Experimentation

Posted on July 3, 2010 by Chelsea

N. and I rarely finish an entire loaf of bread. Oh we try, but invariably those loaves of whole wheat, and sliced sourdough, and the occasional rye, end up shoved to the back of the freezer or refrigerator with only a slice or two left in them. Then they just sit there. For months, sometimes. The same, as of late, is true of bagels. In spurts of enthusiasm toward the noble meal that is breakfast, we buy half-dozens and dozens of bagels from various bakeries and munch our way through four or five before the lonely outcast remainder is slowly pushed behind Tupperware containers and plastic-wrapped leftovers.

Well no more. I have been meaning to make bread pudding for some time now, in an effort to put to use the heels and scraps of bread that litter our freezer shelves, but I couldn’t find a recipe I liked and, in one of my odd and unfounded deductions, had somehow decided it was a difficult thing to make. Yesterday, with no experience and only a handful of recipe ideas from the internet (google: “bagel bread pudding”; you’ll be surprised by the number of people who have tried it!), I liberated our stash of lonely, forgotten, individually bagged cinnamon raisin bagels and invited them to a custard party.

Here’s what you need:

3 cinnamon raisin bagels

3 eggs

3 cups milk

½ – 1 cup sugar, depending on how sweet you want it. I wanted dessert AND breakfast, so I only added about ½ cup.

½ tsp. pumpkin pie spice

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1-2 TB spiced rum (optional)

Here’s what you do:

Tear or cut the bagels into bite-sized chunks (or a little bigger), and settle them in a single layer in a square glass baking dish (8×8 or 9×9).

In a medium bowl, mix all remaining ingredients together and whisk well to blend. This is the custard.

Pour custard mixture over the bagel pieces, top with a plate or pan (something to push the bagel pieces down into the custard), and refrigerate for at least an hour.

After at least an hour of chilling under pressure, move the pan to a preheated 350F oven and bake for around 45 minutes, or until the tops of the bagel pieces are browned and slightly crisp.

Thanks to the cinnamon, the pumpkin pie spice, and the rum, after about twenty minutes our house filled with that holiday-season smell. You know what I mean. After 45 minutes, I peeked in the oven and saw that the top pieces, the edges that poked out over the custard, were dark brown and crispy, and when I touched them lightly the whole beautiful pudding jiggled slightly and then sprang back into shape after my touch. The top had puffed up as the eggs cooked and expanded, and when I took it out of the oven I could hear it hissing and whining softly as air released.

I couldn’t wait very long before digging in… so I did. Bagels exiled to the back recesses of our freezer will never go to waste again. The custard was soft and sweet, but the real stars were the bagel chunks. They had soaked up a lot of liquid and had the consistency of very firm, chewy French toast. They were moist and soft but still had pleasing texture, and I could have eaten the whole casserole dishful right there in the kitchen, leaning over our petite table. But I resisted. Because I wanted some for breakfast this morning too…

Breakfast for dinner close-up: Cranberry Fritters

Posted on April 7, 2010 by Chelsea

I am sitting on my front porch with my feet – in striped socks – crossed atop the white railing. It is 4pm and the outside temperature exceeds 70F. Earlier this afternoon, I pulled weeds and thinned our rows of broccoli and lettuce in the back garden with my sleeves rolled up. And I’m looking back to Friday. This past Friday ago, while rain and hail alternately pelted, flooded, and overflowed the lip of our driveway, I put my stove and oven into an overtime they haven’t seen since Thanksgiving. Everything was good, but what I want to discuss today is item 3 from that menu: Cranberry Donuts.

They were more fritters than donuts, really, but that’s close enough. Simple batter: egg, milk, sugar, flour, baking powder, cinnamon. And to add something special, a spare ½ cup of defrosted cranberries, barely pulsed in the food processor. No rolling, no cutting, no kneading, just tablespoon-fuls of this chewy, sticky batter into a pot of hot vegetable oil. I came close to disaster several times, because the batter was so sticky that it didn’t want to come off the spoon. The problem here, of course, is that resistance leads to increasingly vigorous shaking, which means when the fritter finally disengages, it hits the oil with a resounding, gut-wrenching plunk that means you will end up with finger confit if you don’t step back very, very quickly.

I escaped burns, and was able instead to watch the quick and wondrous transformation of a batter so raw and sticky it cannot even be called “dough” into these little two-bite-mouthfuls of extravagance.

When the batter drops into the pot, with a heavy plunk or even a less fear-inducing hiss, it sinks for half a moment before buoying back to the surface. It sizzles like onions in a hot pan, and somehow magically holds itself together to float in a lazy circle around the pot, trying to bump and mesh with any fellows you add. I played chaperone with a slotted spoon. It only takes about two minutes before the lower half of the fritter, concealed like an iceberg below the surface of the oil, is mouthwateringly golden and crispy and needs to be flipped over before it verges toward mahogany. The second side takes even less time, since it has already been submerged in its initial dip into the oil, and when it too is crisp and the color of perfect toast, or a dark caramel, it should come out and bathe on a layer of paper-towels, spreading its extra grease almost obscenely until the paper-towel is suddenly transparent.

While still warm, I rolled these dense nuggets around in a cake-pan containing around ½ cup of mixed cinnamon and sugar. Though much of the oil threatening to seep in past the crisp crust was thwarted by its paper-towel session, enough moisture is retained on the outside of each fritter to hold onto a sparkling coat of sweetness. That the batter drops into the oil in irregular shapes ensures that crunchy nooks and crannies are created, almost as if their sole purpose was to hold extra sprinklings of spicy sugar.

Before I was done frying (my pot could only hold 4 or 5 at a time without crowding or cooling down the oil too much, so I did several batches), I couldn’t keep myself from sampling one of the freshly sugared spheres. Oh heaven. It doesn’t seem like the batter could possibly be in the oil long enough to cook through, but it does. The outside is crispy and has a nicely textured crunch not only from the irregular shape and the fry, but also from the sugar, which provides its own gritty pleasantness. The inside is densely fluffy, and the cranberries pack the perfect amount of tart sourness to combat the sweetness of the dough itself as well as the sugary topping. I don’t tend to like cake donuts, but it was hard to stop myself from eating more than one.

After the party started and plates were loaded almost beyond bearing capacity, I didn’t notice anyone eating them. Yet, when I went back to the table for my second helping (or third, but who’s counting, really?), the cake pan I’d loaded them into was empty but for a remaining few spoonfuls of cinnamon-dusted sugar.

Even without the sun streaming across the faded red patio stones of my porch, that makes me feel a little warm inside.

Breakfast for Dinner

Posted on April 2, 2010 by Chelsea

I have a curious relationship with breakfast food. The heavy kind, the kind you get from a diner or a good bed-and-breakfast or a hotel, doesn’t sit well with me in the morning. It’s too much, it weighs me down. But it’s food I love. Potatoes, eggs, bacon, quiche, pancakes, cinnamon rolls… the list goes on. So I take full advantage of every opportunity I get to eat this kind of food later in the day.

Enter Friday, April 2nd: for the third year running, N. and I are hosting a Breakfast for Dinner potluck. We try to host one party per term, usually with some loose theme, and I think this one is my favorite. My mouth is already watering at the possibilities.

Here’s a preview of my own menu for the evening:

Ph-Ph rice pudding

Jalapeno cheese grits casserole

Cranberry donuts

Deviled eggs

Spiked hot apple cider

Mimosas

Yum.

Post-exam bliss. And chocolate.

Posted on February 13, 2010 by Chelsea

As I mentioned a post or two ago, this Friday I had to take an exam. A very-big-deal exam, the outcome of which determined my ability to move on in the program. And I passed it. This means I am now free to move toward my dissertation, and that I am a doctoral candidate (well, almost, first I have to create and get approved a dissertation prospectus)!

Excitingly, in a project that does have food as a focus (although more the ways of eating it than the preparation and aestheticism thereof), I received some unexpected but delightful well-wishes in the form of food, when I went out to brunch with some friends/colleagues last Sunday morning. As we crowded around our table at Midtown Marketplace, some with omelets, some with pancakes, me with a glorious hazelnut waffle topped with mixed berry compote, they began emptying pockets, purses, jackets, and loaded this impressive loot onto the table before me:

This was far more than I expected, and far more than I needed, but it was so brimming with love and support that I was quite overwhelmed. The breakdown: Dove chocolates (bottom right), always a delicious and reliable standard. I took the bag to my office to share with my office-mates, since they have had to listen to and encourage me throughout the process of preparing for this exam.

The Belgian chocolates (back right) were a selection of five fruit flavors blended with different types of chocolate (milk, dark, and white) and had some delightful combinations. I shared these around the office as well.

The candied ginger spiked chocolate bar, which N. dubbed “crack,” was outrageous. Spicy little chunks of candied ginger in smooth luscious dark chocolate; we finished the bar in two days… now all I want is to make my own candied ginger and wrap it lovingly in a truffle to recreate the experience.

The tea (middle left) is chamomile citrus, and is incredibly beautiful. The ingredients are left whole, and enclosed in transparent little cloth packages sewn together with soft twine. You can actually see the chamomile flowers, little strips of dehydrated orange zest, and the other leaves and blossoms used to create the tea. With a drizzle of honey, it is the perfect not-too-indulgent bedtime beverage. With the addition of a few shortbread cookies (back left), it becomes rather more indulgent. These cookies were so rich and buttery that I thought they would leave my fingertips buttery, like the aftermath of a big handful of popcorn. Just softened in the tea, they were lent an appealing subtle citrus flavor.

For true indulgence, the Ghiradelli cocoa mix is your best bet from this table of luxuries. It is chocolate and hazelnut, so in essence it is like drinking a hot cup full of Nutella. Incredibly rich and delicious. I have only mixed it with water thus far, but the package recommends mixing with heated milk, which would only add to the indulgence!

Finally, the tall bottle in the middle is a Spanish sparkling white wine by Albero, which the bottle claims is made with organically grown grapes. I have not yet popped the cork of this delightful looking treat, but when I do I expect to feel the same sort of rush of relief and unbelieving but effervescent bliss that I did yesterday afternoon, when my adviser and the chair of my examination committee shook my hand and told me “Congratulations!”

First Bounty

Posted on July 22, 2009 by Chelsea

Though we have been harvesting sugar snap peas by the bowlful for the past few weeks, and though we probably still have enough preparing for maturity on the vine for me to freeze a bagful, it didn’t feel like we really had a harvest on our hands until a few days ago, when I picked these:

I know it seems crazy, and I know I’ll be sick of it before August is over, but despite the heat and despite the impending pounds of zucchini and despite my encouragement to myself to eat better at breakfast time, I couldn’t resist. Despite all that, I made zucchini bread.

As you can see, whether it was the monster zucchini I grated up that exceeded the recipe’s requirement a little bit, or whether it was because my thrift store loaf pan was on the small side, I had extra batter. Fortunately, my sweet little too-seldom-used ramekins called to me from the cupboard, and I heeded their siren song. In addition to the loaf, we also had four big muffin-sized servings. The advantage of this was that they were ready for consumption much sooner, and consume we did. Here’s my serving suggestion:

The recipe I use for zucchini bread right now is from Bon Appetit’s latest cookbook. This isn’t the magazine, it’s the full book, and this particular version is called Zucchini Spice Bread. It has a hefty teaspoon of cinnamon added to the standard mix, and with 2 cups of zucchini as well as a cup of toasted nuts (I used pecans because I was out of walnuts, and may have liked it better with the substitution), it seems like one of the healthier quickbreads out there, as well as using up a decent amount of zucchini. And the flavor. The flavor is stupendous. Since the nuts are toasted, they donate more of a crunch and a warm richness to the bread. Because there is so much zucchini, they don’t dry out the bread too much, which is sometimes a complaint I have about nuts. The zucchini itself is mild but still present, and the bread is not too sweet. It has a nice moist crumb to it but the top gets crusty, so the whole thing is just a medley of textures that I really enjoy. Here’s to the joy of baked goods, the joy of home grown vegetables, and the very special joy of being able to eat them both at the same time!

Rice Parade

Posted on March 16, 2009 by Chelsea

In my mind, few foods are as simply clean and perfect as a pot of perfectly cooked rice. If foods were chosen to embody colors, rice would be the perfect candidate for whiteness. Think about it. Freshly made, just off the heat, the first time you fluff it to break up some of the clumps, it’s like little pillows. It smells comforting and grainy and nutty and warm, it’s stuffed in heating pads and pillows, it’s thrown at weddings, it’s an amazing little miracle all on its own – tiny individual grains, hard and pointed, but after 20 minutes in bubbling water they magically become this beautiful, warm, sticky heap of comfort. You can do anything with them, but why would you? How can you possibly improve upon the perfection of a fresh, hot, sticky/chewy/creamy/nutty pot of white rice?

By turning it into pudding.

I’ve never liked the look of those stovetop rice puddings that are soupy and goopy – almost like the consistency of hot cereal. No, when I think pudding, I want something that sets up firm and has to be broken through with a spoon, not just scooped up. I want a custard. Given our crazy weather today, my mom’s amended rice pudding recipe is perfect.

Cook two cups of raw rice in a pot on the stovetop until done, then take the pot off the heat, remove the lid, and let the rice cool.

In a large casserole dish combine:

3 eggs, beaten

3 cups milk

¾ cups sugar

1 ½ tsp. vanilla

¾ cups raisins

1 generous tsp. cinnamon

Cooled, cooked rice

Place casserole dish in another larger, shallow dish (I use a glass pie plate) and fill the shallow dish about halfway with hot water. Cook, uncovered, in a preheated 350 degree oven for 45-60 minutes, or until custard is just set. Remove from oven. Cool. Consume.