Plated: Lemon Poppy Seed Shortcake with Vanilla Bean Pastry Cream and Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote

-Shmancy.-

Plated desserts are a thing for either the professional pastry chef or for the criminally insane home baker who has a day to fill. Having been both I generally understand the motivations.

When you work in a professional pastry kitchen you get a paycheck at the end of the day. Yes, that paycheck wouldn't cover the pound of vanilla beans the manager somehow found the cash for but you getting a $1.50 more an hour would be such fiscal lunacy that he'd rather burn the place down, but it's totally not about that. You get paid in satisfaction, pride in your work, and hopefully family meal in a kitchen that's cool sending fried chicken your way once in a while.

For the home cook it's about challenge, a day without errands pecking at your heels like angry hens, and a desire to recreate a cake you saw online but that will likely end up as a meme on the Cakewrecks fan page.

Of course, both require passion and dedication. Plated desserts require patience, planning, and so many bowls and spoons that you'll wonder why you didn't get an apartment with a dishwasher.

Lucky for me I have one, so if you don't then I guess it sucks to be you.

I also had a day to kill and a friend who insisted that we do a plated dessert because once these ideas spark in her head it's hard to put that brushfire out. So she put me to dancing my knife between piles of strawberries and stacks of rhubarb while she whisked out every lump in a pot of pastry cream that would feed fifty but only needed to feed two.

Shortcakes were made and dressed with lemon and freckles of poppy seed. Whipped cream was, oh yes, whipped by hand.

And so at the end of our afternoon we had the following: Lemon Poppy Seed Shortcake. Vanilla Bean Pastry Cream. Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote. Whipped Lavender Cream.

Proof that crazy can be a good thing.

Pickled Rhubarb and a Couscous Salad

-It was too pretty to Instagram since I had light and wasn't cooking in the middle of the night.-

We seem to a be a nation that has no problem pickling anything. We pickle eggs and that seems strange and terrifying until you try one. We pickle asparagus knowing full well it will make your pee even worse that eating it unpickled. String beans which are then renamed to dilly beans. Cauliflower; always with curry. And recently I have discovered pickled cherries, which may very well revolutionize the Manhattan and the martini.

Pickling and preserving books are now all the rage. It seems there's always a new one every few months purporting to be the end-all, be-all cookery book for packing your pickles.

However, this vinegar-fueld enthusiasm seems to have looked over humble rhubarb. Lovingly discarded like a stuffed animal still on your adult bed out of filial duty and not because you sleep with it, rhubarb is and forever will be in most minds the "pie plant".

Cookbook Tour Advice: Rhubarb Scones

-Smile all the time. Even when you are tired of smiling.-

For those aspiring cookbook writers or for those about to go on their first book tour allow me to offer some helpful advice I wish I had been given.

Shit happens. Roll With It.

I had an event where after plenty of email communication it still went to hell.

The venue insisted that they did not want to sell books themselves so I organized a third party bookseller, a locally owned mom-n-pop shop, to come in and sell the books instead.

Personal Religion: Cherry-Rhubarb Jam

-Prayer in a jar.-

My brother and I were raised to be good Presbyterians. We went to church every Sunday where my brother and I would draw on the back of the pamphlet for that day's sermon and generally cause a fuss for 60 minutes as our parents attempted to shush us into quiet obedience. Eventually, frustrated at the lack of any sort of child-related religious education (read:babysitting), my parents picked us up and moved us to a nearby Luthern church that had a well-dispositioned Sunday school and preteen and teen programs. From then on we were raised to be good Lutherans.

Lutheranism is the Diet Coke of Catholicism: Same great flavor. None of the guilt. What I mean is that we used the same general catechism, the book of rules on how to be a good Christian. Young kids have to memorize it, take classes, and learn to be good people in the eyes of Jesus.

In Lutheranism there are no Saints to pray to, which I liked because from the outside it seemed there were too many of them. I never understood why Mary got respect but Joseph didn't, so for a long time I assumed the Catholic church was sexist against men. (Silly me.) Actually, the Vatican is still a mystery to me in many respects. As a child I interpreted it as a miserly old man with too much money telling people to be miserable for this would make God happy. (Ever since Martin Luther decided to graffiti a church door, Lutherans have always been against suffering and self-inflicted angst.)

Lutherans are generally a very laid back lot. Where as Catholicism might encourage you to say five Hail Mary's on Easter Sunday, we're more likely to drink five Bloody Mary's on any given Sunday. This is probably what influenced the waned sense of piety and religion that I possess today.

Much of this attitude was influenced by my pastor at the time of my youth, Pastor Kim. Our Senior Pastor, Pastor Tim, a disgruntled man in his forties who had the disposition of a codger in his eighties, was a miserable guy. For a Lutheran he was very fire and brimstone, and seemed to have a deep rooted hatred for Buddhists who he insisted were "Dead inside for praying to a stone statue of a man," which made many of the parishioners cock their heads in question as he said this in front of a three story tall, polished wooden cross. Considering all this, you might be able to see why it was odd that of all people he hired to be his Assistant Pastor, he hired Pastor Kim.

-Pastor Tim: Taking the fun out of religion since Westboro Baptist Church and the National Organization for Marriage.-

Kim was blond, sweeter than a Sundae, and sickeningly perky. She was that girl you knew in high school who was prom queen, track star, and got a perfect SAT score. Part of you wanted to hate her, but she was so damn nice to you and everyone else that you couldn't help but give her the utmost admiration.

I recall when I was talking to her one day when I was still struggling with the whole sexuality issue. I was worried that what I might be doing (i.e., liking boys) was sinful. I poured out my heart while trying to hold back the tears, wondering why a God who made me like this wouldn't like me the way I am.

She looked at me thoughtfully, then got up and walked over to the TV that she kept in her office and turned it on. She then bent over and opened the cabinet of the television stand to reveal a Nintendo 64 gaming system.

"You're stressing too much about this. You're fine," she said as she began to unravel the cords from around the controllers and set the system up.

"Really?" I sniffed.

She turned and sighed, "Yes. Look, do you want to do good in the world?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel like you've actually done anything wrong?"

"Um, no?"

"Okay, then just try to be a good person. If you do do something bad then ask for forgiveness from God in a spirit of contrition and you'll get it. After that you go do more good in the world. That's the way to live a holy life. That'll make you happy. That'll make God happy. That'll make others happy. Who you take home to meet mom doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things."

"Uhhh, okay."

"Now, let's play some GoldenEye 007." Then for the next hour she proceeded to whoop my ass at video games, trash talking me the entire time. (E.g., "Maybe you should pray to Jesus not to suck so much!")

-She cheated, too. She would just camp out in a corner with the sniper rifle and - BOOM! - headshot. Every. Damn. Time.-

This sort of attitude reflected that of the entire youth congregation, which I was an active part of all until I left my hometown for college. Indeed, on my last day there when I told all my friends in the Youth Group, people I had known now for over 10 years that I was gay, the general response was, "No duh." A few actually had someone they wanted to set me up with. One person did actually water balloon me in the face, but then again she was water ballooning everyone that summer day.

These days, I'm bad Lutheran. I don't pray that much. I go to the occasional Church service, but my belief is that standing in a church makes you a Christian as much as standing in a garage makes you a car. To me, faith is a personal thing and best practiced alone in your own way.

For me, I guess, cooking is now my Sunday morning routine. The methodical process requires thought, practice, and action. It's the combination and transformation of things. Cooking becomes appreciation of life and what it has to offer.

My kitchen is my church. Here, I feel close to God, my family, and my friends. I attend regularly. The wine is way better than the stuff Pastor Tim used to serve and I generally prefer cookies to communion wafers.

-Also, I sing songs from Glee. Not musty old songs that are sung by a congregation with all the joy of horsewhipping.-

Even more so, the kitchen defines what faith is. In the kitchen there is only so much you can control. At times, you simply have to have faith that your oven won't run too hot or that the fruit you picked up won't be too bitter. Jam requires skill, yes, but it requires faith and knowledge of your ingredients. Coax your jam all you want, but any seasoned jammer will tell you the same thing: the fruit will do as it sees fit. You simply have to accept the outcome and make the best of it.

I've learned some of the best life lessons in a kitchen. In fact, I feel that I've learned them better in the kitchen that in the pews listening to someone preach from the book of Psalms. I learned patience waiting for a cake to rise. Humility when it didn't. Respect in the presence of great teachers. Affability in the presence of eager novices. Thankfulness for bounty, and temperance when gifted with it.

Jam teaches you a lot of these lessons that we learn hovering above a pot with a wooden spoon in hand. And, so, I think God, in a way, is in the food we cook.

God tastes delicious in this jam, by the way. The cherries and rhubarb create a brooding, sweet and sour jam that just rings loud in your mouth and that echoes through you. I encourage you not to skimp on the vanilla as it lends the jam a creamy flavor.

It may not make the most sense or be the most expected way to practice one's faith, but it works for me. Personal religion is just that: personal. We all have to find the way it works best for us. In the end, I feel if you're trying your best to be a good person then you're doing all right in The Universe's eyes. Making food and feeding people is just one of many ways to go about that.

It is certainly the most flavorful.


Cherry-Rhubarb Jam
Makes 5 8-ounce jars

2 1/2 lbs cherries, pitted
1 1/2 cups chopped rhubarb
1 lb.sugar
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon butter
1/2 vanilla bean, seeded and scraped

1. Place all the ingredients in a stainless steel or copper pot, or an enamel-lined dutch oven (not an aluminum pot). Let macerate for about 10 minutes. Place a small plate in the freezer as this will be used for testing later.

2. Turn heat to medium-high. The mixture will bubble and froth vigorously. Skim the foam off the top and discard (or save it and put it on cheese or yogurt; super tasty). The boil will subside to larger bubbles, but still bubble vigorously. Be sure to begin gently stirring the jam frequently to prevent it from sticking and burning to the bottom.

3. After about 20 minutes begin testing the jam by placing a small amount on the cold plate. Allow 30 seconds to pass and then run your finger through it to see what the cooled consistency will be. Boil for a few minutes longer if desired for a thicker jam.

4. Ladle into hot, sterilized canning jars and seal leaving 1/4 inch of head space. Wipe the rims of the jars clean before applying the lids. Screw on the rings to finger-tight. Work quickly. Process in a water bath to ensure a good seal. If you want you can skip the water bath and just screw the lids on tight where the heating-cooling process will create a vacuum seal, but the water bath is a surefire method for a secure seal.

*To sterilize the jars, rinse out clean mason jars, dry them, and place them, without lids, upright in a 200°F oven for 10 minutes. To sterilize the lids put them in a shallow bowl and pour boiling water over them.

Suddenly Adulthood: Rhubarb Crisp with Rosemary

-Rhubarb is never sudden.-

I recently had the terrifying realization that at some point in the past ten years I had become an adult.

Life hadn't sent someone to my home with a bouquet of flower and a handshake congratulating me into the secret world of adulthood. There was no card. No special announcement. We have sweet sixteens and quinceanera to celebrate our teens. First birthday parties are a must for any child, though they don't remember it and most of that cake will end up everywhere except the child's mouth. When women are close to term we have bridal showers where the knocked up is floated on a lily pad and worshiped by her friends before the ritual ooh'ing of the gifts takes place.

Yet, we have no pinpoint for being an adult. It just, apparently, happens.

What's scary is the disillusionment you have about adulthood when you're young and tottering about. As a kid I held the view that my parents just knew everything there was to know about the world via a handbook for adults. They knew what was right and what was wrong. They had lived life and their advice was golden and appreciated. When you had problems your parents are the ones you ran to who instinctively knew what the solution was whether it was how to solve your math homework, what clouds were made of, how to spell the letter "B," or whether Jesus or George Washington founded America (my concepts of time and letters were rather loose at the age of two). Your parents knew how to raise a kid and do it well because adults just DO.

-Bill Watterson, what can't you teach us?-

Horror of horrors when one day you realize they were just making it up as they went along. Seriously! Your parents probably almost killed you a dozen times over because they were just guessing! No book, no class, no anything. They had sex one night and you were a result that they had to instruct through life.

In California you have to take a class, pass a written exam, have 100 logged practice hours, possess a proper state identification, and pass a driving test to get a driver's license but you can go start having a kid right now. When it gets here you are officially responsible for the healthy mental, emotional, and physical development of a helpless human being. There is no preparation for it. It's just your inherent right, and God help you if you screw it up.

Think about it. How messed up is that?

-Pretty damn messed up, actually.-

Adulthood doesn't slam into you like a freight train, either. Rather, adulthood is an assassin, slowly, stealthily stabbing you with the utmost precision over and over. A shiv to the wallet and you now have electric bills and a Netflix account. Needles in the eyes and - BAM! - you need glasses. Soon you're bleeding out in the street gripping onto your library card and wondering how the hell you have a mortgage when it seems that only a few days ago you were listening to music with friends during your last day of summer vacation.

Congrats, you are, apparently, somehow, an adult. You realize there is no book or great secret to it all. You're just bumbling along only now you have a gym membership because you don't have the metabolism of a five year old whose every prerogative involves running around somewhere chasing an imaginary hamster. You get a punch card for your oil changes because the tenth one is free and that is an incentive worth pursuing because that thirty dollars could go towards paying off student loans or buying a nice bottle of wine for dinner. You have responsibilities and no real idea half of the time of how to really go about them.

- Only one punch away from the oil change. Yes!-

So the only thing you can do is make the best of it.

However, adulthood comes with perks. Rated-R movies! Paychecks! Bourbon is a nifty bonus. Even better, you get to do whatever the hell you want in the kitchen.

I never got to have rhubarb growing up. My parents didn't like it, so they never bought it. It was only as an adult I finally picked up those jaunty red stalks and discovered their flavor. My first bite of it was raw. It was as tart as rejection and it nearly made me weep. The farmer who gave it to me laughed and took pity as I attempted to swallow the sour, flossy fibers in my heroic attempt at propriety. He charmingly assured me that it was best to usually cook it in order to mollify the slapping flavor. However, he produced a jar of honey and dipped a small, baby stalk of it into the honey and encouraged me to taste. "This," he assured, "is the exception."

I took a bite and it was floral and candy sweet, the sour was beaten back, mellowed by the humble acidity of the dark wild honey. Since then I can't help but play with rhubarb whenever I see it. I'm an enamored school girl who blushes back at rhubarb. I purchase it every chance I get and always give it my full attention.

My right as an adult, I guess.

-Also the right to swear, drink, and make bad decisions for the fun of it.-

This crumble is simple. Rhubarb is the star here. A few strawberries are cast as extras to help make it shine. Just enough sugar tempers its almost rudely sour assault. Rosemary and lemon - a stellar combination when it comes to rhubarb - give it a support and depth and make those an almost certainly adult dessert.

I suppose you could give some to kids if you want. But I wouldn't. Something for them to look forward to when they suddenly realize they're adults, too.

On a complete tangent, I want to bring a little personal something to note. My Blood & Chocolate Pudding post was nominated for Best Culinary Essay in Saveur's 2011 Best Food Blog Awards. I'm truly thankful for everyone who nominated me. You can vote here. However, I ask one thing when and if you do vote: I am honored to be grouped with an amazing bunch of writers, and so I encourage you to read every essay and then vote for your favorite. Give your vote to the best essay!


Rhubarb Crumble with Rosemary & Lemon

For the Crumble Topping
3/4 cup flour
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup oats
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cold and cut into small cubes
1/4 teaspoon salt

Place all the ingredients in a bowl and cut with a pastry cutter or two forks, or use your hands to pinch the butter with the other ingredients. Cut or pinch until the butter is all the size of small peas. Chill.

For the Filling
2 1/2 cups rhubarb, chopped
1/3 cup strawberries, chopped
1 teaspoon rosemary
1 tablespoon lemon zest
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/3 cup + 1 tablespoon sugar

1. Combine all the ingredients together in a bowl and let sit for 30 minutes.

2. Preheat oven to 350F. Lightly butter a medium-sized baking dish and pour in the the rhubarb mixture. Level it out with a spoon. Spoon on top the crumble mixture and spread out evenly. Bake for 25-30 minutes or until top has browned a bit and the juices bubbles up the sides. Allow to cool for 10 minutes. Serve.

Tarted Up A Bit - Strawberry and Rhubarb Tart

-A perfect tarty treat after tarting up your garden.-

The garden was a bit of a slag when we put it together. Plants placed haphazardly with little forethought, tomatoes here and tomatoes there rather than them being grouped together, the whole thing was as well laid out as the streets of Boston. Which is to say, poorly. Many of the plants that needed sun sat in the chilling shade, their growth noticeably stunted. Other plants were taking in too much water and root rot began the slow decomposition within the stalks.

With the exception of our strawberries, mints, blackberry plant, and our dwarf citrus trees the rest of our prolific garden was on the verge of ruin. The garden wasn't simply suffering, it was cluttered, unplanned, and somewhat slovenly. The garden was like a guy I used to see at my local gym, he had the body of a god, but he had the face to guard it. This garden was his equivalent; it possessed striking potential and had the ability to produce, but unless something was done to clean it up a bit it would be remain a secret garden defined by ugly struggle.

Roommate, BF, and I undertook the day long trial of reviving and turning this garden around. We picked up a few sacks of steer manure, plenty of dirt, a few new plants, and borrowed some shovels from BF's family. Toiling, slathered in sweat and sun screen, we carefully dug up every eggplant, every pepper, every everything and gingerly laying them in misted shade so the roots wouldn't wither and dry. We quickly turned the first 10 inches of soil with manure before laying the plants back in the ground in ordered rows. Each row was so clearly defined and categorized that any real farmer or librarian would be proud.

-A happy, well organized, slightly chic vegetable and fruit garden.-

All decked out the garden is vogue, Cover Girl. She's strutting her stuff. Bedazzled with berries, parading with peppers, and a few good pots of basil (which never go out of style). She's all tarted up in the most fashionable ways.

Afterwards, covered in mud and a bit tousled, we tarted ourselves, albeit in a different way. We sat down to the remnants of a made yesterday strawberry and poached rhubarb tart. The recipe came from Chez Panisse Desserts, authored by Lindsey Shere, a cookbook I had purchase but then expressed disappointment at as I had been expecting something ill-defined and vague I called "more." A few people chastised me, nudging me on in their motherly way to give the book a go.

I did and, I admit, I was wrong. The book did me well though a few more notes about the cooking process would have been appreciated. Particularly the base recipes such as the shortbread crust and pastry cream; both simple and reliable, little black dresses of the pastry world.

The tart is spectacular and always in style come Spring. The perfect accessory to hold in your dirt stained knuckles as you revel in your made-over garden.

Short Crust Pastry
(For 9-inch pastry shell)
adapted from Chez Panisse Desserts

1 cup of flour
1 tablespoon of sugar
pinch of salt
1/4 teaspoon of grated lime peel
1/2 cup unsalted butter, not too cold
1 tablespoon of water
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract

1. Mix flour, sugar, salt, peel and butter and cut with your hands or a pastry knife until it resembles cornmeal sized pieces. Add water and vanilla and combine into flour-butter mixture until the pastry will hold together when you press it. Pat into a ball and wrap it with plastic wrap and pop it in the fridge for 30 minutes.

2. Press into a 9-inch tart pan, making sure you keep it even. It should be somewhat thin, but don't worry as it will puff a bit when baking and become thicker. Wrap the pan in foil and freeze for 30 minutes.

3. Preheat oven to 375F. Remove the foil and bake for 25 minutes or until golden brown. The dough will puff up a lot during the baking process. Don't worry as it will sink back down. Cool on a wire rack. When cool fill with pastry cream and top with fruit.


Pastry Cream
adapted from Chez Panisse Desserts

2 cups of milk
1/3 cup of flour
6 tablespoons of sugar
6 egg yolks
2 tablespoons of butter
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract

1. Heat the milk until small bubbles appear around the side on the pot, signaling it is just about to boil. Mix the flour and sugar in a heavy saucepan. Beat egg yolks in a bowl until thick and light colored. Whisk the hot milk into the flour mixture and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture has boiled for a minute or two.

2. Whisk some of the milk mixture into the egg mixture to temper them and then stir the egg mixture back into the rest of the milk mixture. Mix well. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the pastry cream begins to hold a slight shape, about 170F. Do not boil.

3. Remove from heat and stir in butter. Allow to cool, then whisk in the vanilla and smooth out the pastry cream. Do not overmix cooled pastry cream.


Poached Rhubarb with Strawberries

2 pints of strawberries
1 cup of chopped rhubarb
1 cup of sugar

1. Core and slice strawberries. Set aside.

2. Place sugar and 2 cups of water in saucepan. Bring to a simmer. Add poache rhubarb and simmer on low for 8 minutes. Take off heat and allow to cool for an hour.

3. Drain rhubarb (the cooking liquid is wonderful in cocktails, so save it) and carefully toss them with strawberries.

-Yes, I worked a Madonna song into my post. It would have been wrong not to.-

Rhubarb and Nectarine Crumble: An Understandable Result of Banner Making

I hate making banners and buttons for the blog. If anything it's the bane of my blogging life. I recall the horror that was making the banner you see at the top of this web page. Three days of frustration, screaming, and pouring through code and html tutorials and online photoshop lessons. At one point I almost gave up the blog in a small fit of crying after stumbling along for a 6 hour stretch of utter FAIL. Still in the end, it worked out. It might be time for an update though, but honestly I just don't even want to go there.

So when I decided I had to make a banner and button for the new blog (where there is a new post up today), I just had to grit my teeth and bear it. I went to the store and bough a few pink and ruby hued stalks of rhubarb so I could take some pictures. Getting them home I got out the white plate I use for photographs and placed it precariously on my window ledge where I get the most light and, of course, also risk everything tumbling over the edge in a heap at any second when the camera is raised. As I tried to arrange the stalks of rhubarb, a vegetable that is anything but neatly stackable, I began to try to picture my end result. Beautiful, red and white, a perfect font that heralded intellectual thought and creativity in the food world with a picture that encapsulated the soul of food writing. I knew what I wanted and goddamnnit I was going to get it even if I had to break out the glue gun and airbrushing to make it work.

The pictures, amazingly, came out fine. However with no photoshop on my new MacBook I resorted to Picnik, an online photo editing program I was made aware of at the recent IFBC. While I was initially frustrated that my perfect banner wasn't going to be possible (it's a great program but it has its limitations) I came out with one that was better that what I originally envisioned, plus a nifty little banner-button-ad-thingy for this blog. It's a little piece of work with which I am very proud of myself for.

Still, that left me with a lot of rhubarb to use up. Lucky for me I had a few nectarines that were sitting about from the Farmer's Market. Still firm and tight with a death grip on the stone they weren't juice dribbling sweet with a thick aroma. Instead they had a delightfully tart taste to them that was slightly reminiscent of sour candy.

Chopping them up tossing them with some sugar and some diced rhubarb into the little casserole dish they went. (My brand new Le Creuset 5X7 inch casserole dish in pretty cerulean I might add. Found on sale with a matching 7X10 1/2. For $30. Yayness indeed.) I whipped up a quick oatmeal crumble topping and into the oven it went.

Sure 100+ degree weather and baking don't mix entirely, but damn it, dessert was at stake! Twenty five sweltering minutes later out it came. As I moved aside the research I was doing for the new blog's next post I took a bite - never mind that I burnt my tongue due to my sore lack of patience, the crumble was delicious. Not overly sweet, perfectly tangy and tart, with just enough of that juice laden crumble on top to take me into a little bit of bliss. This crumble was a celebration of my new blog and triumph over technological photographic hurdles.

I made it again the next day. It perfectly serves two (or perhaps one very generously) and takes only a few minutes to throw together. If you don't have rhubarb or nectarines, I suppose really any fruit will do nicely but I encourage you to try it this way as it is quite fabulous.

Rhubarb & Nectarine Crumble
1 good, large stalk of rhubarb
1 nectarine
zest of one orange
1 tablespoon of sugar
1/4 stick of cold butter
1/2 cup of flour
1/4 cup of oats
2 tablespoons of brown sugar

1. Preheat oven to 350F.

2. Dice up the rhubarb and nectarine. Toss in a 5X7 baking dish with the sugar and orange zest and mix it up a bit allowing the produce to macerate.

3. Place the butter, flour, oats, and brown sugar in a bowl and cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the whole thing looks like bread crumbs. Pour over the fruit and pat down a bit.

4. Bake for 25 minutes. Allow to cool for a few minutes or just dive right in like I did and burn yourself. Totally worth the skin grafts you'll be needing on your tongue.

Rhubarb Rosemary Jelly from Gourmet

I saw this recipe recently over at Gourmet.com and after looking it over it seemed like something doable during a study break. I had time and I had the ingredients on hand, so I figured why not? Recently, I had switched into my alter ego, Anxiety Man, able to jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound, and as such needed to unwind a bit.

Making jelly during finals, I find, is surprisingly fulfilling. To begin, it's always a pleasant feeling having a weighty knife in one's hand. There exists a sense of power and raw dominance that comes with it and the pleasure of slicing through the body and juices of all that rhubarb and rosemary. That bit of petit destruction gives a nice sense of relief and works as an irrefutably phenomenal stress reliever.

Honestly, my jam and jelly skills are what I would call... minimal. My luck with making them... disastrous at best. Mainly because all my past experience have had unfortunate mishaps which end with me somehow needing to be bandaged up.

Take the time I reached into a pot of scalding water for a jar lid, forgetting in fact, that the water was in indeed scalding. I didn't quite realize it somehow until I was a forearm deep. Fun trip to first aid there. Apparently I have a slow pain response to boiling water.

Then there was the time the jar exploded in my hand during the cooling process. A rousing game of "Is that blood or tomato sauce?" was enjoyed by all present.

Still, this recipe seemed so nonchalant. Relaxed. Easy. Basically it was chop shit up and boil it in a pot. Afterwards, pass it through a sieve and then jar it. It's a fridge jelly to be sure due to the use of gelatin instead of pectin, but I doubt it will last long anyways. (Update: It's gone now.)

The tickle pink, almost startlingly neon blush is stunning in itself. Really, I'm quite proud of myself just looking at it. The color is only surpassed by the flavor. Sweet, tart, and quite savory and while the jam is pink, the taste is a foresty green. While tasty by the spoonful (it's like rosemary candy for God's sake), I look forward to trying this with a bit of chicken or turkey assuming it lasts that long.

The recipe, as I have said, is easy; ridiculously so. So now I am jellied and happy, a bit less jittery, and ready to go back to the grindstone.

Toodles.

Ginger Cupcakes with Rhubarb Filling and Ginger Cream Cheese Frosting

From the Cupcake Archives...

I still had quite a bit of rhubarb left after the last cupcake because I bought a crazy amount of it. I think you're starting to get just how much I truly love the stuff. Rhubarb is versatile, unique, has an interesting history, and if you don't know what you're doing could kill ya'. I want to pair it with blood orange some time, or maybe contrast it with mango or kiwi and see if something tropical would act as a good counterpoint to it.

However this cupcake was focused on some more traditional flavors. Rhubarb and ginger is a popular combo in England and for a while it dropped out of use, but it's starting to really make a comeback as chefs and restaurants are utilizing it for more and more for savory and sweet dishes (to any British readers, I'm just passing on what my friend in London told me). The spice of ginger pairs well with the tartness of the proud stalks, and when made into a blushing sweet compote creates a taste that's almost candy-like.

The rhubarb compote is rather strong so ginger was utilized in the cake, the frosting, and with presentation through candied ginger. The flavor was intensely gingery with that distinct pungent spice, perfectly counterbalanced by the sweet-tart colorful compote. I think ginger is a matter of taste though as I kind of wanted even more ginger flavor to come through and Rob wanted less. Play with it and see how you feel, the frosting is easy to alter in flavor so have fun with it. It's a refined cupcake for sure, I don't know if many children will like it; not that they'll dislike it, I think they would just cock their head to the side after a bite like a dog befuddled by a strange sound. All adults and hardcore food lovers out there will absolutely fall in love with this deliciously springtime pastry.

It's simple to make, easy on the pocket book, and fun to eat. Like most cupcakes, they taste better the nest day when flavors have a chance to marry. I look forward to future experiments with rhubarb. By the by, a special shout out to Elise for lending me that pastry kit and bags so I could practice my piping. (Update: Sorry, I just got the e-mails, the comments are enabled, my bad!)

Rhubarb Compote
What You'll Need...
2 1/2 cups of chopped rhubarb
3/4 cup of sugar

What You'll Do...
1) Mix the two together in a saucepan and let sit for about 15 minutes. Place on medium heat and stir occasionally, until the mixture is soft and the rhubarb has broken down a bit and has a soft pink color. Set aside to cool.
2) Drain the excess liquids before filling cupcakes, otherwise it will soak the cake.


Ginger Cupcakes
Makes 12 cupcakes / 350 degree oven

What You'll Need...
1/4 cup of butter
1 cup of sugar
2 eggs
1 1/3 cup of flour
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon powder
pinch of salt
1/2 cup of milk
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons of freshly grated ginger

What You'll Do...
1) Beat the butter for about 2 minutes until well creamed. Add the sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl halfway through.
2) Add the eggs one at a time and beat for 30 seconds each. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl.
3) Mix in the grated ginger.
4) Combine flour, salt, baking powder, and ground ginger and sift together. Add some of the flour mixture, then some of the milk, alternating between dry-wet-dry and ending with the dry ingredients. Mix together until just combined.
5) Scoop into cupcake papers.
6) Bake for about 15-18 minutes. Cupcakes will be dense, heavy, and moist. A toothpick should still come out clean. Let cool on a wire rack.
7) Cut out a small cone out of the top of the cupcake and spoon in some of the rhubarb compote. Cut the cakey part of the cone off and pace the cap back on. Or eat the whole thing. Go with what moves ya'.


Ginger Cream Cheese Frosting
What You'll Need...
1/4 cup of butter (1/2 a stick), room temperature
4 oz of Philly cream cheese (1/2 package), room temperature
2 cups of powdered sugar
1-2 teaspoons ground ginger (taste as you go)
1 teaspoon of freshly grated ginger
candied ginger (optional)

What You'll Do...
1) Cream the butter and cream cheese together, about 3 minutes. Scraped down the sides and bottom.
2) Slowly add the powdered sugar. Add the vanilla to taste. Spread on cooled cupcakes. Decorated with chopped candied ginger.

Early Spring Ruby Galette

Rhubarb! I adore it. The sweet-tart taste, the ruby red color, the sweet aroma. *le sigh*

I had a bit of leftover frozen pie dough (I hate making my own, I dunno why, I just do) so I decided to utilize some delicious looking rhubarb I found. I paired it with some fresh vanilla and some ground ginger and threw it all together for a delicious tasty treat. This isn't so much a recipe as just something I tossed together, but the measurements and method are pretty straightforward.

This is the last recipe for a bit, as I'm moving. Again. So that means packing up everything in the kitchen and not buying any food. So I'll be eating out a lot more the next week or so. Hope ya'll enjoy this! (By the by, no finished picture as it did not survive long enough for that.)

Rhubarb Strawberry Galette
1 1/2 cups of chopped rhubarb
1 cup of chopped strawberries
3/4 cup of vanilla sugar (or regular sugar)
1/2 teaspoon of ground ginger
1 teaspoon of grated orange zest
thawed pie dough or one pie crust recipe

Preheat the oven to 375F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Combine all the pie ingredients together in a bowl and let macerate (sit) for about 10 minutes. Drain out most of the syrup that develops. Unroll the pie dough (or roll out a good circle of your recipe).

Spoon in the filling into the middle, leaving a good inch to two inches around the sides open. Fold in the pie dough and press in to ensure that it doesn't come apart while baking.

Sprinkle with sugar and then bake for 40 minutes or until golden brown. Allow to cool for 10 minutes. Serve.

White Nectarine and Rhubarb Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

It's about time we got to making fresh produce the star again! The winter has been long and harsh, but finally spring has taken its place here in Nor Cal. Rhubarb is starting show its ruby red stalks and a few stone fruit are beginning to show a bit early.

Rhubarb is one of my favorite things about the warm weather. I enjoy its color, its strong physique, its acerbic wit and sweet demeanor. It's truly a powerful piece of produce. No wonder then that I love to utilize it for coffee cakes, tarts, pies, and of course cupcakes.

This was originally going to be a rhubarb and peach cupcake, but we ran into a hiccup when I could find no peaches (really Nugget, you always have everything but the one ingredient I need), so I decided to substitute in some white nectarines instead which turned out to be wonderful.

The cake is very sweet, and with the fruit quite moist and dense. It almost reminds me of poundcake, but richer and almost fudgy in texture. The nectarines are sweet and create their own juices and syrups when pieced with a bite. The rhubarb adds nice color and a bit of sweet acid, while the cream cheese frosting has that delightful tang I so love with fruit.

It really was a fabulous cupcake, perfect for a lazy afternoon in the sun. I can't wait to use up the rest of that rhubarb!

White Nectarine And Rhubarb Cupcakes
Makes 12 cupcakes / 350 degree oven

What You'll Need...
1/2 cup of chopped rhubarb (2-3 stalks)
3 white nectarines
1 stick of butter, room temperature
1 cup of sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 cup of milk
1 1/3 cup of flour
1 teaspoon of baking powder
good pinch of salt

What You'll Do...
1) Preheat the over to 350 degrees. Cut the nectarines in half and remove the stone. Place cut side down into a baking dish and bake for 30 minutes, setting the oven to Roast for the last 5 minutes (this will loosen the flesh from the skin). The fruit should have a dark brown color to it. Let cool then scoop the flesh out of the skin, and discard the skins. Mash with a back of a fork.
2) Beat the butter for about 2 minutes until well creamed. Add the sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl halfway through.
3) Add the egg and egg yolk and beat for 45 seconds. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl.
4) Combine flour, salt, and baking powder and sift together. Add some of the flour mixture, then some of the milk, alternating between dry-wet-dry and ending with the dry ingredients. Mix together until just combined.
5) Chop up the rhubarb and mix with 1 tablespoon of flour and coat well.
6) Fold the mashed cooked nectarines and the rhubarb into the batter. Scoop into cupcake papers.
7) Bake for about 15-18 minutes. Cupcakes will be dense, heavy, and moist. A toothpick should still come out clean (unless it hits nectarine). Let cool on a wire rack.

Cream Cheese Frosting
What You'll Need...
1/4 cup of butter (1/2 a stick), room temperature
4 oz of Philly cream cheese (1/2 package), room temperature
2 cups of powdered sugar
1/2 - 1 teaspoon vanilla extract (taste as you go)

What You'll Do...
1) Cream the butter and cream cheese together, about 3 minutes. Scraped down the sides and bottom.
2) Slowly add the powdered sugar. Add the vanilla to taste. Spread on cooled cupcakes.