancy it up by adding dried hot pepper flakes, or thinly sliced onions. I do not. You could use a food processor or mandoline to ensure uniform, nearly-transparent thin slices. I do not. And yesterday, Washington's Green Grocer brought me two cucumbers...

I scrubbed them, and realized they were still very waxy. Out came my trusty Oxo vegetable peeler, and in a trice, off came the waxy peel. A bit of casual knife work, and I had a bowl full of uneven but beautiful slices. I ground a good healthy amount of black pepper on top, and sprinkled a hefty pinch of salt over. Then, I poured 3/4 a cup of vinegar over, slowly, to wash the spices into solution. Yes, 3/4 cup. I love vinegar. And, yes, white vinegar. Other than Easter egg dying, this is the only food application for white vinegar in my life; otherwise, I use it mostly for cleaning. I topped off the cukes with one scant cup of cold water...



...and then I ate the top layer, with my fingers. Yes, it tastes better after it sits. But, yes, I could eat it right away. It took all my willpower to not tuck in with a fork, but... there's always tomorrow.

Attractive To The Eye and Soothing To The Smell: Poppy Seed Buns

When Mom got the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008, she wanted to know if it had "her" recipes, the ones she remembered her grandmother and aunts making. It's all well and good to have a new-to-you Rice Krispies Brownie recipe on hand, but what makes a family cookbook really sing is to find the recipes you wish you'd snagged from your aunt's recipe box the last time you swung through North Dakota. Mom was very happy to find that the sweet poppy seed buns were included.

Poppy Seed Buns
Magdalena Berger Bachman

Dough:
2 cups warm milk
1/2 c. sugar
2 tsp. salt
2 cakes (pgks) yeast
2 eggs
1/2 c. soft shortening
7 - 7 1/2 c. flour

Dissolve yeast in 1/2 c. warm water. Mix well the milk, sugar and salt together with yeast. Add eggs and shortening. Add flour. Let rise. Punch down. Let rise again.

Filling:
Poppy seeds, raisins thickened with water and cornstarch. Add some sugar. Place small amount on circular shape of dough. Roll. Let rise. Bake.

Wow, we went from a standardized recipe to one a bit more ... trusting. Assume a 350°F oven, and think either "cinnamon roll" or "knish" when shaping your buns. Yes, I know they're different shapes, but either should yield good results. Personally, I'd go with "cinnamon roll" so that I get well distributed bits of bread and filling with every bite.

If you have a poppy seed grinder handy, by all means, grind those seeds! You could, of course, also buy pre-ground poppy seeds. The texture is lovely, and odds are, you don't have your own poppy seed grinder sitting about.

I know some folks are anti-raisin; feel free to substitute a dried fruit of your choice. Dates, apricots, or even apples would make a good substitution.

As for the sugar, add to taste -- I'm thinking a 1/4 cup is a good starting point. Mix up your filling, taste it, and add sugar if you think you need it.



I'm really liking digging through family food history; my grandfather passed away last month, and this is a ...non-maudlin... way to remember him and his. Speaking of his, the stern looking couple above are my great great grandparents, so were his grandparents (I have to double check if that makes this Magdalena-of-this-recipe, or Magdalena's mother-in-law). If any of the recipes in this book don't work out, well...we can probably pin the blame on them or their children. This will become important when I post the prune pie recipe.

Why, Yes, We Are From North Dakota: Knephla Soup

One thing you should know: I come from North Dakotan, German-by-way-of-Russia folk. My family left the Alsace, moved to Russia, and then left Russia for the wilds of the North American Midwest. (Well, the part of the family that didn't come over from Iceland at about the same time. Or Ireland fifty or so years before that. Or, you know, England, pre-Revolution -- yes, I could join the D.A.R.) Anyway, the Germany/North Dakota connection shines through in a lot of the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008 recipes. Take the North Dakotan soup:

Knephla Soup
Anthony Bachman

4 qts water
1/4 cup + 1 T. chicken bouillon
5 med. Potatoes
1 c. dice Carrots
1 c. diced ham
1 small onion
2 bay leaves
Simmer until potatoes and carrots are soft

Knephla

2 c. flour
1 egg
1 t. salt
1 t. baking powder
1/4 c. milk or enough to make a soft dough

Mix knephla dough together with a fork and add enough milk to make a soft dough. Roll into a quarter inch rope and snip off with kitchen shears or knife. Drop into soup and cook for 10 to 15 minutes.

Aaaah, farm food! Hearty, cheap, easy to make in large quantities. I'd eschew the bouillon, and just use 4 quarts of good chicken stock. I'm torn between calling the knephla (spelled elsewhere as knoephla) "dumplings" or "spaetzle" or "gnocchi," but whatever you call 'em, they're going to be tasty little blobs of carby goodness, and I'd wager they'd make you feel better when you're recovering from a cold.

Knephla seems to come from the German word "knopf," which means button, or knob. So, wee knobby buttons, in your soup -- an interesting image. Though some recipes call for adding milk or cream to the broth, you're going to get some creaminess from the knephla themselves -- the flour will thicken the surrounding broth somewhat. I'm tempted to throw in a hearty knob of butter to enrich the soup, myself, and if I did feel a need for more dairy, I'd go to the Irish side of my family, and open a can of evaporate milk to pour in -- it's a staple for our family's potato soup.

The Germans from Russia Heritage Collection in Fargo, N.D., has a great foodways section with links to cookbooks for sale, recipes, and articles on food culture in the German-by-way-of-Russia community. Check it out, especially if you want to see other ways to make knoephla/knephla.

Reuben Was The Eldest Of The Children Of Israel: Reuben Dip

First things first: there's a revision to German Twists. We've a better method, a more-complete ingredient list, and, well, a repudiation of the idea that "German Twist" and "Cinnamon Twist" are really the same thing.

Most of the recipes in the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008 are from my mom's generation, her mom's generation, or her grandmother's generation. There are some, though, from "the kids." This is one of those:

Reuben Dip
Michelle Bachman

1 8 oz. pkg. cream cheese, softened
1 cup sour cream
1 16 oz. can sauerkraut, drained
1 5 oz. jar dried beef, chopped

Soften cheese and add rest of ingredients. Serve warm with crackers.

I'll admit it: I adore sauerkraut. It's so darned tasty! Every once and a while, I'll make a dinner out of rye cocktail bread, smeared with Russian dressing, topped with pastrami, sauerkraut, and a sprinkling of cheese (mini-Reubens, yay!). I even tried to make my own 'kraut once, cutting and salting and curing pounds and pounds of cabbage in a big ceramic crock. If you're not a fan of the 'kraut, this may well not be the recipe for you.

For the rest of you... dang! Doesn't this sound like a tasty dish to bring to a potluck? Or something to have on hand for a rainy night in front of the TV with some beer, friends, and old movies? I wish there were some sort of tomato in the dish to stand in for the Russian dressing (and give it some color), but it sounds good as is, too.

And it sounds like something almost everyone in my family would wolf down without regret.

Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008: German Twists

When I was a kid, every summer we'd have a big family picnic. My mom's one of 7 kids, and her parents were each one of several, and there were cousins, aunts, uncles, third cousins twice removed, kids, ancients, games, silliness, and fabulous food. The picnic sort of fell into memory when my generation hit their 20s, but now that we're older and have families of our own, it's come back with a vengeance. At the 2008 picnic, there were even representatives from the heartland -- North Dakota, where both Grandma and Grandpa came from. These relations brought with them a fabulous surprise: a family cookbook. The Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008, to be precise. Lots of family recipes, some of which I remember from picnics, some of which Mom remembers from visiting the family farm as a little girl. There's also stories, some of which made Mom laugh outloud. This week, we'll delve into the family. First, a note from the compiler:

The cover of this cookbook was a special find, thanks to Marjorie Pengilly Mostad for bringing it to our attention. It is taken from an actual Betty Crocker magazine with Grandpa Andrew Bachman's address on the address label, and a hand written note explaining that these twists were made by Grandma Bachman. I don't remember ever eating the twists, but the recipe is in this book, and I am told they were delicious.

Well, the compiler may never have had 'em, but my mom remembers them well. The good folk at Betty Crocker may have called them Cinnamon Twists, but along the way, the name changed.

German Twists (Cover Photo)
Magdalena Berger Bachman

1 c. lard or butter
1 c. sour cream
1 cake yeast
2 beaten eggs
3-1/2 c. flour
dash of salt

Mix shortening and flour until crumbly. Beat eggs, add cream and yeast. Add to flour mixtures and knead a little. Put in fridge overnight with wet cloth on top. Take little pieces (about handful) of dough sprinkle board with sugar and put some on top of dough. Roll out and then fold over and over until dough is small. Put more sugar on board and on top of dough as you roll. Cut in strips 1 inch wide and 3 or 4 inches long. Twist and put on greased pan. Bake until real light brown at 375 degrees. Very good and flaky.

I'm sure this tastes just fine. I'm not sure where the heck the sugar comes from, nor how this is supposed to be a cinnamon twist when there's no cinnamon. Frankly, I think there's missing information between "dough" and "sprinkle," and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the sugar in question is cinnamon sugar. There was always cinnamon sugar about the house as I was growing up, so I'm guessing that a common enough thing in our family. I think that if you want to try this out, you're going to have to be patient as all heck with it, and/or find some other instructions for yeast-raised pastry dough and use them as a crib sheet. Try it. What the heck. Worst thing that happens is you have just okay pastry as opposed to stellar pastry.

---

AMENDMENT:

Whatever this recipe is, it is not the cinnamon twist on the front of the cookbook. Here's another German Twist recipe, from the glorious internet, such that you can see how it should actually be rolled and handled:

GERMAN SOUR CREAM TWISTS

3 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp. salt
1 c. shortening (part butter)
1 pkg. yeast
1/4 c. warm water
3/4 c. sour cream
1 whole egg and 2 egg yolks, well beaten
1 tsp. vanilla

Refrigerate 2 hours. Using half of dough, roll into 8x16 inch rectangle. Sprinkle with sugar and fold each end into the middle and roll out again in rectangle and sprinkle with sugar. Do this 3 times using 1/2 cup sugar for each half.

After the third time, roll out in a rectangle and cut in 1x4 inch strips and twist. Bake at 375 degrees for 15 minutes. Makes about 5 dozen.

There are TONS of recipes out there for German Sour Cream Twists, and clearly, that's what Magdalena Bachman's recipe is for. Don't use cinnamon sugar (or, heck, do, but know you'll be concocting a different sort of beast). And plan on a whole cup of sugar for your rolling and twisting.