Category Archives: Gluten-free

The Buttercream Problem

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Folks, I have a problem.  It’s called buttercream.

I’ve been offered the great privilege of making a wedding cake for some dear friends who are tying the knot this summer.  I’ve never made a wedding cake before.  I’ve made a lot of cakes, most of them chocolate (in truth, most of them this one), but this is the big time.

I know the cake itself is going to be champagne.

I know the filling is going to be a lovely light whipped mascarpone cream, possibly dotted with fresh raspberries.

I suspect the frosting needs to be buttercream, because the bride wants to cover the cake in fondant (it’s going to be hot, it’s a cleaner look, it can be painted on with beautiful blue coloring).  But just in case I get good enough at smoothing out the buttercream, maybe we can just leave it at that.

I’ve done one practice run, for a small New Year’s Eve party we hosted (the wedding is in July, so there’s some time here).  The cake was delicious.  The filling was amazing.  The frosting was…

a disaster.

It was a simple American buttercream containing butter, powdered sugar, vanilla, and a splash of champagne to go with the cake flavor.  I think the butter was too cold.  I think the powdered sugar wasn’t well sifted.  I think proportions were off.  The resulting frosting was gloppy and grainy and oozing, and when I spread it on the cake it clumped and ran and blubbered down the sides. You know how jeans that are too long for you puddle around your feet at the bottom?  Now imagine that in white, and made out of frosting, and on my cake.  That’s what it looked like.

When I was too frustrated to look at it anymore, I stuck it in the fridge for a while, hoping it would harden up a bit so I could spread it with more success.  While that happened, I mixed some blue gel food coloring into the remaining bowl of frosting and whipped that up, in hopes that a few rosettes on top of the cake would save it a little.

An hour later, I took on the icing again.  I scraped off some of the worst slumps and filled up my piping bag with the beautiful blue I’d created.  With a star tip, I piped on a rosette.  It dissolved into a blob and blurbed toward the edge of the cake.  I somehow lost touch with reality and instead of trying to scrape it off, I made four more around the cake.  They all slumped over the edge.  I tried to pipe a pretty pattern around the bottom edge.  It looked like a long ribbon of blue poo.  I shoved the cake back into the fridge and drank a couple of glasses of champagne before serving it. It was New Year’s Eve.  It was clearly the right thing to do.

So here’s the issue: I have to make a better buttercream.  I’ve done some research and found some killer looking recipes.  I’m planning to use champagne extract instead of actual champagne to avoid any issues with acidity or carbonation.  I’m planning to use fully softened butter.  I’m contemplating blending in some mascarpone to add body and lessen the overwhelming sweetness buttercream can have.

But I’ve also seen conflicting theories about how much milk to add during the whipping process and how long to whip and whether or not to add shortening so the color is a little whiter.  I’ve seen seen creamy dreamy looking recipes for Italian and Swiss buttercreams.  I’m in a buttercream frosting float.  Or, rather, I’m floating in ideas about buttercream frosting.

So I’m looking to you, tiny multiverse of readers.  Have you made buttercream?  How did it turn out?  What recipe did you use?  Was it American, Italian, or Swiss?  Did it spread smoothly?  Was it overly sweet?

Help!

Soup’s on!

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No time for lengthy reflections today, but we did cross a milestone last week: finally broached the soup selection on my long-neglected Bittman list!

“Saute sliced shallots in olive oil, then add chunks of butternut squash, some rosemary and chicken stock or water to cover. As the soup simmers, bake strips of prosciutto until crisp. Puree the soup, swirl in some cream if you like and serve topped with crumbled prosciutto.”

This sounded easy and tasty, and with no less than 20 cups of homemade turkey stock chilling in the freezer after Thanksgiving, I had just the thick, tasty broth to add extra flavor to this soup.  Given vegetable availability and my preferences, I changed things up a little.  I used:

1 whole acorn squash, halved, seeded, and brushed with olive oil, salt and pepper

1 TB olive oil

1 shallot, sliced thin

2 cups turkey stock

2 sprigs rosemary, stems removed and leaves minced

¼ – ½ cup heavy cream

salt and pepper to taste

4 slices prosciutto

I preheated my oven to 400F and put the acorn squash halves cut side down on a cookie sheet, leaving them to roast for almost an hour, until a knife inserted went through the skin and flesh like jelly.  Then I took them out and set them aside to cool until I could handle them without searing my own flesh. 

I replaced the squash in the oven with prosciutto, spreading out four slices on parchment paper on a cookie sheet and baking until they got crisp, about 15 minutes.

In a deep pot, I heated olive oil over medium heat and added the shallot slices, letting them soften and then caramelized a bit, till they were pale gold in color and smelled sweet.

When the squash was cool, I scraped all the flesh out of the shells and dumped the flesh into the pot with my caramelized shallot.  I added my turkey stock just to cover the squash, the rosemary, a little salt and pepper, and brought it to a slow simmer.

Once the soup was simmering and seemed evenly heated, I pulled it off the stove for a moment to use my immersion blender until the soup was a glistening puree of gorgeous autumn velvet.  Back on the stove with a perfect texture, I added the cream and stirred gently to integrate it, watching the bright orange mellow into a rusty gold.

Dolloped into warm bowls, I crumbled prosciutto over the top of the soup and, as a last textural element, inserted a slice of sourdough toast, broiled with olive oil and rubbed with a raw garlic clove before sitting down to eat.

This was so tasty.  Lik Orangette, soups sometimes leave me feeling wanting, especially because I use my own stock, which is so much less salty than any processed broth or soup out there.  But this one was far from bland.  Roasting the squash and caramelizing the shallot lent a lovely nutty richness.  The rosemary added a sharp herby punch to the smooth creamy velvet of the soup.  And the prosciutto was just the right salty meaty indulgence, though for a vegetarian version you could certainly use a frico of parmesan cheese instead. 

If you’re not in the mood for soup, I think this could be a nice change-up to mashed potatoes as well.  Just reduce or drain off the stock and serve nicely pureed alongside a frittata, or some roast chicken and pan-crisped green beans.

Roots!

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This is not a Bittman recipe.  But it is something I made.  It’s hearty, it’s autumnal, it’s colorful, and it’s easy.  Oh, and it allows you to turn your oven on for around an hour and thereby heat up your house a bit!

Roasted Root Vegetables

3 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks

3 parsnips, peeled and cut into chunks

2 purple topped turnips, peeled and cut into chunks

2 rutabegas, peeled and cut into chunks (see a pattern here?)

1 sweet potato (or 1/2 of a mammoth yam), peeled and cut into chunks

1 tsp dried rosemary, or to taste

1 tsp sea salt

1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

olive oil to coat

Preheat your oven to 400F.  Peel and cut all vegetables into equal, bite-sized chunks.  Toss them with seasonings and olive oil in a 9×13 inch glass baking dish.  Use enough olive oil so that all chunks of root vegetable get an even coating and glisten slightly.  Depending on size of vegetables, this might range from between 1/2 – 1 cup of oil.

Roast until all vegetables are tender and begin to brown on the outside, 45 minutes to an hour, depending on size.

As you can see, this is almost ridiculously easy.  You can substitute for any of these vegetables you don’t like – easy additions or change-outs would be regular or fingerling potatoes, beets, even celery root.  Choose what you love, mix them well, and enjoy!

Off the horse

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As you might be able to tell, I’ve been busy.  School starts soon, the weather can’t decide whether to be summer or fall, and it seems like every thoroughfare in our town is under construction, with completion dates uncertain.  Somehow, this state of construction has incorporated itself into my life.  Most of my projects are far from done, and some have yet to be started.  When that happens, blogging goes awry, or at least gets pushed onto a sidewalk somewhere out of the way of the steaming hot asphalt I’m trying to spread evenly across my academic life.

Too much?

Maybe too much.

Anyway, with ground turkey in the freezer and a desire for protein in our hearts, we decided on this Bittman pick last week:

“30. Cook brown rice until just shy of done. Drain and mix with an equal amount of ground turkey and a little chopped fresh sage and chopped dried cherries. Form into patties and sauté or bake, turning once, until crisp and cooked all the way through.”

Sounded easy and filling and delicious.  I amassed:

1 cup brown rice, raw

1.25 pounds ground turkey (mine was frozen, so I defrosted it but it was still SO cold!)

2-3 TB dried cherries, coarsely chopped

10 fresh sage leaves, finely chopped

Salt and pepper

Olive oil, for sautéing

I cooked the brown rice in my rice cooker with two cups of water – a little shy of ideal so it would remain slightly underdone.  Then I let it cool until it was room temperature so it wouldn’t be a.) too hot to touch, and b.) so hot that it started cooking the turkey.

With cool, cooked rice, I just combined all the ingredients in a glass bowl and combined them with my fingers, working to incorporate the rice and turkey, and trying to distribute the cherries and sage evenly throughout the mix.

I formed the mixture into ten patties, each about the right size to fit nicely onto an English muffin (guess how we ate the leftovers!), then deposited them a few at a time into a preheated skillet containing a few tablespoons of olive oil.  Though I could have jammed them all into the skillet at the same time, this would have resulted in a big turkey pancake, which doesn’t sound delicious.  Rather, distribute the patties so they aren’t touching one another, which will give them room to brown.

After about five minutes on each side, I popped the burgers onto a plate so we could pop them into our mouths.  We had them alongside a salad of spinach, arugula, dried cherries, toasted walnuts, and chunks of cheddar, and they were tasty.  The sage added that dusty smokiness that suggests harvest and fall and Thanksgiving, and the cherries were chewy little morsels of brightness with a perfume-y, candy burst.

The only problem with these patties, as is often the issue with turkey, is that they ended up a little dry.  I don’t think I overcooked them, though I suppose that could have been the problem.  Rather, I think leaving the rice slightly underdone caused it to wick up the minimal moisture the turkey had.  The result was quite good, but not as moist as we’d hoped.

However, it was as leftovers that these patties really shined.  I reheated them for lunch sandwiches in a little pool of chicken broth, which I spooned over them as they warmed.  This added some much-needed moisture and prevented them from cooking much more.  We layered them into toasted English muffins along with arugula, cheddar cheese, and just a touch of mayonnaise.  Divine.

Chutney

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Oregon has dealt us an interesting summer.  My garden languishes, late blooming and unsure of itself in May, June, and even into July, then caught off guard by sudden heat, and now stretching for a sun that may almost be gone for the season.  I hate to admit it, but it looks like fall might be on the way.  This called for something to span the season gap.  Indian summer, perhaps, but inspired from an Eastern palate (palette too?), not the New World.

“10. Ginger-Apricot Chutney: Put dried apricots in a saucepan, cover with water and bring to a boil. Add lemon juice, minced fresh chili, grated ginger, a couple of cloves and a pinch of cayenne. Cook until thick.”

This seemed to fit the bill.  Served with grilled chicken, it would be room temperature but highly spiced, and the textural element of the dried, then rehydrated, then cooked apricots promised to be interesting.  I used:

1 cup dried apricots, coarsely chopped

Enough cold water to cover the apricots

3 teeny, teeny tiny “super chili” peppers from my backyard, seeds removed, finely diced

1 generous TB grated ginger (it’s really easy to grate if it’s frozen, and since it keeps so well and so long in the freezer, that’s one more reason to stow it there!)

juice from 1/3 of a lemon

3 cloves

Pinch of salt and black pepper

Our friend M. moved out of the state a few months ago, and before leaving she had a “Go Away” party that consisted mostly of whiskey, bean dip, and trying to get her friends to take all her unwanted possessions.  She was leaving by air, so everything she took had to fit in a couple of suitcases and a cat carrier, and we, feeling like thieves and voyeurs, pillaged through her kitchen cabinets and drawers taking what we wanted.  Among other things, I came away with jars and jars of spices, and a tiny little copper-bottomed saucepot that has quickly become my favorite.  This was the perfect vessel for chutney.  I plopped the sticky apricots in, covered them with cold tap water, and cranked the burner on my stove to high while I prepped the other ingredients.

When the water was boiling fiercely, I added the peppers, the ginger, the lemon juice and the juiced segments of rind and pulp, and the cloves.  After letting it bubble for a few minutes, I dipped in a tentative spatula and tasted, just the liquid, for seasoning.  Let me just say I’m glad I didn’t add any cayenne.  A few grinds each of salt and black pepper were all additional seasoning this needed.

While N. grilled us some tandoori-spiced chicken breasts (think yogurt, cumin, cinnamon, paprika…), I calmed the heat to medium and watched my little saucepot bubble, while the apricots slowly broke down and the liquid began to evaporate, leaving a viscous, jelly-like consistency behind.

Twenty minutes after adding all the spices, most of the water was gone and the mixture was thick and syrupy and a lovely rich orange flecked with red from the chilis.  I pulled it off the heat, tasted again, and around the burned tongue discovered loveliness.

This was a really nice chutney because it addressed almost every type of taste.  There was copious sweetness from the apricots, there was heat from the chilis, there was a different kind of heat from the ginger, and the cloves and lemon juice added tinges of bitterness and sourness.  It was the variety of heats that I really appreciated, though, because it made every bite really interesting: the ginger was there right from the start, encasing the tip of the tongue with heat.  The peppers kicked in as we chewed, with a fresh bright hotness like a fiery salsa, but just for a moment.  Then the cloves added earthy warmth at the back of the throat while the kick from the ginger still lingered on the tongue.  Combined with the well-spiced sauce on the chicken, it was delightful eating. 

As we ate, our bellies warmed with the spice but also the goodness of the meal, and the occasional slice of raw cucumber was a welcome relief against the building heat we were intent on gorging ourselves with.  As I type, the sun has torn through its cloud cover and the temperature has increased by 4 degrees.  Slow burn.  Indian summer indeed.

Simple Slaw

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This week, with a camping trip under our belts, I wanted distinctly contrasting things: to be back in my kitchen, and to have exquisitely simple things to make.  This salad seemed to fit that bill, given how easy it was to throw together AND how ripe it is for additions, which I will discuss in a bit…

“69. Shred carrots and cabbage (red, savoy or Napa). In a blender, whip olive oil, lemon or lime juice, a stemmed and seeded jalapeno, garlic and cilantro or parsley. Toss with the vegetables.”

This sounded easy and zesty – a new, simple take on coleslaw without the weighty mayonnaise.  I used the following:

2 carrots, peeled and cut into large chunks

1 head Napa cabbage, any dirty or severely damaged outer leaves removed, quartered and cored

½ green jalapeno, seeded (that was all I had.  Use more, if you like heat)

juice of 1 lime

2 TB parsley leaves

1 large clove garlic

½ – 1 cup olive oil (I didn’t measure, I drizzled)

salt and pepper to taste

honey to taste (around 1 TB)

For ease, I decided to use my food processor instead of the blender Bittman suggests.  I shredded the carrots using the shredder disk, which could not have been simpler.  I tried to do the same with the cabbage, but the shreds were too fine – almost like confetti-ed tissue, so I sliced the cabbage very finely with a sharp knife instead.

Once the carrot shreds and cabbage fluff were out of the food processor and ensconced safely in a big salad bowl, I fitted the machine with the blade instead and added the first 4 dressing ingredients.  I buzzed those until the jalapeno and garlic were finely diced, then began drizzling in the olive oil until a  dressing formed.  It didn’t emulsify and thicken as nicely as I would have liked, which I suspect was because 1.) I added the olive oil too quickly, and 2.) the food processor was not the best tool to use to create an emulsion.  Still, it smelled fresh and verdant and zesty.  I gave it a taste and decided it needed some seasoning and some sweetness, and therefore added salt, pepper, and a short drizzle of honey.  Then I poured just enough dressing to coat and moisten over the vegetables.  Adding the whole quantity would have caused a flood, so I stuck with a little over half.

As a very simple salad, this was good.  The vegetables were crisp and fresh, and the dressing had a definite citrus kick and a suggestion of heat.  As a foundation, or perhaps as a topping for pulled pork or a barbeque sandwich, this would be ideal.

I found myself imagining more, however.  You could add craisins to this, or golden raisins, and capitalize on the mild sweetness of the carrots and cabbage.  You could add toasted walnuts or sunflower seeds and get a different kind of crunch.  If you like a little extra zing, you could pop in some mandarin orange or grapefruit segments, or maybe even shredded or finely sliced green apple.  For additional vegetation, agonizingly thin slices of green or red onion, or another color of cabbage.  The adventurous might opt for radicchio or endive, though if you add such bitterness another tablespoon or two of honey in the dressing would be welcome.

But for me, if I’m honest, what was missing was not sweetness, or crunch, or bitter variety.  What was missing for me was the creamy, fatty, mouth-coating perfection of mayonnaise.  I couldn’t separate the shreds of cabbage and carrot from the perennial American picnic classic.  I wanted my veggies robed in that clumpy goopy stuff of sandwich and potato salad dreamscape and overdressed nightmare.  I didn’t want a simple healthy vegetable salad, apparently.  I wanted it to be coleslaw. 

Try some of these combinations out, because this would make a nice, light addition to grilled proteins, and if you do, tell me how you like it.  But don’t expect me to report on any of these fancy-pants ideas.  Because I just bet you can guess what I’ll be adding to my leftovers…