Lemon-Blueberry Buckle

Good gravy, I think I'm getting old.

I could have sworn I posted this recipe in July, but apparently I didn't. Maybe I should be eating whatever it is is that improves memory. Or is it a supplement? Can't remember right now.

I think blueberry lovers have been especially lucky this summer. Pretty much each and every punnet of (local) blueberries I've had this season has been bursting with plump sweetness. Trust me. I've had several punnets make my kitchen a mere passing stop en route to cakes, tarts and simple yoghurty goodness.

I have several buckle recipes within reach, and even though each is different, they all have the same components: cake, fruit and a crumbly topping. How they come together seems to be the question. Some recipes fold the fruit into the batter, some leave the fruit stewing underneath the batter (as with my blueberry-peach buckle), and others, like this one, sandwiches fruit between cake and topping. Which is correct? I don't know and I don't think it really matters, to be honest.

This year's buckle-making adventure seem to fall within what I've just realised is a preoccupation with lemoned baking. The still-failing-to-my-palate lemon-cherry muffins is part of this. There are worse culinary pre-occupations, I suppose...like how to de-scent durian.

Anyway, unlike said muffins, this recipe was almost there in its first iteration and two minor fixes produced this lovely breakfast, tea and midnight snack cake. The crumb is pale, moist and just lemony enough and plays well against the sweetness of in-season berries.

I made it in one of my 20cm/8" high-sided springform--unmolded it's a gorgeous sight for serving at the table. It could be made in a 23cm/9" pan as well, and will probably be done in a shorter time.

Lemon Blueberry BuckleYield: One 20cm/8" cakeIngredients:For the topping:65g (0.33c) sugar
45g (0.33c) ap flour
40g (3Tbsp) cold butter
for the cake:100g (0.5c) sugar
55g (0.25c) butter
1.5Tbsp flavourless oil
2 eggs
Juice and finely grated zest of one lemon
125ml (0.5c) milk or half-and-half
245g (1.75c) ap flour
1dspn (2tsp) baking powder
0.25tsp salt
280g (1pt/2c) blueberries (fresh or thawed)

Preheat oven to 180C/350F. Butter and paper the bottom of an 20cm/8" high-sided springform pan.

Rub the zest into the sugar, infusing the lemon oils into the sugar. Set aside.

Mix together the juice and milk or cream, let sit.

Sift together the flour and baking powder and set aside.

Start with the topping by rubbing together the sugar, flour and butter so everything is combined, but in varied pebble sizes (from grains of sand to no bigger than a pea). Set aside and get on with the cake batter.

Cream together sugar, butter, and oil. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Mix in the flour and by this point the curdled cream the usual alternating method (flour-cream-flour-cream-flour), scraping down the bowl's sides between each addition.

Pour into prepared pan and level the batter. Tumble the blueberries on top, so they are evenly distributed on the batter. Cover the berries with the topping.

Bake for 60-75 minutes, or until an inserted skewer comes out with cooked cake crumbs clinging (it can be hard to tell as the skewer will have to travel through the stewed berries). The cake will begin to pull away from the sides and the crumble will be a light golden colour.

Allow to cool to room temperature before serving.

cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!

Savour the Seasons: Courgettes

I remember when I was a teenager--sometime between 14 and 16 years--my parent's garden provided a plethora of courgettes. I asked my piano teacher if she wanted some--her eyes lit up accepted. The following week I arrived with a shopping bag of carrying several kilos of squash. The week afterwards she gave me two loaves to take home.

The next week I arrived with a double load of zucchini (my parents insisted) and she looked...umm...bemused but accepted them.

The next week I had one more bag of veg and she mused aloud about home gardeners overrun with zucchini...I stopped bringing her courgettes that year.

It's not as if my parents weren't aware of the rabbit-like proliferation of zucchini, but something was obviously amiss in their patch that summer.

I can't pinpoint the exact reason why I prefer yellow courgettes to green ones, but I do. Not sure if I've convinced myself of its superior flavour or the colour is just so happy-endorphin making I can't help but gravitate towards them. Unfortunately this year my neighbourhood mediumcarymegamart doesn't seem to have a lot of them...I counted ONE a couple of weeks ago...so I bought it....even though I knew it was about to go off in a day or two (no, I didn' t get around to using it before it met its sad ending).

Sigh...

Anyway, I was blessed with a home-grown, pesticide-free zucchini, courtesy of a colleague (yes one zucchini. More on that in a post or two from now). Determined to not let it go the way of its sole yellow cousin (difficult that, since it was so perfectly ready), I did the first thing that came to mind...a chocolate loaf.

No, my chocolate tooth hasn't returned...but zucchini really, really wanted to be paired with it...I couldn't say no. And isn't a sign of a good cook is her ability to listen to what the ingredients tell her to do...and then do whatever it is...within reason?

Well, it was within reason.

I figured I could easily get get two loaves out of it--which was good because I so desperately wanted to give my most wonderful web designer something as partial thanks for trying to fix my SensualGourmet.ca site, which I broke by trying to be creative and interesting. It's still not 100 per cent, but it's MUCH better than it was a couple of weeks ago (and yes, my Canadian Bloglist update won't happen until the pages are fixed properly..too afraid of breaking it again). Yeah...if you want to break anything, just give it to me...I'm good at that...and I won't even realise what I've done (blush blush blush).

This recipe is quite easy and filled with choco-zucchinified goodness. It's very moist and quite tasty (if I do say so myself)...and it makes enough batter to fill two seven-inch loaf tins.

Chocolate Zucchini Loaf

275g sifted plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp salt
150g semisweet chocolate chips, melted and cooled slightly
125ml flavourless oil
2 eggs
150g sugar
1tsp vanilla extract
125ml milk
300g zucchini, grated (large holes on a box gater) with as much water squeezed out as possible

Preheat oven to 160C/325F; butter and sugar two 7" loaf tins.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, bicarb and salt.

In a separate bowl, mix together the melted chocolate, oil, eggs, sugar and vanilla. Add the flour mixture and the milk to the mixture in alternating additions. Fold in the zucchini.

Divide equally between two prepared tins. and bake for about 50 minutes or until an inserted skewer comes out clean.

cheers!
jasmine

Savour the Season: Strawberries

Somehow, even though we're in the midst of smog alert season complete with the type of humidity that lets every ion of petrol-emitted pong hang in the air like undershirts on the neighbour's washline, everything seems to smell a little better this time of year.

No wait, it's the two kilos of local strawberries I picked up at the farmers' market.

It's amazing how these sweet and juicy little berries can fragrance a space, transforming it from soulless, bean-counter approved and cinder block-reinforced to something that seems a bit more human and a lot more comfortable.

June and July are when the local strawberries ripen, giving all of us a quick boot to the backside as a reminder of what strawberries should taste like. All year long we get imports that don't quite cut the mustard in several respects (flavour, texture, price) so when the local producers and farmers appear with punnets, baskets and flats of fresh and tasty berries, more than a few of us tend to go a little berry happy.

My mindset is such that fresh, ripe fruit generaly doesn't need to be fussed with. Just wash and eat. Maybe with sweetened whipped cream or with some ice cream. I really don't want to cook the fruit. Apart from the temperature, Beelzebub has a nefarious history and present with any food that I really, really, really want to turn out well.

All that said, a good quantity of summer fruits will end up bottled and dosed out by the spoonful. Yes, I'm slowly taking over my parent's freezer with fruits I want to turn into jams and jellies. But that's a few weeks out.

So when faced with a dinner invitation and the realisation I offered to make dessert, I gazed into my basket of berries. It became very obvious: a strawberry sandwich cake. My version is two layers of Victoria Sponge, sandwiching a layer of strawberry sauce and strawberry cream, topped with more strawberry cream and halved, hulled berries. Very simple and very pretty.

Most strawberry cream cakes I've seen use either a whipped cream or a pastry cream filling--the snow white contrasts beautifully against the red of the berry. The strawberry cream I use is based on a cream cheese icing, but made pink by using strawberry sauce. Apart from being a bit girly, the cake's berry quotient is boosted slightly. The cream is looser than a standard frosting, so it's better for a filling or to just ice the top of a cake.

Strawberry Cream
240g cream cheese
60g softened butter
60ml strawberry sauce
50-100g granulated sugar (to taste)


Cream together the cream cheese and butter. Mix in the strawberry sauce. Add as much sugar as you think it needs. Let it sit in the fridge for about 20-30 minutes to stiffen a bit before you use it.


cheers!
jasmine

Savour the season: Asparagus

Back in February 2007 I began what I had hoped to be an ongoing series entitled "Savour the Season." Basically, what I wanted to do was focus on seasonal eating in Ontario. I planned to research that month's ingredient--a bit of botany, a bit of history, a bit of mythology--then share what I learned. I got two posts in (one about globe onions and one about parsnips) and began researching a third, but my studies over took me and then I needed to take my break.

Now that I'm back, and happily studies-free, I'm bringing back Savour the Season...just a little differently than first intended.

Even though research is one of my favourite parts about writing about food (there's just something about reading about food migration and how home cooks have changed how they prepare an ingredient that appeals to my geeky side), sometimes I just don't have the time to pore over books and sift through (and evaluate) web pages. So, rather than give up on the entire series, I'll start identifying seasonal ingredients as such and post the "bookish bits" as and when they happen.

Gosh, that was a long-winded introduction...

When I was younger I really didn't like asparagus. The only times I remember having it was when I'd attend swanky-ish dinners, and the chef would boil the living daylights out of them. On my plate would lie flaccid, waterlogged spears. I'd cut a bit off eat it and then, pretend they didn't exist while my attention turned to its platemates.

Since then, I've developed two theories about food:

1. If you don't like an ingredient, try it in a different way (don't like it boiled? Try it roasted or baked in a tomato sauce or steamed or...)
2. Pretty much everything is improved with bacon.

When it comes to asparagus, I've learned that I prefer spindly spears to those that rival my vacuum's pipe. I also have learned that the only way I really, really like them is roasted. I've tried them boiled, steamed, in soups and in risotto. Roasting wins hands down.

I can't remember when I first tried roasted asparagus spears. They were prepared really simply: tossed in a bit of olive oil and then liberally seasoned with salt and pepper. Wow. They were good. Asparagus went off the "politely nibbled on" list to being the recipient of my Ms Pacman impression.

Add this revelation to trying them roasted and wrapped in pancetta...and I was in springtime bliss. So when this year's asparagus crop started appearing at the bigscarymegamart, I knew what I'd be doing...

Out came the rashers of streaky bacon from the freezer, to bundle up four or so spears, depending upon their thicknesses. I drizzled them with olive oil and sprinkled them liberally with salt and pepper before popping them into a 180C/350F oven, until done.

Yummy yummy yummy.

I took some into work for lunch the next day and some of my workmates wondered which cafeteria station served them up...I suppose I should stop teasing them in that way...especially when I reheat them on the stoneware dinner plates...

cheers!
jasmine

Savour the Season: Parsnips

Parsnips (Pastinaca savita), elicit either love or a polite, yet patient smile. Boiled, mashed, fried or roasted, parsnips are versatile pale golden, carrot-like veggies that are winter staples.

History
Parsnips are native to western Asia and Europe and have been eaten there for more than 2000 years. Wild parsnips are small, woody and inedible, but perhaps because of their natural sweetness and parsnippy scent, they may have been used as a flavouring agent. Over years of cultivation, farmers tweaked them to be larger…and, well…edible.

The Roman Emperor Tiberius had them brought from the Rhine to Rome, where encouraged farmer to cultivate them. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to truly gauge how they were used in Classical cooking as Greek and Roman writers used the term “pastinaca” for both carrots and parsnips. As with many things of a certain form, Ancient Romans imbued them with aphrodisiac-like powers.

Mediaeval Europeans found two important uses for parsnips—they served double duty as a starch and a sweet substitute for the more expensive sugar and honey. Parsnips were preferred for their flavour, nourishment and were eaten with saltfish during Lent’s meatless fasting periods.

As sugar became readily available and less expensive, coupled with the potato’s introduction the parsnip’s popularity decreased. Apart from northern Europe and Great Britain, worldwide consumption is relatively small.

Etymology
The English word “Parsnip” can be traced to pastinaca, with the “nip” added to indicate that it was like a turnip.

Varieties
In Ontario, the principal commercial varieties are All-American, Hollow Crown Improved and Harris Model. They are all similar in size, taste and colour. The parsnip’s tough, wiry root, tapers from the crown to the root. Its tough and furrowed stem can grow from 30-60cm high with 20cm-long leaf-stalks; the leaves divided into several pairs of leaflets, each 2.5-5cm long and about 1.5-2 cm wide. Leaflets are fuzzy, especially on the underside.

Experiencing
Not everyone likes parsnip’s flavour and many have troubles pairing it with food (but it goes nicely with salty dishes such as ham or salt cod.). Its flavour is a sweet, nutty, spicy and sometimes peppery taste.

Parsnips do well with long cooking techniques such as casseroles, stews, or even oven-roasted on its own. The veg can also be microwaved, steamed or boiled. Classic preparations include mashed parsnips topped with buttered bread crumbs, glazed, creamed or in soups. The Dutch use them in soups, while the Irish make a type of beer with them.

Keeping
Select firm, moderately-sized veggies as large ones can be woody. Their surface should be relatively clean and free of surface blemishes. Avoid ones that are limp, shrivelled, or spotted. Store them, refrigerated, in a plastic bag for up to two weeks.

So…do you love them, hate them, or simply indifferent? If you want to declare your feelings towards this root, Dave Walker can help...yes, that Dave Walker.

cheers!
jasmine

tags: Dave Walker Parsnips

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Savour the Season: Globe Onions

A few weeks ago I decided to start a series centring on seasonal eating. Once a month I'll highlight something that's in season, primarily based on Foodland Ontario's Seasonal Availability Guides.

Savour the Season: February--Globe Onions.
Globe onions (or storage onions), those orbs enveloped in brown, papery skin, are as basic to cooking as salt, pepper, garlic and lemons. From casseroles to tarts and soups to bhaji to deep-fat-fried onion rings, these alliums imbue a sweet and savoury base from which to build up flavour and body. Onions can be eaten fresh, dried or cooked, and they can be used as an ingredient or a seasoning.

History
Onions (from ramps to globes) have been cultivated for more than 5000 years, originating from the Asian-Middle Eastern territories. Ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans ate them raw, but each culture thought considered them differently. These bulbs were both revered and tabooed by ancient Egyptians; Greeks thought onions harboured therapeutic values, and Romans (Apicus in particular) thought they were inconsequential, and thought of them as secondary flavourings in mixed dishes and dressings.

They were European kitchen staple by the Mediaeval Ages; Columbus introduced onions to the New World on his second voyage.

Etymology
“Onion,” has Latin roots, and is either a variant of unio (“single white pearl”), a white bulb or comes from the Latin term for one, oneness and unity.

Varieties
Onions are part of the lily family and related to chives, garlic, leeks and shallots. There are more than 500 onion species; approximately 20 are important edible varieties. They can range in size from a several grams to more than half a kilogram.

Experiencing
Onions are made of fleshy pallid leaves or scales that store energy and covered by several layers of papery skin. Its colour comes from Anthoxanthin, the same compound responsible for potatoes’ and cauliflowers’ creamy-yellowness.

The soft but pungent flavour is central to the onion’s appeal. We pick up on flavours that can range from appley, to bitter, to spicy and sharp and sulphury scents when we bite into a raw globe. Cooking moderates these qualities, and can transform these qualities into sweetness, with aromatic properties ideal for stocks and soups.

Complex sulphur compounds give onions their characteristic bite. Cell walls store sulphur drawn up from the soil. When the vegetable is cut, air is allowed in, and creates a pungent scent and eye irritant. Sulphur escapes the vegetable, and attacks nerve endings on the eyes and nose. The chemical breaks down into hydrogen sulphide, sulphur dioxide and sulphuric acid; heat inactivates these defence enzymes.

Keeping
Storage onions are grown in summer and harvested in autumn. Look for firm bulbs with thick skins. Pass on those with green or mouldy blemishes, have an odour or sprouts. Onions should be store in a cool, dry place—hard and dry onions can be kept for months.

Ways to stop crying
No guarantees, but here are some ideas that may help:
- Contacts or swimming goggles
- Peel under cold running water
- Chill the onion before cutting it
- Soak the onion in warm water and vinegar
- Rub hands in acidulated water to remove smell
- Reduce pungency by blanching them in boiling water
- Keep root end on when cutting
- Hold a piece of bread in your mouth when cutting

cheers!
jasmine

tags: Onions

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