Toast

Hungry Tiger Plum Cake

It is nearly September, and local Italian prune plums have begun to appear. It is time to go (plum) crazy eating them and cooking them up. As I do every year, I am making my daughter's plum cake. Repeatedly.

She, who is also known as the redfox, of the hungry tiger, writes an excellent food blog, and she has been around a lot longer than I have, though it seems like a funny thing to say about one's child. She helped me overcome my computer klutziness sufficiently to set up here, taught me the meaning of html, and exhibited remarkable patience throughout.

She is a very good cook, and this is her recipe, which appeared in the hungry tiger back in 2002. You can find it there, and see how simple it is? Pretty and delicious, and just the thing with a cup of tea. Or with your breakfast coffee.

I have deviated slightly, using a vanilla bean, scraped, instead of the extract. This is because I recently went mad, and bought a pound of gorgeous vanilla beans wholesale. About which, more later. Also, I use demarara sugar in the topping, because I am a sucker for a bit of sparkle. I make this cake frequently in the fall. Everyone likes it. There is only one bowl to wash. It keeps well. And that is all I have to say about that, for now. Bring on the plums!

Excuse the mysterious, swirling darkness of the photo. I took it indoors, due to the rain. I have definitely not mastered the non-daylight photo taking. Had I waited until it stopped raining, the cake would have been entirely gone.

Marmalam

It's a hybrid. You could call it a marmalade; there is a clear jelly, with citrus peel. But there are also chunks of pink grapefruit, retaining some of those jazzy little grapefruit globules that burst when you bite into them. This is my personal favorite of all new jams I've tried this season. It is adapted slightly from a Christine Ferber recipe for Pink Grapefruit Preserve With Honey.

Ms. Ferber suggests that it is excellent with a "not too sweet" creme brulee. That sounds wonderful to me, though I haven't tried it. It would be dynamite on some ice cream, but it is also very English Muffin friendly. I wish I'd made more. But maybe I will, as nice organically raised pink grapefruits are available year round, it will make a good winter project when the seasonal fruit is non-existent here.* There has been a certain amount of approval from giftees.

If you would like to make this, and I think you would, you will need:

4 large or five small pink grapefruit, well scrubbed
juice of one small lemon
3 3/4 cups sugar
1/3 cup mild honey
7 oz apple jelly

With one of those cute little zester tools, peel thin strips of zest off 2 of the grapefruits, until they are white and bald. (A zester is one of those tools I don't use much, but cannot do without. Imagine peeling these guys and making all those delicate little strips with a paring knife. Doesn't bear thinking about.) Save the zest. Now peel all the grapefruits, and over your jam pot of choice, slice them into thin strips, remove the seeds, and cut each slice into quarters. Add the sugar, zest, honey and lemon juice to the jam pot, and bring to a boil. Pour contents into a glass or ceramic bowl, cover with damp, crumpled parchment paper, and refrigerate until the next day.

Place a fine mesh strainer over the jam pot, and pour in the fruit mix. Allow all the juices to drain into the pot, and set the strainer over the bowl, with the fruit inside. Additional drippings can be added to the pot, as the fruit may exude a few more juices. Bring the liquid to a boil, and cook it down, until it reaches 220F on a properly calibrated thermometer.

Now, add theapple jelly (no reason you can't buy some if you prefer), breaking it up into small bits with your (clean) hand. Stir until it all dissolves, and then, boil away, bringing the temperature back up to 220F. Add the fruit and zest, and boil until it gels, using whatever test you favor- or to 65 on the refractometer (about which I babbled when making apple jam-see link above if interested). Divvy up into sterile canning jars- it will do seven 4oz jars, or 3 eight ouncers. Top with lids which have been boiled up sterile, and invert overnight to seal. This is not the usda way, which involves boiling water processing for 10-15 minutes. The fruit gets more cooked that way, and tastes less fresh, IMHO; however it is thought to be safer, so if you are at all worried, do that- it will still be good.

*Confession: My last summer jam also features an non-seasonal, non-local fruit. I fell for a big flat of mangoes at Costco, so there is a bit of a mango jamboree going on Chez Toast. I really couldn't help myself, the mangoes kind of jumped in my shopping cart, whilst I perused the baked goods nearby. I think that was what happened, it's all a bit hazy. That's often the way with infatuation. I will tell you all about it when I've finished, and cleaned up all the sticky counters and pits.

Maraschino Jam: Digressions and Recipe

These are not the maraschino cherries of red dye and corn syrup, for which I nonetheless retain a sneaking, if mostly imaginary fondness. As I child, with a child's sweet tooth, I thought they were heavenly. Perhaps you did too?

All my childhood friends seemed to love them. If I try one now, say, floating in my drink, the initial bite conjures some of the old pleasure. But then there is an acrid chemical follow-up that spoils the fun. No doubt it was always there, but I certainly never noticed it back in the day.

But then again, back in the day, I was also known to consume cotton candy and blue popsicles, if offered. These things had the lure of the carnival- sleazy, semi-forbidden fun.

Unlike blue popsicles, maraschino cherries were kept in the family fridge, but they were doled out sparingly, garnish only. This was not because they were bad for you, but because my mother, who was a genius at food, knew they would be utterly sickening in any sort of quantity.

There is a way, but today, I'm about some jam. If you'd like a proper, real food maraschino cherry to make a Manhattan, or to top off your sundae, that's another animal. I think I have a good method for that sort of maraschino, which involves dried cherries (mixed sour and sweet), sugar syrup, plenty of maraschino liquor, and a bit of waiting. It is just too bad that dried cherries come stemless, because a stem would add a bit of missing glamour. This jam owes something to that process, but much more to Christine Ferber's recipe for "Black Forest Jam".

So, this is what happened, if you'll forgive the to-and-fro-ing. Walking to my friend's house, I passed a little produce market, a place I don't usually shop. It is very expensive, yet often not terribly exciting, and the woman who owns it has been haughtily dismissive in the past. She is especially not charming when asked, politely, about something she chooses not to carry. (eg., lacinato kale: "Nobody eats that!" Right. I must be the proverbial chopped liver? ) But she had a sign that said "Sour Cherries, While They Last."

They almost didn't last; I got the last pint.* Not enough for jam. But I thought how nice the combo of sweet and sour dried cherries had been for the maraschinos I made, and I had a nice basket of sweet black cherries at home. I checked Mes Confitures for something suitable. Ms. Ferber had a suitable suggestion, but it involved Kirsch. I decided to copy it, but substitute the Maraschino for the Kirsch. Under the circumstances, it no longer seems much to do with Black Forest anything, so here you have some Maraschino Jam:

1 1/4 lbs (net) pitted sour cherries
1 1/4 lbs (net) pitted sweet dark cherries
juice of a small lemon
3 1/2 cups sugar
7 oz. apple jelly, homemade or organic store-bought
1 oz maraschino liquor

Mix the cherries, sugar, and lemon juice in a ceramic or glass bowl. Cover with a dishtowel, and let it sit one hour. Empty contents into a good-sized jam pan, and bring to a boil. Pour back into the bowl, cover with crumpled parchment paper, and refrigerate overnight.

In the morning, strain the cherries over the jam pan , and drain all the liquid into the pot. Set the strainer and cherries aside in the bowl, and bring the liquid to a boil. Boil for five minutes, and then add the jelly, stirring until it is dissolved. Skim off any foam. Add the cherries, and bring back to a boil. Boil away until it thickens and jells, testing by your favorite method. (It will be less jelled that it seems, as the cherries continue to exude a bit of moisture as they cool).

Add the Maraschino liquor, and mix it in well. Ladle into sterilized canning jars, top with lids, and flip the jars upside down. Leave them overnight- they should be sealed and cooled in the morning. Check for boingers, and refrigerate any unsealed jars to use first.

This makes about 4 eight oz jars, though 8 four ounce jars are cute, and make nice gifts. Try to wait a week or two to let the flavors develop.

*Probably there are sour cherries to be had at one of the local farmers' markets. However, I am car-less. In any case, gas being what it is, making the rounds of all of them would not be such a bargain.

Summer Soup: The Rules

Why might a person love to make lists, rules, and lists of rules? Bossy boots? Obsessive tidiness (no, can't be that); control freak? Well, who cares, really? It's a good game.

What do you need for a well stocked pantry? If you could only have 10 foods on your desert island, what would you chose? Which five kitchen tools are absolutely essential? Whoa- lists of lists? It's a form of entertainment. And where, as here, no one has to follow the rules, it can't hurt, except insofar as wasted time can be construed as damage.

It won't be me doing the construing. As far as I'm concerned, time pleasantly wasted is time well spent. If you wish to join me in this diversion, I invite you to add to these rules, or vote against them, via comment. This is what the rules are about today:

Many people are averse to the consumption of hot soup in hot weather. I eat soup all year round, and find that hot soup, like hot tea, can, in fact, be cooling. Nonetheless, when a summer soup is going to be the meal, there may be a dilemma. Because though hot soup can be refreshing in the heat of August, few fancy a weighty goulash, a crusty french onion gratinee, or chicken and dumplings.

On the other hand, unless you are a fragile Victorian female laced so tightly into your corset that you can barely lift your head from the fainting couch, a delicate clear boullion does not make a meal. Hence- my rules (deduced after much trial and error) for making a hot summer soup that while not too heavy, makes a satisfying supper. (These rules do not apply to cold soups, which are another, uh... kettle of fish.) The soup in the photo is an example that does the trick for me. I'll tell you what's in this one, but the general idea is that the rules make a sort of master recipe, from which you can assemble your own mix:

1. Use a very rich, preferably home made broth for your base. For the most part, creamy soups, if not chilled, are less summery. If you think your broth is a bit weak, cook it down. (This is a good reason for barely salting your broth when you make it.) A reduced broth, with a bit of a gelatinous quality is invigorating without being heavy. It can feel as if it is going right to your finger tips. Which is why we give it to sick people, I suppose.

2. Use a variety of seasonal vegetables, sliced fairly thinly. Some good ones are carrots, yellow and orange; summer squash (not too much, as they can be soggy); edame; snap peas; mushrooms, scallions; asparagus. Just before serving, toss in a handful of leafy greens to wilt. The vegetables should be cooked until soft, but not mushy. It is nice, though , of course unnecessary, to go for pretty shapes.

3.Pick one or two fresh herbs, and make the soup really aromatic: Use some when you are heating the broth, save some more, finely chopped or chiffonade to toss in just before serving.

4. Add a dumpling, noodles, and/or thin slices of meat, fish or poultry- but avoid chunkiness. Good choices include shrimp sliced in half lengthwise (they curl attractively as they cook), ramen or bean thread type noodles, and especially, little asian-style dumplings. These are easy to make with prepared wonton or dumpling wrappers, which are lovely and thin and slippery when cooked. You can make these in about 10 minutes, freeze them on parchment-lined cookie sheets, and bag them for future soup and other uses. Here is one excellent recipe. If you are feeling lazy, you can buy some very nice ready made frozen ones.

5.Just before serving, along with the herbs and leafy greens, add a bit of fresh lime juice, lemon juice, or rice wine vinegar to brighten up the flavors. I like some freshly ground pepper there too.

And that is all.

The pictured variation is a rich turkey broth, cooked up and simmered with a chunk of ginger and smashed lemongrass, fresh cilantro, and Thai basil. Veggies are carrots, squash, scallions, edame, and baby spinach. There are a few split shrimps and some broken ramen noodles (just a bit), as well as the shrimp dumplings in the linked recipe. It was finished with chopped Thai basil and cilantro and some rice wine vinegar. But that's just one example.

Forever Amber: Versatile Apple Jelly

Despite its curious appearance, this is not Jelly With Preserved Insects. The upper jar does, as noted by a friend, resemble amber with prehistoric inclusions (in a pretty way, IMHO). Instead, however, it is a lovely, fragrant apple jelly with vanilla bean.

I have gone on a bit about apple jelly before, in particular regarding its handy applications in the making of other preserves, providing pectin where it is lacking in other fruits and vegetables. In my FPS class, I learned a slightly simpler method for making the basic jelly, as well as the vanilla bean idea, which is just delightful. Apple jelly is the perfect almost neutral vehicle for herb and other single flavored jellies. This is a special one.

Just before you pour the hot jelly into jars, slit a vanilla bean and scrape the innards into the jelly. The shell of the bean can be cut into as many pieces as there will be jars, and one piece tucked into each just before you pour the jelly in. You can make specially flavored herb jellies this way too. Stack leaves of your fresh herb of choice, roll them into a cigar shape, and sliver them as thinly as possible: "chiffonade" it is called , I think. If you add the herb just before jarring the jelly, most of the fresh color, and all the fresh taste will be intact.

Despite its neutral, carrying qualities, the apple jelly is far from boring in its plain state. It has a good, clean, refreshing taste on its own. And it can be used to great advantage in the glazing of fruit tarts and the like. If you heat it up, and brush it on over the apples or berries, or stone fruit on top of the tart, it will dry to a shiny transparently rosy gloss, and make your fruit pastry look posh and polished.

It is best, for pectin purposes, to use unripe apples. My CSA farmers were kind enough to let me have a box of windfall apples from their orchard, which are perfect for this purpose.

Here is the somewhat simpler recipe, adapted slightly from the French Pastry School Version:

Green, preferably unripe apples 1500g
Water to cover
juice of a lemon
sugar 900g

Cut apples into 8 pieces each. Remove stems, but do not peel or core. Pour water over, bring to a boil, and simmer 1 hour. Put in a nonreactive container or bowl, and refrigerate overnight. In the morning drain through a very fine mesh strainer or chinois into a wide bottomed , heavy pan. (My copper preserving pan has proved so superior to any other I've tried, that I can actually say it has been a good buy. Also, it is very pretty. I am aware that it is slightly ridiculous to own such an object. But there you are.) Push on the apples slightly but not heavily. You want apple flavored liquid, not a cloudy puree.

If you leave the seemingly solid remains of the apple poised over a bowl, several hours later, you will have half again as much liquid collected. If you chill all the liquid in a ceramic or glass bowl overnight again, it actually seems to jell even more readily. This is not necessary, however. Add lemon and sugar, bring to a boil, and cook until it is clearly jelling- 65 brix*, or until a drop blobs, rather than runs, on a chilled pottery plate.

Pour into sterilized jars, allowing 1/4" space, top with new lids, and invert. Leave upside down overnight, check seals for boingers, and refrigerate all such deviants to use up quickly. I made eight ounce jars of plain apple jelly for multiple uses. The vanilla or herbal jellies are nicest in the bitty 4 oz. jars, I think. This makes 3 of one, and six of the other.

*Yes, I did buy an analog refractometer. You knew I would, I'll bet. It's pretty cool, and makes things way easier. But you can use the old fashioned methods too, and they have certainly always worked for me in the past. It would be a silly toy if you don't do much jam. Probably a silly toy for me anyway, but I do love it. And it takes very little storage space. Unlike the big old jam pan.