Grits and Glory

Attack of the Giant Roach Day and the resulting baked good

2009-06-08T19:49:00.004-04:00

So I had kind of a traumatic morning. There I was, about to clean the bathroom, and in the utility closet, there was a filthy, disgusting, overly-large cockroach sitting on my microfiber duster. Now in the South, roaches are not indicative of say, living in one’s own filth. They’re just part of the landscape. In all fairness to the vile specimen, I don’t think it was actually alive. It looked like it was missing a few legs (probably a result of a fight with one of the cats) and wasn’t doing anything too horrible, like flying at my face or moving. Still, just in case, I put on pants, galoshes, and elbow-length rubber gloves before grabbing last month’s issue of Bon Appetit.

I then called Kendal and left him a hysterical voicemail.

“Weaselthere’sayuckyroachyinthebathroomclosetandIdon’tknowwhattodo.”

I couldn’t do it. I was terrified of it doing…something. I stood around the corner from the closet, magazine in hand, and kept peeking around the corner to make sure that the roach hadn’t moved. After about ten minutes of trying (and failing) to screw up the courage to dispose of the bug, I closed the closet door, and tried to clean the bathroom normally. However, I did keep checking nervously behind me just in case the roach had resurrected, consumed the Windex, and grown to be nine feet tall. I don’t remember watching a lot of terrible 1950s B-movies as a child, but who knows?

Shaken from my ordeal, I needed something to calm my nerves. Since they make reality shows about housewives who drink before noon, I figured this would be a good time to make beer bread.

This recipe came to me from Kendal’s cousin Amy, and it’s a winner. It takes all of five minutes to throw together, and you’re rewarded with a warm loaf of a slightly sweet quick bread. It goes extremely well with any soup or stew, and makes outstanding cheese toast the next morning. You can use any kind of beer, but your bread will only be as good as the beer you use. I think Red Stripe is the best. And don’t think you have to wait for Attack of the Roaches Day to make this.

Beer Bread

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 tablespoons baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1/2 cup sugar

1 12 ounce bottle of beer (nothing too cheap or bitter)

2 tablespoons butter, melted

Stir together flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, and beer in a medium bowl. Pour into a lightly greased 9x5 inch loaf pan and bake at 350˚ for 45 minutes. Brush melted butter over top. Bake for 10 more minutes. Cool in pan on wire rack for 10 minutes, then turn out. Serve warm or at room temperature.

On top of spaghetti

2009-05-31T08:51:00.002-04:00

I didn’t grow up eating real pasta sauce (my dad insisted on my mom making his grandmother’s sweet and sour spaghetti sauce, which is every bit as freakish as it sounds), and when I discovered pasta pomodoro in high school, I was addicted. It’s one of the simplest dishes out there- just skinny pasta, a decent tomato sauce, some mozzarella (I’m sure a real Italian wouldn’t melt gobs of it over pasta, but oh well), and maybe a few fresh basil leaves.

Problem is, I could never recreate it at home. The pasta sauces I made, while good, tended to be too acidic and robust to eat alone with pasta.

But then I found this recipe. It’s Marcella Hazan’s, but I came across it via Orangette. It is absurdly simple, and also absurdly good. You can’t buy pasta sauce that is even close to being this yummy, and with something this easy, you have no excuse not to make your own. Go forth and slurp noodles.

I add roasted garlic to mine, which gives the sauce a more complex flavor. Because this is such a simple recipe, use the best quality tomatoes you can find. San Marzanos are the best, but any fancy-looking Italian peeled tomatoes will do.

Angel Hair with Roasted Garlic Tomato Sauce (Adapted from Marcella Hazan)

1 whole head garlic, top sliced off
1 tablespoon olive oil

1 28-ounce can whole peeled Italian tomatoes, drained
1 onion, peeled and quartered
5 tablespoons butter (salted or unsalted)
salt and pepper to taste

8 ounces angel hair, spaghetti, or other thin pasta

sliced fresh mozzarella or grated whole-milk mozzarella

Preheat oven to 375˚. Place garlic in a small baking dish (a ramekin is perfect) and drizzle with olive oil. Roast about 40 minutes, until garlic is lightly browned and very tender.

Cool completely, then squeeze out cloves with your fingers.

In a 4 quart saucepan, squish up tomatoes with your hands, then add onion and butter. Simmer about 1 hour, until the fat starts to separate from the sauce and the sauce thickens slightly. Season with salt and pepper, and fish out the onion. Stir in roasted garlic, and keep at a low simmer.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 375˚.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and cook until al dente. Using tongs, transfer pasta into pot of sauce and stir everything around. Transfer pasta to a large oven-safe platter and top with cheese. Stick it in the oven until everything is nice and melty.

Raspberry Fields Forever

2009-05-30T08:14:00.004-04:00

I woke up yesterday morning an hour before my alarm, too excited to sleep. That is because yesterday was Raspberry Day, which seems to be like my birthday, Christmas, and Guy Fawkes’ Day. ALL AT ONCE!!!!!

I called one of our standard PYO farms the other day, and the poor woman on the other line was really very kind when I squealed like a little girl. You see, she informed me that there were raspberries for picking.

I adore raspberries.

Look at this. They're beautiful. Look at that color. One almost feels bad about washing out raspberry stains, because they are just so lovely.

Also, did you know that a raspberry is made up of about 100 druplets, and each druplet contains a seed? Also, that the word druplet should be used more in everyday conversation?

Not only are raspberries ridiculously good for you, they are also, conveniently, ridiculously good.

Unfortunately, an early experience with pick-your-own raspberries spoiled me for life, and the six-dollar, half-squished, unripe plastic containers available at the store here in Georgia just don’t cut it. Since they are so expensive, I don’t think I’ve ever really eaten my fill. I wanted to shove raspberries into my face until I was the red version of Violet Beauregarde (post gum-chewing incident). Alas, the berries aren’t quite as sweet as I would like, but they will be fabulous in jam.

Something I especially like about raspberries is how well they do in cakes. Unlike strawberries, which turn entirely to mush, raspberries hold their shape well. I came across this recipe for a raspberry yogurt cake in Bon Appétit last summer, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. The original recipe calls for orange instead of lemon, and almond extract instead of vanilla. I didn’t have an orange on hand, and lemon/almond/raspberry seemed kind of busy.

Good call, me. Lemon and raspberries are a natural, and the cake itself is nice and mellow, with a light vanilla/lemon flavor (which makes sense). The cake is moist and tender, and would be perfect as a brunch or tea cake. Yum. Yum. I also have a hunch that this would be equally wonderful with blueberries and orange….mmmmmm.

Ooh, and one more note- I’m really bad at following recipes for glazes. I just mix together powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla until it’s the consistency I want.

Lemon Raspberry Yogurt Cake (adapted from Bon Appétit)

3 cups unbleached all purpose flour, divided
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 3/4 cups sugar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
3 large eggs, room temperature
1 cup plain yogurt (full-fat is OBVIOUSLY preferred)
2 1/2 cups fresh raspberries

For glaze:
powdered sugar (about 1 1/2 cups)
milk (about 1 1/2 tablespoons)
vanilla (about 1/2 teaspoon)

Preheat oven to 350˚ and grease and flour a 12-cup Bundt pan.

In a medium bowl, whisk together 2 1/2 cups flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a large bowl, using an electric mixer, cream together butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add in eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Beat in lemon juice, vanilla, zest, and yogurt. Mix in dry ingredients just until combined. In a medium bowl, toss raspberries with remaining 1/2 cup flour (this prevents them from sinking to the bottom of the cake). Gently fold berries into batter, and pour batter into prepared pan. Smooth the top, and bake until a tester inserted into the center comes out clean, about 1 hour and 10 minutes.

Let cool in pan on rack 30 minutes, then invert and cool completely.

Mix together powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla in a small bowl, adding more milk (or powdered sugar) to reach desired consistency. Drizzle over cake and let cake stand until glaze dries.

Strawberry Jam

2009-05-01T14:33:00.010-04:00

I sometimes wonder if my culinary-partner-in-crime Kathryn and I are actually long-lost siblings. I then realize that nobody that genuinely sweet could have actually come out of my family. Still, we are eerily kindred spirits. We share a deep love for all the truly important things in life: Ella Fitzgerald, Jane Austen costume adaptations, Cary Grant movies, and, of course, cooking. She is the one person I know, besides my mother, who I will actually share my kitchen with. One of the best things about Kathryn is how she is always up for a food adventure. She doesn’t scare easily, which I love.

It’s not a huge surprise that we had oddly parallel childhoods. Kathryn’s mother, like mine, is a fabulous cook. Last spring, we got on the subject of pick-your-own farms. We both did a fair amount of berry-picking growing up, and Kathryn said that her mother keeps a bucket in the back of her car at all times “just in case” the PYO urge strikes. This is the kind of mother I would like to be.

We did some research, and found a strawberry farm south of Atlanta. One Sunday in May, we headed off (with my friend Emily in tow), and returned with fifteen pounds of perfect berries.

Fifteen pounds is a lot. You know what you can do with that many strawberries? Make some amazing strawberry jam.

I’d never actually made jam. This is what the Internet is for. We found a recipe, modified it, washed out a bunch of jam jars, and got to work. There was some trial and error, and my kitchen was a sticky mess for awhile. Let me tell you, I have had a lot of “I am a domestic goddess moments” in my day, but there ain’t nothing like holding up a jar of perfectly set, ruby red strawberry preserves made from strawberries that were doing their strawberry thing in the sun that very morning. This would be nothing if it wasn’t for the fact that this was the most amazing strawberry jam either one of us had ever had. It was bright and tart, and actually tasted like strawberries. I got out the jar of Smucker’s I had in the fridge and we did a taste test. Once you go homemade, you don’t ever go back.

Kathryn’s two roommates ate an entire jar in a matter of days and suggested that Kathryn dedicate herself fulltime to jam-making. We entertained heady fantasies of whipping up jar after jar of perfect jams, jellies, and preserves in my tiny kitchen.

When June rolled around, we found another berry farm and spent another afternoon making blackberry jam. Another success.

So, it’s strawberry season again, I spent this morning picking twenty five pounds of strawberries. There is nothing in my fridge right now except for five gallon-size buckets of beautiful, ridiculously sweet strawberries. These strawberries are so beautiful that the picture I took in the field with my iPhone looks like the cover of a food magazine (with the added bonus of my thigh). You can't make this stuff up. Way to go, nature.

There are also forty Mason jars on my dining room table. We are ready.

So without further ado, here is our perfect recipe and technique. It’s worth seeking out a PYO farm, since you need a ton of berries. Also, if you want to make more than the recipe calls for (and you will), make separate batches rather than just doubling (or tripling) the recipe. Purists are anti-pectin, but we tried without and ended up with a runny mess. Suck it up. You can find the proper tools (big pot, jar tongs, jar funnel, magnetic lid-grabby-thingy) at Walmart. Stop pretending you’re all fancy.

Read through the instructions before getting started, and it doesn’t hurt to have a culinary-partner-in-crime around.

The hardware
Really, really big pot (20 quart+)
jar tongs
jar funnel
magnetic lid-grabby-thingy
jars, lids, bands (you can reuse jars and bands, but not lids)
lots of towels (this is kind of messy)

For the jam
4 1/2 cups crushed, hulled strawberries
4 tablespoons lemon juice
1 package low-sugar fruit pectin
2 cups sugar (to taste)

Wash 7 half-pint glass jars in hot soapy water. Rinse. Bring really, really big pot of water to a boil and keep jars in water until ready to use. Wash and rinse lids and bands, and keep in a pan of barely simmering water until ready to use. In a large, deep saucepan, combine berries and lemon juice. Whisk in pectin until dissolved. Bring to a boil over high heat, stirring frequently. Add sugar all at once and return to a full rolling boil, stirring constantly. Boil hard, stirring constantly, for one minute. Remove from heat and skim off foam.

Meanwhile, spread two towels on the counter.

Remove jars from boiling water using tongs. Ladle jam into hot jars, leaving 1/4” headspace at the top, wiping off spills. Center lid on jar, screw band down until resistance is met, then increase to fingertip-tight. (You'll want to use a towel to do this- it's kind of toasty). Invert jar on towel for five minutes then turn right side up and cool. Jars will make a popping sound as they seal. If you live in mortal feel of botulism, you can return the jars to the boiling water for 5 minutes, and then let them hang out overnight.

Store in a cool dry place. Jam is best used within 6 months.

Our fridges, ourselves

2009-04-28T09:59:00.000-04:00

I'm currently procrastinating and avoiding my least favorite weekly task- cleaning out the fridge. Now, I am not particularly housework-averse. I'll gladly strap on knee pads and scrub the floor, tackle mildew in the shower with a toothbrush, and Windex every flat surface we've got. But something about the fridge fills me with dread. Maybe it's throwing away food that makes me feel icky, or maybe, just maybe, it's genetic.

My mother is a complete domestic goddess. This woman makes pies from scratch before 9 AM.

However, there is a dirty little secret. My mother is terrible about cleaning out the refrigerator. When I was growing up, she used to call me into the kitchen to check out her "pet" cream cheese, lasagna, whatever. "Look!" she'd giggle, shoving the blue-tinged food in my face. "It's all fuzzy!" We had two fridges, which only complicated matters. She could just shove stuff into the back of the one in the garage and conveniently forget all about it. Once, when I was home from college, I was rooting in the vegetable drawer and came across a Ziploc baggie with some murky green liquid at the bottom. I asked her what it was. "Um, I think it was a cucumber." She once left a Tupperware container full of jambalaya in the fridge for three weeks, and my dad's best friend inadvertently ate it. She called me, panicked, saying, "I poisoned Bruce!" (He was fine). I'm now extremely careful not to eat things at my parent's unless I know their provenance.

This is my favorite thing about my mother. She is the most put-together person I know, and it's reassuring to know that liquefied red peppers lurk somewhere in her house.

I like to pretend that I'm somehow above all of this, that everything in my fridge is completely safe for human consumption. That is, until my friend April had her head in my fridge and held out a leaking baggie of something. "Any idea what this was?" I shrugged. "Who knows?"

Like mother, like daughter.

Molly Wizenberg's Lemon Yogurt Cake

2009-04-27T11:56:00.000-04:00

This cake is not mine. It is adapted from Molly Wizenberg’s outstanding book A Homemade Life. Her blog Orangette is the reason that I read food blogs in the first place, and the book is absolutely lovely. Buy it. Now.

This yogurt cake was the reason she met her now-husband. I find this cake life-changing in other, slightly less significant ways. It has ended my search for the perfect lemon cake. I'm a huge fan of lemon in savory things, but I find most lemon desserts to be overly assertive. The cake itself is relatively mild, but the syrup and the glaze at a serious lemony punch. It’s a wonderfully simple cake, and doesn’t require the use of a mixer (hooray, low-tech!), but you will make a mess sifting the powdered sugar. It’s worth it, though. It’s equally delicious as a breakfast, brunch, tea, or dessert cake. I love this cake so much that I've taken to keeping a big tub of whole-milk yogurt in my fridge at all times, just in case.

The first time I made it, I sat down with a cup of Earl Grey and inhaled it. Then I cut a second piece, and it was nothing short of willpower that kept me from a third. I’m a baker before I’m a cook, and I am usually pretty restrained around desserts. Not this one. Giddy with my own success, I tried the next one using blood oranges. It ended up the most lurid pink you can imagine, like of Pepto Bismal hadn’t worked on itself and had thrown up all over the cake. Stick to the lemon. Why mess with perfection?

Lemon Yogurt Cake (Adapted from Molly Wizenberg)

1 1/2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

pinch of salt

2 teaspoons grated lemon zest

1/2 cup well-stirred whole-milk plain yogurt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup sugar

3 eggs

1/2 cup vegetable oil

1/4 cup sifted powdered sugar

1/4 cup lemon juice

1 1/2 cups sifted powdered sugar

3 tablespoons lemon juice

Preheat oven to 350˚, and grease a 9” round cake pan. Line the bottom of the pan with a round of parchment paper, and grease the paper. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, and lemon zest. In a large bowl, whisk together yogurt, vanilla, sugar, eggs, and vegetable oil. Stir in flour mixture until mixture becomes a smooth yellow batter. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 25 to 35 minutes, or until top is golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

While cake is baking, line a large rimmed baking sheet with wax paper and set a wire rack on the sheet.

Cool cake in pan on wire rack for 15 minutes, then run a thin knife around the edges and invert onto a plate. Invert back onto rack so the domed side is facing up, and set rack over a large rimmed baking sheet. In a small bowl, whisk together 1/4 cup powdered sugar and 1/4 cup lemon juice, and spoon syrup over warm cake (some will run off onto the baking sheet). Cool cake completely.

When cake is cool, whisk together 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar and 3 tablespoons lemon juice. Spoon glaze over cake.

You might be a little too into food writing if....

2009-04-21T10:09:00.001-04:00

So I had a dream last night that I met Mark Bittman and he told me that he read my blog. I told him that I loved his red lentil soup, but when I woke up this morning, I realized that it's actually Melissa Clark's recipe.

This is why I don't talk to famous people in real life. It's just better that way.

Have you and her been taking pictures of your obsessions?

2009-04-21T09:48:00.000-04:00

Here is a list of my current obsessions:

1) Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps

2) Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale

3) The Decemberists

4) Molly Wizenberg's Lemon Yogurt Cake

5) Not going out for coffee

As anyone who has ever known me will attest, when I’m into something, I don’t shut up about it. I will force small bottles of soap, cans of ginger ale, burned CDs, and slices of cake on anyone who comes within forcing distance, and I thought I would take this opportunity to extol the virtues of coffee at home.

A disclaimer- I have been a tea drinker since the age of four. A perfect cup of Earl Grey on a rainy day is pretty much my idea of heaven. However, I am a huge fan of lattes, and when I was in Argentina, I would down about three cafés con leche a day.

In Chicago, there is a chain of teahouses called Argo Tea. They offer all kinds of tarted-up tea drinks, and my favorite was a combination of steamed milk, Earl Grey, and vanilla syrup. Starbucks, Schmarbucks.

Starbucks, incidentally, started offering a similar drink, and as I was forking over my four dollars here in Atlanta, I realized, officially, that it was ridiculous to pay that much for tea. I have no idea what espresso “should” cost, but I know my tea. So I bought a milk frother, a bunch of whole-leaf Earl Grey, and a bottle of vanilla syrup, and happily started churning out my own London Fogs.

One of my favorite books when I was little was If You Give A Mouse a Cookie. A little boy gives a mouse a cookie, and the mouse wants a glass of milk to go with it. When the little boy opens the fridge to get the milk, the mouse sees the drawings and on the fridge and decides he wants to draw. It goes on and on, and I am totally the mouse.

Why stop at tea? After some Internet research, I discovered the wonder that is the Bialetti Moka Pot. This is what Italians (and, after seeing Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Javier Bardem) use to make coffee at home. I was already in possession of a milk frother, and was just a Bed, Bath, & Beyond trip away from lattes on my sofa.

I. Love. This. Thing. It is soooo sexy. So sexy, in fact, that Kendal has dubbed it “Giorgio, your Italian lover.”

You fill the bottom up with water to the fill line.

Fill the cone with ground coffee. I buy mine whole bean and have them grind it fine (ask for espresso grind) at the store. If you are really intense, feel free to grind it yourself. Tap it down lightly and put cone on top of reservoir.

Get lit. You don’t want the flame to extend past the base.

The mechanics of this are kind of cool. As the water heats up and begins to boil, it is forced up through the cone and up into the pot. Slower is better, and you’ll want to cut the heat off just as it begins to gurgle out of the top.

Serve in teensy cups or….go all the way to latte.

While coffee is brewing, nuke a mug of milk for about one minute. Be sure to leave space for the coffee. When it’s toasty (but not boiling), power up the milk frother (this is a good time to stir in a bit of sugar, if you want). When milk is foamy, pour in a bit of hot coffee (till it’s as strong as you want). Sprinkle with cinnamon.

Put on that Decemberists CD I’ve thrust upon you and you have your very own independently-owned coffeehouse. Bonus points for using fair trade coffee.

Black and White Cookies

2009-04-21T09:37:00.000-04:00

So the thing about this whole food blog is how hard it is to remember to take pictures. I spend so much of my time cooking, but I have this mental block against photographing my efforts. Julia Child used to remind viewers that they were alone in the kitchen, and it turns out that I’ve gotten used to my culinary solitude.

Kathryn (my culinary partner in crime) and I made quite the Easter feast last Sunday, and we were elbow-deep in artichokes before we remembered that we both have food blogs and cameras. Alas.

Then on Monday, I made the most fabulous honey wheat bread, tarragon chicken salad, and a polenta casserole with pesto-tomato sauce, spinach, mushrooms, and three cheeses. Again, no pictures. Of any of this.

So, finally, today, I remembered to get out the camera. You get one picture. Deal.

I spent last week in New York with two of my best and silliest friends from college. We laughed our asses off, ate, went to museums, ate, made ridiculous pilgrimages to food-based sites (“OH MY GOD. IT’S DEAN AND DELUCA.”), ate….well, you get the picture. Back in Atlanta, I figured that this would be the perfect time to make black and white cookies.

Being from Chicago, it’s a little tough to admit that New York is pretty freakin’ fabulous. You hear enough about your city being the second city and you start to resent the one in first place. And, as much as it pains me to say it (forgive me), the black and white cookie is way better than putting relish and sauerkraut on a hot dog.

For those of you who have never had a black and white cookie, it is, as the name suggests, black and white. And a cookie. The cookie dough is more like cake batter than anything, and produces a tender, fluffy, cakey cookie. Half of the cookie is iced with a vanilla glaze, and the other half chocolate. They are, without a doubt, one of my favorite cookies, and worth the time it takes to frost them. An offset spatula helps. Traditionally, they are about the size of salad plates, but I've made them a bit more manageable. Feel free to get out the ice cream scoop and make them enormous, though.

Black and White Cookies (adapted from Gourmet)

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup well-shaken buttermilk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

7 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1/2 cup sugar

1 egg

2 3/4 cups confectioners sugar

2 tablespoons light corn syrup

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

4 to 6 tablespoons milk

1/4 cup cocoa powder

Preheat oven to 350˚, and line cookie sheets with parchment paper or a Silpat. Whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt in a small bowl. Stir together buttermilk and vanilla in a cup. Cream butter and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add egg, beating until well combined. Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture and buttermilk mixture, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Mix until just smooth. Drop tablespoons of batter 1 inch apart onto baking sheets. Bake until tops are puffed, edges are pale golden, and cookies spring back when touched, about 10 to 12 minutes. Cool on rack.

While cookies cool, make icings. In a small bowl, stir together confectioners sugar, corn syrup, vanilla, and 2 tablespoons milk until smooth. If icing is not easily spreadable, add more milk. Transfer half of the icing to another small bowl, stir in cocoa powder, and add milk until chocolate icing is the same consistency as the vanilla. Cover chocolate icing with plastic wrap.

Spread a piece of wax paper over work surface (they will drip icing).

With offset spatula, spread white icing over half of each cookie. Starting with cookies iced first, spread chocolate icing over other half.

Once icing is dry, cookies keep, layered between wax paper, in an airtight container at room temperature for 4 days.

Classy ain't everything

2009-04-01T18:33:00.000-04:00

When I was about a year and a half, my mom, dad, grandparents, and baby Kathleenie (me) took a road trip. The only thing that could keep me entertained was the incessant singing of “Deep in the Heart of Texas.”

The stars at night / Are big and bright (clap, clap) / Deep in the heart of Texas

The mere mention of the song can still make my father cradle his head in his hands.

I mention Texas because it has generously lent its name to one of my favorite cakes, the Texas Sheet Cake. This is a big, brash, ridiculously rich, rhinestone-wearin’, peroxide-blond hussy of a cake. There is nothing subtle or delicate about it, and it ain't fancy. Containing a shocking three sticks of butter and a pound of powdered sugar, it has more in common with a piece of fudge than an actual cake. It’s so moist that it falls apart when you move it from the pan, and sort of slumps on the plate.

One of my favorite things about this cake (besides the butter), is how not fussy it is. The cake itself doesn’t even require a mixer, and you just dump the frosting on top of the warm cake. It gets better as it ages (the frosting soaks into the cake), and it can be stored in the fridge or at room temperature.

If you have had the good fortune to spend time around Southerners, you’ve probably had this cake. It makes appearances at countless church picnics and potlucks, and is something of a standard in the Southern cook’s repertoire. I, of course, maintain that my mother’s is the best. Pardon the terrible photography- I was too distracted to focus on the possibility of snarfing this down to do things like take focused pictures.

This makes a cake the size of, well, you know, and is great for serving groups.

Texas Sheet Cake

For the cake:
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks unsalted butter
1 cup water
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
2 eggs, beaten
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For frosting:
1 stick unsalted butter
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
6 tablespoons milk
1 pound powdered sugar, sifted
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350˚F. Grease and flour a 10x15” jelly roll pan.

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar and salt. Put butter, water, and cocoa in a saucepan. Bring to a boil and pour over flour and sugar mixture. In a small bowl, whisk together eggs, soda, buttermilk, and vanilla. Add to chocolate mixture and mix until batter is smooth. Pour into prepared pan and bake about 20 minutes, or until cake is set and a tester inserted in the middle comes out clean.

While cake is baking, make frosting. Combine butter, cocoa, and milk in a saucepan. Heat on low to melt butter but do not boil. Remove from heat and add powdered sugar, pecans, and vanilla. Mix well. Frost cake as soon as removed from oven.

The Perfect Roast Chicken, plus a bonus silly song

2009-03-29T08:11:00.000-04:00

It's been all rainy and nasty here- ideal roast chicken weather. When I was in college, this was our go-to dinner. While it takes some time, there is almost no prep work and almost no clean up. We wouldn't even bother carving it- we would just hack at it with knives and pick it clean. It was such a hit that my friend Emily christened the Le Creuset dutch oven that I used "the chicken pot."

I know that roast chicken has been done, done, and overdone (sometimes literally), but it's one of those recipes that every cook should have in their arsenal. It's not even really a recipe, more of a technique. It involves a dutch oven and onions instead of the normal roasting pan and rack, and produces shatteringly crisp skin and perfectly moist meat. I stuff it with sliced lemons, but you can use any fresh herbs you want (rosemary is especially good). I've never done this, but I see no reason why you can't use other veggies in addition to the onions. Add some carrots, parsnips, and potatoes, and you have a lovely one-pot meal.

Also, roast chicken is a whole lot of bang for your buck. You serve it one night as is, then make chicken salad out of the leftovers, and then the carcass (mmm, yummy) becomes chicken stock and you have chicken noodle soup (this is coming, I promise). You have three meals for about $9 (and that was with my quasi-fancy Bell & Evans chicken!)

In the spirit of all things comfy and nostalgic, I've decided to pay homage to "Wee Sing Silly Songs." Best. Cassette. Ever.

There was a pot/the prettiest pot that you ever did see/and the pot in the kitchen/and the green grass grew all around all around and the green grass grew all around.

And in that pot/there were some onions/the sliciest onions/that you ever did see/the onions in the pot/and the pot in the kitchen/ and the green grass grew all around all around and the green grass grew all around

And in that pot/there was a chicken/the prettiest chicken/that you ever did see/ the chicken on the onions/and the onions in the pot/and the pot in the kitchen/and the green grass grew all around all around and the green grass grew all around

And in that chicken/there were some lemons/the prettiest lemons/that you ever did see/the lemons in the chicken/and the chicken on the onions/and the onions in the pot/and the pot in the kitchen/and the green grass grew all around all around and the green grass grew all around.

Ta-Da!

Roast Chicken

1 3-4 pound whole chicken, washed and dried
2 large onions, sliced
1 or 2 lemons (depending on the size of the chicken), halved (or quartered)
kosher salt, pepper, garlic salt
olive oil (for drizzling)

Preheat oven to 325˚F. Place sliced onions on the bottom of a 5-6 quart heavy covered pot (or a roasting pan), drizzle with olive oil and season generously with salt, pepper, and garlic salt. Place chicken breast side down on the onions. Rub down chicken with salt, pepper and garlic salt, shove lemons into the cavity. Drizzle with olive oil, cover pan. Roast for about an hour. Remove chicken from oven, bump up temperature 375˚F and flip the chicken. Roast for another 40-45 minutes until skin is brown and crisp and, when poked, juices run clear.

*If you don’t use an enameled-coated cast iron pot (like Le Creuset), you may need to increase the oven temperatures slightly. Start with the chicken at 350˚F for the first part, then bump it up to 400˚F.

Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals and other goopy things

2009-03-27T18:40:00.000-04:00

I love the Sound of Music. We go way back, and so I’m kicking off this whole blog thing with a song.

Feel free to sing along.
Let’s start at the very beginning/ a very good place to start/ when you read you begin with A-B-C/ When you sing you begin with do-re-mi/ do-re-mi/ The first three notes just happen to be do-re-mi

Or, in my case, cinnamon rolls. Try rhyming THAT.

The summer between my freshman and sophomore year of high school, I made of list of things I wanted to do. I wish I would have saved this list, because it reveals what an abnormal fourteen year-old I really was. Here are the two that stick out.
1) Buy and wear a pillbox hat
2) Learn how to make cinnamon rolls

Thankfully, the first one didn’t happen. I didn’t need to draw any extra attention to my awkward self.

Equally as thankfully, the second one did. I consider these cinnamon rolls a culinary advent of sort, since they are the first “fancy” thing I remember making on my own. Later, I found out that people consider homemade breads to be intimidating, but these are proof (a little yeast humor, har har) to the contrary.

I’ve modified the recipe over the years, and this has to be the most forgiving yeast dough out there. You can add orange zest to the dough and orange juice to the glaze for orange rolls, or you can add chopped pecans to the filling. The full recipe text and proper directions are at the end.

The dough starts off with scalded milk, butter, sugar, salt, an egg, and a package of dissolved yeast. Stir in flour and dump onto a floured board.

It ain't pretty. It needs a knead (it just slipped out!). Don't add too much extra flour, or the dough will be tough. After about 7 minutes, the dough will feel smooth and elastic, and will almost (but not quite) be sticking to your hands.

Roll the dough out to about 1/8" thickness and schmear with softened butter. On goes a brown sugar and cinnamon topping.

Then it gets rolled and sliced, and the nascent cinnamon rolls go into a greased cake pan to rise (about 45 minutes).

While they're baking, mix together butter, powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla. Frost the rolls as soon as they come out of the oven. Try not to scarf down the whole pan at once.

In case you have leftovers, these reheat well for a few days.

Cinnamon Rolls

Rolls
1/2 cup milk
1 package (1/4 ounce or 2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast
1/4 cup warm (100˚-110˚F) water (about the temperature of the inside of your wrist)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 egg
2 1/2 cups flour, plus additional for flouring board
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed slightly
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Frosting
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon milk (or more as needed)

Heat milk in a small saucepan over medium low heat until small bubbles start to appear around the edges. While milk is heating, stir together yeast and water in a small bowl or cup and let set. The mixture should bubble up (if it doesn’t, the yeast is not active, which means that the rolls won’t rise. Start over with new yeast).

Dissolve butter in hot milk and transfer to a large mixing bowl. Stir in sugar and salt, then whisk in egg. Stir in dissolved yeast and flour until dough comes together.

Dump onto a lightly floured work surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about seven minutes. Don’t be tempted to add a lot of extra flour. Lightly flour work surface and a rolling pin and roll dough until about 1/8” thick. It’ll be sort of an oblong thing (if you can roll a rectangle, more power to you). Using your hands, smear the softened butter over the dough (all the way to the edges). In a small bowl, mix together brown sugar and cinnamon, and dump topping over the buttered dough, pressing down slightly over the surface. Starting with the edge closest to you, roll dough, jelly-roll style, away from you. You’ll have about a 14”-long log.

Transfer log to a cutting board, and using a sharp serrated knife, cut 1” slices. Transfer to a buttered 9” cake pan and cover with a kitchen towel. Let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 45 minutes. (I’ll put them on the stovetop and start preheating the oven about 20 minutes into the rise time).

Bake rolls at 350˚F for about 20 minutes, or until they are lightly browned.

While rolls are baking, make frosting. In a small bowl, combine butter, powdered sugar, and vanilla, adding just enough milk to make frosting spreadable. As soon as rolls are ready, remove from oven and spread frosting over the top. Remember that pillbox hats only worked for Jackie Kennedy.

A Beginning

2009-03-27T18:22:00.000-04:00

I’ve thought about doing this food blog thing for a long time. I like food and I like writing, but there’s something incredibly invasive about putting my musings on the Internet where anyone can see them. So I’ve decided to start by posting a picture of my deepest, darkest secret. My pantry.

It’s a mess. One of the secrets of good cooks is a well-stocked pantry. Mine is plenty stocked, but it’s damn near impossible to find anything in there. Somehow, despite my pantry, I am a pretty good cook.

A little history- I’m originally from Louisiana, and if I wasn’t obsessed with food, it would be considered some sort of genetic defect. When I was in kindergarten, someone asked me what my favorite part was, and I answered, “lunch.” My mother is an outstanding cook, and when we moved to Chicago, she charmed our Yankee neighbors with her pecan pie and crawfish etouffee. My family is serious about eating- we would fly live crawfish up and have crawfish boils and my dad fried many a turkey in the snow. I started cooking at a young age, and by age fifteen, I was fully food-obsessed. My subscription to Gourmet dates back to my sophomore year of high school, and I would schlep big cookbooks around in my backpack in case I got a free moment. I think I was Highland Park High School’s only food dork. It’s only gotten worse with age, but the good news is that there are OTHER food dorks out there. Hi!

Let’s get one thing straight- I am NOT a foodie. To me, foodies are the people who prance about swilling glasses of Cabernet and extolling the virtues of heirloom beets and goat cheese. I despise beets and goat cheese, along with pretension. Yes, I love cooking food, eating food, food writing, talking about food, thinking about food, shopping for food, looking at food, etc., but I think of myself as a home cook above all else. I like to think that I cook the way my grandmother would have (assuming she had access to a ridiculous variety of ingredients and hadn’t had a penchant for Jello-based “salads.”) I like cozy foods- soups, roasted things, baked goods- and I like feeding people. I’m also a firm believer in the law of diminishing returns when it comes to cooking- if you spend all day babysitting a dish, it's never going to taste as good as you think it should. There are clear exceptions to this rule, but you will find no recipes for homemade ravioli on this blog. I tried once. It was ugly. For my seventeenth birthday, my parents took me to the Charlie Trotter’s in Chicago, and we sat at a table in the kitchen. I brought a cookbook with me, and Charlie Trotter signed it, “After love, there is only cooking.” I agree. Happy reading, and most importantly, happy eating!