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Ricotta, Lemon, and Blackberry Muffins

07.15.2017 by J. Doe // 2 Comments

Most people can tell when it’s rhubarb season because they go in their back yard garden, and see rhubarb growing. It’s a good method, and it goes without saying, a fairly obvious one.

As with so many things, it doesn’t work quite like that at my house. It could, of course, but when I started my little garden, I immediately filled the planting beds with every type of herb and four or so zucchini plants; later that year, I had learned the answers to important gardening questions, such as:  What Does Slug Damage Look Like?  How Do You Get Rid of Powdery Mildew? and the all-important, Why Shouldn’t I Grow Four Zucchini Plants?

When the main beds were full, The Child requested a spot to grow strawberries, and located an unused sunny spot right next to the similarly unused shed. The shed once had a function – it stored gardening equipment owned and theoretically used by The Departed, but left behind when he departed and subsequently discovered to be unusable (weed whacker with missing cords, leaky gas can for use with nonexistent lawn mower), expired (10-pound bags of moss-be-gone and fertilizer, each with a few handfulls missing), or simply unrelated to gardening (half-full cans of latex paint, an outgrown bicycle). When the beds were put in, I put a few useful-seeming implements into a small box, which I stored in a convenient location, near the beds. So the large shed sits, mostly empty and completely out of sight. 

We put a small bed next to the shed, and the cleaning lady gifted several strawberry plants, and since there was a little space left, I added a rhubarb plant. I made muffins the first year, and posted the recipe here.  Each year since, I notice one day that my blog suddenly has a lot of traffic, most of it coming from pinterest and all of it going to that one recipe.

When this happens, I go outside and discover I have rhubarb, and lots of it. Then I make muffins, too. And jam. And cookies. And a pie, if I feel like pie, or a cake, if I feel like cake. If my neighbor has brought apples from her tree, I make rhubarb applesauce and share it with her.

I give rhubarb away to neighbors, and when they’ve had enough, too, I freeze some. Sometimes I use it during the winter, and even then, I often still have some when winter becomes spring and rhubarb muffin bakers re-appear on this blog, and my rhubarb re-appears outside.

Blackberries are a somewhat similar story, or at least, they were until this year. They grow wild in the area, by which I mean, untended spaces are quickly overrun with masses of thorny bushes. They crowd out everything else, and make nice homes for bunnies and rodents. There are service companies that have entire businesses based on removing blackberry bushes, some of which employ herds of goats to deal with the problem.

We live next door to a community college with a large property, some of it undeveloped, and while this means that there are an assortment of critters that live there and pay us occasional visits – a regrettable assortment of moles, rats, raccoons, as well as, more pleasantly, rabbits and the occasional deer – it also means that every year, in August, I can walk the college grounds on my lunch hour and pick blackberries for baking, for eating, and of course, for freezing.

That is, until last year. The the bulldozers appeared; the blackberries disappeared. Bunnies appear in my back yard, to the delight of my cats; rats appear in my neighbors’ garage, to the dismay of everyone on our block.

I could have found another blackberry-picking spot last year, but there was no urgency about it, since I was still working through the numerous bags in my freezer, not to mention an ample supply of blackberry jam, so I didn’t. This year, I made muffins, and upon discovering the muffins were quite delicious, decided to make a second batch, only to find I had finally exhausted the seemingly inexhaustible supply of frozen wild blackberries.

Finding the recipe – like having endless, free wild blackberries – was a bit of good fortune; I received a review copy of The Harvest Baker, by Ken Haedrich. I had previously enjoyed a book he co-authored with the late, great Marion Cunningham, the Maple Syrup Cookbook, so I was pleased to receive another of his books and give it a try.

As baking books go, it’s pretty straightforward, which is one of the things I enjoy about Haedrich’s books: They are meant to be cooked from. Yes, there are a couple of recipes that veer off into Look At Me Being Unique territory, notably a recipe for Whole Wheat Blueberry Beet Muffins, which are certainly colorful, if not enticing.

I showed the photo of those to The Child, who remarked, You know, we can all learn something from Jurassic Park: Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

Still, that was just one recipe, and there are numerous others that we found incredibly enticing. As it happens, The Child’s favorite cookies – which I have, oddly, never shared on this site – are Lemon Ricotta cookies, soft, tender, and tart, so I was delighted to find a similar offering, in muffin form: Ricotta, Lemon, and Blackberry Muffins.

They were everything I hoped they would be: Tender and light muffins, brightly flavored with lemon and studded with sweet-tart blackberries. They don’t require any special equipment, just a mixing bowl, and if you happen to have blackberries in your freezer, you can toss them into the batter still frozen.

The Child adored them, and they were gone in just a couple of days, leaving me with the problem I never expected to have: I had no more blackberries with which to make another batch. There were other recipes of interest, so I did make more muffins, notably a batch of strawberry rhubarb muffins that were made special by the addition of some cardamom to the batter – rhubarb and cardamom, like rhubarb and strawberries, are made for each other.

But what The Child wanted most was more of these lovely muffins, so we’ve already begun to keep an eye out for the white blackberry flowers that, in August, will replenish our stock, even if we have to venture a bit further away to pick them.

 


Ricotta, Lemon, and Blackberry Muffins
 
Print
Author: adapted from Ken Haedrich, The Harvest Baker
Ingredients
  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 2 tsp baking powder
  • ½ tsp baking soda
  • ¾ tsp salt
  • ¼ tsp nutmeg
  • 1 cup ricotta cheese
  • ½ cup sour cream
  • ½ cup milk
  • 5 tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled
  • 1 egg
  • grated zest of one large lemon
  • ½ tsp vanilla extract
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 2 cups blackberries (fresh or frozen)
Instructions
  1. Preheat the oven to 400° F. Line a 12-cup muffin pan with paper liners, and set aside.
  2. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg. Set aside.
  3. In a different large bowl, whisk together the ricotta, sour cream, milk, melted butter, egg, lemon zest, and vanilla. Gradually add in the sugar, blending thoroughly. Make a well in the dry ingredients, and pour in the liquid mixture, stirring thoroughly. When there are still streaks of flour in the batter, add the blackberries, folding gently just until the batter is evenly mixed.
  4. Divide the batter evenly between the muffin cups, Bake for 20-25 minutes, until the muffins are nicely risen and the tops are golden brown.
  5. Cool the muffins for 5 minutes in the pan, then remove and finish cooling on a wire rack.
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Categories // The Joy of Cooking Tags // baking, blackberries, muffins

Dominique Ansel’s Banana Bread

01.21.2017 by J. Doe // 10 Comments

My friend Toby over at Plate Fodder suffers from a dire affliction: He has an advanced case of Food Fad Fatigue.

I relate. I spent New Year’s Day canceling email subscriptions and unliking Facebook pages of food magazines and newsletters I once enjoyed. Goodbye Bon Appetit, goodbye Tasting Table. I think they’ll miss me about as much as I’ll miss them, which is to say, not at all. It’s been quite a long time since I read any of their posts, mostly because what I want is dinner, while what they are trying to do is entice me to try something trendy and inedible.

Please click, they beg repeatedly, but I don’t want to and eventually I get tired of being asked. Unlike, unfollow, breathe deeply and exhale.

Toby’s approach is less passive than mine; he’s threatening to write a book called Quinoa, Kale, and 50 Other Foods that Taste Like Ass. He wants to know if I’d buy a copy, and the answer is, of course I would, and not just because he’s a friend. I refuse to eat things just Because They’re Healthy. I like to eat healthy things that taste good.

The food faddists are rapidly ruining those, too. I like cauliflower; in fact, I love the stuff, as does The Child. But somewhere along the line, cauliflower became a substitute for carbohydrates (cauliflower rice, anyone?), and somewhere after that, someone decided it was also a good substitute for lime sherbet. I’m joking, but only a little. The PBS blogger who wrote that article, oddly, appears to be serious.

Also being serious is the blogger who gave us Frambled Eggs, a post that Epicurious, in a cruel jab at people with some knowledge of basic culinary skills – not to mention, good food – filed under “Expert Advice.” If rubbery eggs are your thing, then by all means, use his technique. Bon appetit!

I feel like I’m in a small minority that is getting smaller every day. I went to an actual bookstore not long ago (remember those?), and spent some time checking out the cookbooks. Pioneer Woman? Check.  The Minimalist Baker? Check. In fact, there were lots of pretty cookbooks by familiar food blogger names, while actual cookbooks by trained chefs (Dorie Greenspan, Mario Batali) were in somewhat short supply. No, the cookbook section in question was not a small one.

Turmeric may well have healthy properties, but that doesn’t mean anyone can or should eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even if one truly believes it is sourced from the Fountain of Youth. Given its increasingly frequent appearance in recipes and food blogs, it must be.  But if I die an early death, will it be because the only bottle of turmeric I’ve ever owned has never been opened and dates to the pre-barcode era?

I’m willing to take that risk, and opt for a bit of cumin, or oregano, or some variety. Variety, I hear, is the spice of life. Not turmeric.

Another minority I belong to: American Citizens Against Zoodles. I’ve never used a spiralizer, and I’ve never eaten a zoodle. As much as I like zucchini, it isn’t a substitute for spaghetti, and at my house, never will be. If I want to be hungry an hour after I eat dinner, I’ll order Chinese food. It’s much less work.

I love to see classic recipes improved upon, and there are many good reasons to do this, such as simplifying a technique or using ingredients for that can be found easily by a home cook. This is not the same thing as throwing a new ingredient into an old classic and pretending it’s a wonderful, modern update. The world needs both dill pickles and chicken piccata, but it most assuredly does not need a recipe for Dill Pickle Chicken Piccata (something Toby swears he saw the other day but which Google, in its merciful and infinite wisdom, refuses to find for me).

My cookbooks aren’t full of pretty pictures of recipes that don’t work, so they don’t live on the coffee table next to a stack of pristine copies of Architectural Digest. Instead, my cookbooks live in the kitchen and sometimes find their way back to the shelves, usually when I run out of counter space, or back to the library, usually when one been overdue for so long that the library stops sending email notices (which I never see in all the email I receive) and starts sending actual letters (which I always see and am still kind of thrilled to get).

Yes, there is a point to all this, and I hope you will appreciate the irony.

One of the last Facebook posts I saw from Tasting Table was a banana bread recipe by Dominique Ansel, a name you might recognize as the man who gave us one of the largest food fads of recent memory, the Cronut. The banana bread recipe was accompanied by Tasting Table’s standard, overly effusive praise – Ansel took something that, when made by mere mortals, is “pretty good,” and turned it into an “insanely good … delectable treat,” rescuing overripe bananas from a terrible fate at the same time.

I’m always skeptical when someone is presented as a culinary Superman, but as it happens, I had four embarrassingly overripe bananas (I wish the grocery store would send me mail about that, just once), and as luck would have it, when I looked up the recipe, it called for … four overripe bananas. I haven’t had a good kitchen disaster in a while, so I gave it a try, fully expecting my beloved Fannie Farmer standby to win the day.

She didn’t.

I’d like to say I’m sad about that, and of course part of me is, but the other part of me was too happy about eating a joyfully moist cake with a rich banana flavor and a heady dose of nutmeg, and did I mention the butter? Yes, it was there, and lots of it. And while these things are all wonderful, they are not the most wonderful thing about this banana bread. That honor goes to the thick, sweet, caramelized, crunchy top crust that forms as this giant loaf bakes.

It is, in a word, magical.

Here, dear reader, is my point: Life is complicated, but good food is really quite simple.

Go enjoy some.

Ansel Banana Bread

Dominique Ansel's Banana Bread
 
Print
Author: Dominique Ansel via Tasting Table
Ingredients
  • 2 cups sugar
  • 2 cups flour
  • ¾ tsp baking soda
  • ¾ tsp nutmeg
  • 1 tsp salt
  • 1 tsp baking powder
  • 3 eggs
  • 4 overripe bananas
  • 14 tbsp unsalted butter, melted, plus more for greasing pan
Instructions
  1. Grease a large loaf pan, and set aside. Preheat oven to 350°.
  2. In a large bowl, combine the sugar, flour, baking soda, nutmeg, salt and baking powder. In a separate bowl, mash the bananas thoroughly, then crack the eggs in and combine. Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and mix together. Stir in the melted butter until fully incorporated.
  3. Pour the batter into prepared loaf pan and bake until golden brown and a cake tester comes out clean, about 1 hour and 10 minutes, depending on how cooperative your oven is.
  4. Allow to cool for 20 minutes before slicing.
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Categories // The Joy of Cooking Tags // baking, bananas

Cocomalt Brownies

01.01.2017 by J. Doe // 1 Comment

No one can hide from the truth forever, so here is my truth: I am a very poor excuse for a food blogger. Some of this may be due to the fact that I’m not really a food blogger, I’m just someone with a blog who happens to enjoy cooking.

Mostly, though, this is due to another truth: I gained a lot of weight during my unfortunate marriage, then gained even more after its abrupt end.

I tried lying at first, telling myself I hadn’t really gained that much. But my pants never lie, and they told a different story. Lose it, they said, and after a while, I listened.

Dieting is hard, and being a food blogger on a diet is harder still.

A better person than the one I am would probably write about healthy food and low-calorie eating, but not me: I am in deep denial that anyone could find kale edible under any circumstances, and furthermore, I don’t want to be anywhere near a kitchen when I am trying not to think about the kind of food I actually do want to eat.

When I’m not on a diet, the kitchen is place of memories, inspired by the comforting smell of roast chicken, or the astonishingly light weight of my grandmother’s beloved cast iron skillet. When I am on a diet, the kitchen is simply a room full of reminders of things I’d rather be eating: A hundred or so cookbooks, many of them devoted to cakes, pies, and cookies.

I like the idea of healthy eating. I own a juicer. It was a gift, and I’ve never actually plugged it in, but I dedicate valuable countertop space to it, and I feel like that must surely count for something.

My pants disagree.

I started my diet in the early fall. By the end of fall, I had lost some weight, by which I mean, more than twenty pounds. Three pants sizes.

I donate my disagreeable pants to charity, and take myself shopping for a happier pair.

The holidays roll around, and though I begin the season worried about the upcoming buffets and potlucks, it turns out it is not that hard to just eat a little bit of everything, when that has become the habit. I find I’m relaxed – enjoying myself, even. I look forward to baking the things I will contribute.  I look forward to writing about them on my blog.

The stars seem to align for the return of my blog, but my friends have other things in mind: They all have their favorites, and with each invitation comes a request for something I’ve made before. Tradition! I make Sugar Cream Pie for a potluck, and Eggnog Cookies re-appear with the return of my annual cookie exchange.

Thanksgiving finds me without much to do; months ago, I volunteered to work, since my office needed one person to be on call, just in case something needed attention. It was a convenient excuse to avoid cooking the same meal I had made so many times. The Child spends the day watching movies with the Red Dog, while I do things around the house and occasionally refresh my browser to see if there is anything to actually do at work, apart from logging in. We’re invited to a friend’s house in the evening, so on one of my breaks from not working, I make a quick batch of brownies for The Child to share with her friend, while I sip wine with her friend’s mother.

I make Cocomalt Brownies. If you don’t know what Cocomalt is, there’s a good reason for that: it hasn’t been manufactured for decades. I discovered the term over the summer, in a 1946 copy of The Household Searchlight Recipe Book that I picked up in an antique mall in Wisconsin. A little research leads me to the conclusion that it was something like Ovaltine – a chocolate malt powder that can be added to milk, hot or cold.

They still make Ovaltine, so I use it as a substitute when I attempt one of the recipes, for Cocomalt cookies. The Child pronounces them delicious, and before I have a chance to get a picture of the cookies, she offers them up to a group of her friends, and they disappear.

Then, she does it again.

I wanted to make the cookies a third time, but I don’t want to be away from my desk too long, so I do a little bit of hunting and discover booklets dedicated to Cocomalt recipes, one of which contains a recipe for brownies. I substitute Ovaltine again, and it works just fine, even using a slightly larger pan than originally called for.

The brownies mix up quickly and require no special technique – just mix everything up in order, and dump it in the pan. I lined the pan with parchment for ease in removal. The resulting brownies are light and slightly malty; The Child says they are like Cocopuffs, a fairly accurate description. They’re as easy as brownies from a mix, but a little bit special. They can’t foul up your diet, either, because like the Cocomalt cookies, they disappear very quickly when kids are around.

 

Cocomalt Brownies

Cocomalt Brownies
 
Print
Prep time
15 mins
Cook time
30 mins
Total time
45 mins
 
Author: My Favorite Cocomalt Recipes, R.B. Davis Co, 1929
Ingredients
  • 2 eggs
  • ½ cup melted butter
  • ¾ cup brown sugar
  • ½ tsp vanilla
  • ½ cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 tsp baking powder
  • 1 cup Ovaltine (chocolate malt powder)
  • ¼ tsp salt
  • ½ cup chopped walnuts or pecans, as you prefer
Instructions
  1. Preheat oven to 350° F.
  2. Mix ingredients in order given.
  3. Line a 9-inch square metal pan with parchment paper, letting paper hang over the edges to act as a sling. Use a spatula to spread the batter evenly into the pan.
  4. Bake for 30 minutes.
  5. Let cool ten minutes in pan, then use parchment to lift out of the pan. Finish cooling on a wire rack, and cut into squares of desired size.
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Categories // The Joy of Cooking Tags // baking, Cocomalt, vintage recipes

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