One month to Christmas, I come bearing chocolate gingerbread cake

It feels a bit early for me to start thinking of Christmas. Drifts of research and reports surround me; calendar reminders twinkle on my screen, and it wasn’t too long ago when a hard thump of an icing sugar duster covered my garden with snow. Maybe it’s not too early for me to start thinking of Christmas.

Two things easily get me into the Christmas spirit—music and food.  While I am prone to belting out “Do They Know It’s Christmas” in June, I’m not quite ready to put my Christmas CDs in the mix just yet. The Christmas Pud has been stirred, steamed and safely out of my mother’s reach (really, it’s not hard as she’s 4’10” (maybe)).  While I’m beginning to plan out my baking, it’s hardly a Bing Crosby existence, rumpapumpumming to David Bowie.

Yet.

I used this week's visit with some favourite people to get me further into the festive spirit.  How better than with a cake? Preferably something aromatic that hints at the weeks to come.

I thought the Chocolate Gingerbread Cake from Nigella Lawson’s Feast would be perfect with our tea, as we chat next to a roaring fire. I paired the smoky-rich chocolate spice cake with the salted brown butter caramel icing from Shuna Fish Lydon’s Caramel Cake.  For a bit of texture, amidst all that soft lusciousness, a generous handful of roasted spiced pecans was scattered on top.

By my standards, it’s a sweet enterprise, but all that means is I'll have a smaller slice.   But it is a dark, damp and rich cake, spiced with flavours familiar to the Yuletide season, with the added bonus of chocolate.  And salted caramel.  And crunchy pecans.

A couple of notes about the cake:

• The full cake recipe is enough for two 20cm x 20cm (8"x8") pans, so if you only need a small cake, halve the recipe.
• Instead of treacle, I used cooking molasses, which is a mixture of regular and blackstrap molasses.  My molasses-loving friends liked it, but next time I’ll use a lighter variety.
• For one 20cm x 20cm cake, use about one-third of the icing specified in the recipe (or more, or less, I'm not going to judge).

Ginger spiced roasted pecans

Ingredients:

50g/125ml/0.5c chopped pecans

one heaping teaspoon icing sugar

0.5 tsp ginger powder

cayenne pepper, to taste

pinch salt

water

Method:

Preheat oven to 180C/350F and line a baking tray with parchment or tin foil.

Mix the nuts with the sugar, spices and salt.  Drizzle in enough water so the nuts are coated with a glaze.  Toss the nuts and spread on the prepared baking tray. 

Bake for 10 minutes.  Let cool before sprinkling on the cake.

Recipe Links: 

Nigella Lawson’s Chocolate Gingerbread Cake Recipe

Shuna Fish Lydon’s Caramel Cake Recipe

cheers!
jasmine
I'm a quill for hire!

Food Day Canada: Mmm..Canada Blackcurrant Buckle

The first Saturday in August means different things to different Canadians.  For many of us, it's the start of a three-day weekend.  Although different parts of the country call it by different names, for most of Ontario, it's the Civic Holiday long weekend (with Monday being the Civic Holiday).  I say most of Ontario as Burlington calls it Joseph Brant Day,  Ottawa calls it Colonel By Day, Toronto calls it Simcoe Day, and Vaughan calls it Benjamin Vaughan Day.

But the first Saturday of August is also Food Day. Over the past dozen years or so it has morphed from a beefy barbecue to support the Canadian beef industry to a nationwide celebration of Canadian food.

Personally, I think it's a fitting combination of celebrations. It's a reminder of what, traditionally, it is to be Canadian: keeping an eye out for one another, and doing the right thing, and welcoming new people and ideas.  It's also about celebrating Canadian food: from farmers who grow our food, to chefs who work with amazing local ingredients, to cooks who adopt and adapt foods to feed their families and friends.

My offering for Food Day Canada is a very homey blackcurrant buckle--a lumpy-bumpy cake topped with fruit and a sweet topping.  Depending upon where you are, you may call it a crumble.

I've posted buckles recipes before, but they were both blueberry-based: peach-blueberry and lemon-blueberry.  This one features locally-sourced blackcurrants.  More tart than sweet, the small onyx orbs paired nicely with the tangy, lemon-scented buttermilk cake.  Of course, if the cake is *too* tart for your palate, you can drizzle an icing glaze on top, dust the cake with icing sugar or snuggle a billowy cloud of ice cream or chantilly cream along side your slice.

Blackcurrant Buckle

Yield: One 20cm/8" cake

Ingredients:

For the topping:

65g  85ml  0.33c   sugar

50g  85ml  0.33c   ap flour

40g  45ml  3Tbsp  cold butter

For the cake:

100g  125ml  0.5c    sugar

55g      62ml  0.25c  butter

20ml  2dspn   4tsp    flavourless oil

2 eggs

Finely grated zest of half a lemon (optional)

165ml  0.66c  buttermilk (plus more, if needed)

265g   440ml 1.75c ap flour

10ml 1dspn  2tsp baking powder

1.25ml  0.25tsp   salt

210g  500ml  2c blackcurrants

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.

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 pebbly sizes (from grains of sand to no bigger than a pea). Set aside.

To make the batter, cream together the sugar, butter and oil. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Mix in the flour and buttermilk in the usual way (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), scraping down the bowl's sides between each addition.  If necessary blend in more buttermilk until the batter reaches a dropping consistency.

Pour into prepared pan and level the batter. Tumble the blackcurrants on top, so they are evenly distributed on the batter. Cover the fruit 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 cooked currants). 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.

Serve, if you wish, with ice cream or chantilly cream.

Notes:

• Taste your blackcurrants before baking with them as they can range from tart to sweet.  If they are tarter than you’d like, then you can
• Drizzle an icing glaze overtop the cooled cake
• Dust the cooled cake with icing sugar
• You probably wouldn't go wrong with adding more fruit than the two cups listed.  You'll get more of bursted, somewhat jammy fruit top, and I can't think of how that could be a bad thing.

Previous Food Day Canada Posts:

• Jamaican Beef Patties
• Blueberry-Apricot Frangipane
• Chimichurri

cheers!
jasmine
I'm a quill for hire!

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!

Happy Birthday Edna: Banana Cake

Happy birthday to my friend, Edna Staebler. This Canadian culinary gem would have been 109 years young today. She was a marvel and a talented woman who wrote about life, but is best known for bringing Waterloo County fare to the world.  I've written about her several times, including  here, here and here.

Even though 1 January marks the new calendar year, 15 January starts my culinary year: The holidays' excesses have lulled, the fridge is now rid of overcomplicated and overzhuzhed memories.  Overreaching and overhyped wannabe food personalities are hushed.  It's time to return to what sustains me for the other 350 days of the year--delicious yet simple foods, born of tradition, seasonality and curiosity.

This January sees a surfeit of bananas in my house--more freckled yellow fruit than I care to mention are in bowls and on my countertop, thanks to my parents.  Don't ask.  Things like this just happen.

While banana'd treats are a temporary staple--banana smoothies, and peanut butter, banana and honey sandwiches--I still feel up to my knees in bananas.  I could take Josephine Baker's lead and make a fashion statement, but I don't. 

Edna offers several delicious-looking banana baking options, but this simple banana cake from her first book, Food That Really Schmecks, caught my eye.  As with all of her recipes, this one is easy, tasty and came together quickly.  I've made some minor changes: instead of shortening, I used butter with a splash of oil, and I substituted sour cream and milk for sour milk. 

The end result is a tender-crumbed, old-fashioned cake, devoid of propensity but filled with comfort and flavour.

This cake can be made in a rectangular pan or in two round tins, sandwiching a slathering of whipped cream and sliced bananas between layers.  Edna recommends a penuche icing--which I'm sure would be scrumptious--but I think unadorned is best.

Banana Cake

Edna Staebler - Food That Really Schmecks (adapted)

Yield: One 33x23x5cm (13"x9"x2") cake

Ingredients

110g/125ml/0.5c softened butter

1Tbsp/15ml flavourless oil

300g/375ml/1.5c sugar

1tsp/5ml salt

2 large eggs

325g/560ml/2.25c all purpose flour

1tsp/5ml baking powder

0.75tsp/3.75ml bicarbonate of soda

2Tbsp/30ml sour cream 
2Tbsp/30ml milk

260g/250ml/1c mashed overripe bananas (2-3 large bananas)

65g/125ml/0.5c walnut or pecan crumbs

Method

Preheat oven to 180C/350F (moderate/Gas Mark 4)

Prepare a 33cmx23cmx5cm (13"x9"x2") pan by either lining it with crumpled greaseproof paper or by greasing and flouring.

Sift together the flour and leavening agents. Set aside.

Mix together the sour cream, milk and mashed bananas. Set aside

Cream together the butter, oil, salt and sugar. Scrape down the bowl and add eggs one at a time, beating well between editions. Scrape down the bowl again.

Add the flour and banana mixtures in the usual way (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), scraping down after incorporating each banana mixture. 

Fold in the nuts and give the batter a good stir to ensure no flour clumps are hiding. The batter should be light and thick but moussy texture.

Pour into the prepared pan, level the batter and smooth the top. Tap on the counter once or twice to release any large air bubbles.

Bake for 40-45 minutes. The cake should be golden brown, the top springs back when lightly touched, and the cake pulls away from the sides. An inserted bamboo skewer should come out cleanly.

Slather with the icing of your choice (cream cheese, penuche, chocolate, vanilla, peanut butter), dust with icing sugar or leave as-is.

Notes:

• The baking time listed is for the rectangular cake pan.  If baking in two 20cm/8" or 23cm/9" pans, bake for 25-35 minutes

cheers!
jasmine
I'm a quill for hire!

A few days late, I bear cake

A belated happy 2013 to all--may it bring  you and yours laughter, opportunity, friends and whatever good things you wish for.

I know some of you have been wondering why my entries have become increasingly sporadic these past few months.  The last half of 2012 brought pervasive change.

While Hagia and Zeus are no longer padding around the house, two new companions have trotted in.  Those of you who follow my @cardamomaddict account know about Nigel and Rufus, but if you don't, here's a pic taken in October.

In the midst of those exits and entrances, my professional life has taken a twist, and I have hung out my shingle and started Peacock Blue Communications, where I help clients with the various stages and phases of planning and implementing strategic, integrated communications plans (think I can help you?  email me at jasmine{at}peacockblue{dot}ca and I'll be happy to chat with you).  I've been working with clients and networking (oh, the networking!) for the past few months.  I'm working on the website, but here's what I've got up right now at peacockblue.ca; you can also follow my PR, Social Media and issues/reputation management tweets at @pckblue.

While all of this was happening (and still is happening), I simply wasn't able to dedicate time to this space as I had done previously.  I've not been cooking as much as I had been, nor have I been exploring food and culture in ways I like, so I've not really had much to post about.  Retiring this blog crossed my mind.  But I'm a stubborn optimist who thinks that every hiatus is a brief one.

So while I'm not committing to fast and furious posting, I will keep this space alive, posting what I can, when I can.

While I've been mostly absent, I have had one constant these past couple of months...chocolate cake.  As my longer-term readers know, I pretty much lost my chocolate tooth a few years ago when my partner died.  Whereas my chocolate cravings haven't returned, this overwhelming craving for un-iced chocolate cake has taken hold.  I'm on my third cake (fourth, if you include brownies) and I think I've found a winner.

The recipe is from a long-neglected gift I received more than 10 years ago from Jo Walton (yes, that Jo Walton) who came to stay with me.  She knew I loved to cook and bake, and Cadbury's was (and still is) a favourite of mine, so she gave me a copy of The Complete Cadbury's Cookbook.  It's a lovely book, filled with chocolatey and cocoa-y merriments.  Why I don't cook from it more often, I don't know, but I think this recipe will become part of my regular repertoire

Devil's Food Cake

adapted from The Complete Cadbury's Cookbook (c) 1994

Yield: 1 20cm (8") cake

Ingredients
175g (300ml/scant 1.25c) plain flour (all purpose flour)
1tsp (5ml) baking powder
0.5tsp (2.5ml) bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)
50g (105ml/7Tbsp) cocoa powder
Boiling water
1 pinch salt
55g (60ml/0.25c) soft butter
60ml (0.25ml) flavourless oil
225g (280ml/1c +2Tbsp) dark brown sugar
2 eggs
80ml (0.33c) yoghurt

Method
Preheat oven to 190C/375F. Grease and paper a high-sided 20cm (8") round cake pan (or two 20cm (8") regular or low sided pans). Set aside.

Seive together the flour, leavening agents and salt. Set aside.

Mix enough boiling water into the cocoa powder to make a soft, smooth paste. Set that aside too. 

Cream together the fats and sugar. Blend in the eggs. Mix the cocoa paste with the yoghurt and incorporate into the eggy-sugar mix.

Fold in the dry ingredients until the batter is uniform in colour and texture and you don't see streaks of unincorporated flour. Pour into the prepared pan(s) and bake for 35 minutes, or done.

The cake is done when an inserted skewer comes out cleanly, the cake has shrunk in at the sides a teeny bit (about 2mm/1/16th") and the top springs to the touch. Remove from oven and let cool on a rack.

Ice, if you wish.


cheers!
jasmine
 I'm a quill for hire!

WIP: Lemon-rhubarb cake

Has it really been more than a month since I was last here?

Eeek.

My absence wasn't intentional. Thanks to unreliable home Internet service...more than three weeks of unreliable home Internet...and phone...and TV service (don't you love the lack of provider competition, combined with bundling that "saves" the customer money?) I've not really been able to post. Those adventures haven't ended (I still need to get my billing adjusted)...when things are sorted, I'll post about all the loveliness.

Combine that with a very full social schedule, I've not had much kitchen time.

My favourite country market opened for the season, and I picked up some gorgeous, tall stalks of rhubarb. I started playing with them--I love the cherry red ends and the tart tang they have--but I really don't have a properly finished offering for the blog...only a work in progress.

It's not bad for a first go--I need to adjust the egg--maybe drop it down to one, perhaps increase the rhubarb as well. Instead of waiting for me to be fully satisfied with it, here it is in its current state. Play with it as you will--and if you find ways of improving it, please let me know, via comments.

Lemon-Rhubarb Coffee Cake (WIP)

Yield: One 20cm/8" cake

Ingredients

For the topping:

70g 125ml 0.5c all purpose flour

55g 60ml 0.25c soft butter

50g 60ml 0.25c sugar

50g 60ml 0.25c brown sugar

85g 185ml 0.75c chopped nuts

0.5tsp 2.5ml cinnamon

1.5tsp 7.5ml ground ginger

pinch of salt

For the batter

200g 250ml 1c sugar

1dspn 10ml 2tsp finely grated lemon zest

250ml 1c milk

1Tbsp 15ml lemon juice

220g 375ml 1.5 all purpose flour

0.75tsp 3.75ml bicarbonate of soda

0.25tsp 1.25ml salt

75g 80ml 0.33c soft butter

2 eggs

250g 500ml 2c rhubarb, chopped into 0.5cm pieces (two stalks)

Method

Preheat oven to 180C/350F. Butter and line a 20cm/8" springform pan

Mix the topping ingredients together and refrigerate.

Mix lemon juice and milk together, let stand for at least 10 minutes.

Rub the lemon juice into the sugar.

Sift together dry ingredients.

Cream butter and lemon sugar together. Beat in eggs one at a time. Alternate dry and wet ingredients in the usual way (dry, wet, dry, wet, dry). Fold in rhubarb.

Pour batter into the prepared pan. Strew the topping over top the batter.

Bake for about an hour, or until the cake pulls away from the sides and an inserted skewer comes out cleanly.

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Ceci n'est pas un fruitcake

This year I hemmed and hawed over what I wanted to make for Easter Dessert. Pies, cakes, ice creams--they all flitted through my mind as non-descript actors flit through the minds of fickle teenaged girls: nothing truly grabbed my attention for more than a few days.

TVO currently airs Edwardian Farm--a 12-episode programme chronicling two experimental archaeologists and one historian living the lives of Edwardian farmers at Morwellham Quay--where one episode included a Simnel Cake--a light fruitcake usually made for the middle Sunday of Lent. Tradition has it that the cake is covered with a round of marzipan and 11 marzipan marbles (one for each of the 12 apostles, less one for Judas).

This idea stuck. Well...some of this idea stuck.

Even though I am a founding member and lifelong president of Fruitcake Liberation Society (a rag tag group of people who like fruitcake and don't understand why people cast aspersions at fruit-ladened and alcohol-drenched cakes (well, apart from the storebought ones...those don't count), I just didn't feel like making a traditional fruitcake (even if it is a light one).

But a cake that combined marzipan and dried fruit...is not a fruit cake.

It is a fruited cake.

I quickly dismissed the idea of a plain fruited cake and decided to go for an almond cake. The nut quotient was increased by good bit by including a marzipan layer in the cake and a dribble of almond extract. I selected my favourite fruits that play well with the dominant nuttiness: apricots, cranberries and blueberries.

Unsurprisingly, this is an almond-lover's cake (so if you don't like almonds, you may want to pass this one by). It's sweet and a bit sticky and a great pick-me-up with a cup of afternoon tea.

Fruited Almond Cake
Yield 1 x 20cm (8") cake

Ingredients
100g (185ml/.75c) dried apricots (14-15 pieces)
100g (165ml/0.66c) dried cranberries
100g (165ml/0.66c) dried blueberries
225g (415ml/1.66c) cake flour
1.25tsp (6.25ml) baking powder
110g (125ml/0.5c) room temperature butter
3Tbsp (45ml) flavourless oil
150g (375ml/1.5c) sugar
0.25tsp (1.25ml) salt
2 eggs
0.5tsp (2.5ml) almond extract
85g (210ml/a generous 0.75c) ground almonds
165ml (0.66c) milk
225g (0.5lb) marzipan
icing sugar (for dusting)

Method
Tip all the dried fruit into a bowl and cover with boiling water. Let the fruit plump for at least 20 minutes. Drain, chop the apricots into cranberry-sized pieces. Cover with more hot water until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 170C (350F). Butter and flour a tall-sided 20cm (8") round cake pan. Set aside

Sift together the cake flour and baking powder. Set aside.

Roll the marizpan into a 20cm/8" circle. Set that aside too.

Cream together the butter, oil, sugar and salt for about three or four minutes, until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time, followed by the extract. Mix in the almond flour. Drain the now plumped fruit and fold into the batter.

Add the flour and milk into the batter alternate addition, in the usual way (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), scraping down the bowl's sides after each dry addition.

Pour half the batter into the prepared cake tin. Lay the marizpan round on top. Pour in the remaining batter.

Bake for 50-60 minutes. The cake will be golden in colour and begin to pull away from the sides. Remove from oven and let cool completely before unmoulding.

Dust with icing sugar before serving, if you wish.

Notes:

• Use whatever combination of dried fruits you wish--sultanas, currants, raisins, cherries--keeping the total weight (or volume) to what's in the recipe

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!

Strawberry Rhubarb Mini Buckles

Strawberries.

Seeing that word on my favourite country market's sign means one thing: summer.

Even though summer officially arrives in about two weeks, to me and other food-loving locals, hearing Trevor's shop is open for the season means that summer is for all intents and purposes...here.

In amongst onions, peppers, apples and other fruits and vegetables which winter well, were signs of warmer weather: asparagus, rhubarb and strawberries. Peas will soon arrive. Next month a whole host of other crops will appear.

But moreso than any other hot weather weather crop, finding local strawberries in punnets and baskets signals a fleeting few weeks of snow-less weather has arrived.

It's still early in the season. The berries aren't quite as sweet as they will be in a couple of weeks, but they are much more like precious little gems than what the chain stores have on their shelves throughout the year.

I couldn't resist. I bought a punnet of berries and a bundle of rhubarb stalks. I've always loved their sweet-sour combination--not to mention the gorgeous deep pink colour they take on when baked in pies or cooked in jams.

This time I decided to make some mini-buckles--fruited cakes with a bit of a streusel topping, thus named for the cake's buckled appearance. The finished cake has a bit of a sweet, crunchy top; a tart soft fruit layer, and a dense vanilla cake base. The combination is (I think) absolutely fitting for an afternoon tea break....in a garden...in the sunshine.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Mini Buckles

Yield: 12

Ingredients

For the Topping

50g (60ml/0.25c) sugar

30g (60ml/0.25c) cake flour

30g (30ml/2Tbsp) cold butter

For the fruit:

130g (310ml/1.25c) chopped strawberries (fresh or thawed)

80g (180ml/.75c) chopped rhubarb

2-4Tbsp (30-60ml) sugar, to taste

For the cakes:

2Tbsp (30ml) yoghurt

6Tbsp (90ml) milk

1tsp (5ml) vanilla extract or vanilla bean paste

100g (125ml/0.5c) sugar

55g (60ml/0.25c) softened butter

2Tbsp (30ml) flavourless oil

2 eggs, beaten

227g (430ml/1.75c/0.5lb) cake flour

0.25tsp (1ml) salt

Method:

Preheat oven to 180C/350F.

Line a 12-bowl cupcake tin with papers. and set aside

For the topping:

Rub 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). Refrigerate until you're ready to bake.

For the fruit:

Combine the strawberries and rhubarb with as much sugar as the berries dictate.

For the cakes:

Mix together the milk, yoghurt and vanilla. Set aside

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

Divide evenly between the cupcake bowls and level the batter as best as you can. Spoon equal amounts of the fruit mixture onto each cake. Cover with the topping.

Bake for 25-30 minutes or until the topping has turned a light golden colour and an inserted cake tester comes out cleanly.

Notes:

• As with pretty much anything using strawberries, try to use in-season strawberries. Better still, try and find local strawberries. If you're doing this out-of-season, then you may need more sugar.
• If you'd rather turn this into one large buckle to slice, this recipe will proffer a 20cm (8") round buckle

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Key Lime Poppy Seed Loaf Cake

Yesterday I awoke with two words running through my head: key lime.

Yes. It's an odd thought. At least it's an odd thought for me. I usually awake with a running commentary based on things I must do that day: get out of bed, take care of my ablutions, find something to wear, feed the cats, feed me, find my car keys, return this call, send out that email, rough out this project, book a meeting with that person...you get the point.

So to only have two words run through my mind was...refreshing. No fires to put out, no deliverables on my plate, no thoughts of anything remotely harried.

That said, those words were, I fear, like a palate worm: a foodish thought that becomes a craving so specific that it could drive me batty. The only thing I knew was regular limes wouldn't do and I didn't want a pie. No. That would be too easy.

After some thinking and searching (and passing by several recipes featuring what looked like spinach-dyed cakes), I decided upon something rather simple: a key lime poppy seed loaf cake. Yes, I realise now that my particular palate worm seems satiated with citrus + poppy seeds + cake.

It is a rather joyously yellow cake, flecked with green zest and blue-black poppy seeds. The colour isn't a total surprise as I used three egg yolks and three tablespoons of custard powder (anyone who has used Bird's custard has seen it go from near-chalk-white to the most lurid gold). The crumb is tender and just moist enough to be enjoyed with a cup of tea.

Key Lime Poppy Seed Loaf
Yield 1 x 20cm (8") cake or 1 x 22cm x 12.5cm (9"x5") loaf

Ingredients
6 key limes, zested and juiced
150g (0.75c) granulated sugar
85ml (0.33c) milk
145g (1c +2Tbsp) cake flour
1tsp (5ml) baking powder
0.5tsp (2.5ml) bicarbonate of soda
25g (45ml/3Tbsp) custard powder
a pinch of table salt
55g (0.25c) butter, softened
1Tbsp (15ml) flavourless oil
3 egg yolks
2Tbsp (30ml) poppy seeds
3 egg whites, whipped to stiff peaks


Method
Preheat oven to 350F(180C). Butter and sugar a loaf or round cake pan.

Rub the lime zest into the sugar and set aside.

Mix the lime juice and milk in a measuring jug and let sit at least 15 minutes.

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

Cream together the butter, oil and lime sugar. Beat in the egg yolks one at a time, fully incorporating each before adding the next one. Mix in the flour mixture and curdled milk in the usual fashion (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), scraping down the bowl after incorporating each wet addition. Mix in the poppy seeds. Fold in the egg whites in thirds: quickly stir in the the first third to lighten the batter slightly; fold in the next third not as quickly, and lightly fold in the final third so as not to lose the foamy nature, but not allowing streaks of white to remain in the batter.

Pour into the prepared pan and bake 35-45 minutes or until the top is golden, springs to the touch and an inserted wooden skewer escapes cleanly.

Ice as or frost, as you will, but I prefer it just as is.

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Peach-almond upside down cake

I’m not the only one who hates being photographed.

I can’t really point to a reason for this neurosis: There’s the once-natural smile, held too long; being at the mercy of a once-enthusiastic and creative soul reduced to crutches of standard poses against unimaginative backdrops; the once-hidden moment that is now forever captured. At some level, it’s the blunted truth captured by a mechanical eye. I am the subject which becomes the object.

I also have a pathological distrust of photographers and a deep-seated dread of cameras: photographers are evil and cameras are the work of a malevolent being.

In other words, I simply don’t photograph well.

In many pictures I look like an Ewok with thyroid issues as drawn by James Gillray. Other times I look like a maniacal motivational speaker who specialises in presenting to sadistic dentists and their overly Botoxed, gold-lamé sandal wearing assistants who own their own tanning beds.

That ain't pretty. Not that I do pretty.

My recent need for a head shot was met my usual apoplexy: knotted stomach, quickened breath and more than a touch of “just let me do a line drawing likeness of myself and be done with it.”

After meeting Jay, I could see why my best friend recommended him. He captured gorgeous, light-filled natural images that radiated her personality. His online portfolio drew me in with snaps of spirited moments, thoughtful compositions and unrehearsed expression. Our pre-shoot meeting confirmed my initial impressions of him formed from those images: approachable, perceptive and receptive.

Truth be told I think he got more than he reckoned…Others would have stared blankly or nonchalantly (or not so nonchalantly) looked for the exit as my tongue unfurled non-profane bluntness and free-wheeling adjectives and adverbs. Him? He rolled his eyes several times with an impish grin and, unlike others, he very deftly handled my pronouncements, concerns and meandering tales while reassuring me and talking through the nuts and bolts of the photo shoot—duration, colours and apart from lippy, no make up.

The session itself was very unlike other photo sessions I’ve done. Those were mechanical and processed. This was like spending the afternoon with an old friend…except, of course, for the honkin' huge camera, massive light reflector and the occasional crowd that gathered to see what was so special about this short chick in pink that she had an incredibly tall stalker photographing her every step.

The shutter clicked more than 200 times, but it didn’t feel like it.

There were more than two dozen useable images. Heck, there were more than dozen good images. From those, these two were chosen, each imparting a different facet of my personality:



According to my friend Gin, I can no longer claim to not photograph well.

Begrudgingly...I think she’s right.

Quite honestly, I think Jay is the reason there were so many good images. It goes beyond the facts that he has a good eye, understands light, composition and movement. It’s because he made me feel comfortable and forget that I was being stalked by an incredibly tall man with a soul-stealing camera.

Good gravy. That’s a revelation on par with Herschel’s discovery of Uranus.

Seriously. It’s THAT big.

And it must be noted.

What appeared from my kitchen was this peach upside down cake, inspired by Ontario’s August peaches. I gave it to him when I selected the images. It wasn't a total surprise as I emailed quesitons about allergies and preferences. But he and his family appreciated this small bit of thanks, asking for the recipe. And that, to me, is all I could ask for.

This cake is the progeny of several different recipes (but my main inspirations were recipes by Rose Murray, as blogged by Charmian, and Canadian Living). It’s deceptive in that it looks as if it should be treacly, but it’s not. The caramel is light and tamed by a pinch of salt; it melts with the peach juices into the cakes soft crumb. If you’re in midwinter and can’t get in-season fruit, drained, canned peaches work just as well and is a delicious way of bringing back summer in the midst of dark and cold days.


Peach-Almond Upside Down Cake
Yield: one 20cm/8" cake

For the topping:
100g (0.5c) brown sugar
45g (3Tbsp) butter, melted
pinch salt
4-5 peaches, peeled, sliced into 0.5cm wedges

For the cake
90g (6.5Tbsp) butter
2dspn (1.5Tbsp) flavourless oil
120g (0.66c) sugar
1 egg
1tsp almond extract
1tsp, rounded baking powder
0.75tsp bicarbonate of soda
130g (1c) cake flour
0.25tsp salt
125ml (0.5c) milk/cream
125ml (0.5c) vanilla yoghurt
Garnish (optional)
A handful of toasted almond flakes

Preheat oven to 170C/350F. Butter a 20cm/8" springform pan and line the bottom with a round of parchment. Wrap the tin's outside in tin foil to keep the caramel from leaking (and burning) in your oven. Line a baking sheet with tin foil as well. Set aside.
Sift together the baking powder, bicarb, flour and a quarter teaspoon of salt and set aside. Mix together the milk and yoghurt; set that aside too.

Melt brown sugar, 45g butter and a pinch of salt until bubbly. Pour into the prepared pan. Place the peach slices in the caramel in whatever configuration you wish. Set the tin on the lined baking sheet and set aside.

Cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Mix in the oil. Add the eggs one at time, beating well between each addition. Pour in the almond extract and mix again. Scrape down the bowl's sides with a rubber spatula.

Add the flour mixture and yoghurty milk mixture in the usual alternating way: flour-milk-flour-milk-flour--scraping down the sides between additions. Give the mixture a gentle turn with the spatula before turning the batter into the prepared, carameled and peached pan. Evenly spread the batter before popping it into the preheated oven. Depending upon your kitchen's temperament, bake for 45-60 minutes. When done, an inserted skewer will come out clean-ish, with a few crumbs adhering to the stick, the cake will spring back to the touch and pull away from tin's sides. It will be a golden tawny colour.

Let cool for at least an hour before unclipping the sides. Invert onto a cake plate, so the peachy bottom is on top. It's easiest to remove the parchment round while the cake is still warm, to preserve the loveliness of the peach pattern.

Strew with toasted almonds and serve the cake warm with or without ice cream or whipped cream.

cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!