Mmm...Canada: Lemon Rhubarb Pound Cake

Happy Canada Day!

This year I offer one of my favourite spring/summer cakes to ring in my country's 148th birthday. A lemon rhubarb pound cake.

When I was little I wasn't very fond of rhubarb -- it was just too sour.  My neighbour grew it in her garden and would give my mum jewel-like stalks.  Experiments ensued.  A strawberry-rhubarb something was by far my favourite, but I thought it would have been better sans the stalks.  I'm not sure I'd come to the same conclusion today.

Time passed and now I look forward to spring and summer, if not for the long ruby and green stems that I see thrusting from the ground, or bundled at my favourite country market.  Neither my parents nor I grow rhubarb--so I can't just amble out and harvest some for my kitchen. One of these days I'll either plant some or befriend someone with a surfeit of the stuff.

I must admit I do find rhubarb a bit of an unwieldy venture.  The stalks sometimes feel as long as I am tall, and finding an out-of-the-way storage space can be an adventure.  They balance on top of refrigerated containers of leftovers and bottles of milk or weave and precarious path between bottles and packets.  If I'm not paying attention and let the lie on the counter, the cats bat at the tips and occasionally tear off the remnants of the (poisonous) leaves.  Yes, I have cleaned up the evidence of their taste testing. Yes (again), I should be better about trimming off the leaves if the stalks are going to lie about for any amount of time.

I'm not sure why, but in spring and early summer I tend to crave sharp flavours--lemon, lime, vinegary coleslaws--which is probably why I spend much of that time baking lemon and buttermilk cakes. Rhubarb seemed to be a natural addition to the batter, and a very good one.  Slightly damp and just tart enough, this loaf is a more than welcome accompaniment to my afternoon tea.


Lemon Rhubarb Pound cake

Yield 1 loaf

Ingredients
zest of half a lemon (see notes)
200g/250ml/1c sugar
100ml/0.33c+1Tbsp buttermilk
20ml/2dspn/1.5Tbsp lemon juice
170g/280ml/1c+2Tbsp all purpose flour
1/4tsp/1.25ml baking powder
1/4tsp/1.25ml salt
85g/90ml/6Tbsp soft butter
2 eggs
1tsp vanilla (optional)
250g/500ml/2c finely chopped rhubarb

Method
Line an 8-1/2" or 8" loaf tin
Preheat oven to 170C/325F.

Rub the lemon zest into the sugar in your mixing bowl.

Mix the lemon juice into the buttermilk and set aside.

Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt, and set aside.

Cream together the lemon sugar and butter.  Add eggs one at a time, scraping down the bowl between each addition.  Mix in the vanilla, if using.

Add the flour and buttermilk mixtures in the usual way (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), scraping down bowl after incorporating each buttermilk addition.  Fold in the rhubarb.

Pour the batter into the prepared tin, smoothing the top.  Tap the pan a few times to release any trapped air bubbles.

Bake for 90 minutes, or until the top is golden brown, the sides pull away from the tin and an inserted skewer is clean-ish (see notes).

Notes:

• You can use the zest of the whole lemon, if you wish.
• This is a damp cake--the skewer won't reveal crumbs, as with many other cakes, but a *slight* stickiness.
• I prefer this cake without icing or glaze, but if you prefer it enrobed, try a lemon glaze or cream cheese icing.

Variation

• This cake can be made with sour cherries instead of rhubarb

cheers!
jasmine
I'm a quill for hire!

For Annemarie: I made a cherry grunt for you

I returned to blogging a year and a half ago, not sure what to expect after a six month absence. My bloggy friends were waiting for me with open arms, as did new readers, as warm and comforting as a mug of steaming hot chocolate on a cold winter's day.


One of those new readers soon became one of my dear friends.


In Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar I found a kindred spirit--someone with a love of (and a respect for) words, another patient sighing life observer and someone who's not afraid to tackle pretty much anything in the kitchen

I have no idea how many emails have passed between the two of us. We laugh. We moan. We snark. She was there for me on the first anniversary and held my hand (and patiently read my accounts) as I returned to the dating world.Truth be told, I sometimes feel sorry for her...after I've hit "send" and have unleashed a 2000+ word torrent detailing the minutiae of my existence, railing against whatever has caught my attention.

After all that, I was more than a tad surprised when she agreed to be my co-hostess for last month's Daring Bakers Challenge. Really...you'd think that someone who's heard that much of my life would run screaming at the prospect of running an online event with me that could have 1000 participants. That poor brave girl agreed. I think it was sleep deprivation from being a new mum.


A better partner I couldn't have asked for. We were of the same mind when it came to challenge and quickly agreed upon the tarts. Every once in a while I'd toss a recipe her way to test and she'd toss back her comments and suggestions. She's gifted with words and came up with great additions to the tome of a challenge post. She pretty much looked after monitoring the DB Challenge forum; she answered questions and offered words of encouragement and advice to everyone who posted questions, concerns and comments.


Now that we're on to the next challenge and back to our regular blogging and regular lives, I was left with one question. How do I thank her?


Well...with a post and a treat...how else?

Ever since Rodney MacDonald, Nova Scotia's former premier, tried to lure David Letterman to the maritime province, with (among other things) a blueberry grunt in his Top Ten a year and a half ago, I've had grunts on the brain.


For those of you who haven't had one, a grunt is essentially cooked or stewed fruit, with a baked dumpling-ish topping. The name is probably from the grunting sound the fruit makes as it releases its last gasps of air and collapses into a warm, softened state, underneath its cakey, dumplingy or biscuitty blanket.

Since I've been anticipating our local cherries (soon, I hope), I've had cherries on the brain. The road side fruit barker has set up his wares and although he's selling American cherries, they are much cheaper and in much better condition than what I can find at the bigscarymegamart. Luckily enough, our dear Annemarie loves cherries.


Ideally I'd make a cherry grunt with sour cherries, but they are elusive creatures and won't be around for a few weeks. Instead of using canned sour cherries, I decided to use the barker's sweet fare and mimicked some of the sourness by using a combination of wine and balsamic vinegar in the stewing liquid. If you don't want to use wine, I'd either use sour cherry juice or use water or apple juice and increase the balsamic vinegar to a dessertspoon or possibly a tablespoon. I'm also fresh off a cobbler run so I was more than heavy handed when adding the milk (150mls) to the dumpling batter, making it much looser than it should be. So my grunt looks more like a cobbler...no matter, I think Annemarie would forgive me.



Cherry Grunt

550-600g pitted cherries
60g brown sugar
2 Tbsp cornstarch
100ml wine
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp honey
140g ap flour
50g sugar
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
salt
60g softened butter
75ml milk
slivered or chopped almonds (optional)

Combine cherries, brown sugar, cornstarch, wine, balsamic vinegar and a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Cook for a couple of minutes and add the honey. Turn off the hob and set aside.

Preheat oven to 350F/180C.

Combine flour, sugar baking powder, a couple of pinches of salt and butter until you have a breadcrumb-like consistency. Add the milk and mix until combined.

Pour the cherries into a 2L baking dish. Spoon the batter over top, letting gaps appear so the cherries will ooze through and allow their last gasps of breath. Strew with nuts.

Bake for approximately 30 minutes or until golden.

Umm...Annemarie...I did want to send you some, but umm...this is all that's left...

You can tell whenever I've made a cherry dessert with real cherries...there's always at least one pit found...I call it "the lucky pit."

cheers!
jasmine

What I'm reading: The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad


I'm a quill for hire!

A pudding for Paz

If you've ever wanted to visit New York City, but can't afford the time or the fare, there are a number of sites you can visit to aid your armchair travels. One such site is a bit of a travelogue disguised as a foodblog run by our most lovely Paz of The Cooking Adventures of Chef Paz.

Each Monday she posts a photo of her fair city -- a sort of everyman's photojournal of The Big Apple. Yes, there are some shots of touristy targets like The Russian Tea Room, Grant's Tomb and carriage rides; foodie obsessions like pizza, markets and cafés, and of course everyday images of architecture, wildlife and people.

Anyway, Paz isn't feeling the greatest, taking some recuperation time and is taking a bit of a blogging break. Right now a number of her bloggy friends are helping out and guest starring on her site until she's up for more cooking and photography.

I can't remember exactly when we discovered each others blogs, but our sites are roughly the same age (about a month apart) and she was one of my first bloggy friends. We've laughed and snarked at one another over this and that and she electronically knocked me on my plumptious behind when she gave me a flying tackle of a return hug.

As much as I'd like to be in NYC to cheer her up in person, I can't get away--besides, I'm sure all the laughing we'd do wouldn't be good for the sutures ;)

So instead I offer here a comforting little seasonal pudding for a comfy recovery. A cherry dulce de leche croissant pudding based on Nigella's Caramel Croissant Pudding, as seen in Nigella Express.

I'd gone to the good farmer's market and picked up a punnet of the sweetest and juiciest cherries. Even though I like fresh cherries, there's something about having them in a simple baked dish--pies, studded in breads or unfussed cakes. When set in the smokey custard, some juices release, leaving a burgundy streak, but some--those that are sunk in the pudding and cocooned in sweetened eggy goodness--still burst when bitten. It's quite nice.

My version was thrown together in much the same way most of my bread puddings are put together. I had about half a dozen mini croissants in my fridge, along with a stress-releasing, sadness-fighting, comfort-inducing jar of dulce de leche.

I'm pretty much a purist when it comes to the custard part of my bread puddings--vanilla, please. I don't normally go for flavourings, but right now caramelly goo and fruit are my choco-substitutes, so Nigella's version that incorporates caramel made me sit up...Oh and I suppose I could have made this into a greedily portioned single serving, but I decided to break it up into four ramekins.

Cherry Dulce de Leche Croissant Pudding
adapted from Nigella Lawson's Caramel Croissant Pudding found in Nigella Express

6 mini butter croissants
2 bulging tablespoons of dulce de leche
125ml milk (don't bother with 1% or skim milk)
50ml heavy cream
2 well-beaten eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
pitted sweet cherries.
water from a freshly boiled kettle.

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F.

Tear the croissants and scatter the pieces into a butter a baking dish (or dishes). Scatter some of the cherries over top.

Heat the dulce de leche in a small pan. When it's loose and drippy, add the milk, cream and vanilla.

Temper the eggs with some of the heated sweetened milk, stiring the eggs constantly so they don't scramble. Pour the egg mixture into the pan and heat on a low flame, stirring constantly. Let it thicken until it coats the back of the spoon.

Pour over top the cherries and broken croissants, top with more cherries. Put the dish(es) in a roasting tin and fill the tin with hot water until it comes to the half-way point of the baking dish(es). Pop into the oven and bake for about 25 minutes or until the custard has just set.


cheers!
jasmine