Egg Nog Croissant Pudding

In as much as I love the holidays with all the food and drink that come in tow, at times my fridge, overburdened with leftovers can be a bit of a challenge.

I don't want to waste anything (although, admittedly, some things to end up in the bin), but at the same time I do get tired of reliving meals over and over again.

Every December a carton or two of egg nog finds itself in my shopping trolley. I love good eggnog--rich and cream spiked with sweet woody nutmeg...and maybe some cognac or rye. I usually get a little tired of it...before its all drunk up.

After thinking about it for an extremely short while, I realised that all egg nog is is a custard of sorts. Just add some more egg and maybe a bit more sugar and I've got something pretty close to perfect for a holiday bread pudding.

The nice thing about bread and butter pudding is the relative freedom it allows--plain slices or sandwiches, flavours, textures--a non-recipe recipe. To me, all that really matters is that the bread is creamy soft because it has sopped up as much custard as it can, and that the pudding isn't too eggy-firm.

The "bread" part of the pudding can be anything really--stale bread (of course), challah, brioche, doughnuts, poundcake.

I bought a container of croissants for some lazy breakfasts. Well...the breakfasts were a bit too lazy as the flaky lovelies never did get slathered with butter and marmalade. But they could do well for a pudding.

To give it a bit of interest and contrast, I decided tart cranberries and crunchy pecan would play nicely against the mellow lushness of the softened croissants and the wibbly custard.

The end result is was lovely -- buttery croisstants that were at once burnished gold an flaky and soft and yielding in a nutmeggy custard, punctuated with the occasional sharp cranberry or the slight crackle of of a pecan.

Egg Nog Croissant Pudding
Yield: One 20cm x 20cm (8"x8") pan-- approx six servings

Ingredients
500ml (2c) egg nog
2 eggs, beaten
2Tbsp (30ml) sugar
grated nutmeg (roughly 1/8 - 1/4tsp)
4 stale butter croissants, torn into pieces
a couple of handfuls of dried cranberries, plumped in boiling water, roughly chopped
A handful of roughly chopped pecans

Method

Butter the pan.

In a measuring jug mix the egg nog, eggs, sugar and nutmeg.

Arrange the torn croissants in the pan, Pour the eggnog mixture over top and let soak for at least 20m minutes, so the pastries absorb much of the liquid.

At this point you can preheat the oven to 180C/350F while the croissants soak.

Strew the top of the pudding with the fruit and nuts, tucking some into cracks and crevices where you will.

Bake for about 40-50 minutes. When done, the custard should be just set, with a bit of a wobble.

Remove from the oven and let cool for a few minutes before serving.




cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Feast: Twelfth Night Cake

I know what you're thinking.

Fruitcake.

You managed to avoid your great Auntie Ermintrude's (rest her soul) infamous Christmas fruitcake-cum-doorstop for yet another year (or the first year...ever).

You swerved cellophaned fruitcake in the office free-for-all of the gift basket teardown, and took the last bit of stale candy-coated nutty popcorn, leaving the fruitcake for the guy who was at an offsite meeting during the basket goodie dispersal.

You even donated the thank-you fruitcake you received to the local food bank, justifying it by saying "even the hungry want a traditional Christmas."

Yes, you've had some near misses with the much maligned cake and thought you were doing fairly well.

And here I am offering you...fruitcake.

But it's not just any fruitcake. It's my take on a traditional Twelfth Night Cake.

Twelfth Night?

The Twelfth Day of Christmas. The end of the Christmas season. The day in which you really don't want to see any more Christmas leftovers hanging out in your fridge and start thinking of things like grapefruit, miso soup and watercress.

The name itself elicits English class flashbacks about a romantic comedy that starts with a shipwreck on the Adriatic, and goes on about a girl hiding out as a guy, a love triangle, cross-gartered yellow stockings and the rest. It's a fun work...but then I like the English Renaissance dramatists. I'm special, that way...but you know that...

Traditionally a cake that holds a hidden prize is served The prize--a bean or a pea--crowns the finder as king or queen. They get to wreak magisterial havoc until...people stop putting up with it (midnight, from what I hear). (NB: As someone prone to wearing her tiara "for no reason," I find the idea of having to find a bean to be able to wear a crown rather sweet...but I realise for the world's tiara-less sometimes sparkly needs to be precipitated by a bean.)

Sometimes the cake is a fruitcake; sometimes it's a galette des rois--a puff pastry cake filled with frangipane; sometimes it's a fruited yeast bread. This year, I decided to go with fruitcake.

I looked at various recipes for Twelfth Night cakes and several seemed...very reminiscent of heavy fruitcakes that seem to dominate fears, worries and japes of December. Many seemed to be modified spiced pound cakes. Some reminded me of yuletide hot cross buns...but without the hot crosses and with more fruit. They were round, ring-shaped or baked in special moulds. But really...far too many lived in the realm of "dreaded" fruitcakes.

After more than a month of feasting, I wanted a lighter cake that keeps the original celebratory spirit...without being...dreadful.

Instead of glaceed cherries with loads of sultanas and currants, I opted for a mixture of dried blueberries, cherries and cranberries. If I had remembered I had dried pears and apricots, they would have been used as well. I couldn't leave out the citrus, but didn't want candied citron, so I zested a clementine and brushed the top with Cointreau. Additional flavour came from some leftover eggnog (and an extra few gratings of nutmeg).

The resulting tender cake is lovely and moist, fruity and lightly citrussed. The interior has a warm hue and the crust is burnished. I'm having it for breakfast, but it would accompany a cup of tea quite nicely.

Will this cake prompt the same jeers that greet its December cousin? I hope not. But maybe the promise of the opportunity of wearing a crown* will convince some to try it.

* And no, you won't be getting to wear my tiara.

Twelfth Night Cake
Yield One 21cm x 11cm (8.5"x4.5") Loaf

Ingredients
100g (approx 250ml/1c) mixed dried fruit of your choosing, rehydrated in boiling water, drained
1 egg
185ml (0.75c) egg nog
225g (435ml/1.75c) cake flour
1tsp (5ml) baking powder
0.5tsp (2.5ml) bicarbonate of soda
pinch of salt
grated nutmeg (approx 1/8th tsp)
75g (85ml/0.33c) soft butter
150g (125ml/0.5c) brown sugar
1tsp finely grated orange zest

1 dried bean or baking bean (optional)
1dspn (10ml/2tsp) cointreau or brandy


Method
Preheat oven to 170C/325F. Paper a 21cm x 11cm (8.5" x4.5") loaf tin

Beat together egg and eggnog and set aside.

Sift together flour, baking powder, bicarb, salt and nutmeg. Set aside.

Cream butter until light. Add sugar and zest and continue beating until fluffy. Add in the dry and liquid ingredients in the usual fashion (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), scraping down the bowl between dry additions. Fold in the rehydrated fruit and the bean (if you're doing that). Pour into prepared loaf pan.

Bake at 170C/325F for 30 minutes. Turn the heat up to 180C/350F for 20 minutes. The cake should be warmly golden in colour and an inserted skewer comes out with a few crumbs clinging to the wood. Remove from oven and brush with the cointreau or brandy.

Ice, if you wish with

• a heavy mixture of icing sugar mixed with water, milk or orange juice
• a blanket of fondant, complete with fussy Shakespearean, Epiphany or Royalty-themed decorations
• a different blanket, this time of marzipan

Or you can do what I do and leave it plain...perhaps slathering your slices with double Devon cream or brandy butter.

Note:

If you don't have eggnog,

• 110g (125ml/0.5c) butter (instead of 75g butter)
• 2 eggs (instead of 1 egg)
• 125ml (0.5c) milk or orange juice
• 1-2Tbsp extra sugar (to taste)

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Corned beef Hash

Even though I was careful to not have a whopping huge hunk of corned beef, I had more than enough for a couple of suppers and sandwiches.

The most obvious solution to my embarrassment of cured beef riches was, as you've probably guessed by this post's title, corned beef hash.

Then again, I may have embarked on a 14-day brining adventure just to make this crisped potatoey-beefy-oniony conglomeration.

Like so many foods created to use up an odd bit of this or that, this, again, is a non-recipe recipe. I don't think there's a hard and fast rule about corned beef hash: chopped up left over boiled potatoes, chopped up left over corned beef, mixed with chopped onion, garlic and spices, fried, an served warm for breakfast lunch or supper.

Browned hashed potatoes with bits of spiced cured beef, topped with a soft boiled or runny poached egg, with butter toast to sop up the golden goo...what more does one want for a lazy Sunday breakfast, or a midnight nosh when back from a night out sampling the local pub's liquid offerings? Not much, I think.

Corned Beef Hash
Serves 2-4

Ingredients
Butter and or olive oil, for frying
1 onion, finely diced
1 garlic clove, minced
250g (1.5c) boiled potatoes, finely chopped
100g (1c) corned beef, finely chopped
salt
pepper
0.5tsp mustard powder
1tsp vinegar



Method
Heat fat in a cast iron pan until quite hot. Saute onions until transluscent. Add garlic and stir until its scent is released.

Tumble in chopped potatoes and meat, a pinch of salt, two of pepper and the mustard powder. Sprinkle with vinegar and stir well and press into an even layer in the pan.

Fry until the bottom is crisp and golden. Turn, in sections, to crisp the other side. If it sticks, add more fat to the pan. Fry and turn again (or as often as needed) until the potatoes and meat are lovely and crispy.

Dollop some sour cream along the side and garnish with chopped chives or spring onions.

Serve with eggs (soft boiled, poached, fried, or whichever way you wish), baked beans, fried tomatoes and or fried mushrooms.

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Roasted Carrot and Parsnip Soup with Coriander

If necessity is the mother of invention then, leftover food is the mother of...well...different food.

It's winter and I cocoon in the warmth of my home. Enough food to feed a hockey team rolls out of my kitchen: Beelzebub's maw offers breads, casseroles, roast chicken, baked chops and lots and lots of roast veggies every few days.

It all gets eaten, sometimes frozen for a rainy day. Leftovers get played with--sometimes successfully, sometimes not. This is a successfull dalliance.

The other week my own poor planning left me without any exra meat or potatoes, but an overabundance of oven roasted carrots and parsnips.

I stared at them for a while. I'm sure a roast carrot and parsnip quesadilla could have done the trick, but I wasn't enthused. I could have baked some chicken legs or perhaps fried a quick steak, but for whatever reason neither of those options seemed satisfying either.

Falling snow and a quick wind put me in the mind for a hearty soup. The vegetables were roasted with warming spices of cardamom, coriander and cumin and the idea of turning them into a burnished gold soup was exactly what was called for.

As with most soups, I think this is really a non-recipe recipe: create a flavour base, add liquid, add the veggies boil and purée. Add more liquid, if needed.

My only tip I (and it's really not my tip, as I've seen it mentioned in chef interviews and recipes) is to add a bit of carrot juice after puréeing, to add a bit of brightness to the taste as well as colour.


Roasted Carrot and Parsnip Soup with Coriander
Yield approx 1.5l (6 cups)

Ingredients
flavourless oil
0.5tsp black mustard seeds
0.5tsp ground coriander seeds
0.5tsp ground tumeric
0.5tsp cinnamon
1 onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
2.5cm (1") piece of ginger, minced
300g (2c) roasted carrots and parsnips
(4c) hot vegetable stock, plus more, if needed
2tsp vinegar or lemon juice
375ml (2.5c) carrot juice (optional)
salt and pepper (to taste)

Garnish (optional)
sour cream
coriander leaves (cilantro), minced

Method
Heat mustard seeds in oil over medium heat until the seeds begin to crackle and pop. Tip in coriander, tumeric and cinnamon and fry for about a minute. Add the onions (and more oil, if necessary) and fry for about a minute and then add the garlic and ginger. Continue to cook until the onions are translucent and limp. Add carrots and parsnips, stiring until everything is well coated. Pour in stock and vinegar and stir. Lid the pot and let blurble away for about 15 minutes or until the vegetables are heated through and yield to a wooden spoon. Take off the heat and let cool for about 10 minutes (or longer, if you wish).

Purée the soup in a food processor, immersion blender or a jug-style blender until it’s as smooth as you prefer.

Return the soup to the stove and simmer over medium heat. Add extra stock and carrot juice (if using) and stir. Balance flavours to taste.

Serve hot with optional dollop of sour cream and chopped coriander leaf stirred into each bowl.


cheers!
jasmine



I'm a quill for hire!

Sauteed Cabbage, Potatoes and Bacon

Savoy cabbages make me smile.

I can't help it. There's something about those deeply lined leaves and their crinkled edges. There's also something to be said about the colour: graded blue-green tones with stark palid veining that remind me of pine trees' boughs laidened with snow.

There's also a bit of whimsy there and I can't help but to see if Peter Rabbit is hopping about the grocery store bins and shelves.

I can't resist but bring one home with me.

I know not everyone likes cabbage. Too many heads have found their way, boiled into a sulphurous and somewhat slimy end.

I suppose if that was my first introduction to cabbage, I'd feel the same way. But it wasn't. My first (and still, to this day), favourite way to have cabbage is as cabbage thoren: a dry stirfry made with black mustard and fresh coconut. No, I don't have a recipe--it's one that I want to get from my Dear Little Cardamummy. When I do--and when I adapt it to be my own--I'll post it.

It's not slimy or overcooked. There's no pungent smell. It yields slightly to the tooth but retains some colour and crispness. The mellowed green flavour is what cabbage, when treated with a bit of tenderness, should taste like. Or at least I think so.

When I bring home a curly green head of Savoy cabbage, there are few things more satisfying to me than this all-in-one dish of cabbage, potatoes and bacon. Last night's leftover potato gets cubed and sauteed in bacon fat and tumbled with slightly steamed cabbage. It's pretty much a non recipe-recipe--the quantities aren't written in stone, and the flavours can be changed to suit your taste with the addition of caraway, butter or even a bit of cream.

Cabbage, potatoes and bacon
Serves 4-6 as a main course, more as a side dish.

Ingredients:
100g (3-4 rashers) bacon, chopped
olive oil
1 onion, slivered from pole to pole
2 garlic cloves, minced
salt
pepper
450g (1lb) boiled Yukon Gold potatoes, cubed into 1cm dice (2 good-sized potatoes)
450g (1lb) cabbage (Savoy or white), cored and shredded
3-4 Tbsp water
a few drops of white vinegar

Method:
Frizzle bacon in oil, until half-cooked. Add onions, garlic as well as a good pinch or two of pepper and one of salt. Fry until the bacon is cooked and has rendered its fat. Remove mixture to a bowl, leaving as much fat in the pan as possible.

Fry potatoes in batches until tinged with gold, adding the crisped potatoes to the bacon mixture.

Tip the shredded greens into the pot and saute for a minute or two. Add water and vinegar and a pinch of salt. Lid the pot, letting the veg steam for a few minutes until the colour is vibrant, but the leaves are still crisp.

Return the bacon, onions and potatoes to the pan and stir well. Balance flavours to taste.

cheers!
jasmine
I'm a quill for hire!

Banana muffins with nut streusel topping

Here in Canada, New Year's Day pretty much marks the end of what's essentially a month-long modern Bacchanalian feast with meats and wines and cakes and whiskys and shortbreads and brandies and trifles and punches and loaves and cheeses and chocolates. Lots of food, lots of frivolity and lots of leftovers.

Chances are on 1 January (and 2 January and 3 January), fridges and pantries are still filled with leftover feasts and edible presents...I do my best to get through it but some foods end up teetering close to their best-by dates.

So I looked about my fridge and counters to see what needs to be used up and what I can do with them. This year it was bananas and eggnog. Not wanting banana pudding, or a bread and butter pudding, these muffins are what came out of my oven. It was a happy accident and an experiment of "what happens when I mix all of these things together."

If you don't have any eggnog, just substitute milk or yoghurt instead (and add an extra tablespoon of sugar to the mix).

These muffins aren't cakes in waiting. They are hearty and toothsome and not overly sweet like some shop-bought monstrosities. For those who are thinking of changing their diet to something a bit more "healthy," well...it uses whole wheat flour to help your ease yourself into your newfound dietary asceticism.

Truth be told, I find little eggnoggy taste remains in the finished muffin, but a friend tells me there is a feint aroma. Personally, I think it's the nutmeg, but who am I to argue?

Banana Muffins with Nut Streusel Topping
Yield 12

Ingredients
For the streusel topping
25g (2Tbsp) soft butter
35g (0.25c) all purpose flour
50g (0.25c) brown sugar
25g (0.25c) chopped pecans, walnuts, almonds or other nuts
0.5tsp ground nutmeg

For the muffins
175g (1.25c) all purpose flour
75g (0.5c) whole wheat flour
1dspn (2tsp) baking powder
1tsp bicarbonate of soda
0.25tsp cinnamon
0.5tsp ground nutmeg
0.5tsp salt
225g (1c) mashed bananas (approx 2 large)
130g (0.66c) sugar
180ml (0.75c) eggnog
1 egg, lightly beaten
1tsp vanilla
1tsp rum or brandy or their extracts (optional)
30ml (2Tbsp) flavourless oil
45ml (3Tbsp) melted butter

Method
For the streusel topping:
Mash together all streusel ingredients into a crumbly mixture. Set aside.

For the muffins:
Preheat oven to 180C/350F and line a 12-bun muffin pan with papers.

Seive together flours, baking powder, bicarb, spices and salt. Set aside.

Mix together the bananas and sugar until the sugar melts into the fruit. Stir in eggnog, egg, flavourings, oil and butter until well mixed.

Stir the wet ingredients into the dry until just combined.

Divide into the prepared muffin bowls (the batter will nearly fill each bowl) and top with the steusel mixture. Bake for 20-30 minutes or until an inserted tester comes out clean.

Let cool in the pan for a few minutes before removing muffins to a cooling rack.


cheers!
jasmine
I'm a quill for hire!