TASTY!!!

I had a real TASTY LaLaLavendar grilled cheese today! It was TASTY!!! Then I had a chocolate bar. It was TASTY!!!

Cake Thief

The best way to explain how much I love carrot cake is to tell you about a horrible thing I did when I was 17. That summer, my mom married a man named Craig, and at their wedding I devoured slice after slice of the loveliest carrot cake I've ever tasted. 

At first glance, it looked like an everyday sheet cake, short and square with a snowy layer of frosting coating all sides. But it had a light, moist crumb, flecked with sweet strands of carrot and plump little raisins. There were also walnuts, I think, scattered throughout every slice. That cake kept me hovering by the dessert table all afternoon. 

The saddest part of the story, though, is that eating multiple slices of cake at the wedding was not enough to sate my appetite for the thing; in the months that followed, I continued to pick at the foil wrapped slab my mom had tucked away in our freezer. There was no harm, I reasoned, in taking a sliver here and a sliver there - except that there was. That slab I was nibbling away at was the piece she and my new stepdad were saving for their first anniversary. 

Yes, I am a cake thief of the worst sort.

Based on this evidence, you might think that the cake was the Best Carrot Cake I'd Ever Eaten. But truthfully, I just can't be trusted around carrot cake of any sort. It disappears just as quickly whether it's an elegant, multi-layerd cake or, as I learned recently, a basterdized version of the old classic that invites parsnips to the pastry party.

Parsnips, after all, are not so different from carrots. They are both spindly root vegetables that we're eager to ignore completely or serve solely in roasts and mashes and soups. In truth, their natural sweetness and delicate texture suggests they belong in baked goods; blend the two root veggies together and you'll capture the inherent flavors of each.

And since I've just, hopefully, convinced you to swap parsnips in for some of the carrots in your next cake, let's push this cake a little further in the obscure direction, away from the ubiquitous coconut-pineapple mix-ins toward boozy rum raisins. And icing? Yes please.

These cupcakes might not replace that stolen wedding cake but I think they'll remind my parents that I'm still very sorry. 

Iced Carrot-Parsnip Cupcakes

Though I adore carrot cake, I also like turning a classic recipe on its head by incorporating the humble parsnip into the batter. The rum raisins strewn through the batter give them adult appeal. 

Makes 18 cupcakes

For the cupcakes

1 cup raisins

3 tablespoon dark rum
2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¾ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 ¼ cups packed brown sugar
¾ cup grapeseed oil
4 eggs
½ cup unsweetened applesauce

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 ½ cups finely grated peeled carrots
1 ½ cups finely grated peeled parsnips
½ cup toasted pecans, roughly chopped

For the icing

4 ounces cream cheese

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 ½ cups confectioners’ sugar

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon grated orange zest

1–2 tablespoons fresh orange juice 

Make the cupcakes: Prepare two standard size muffin tins with paper liners and preheat the oven to 325 degrees.  

Place the raisins and rum in a microwave safe bowl and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Microwave them on high for 1 minute. Uncover the raisins and set aside to cool. 

Whisk the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg together in a medium bowl. Set aside. Beat the brown sugar and oil together in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment on medium speed until combined. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating on medium speed and scraping down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula as needed. Mix in the applesauce and vanilla on medium speed. Mix in the flour mixture on medium speed, scraping down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula as needed.  

Fold in the carrots, parsnips, pecans, and ¾ cup of the raisins with a rubber spatula until just combined. Fill the prepared muffin tins approximately two-thirds full with the batter and bake for 20 minutes, until the cupcakes are golden brown and a wooden pick comes out clean. 

Remove the cupcakes from the oven and let them cool for 10 minutes before removing them from the tins. Cool them completely on a wire rack.

Make the frosting: When the cupcakes are cool, blend the cream cheese and butter with a handheld mixer on medium speed. Sift the confectioners’ sugar into the bowl and beat it into the cream cheese and butter on medium speed until incorporated. Mix in the vanilla, orange zest, and 1 tablespoon of the orange juice on medium speed. Add the remaining tablespoon of orange juice if needed to thin out the frosting.  

Spread the frosting on top of the cooled cupcakes. Top each cupcake with a few of the remaining rum-soaked raisins before serving.

The eggs stand alone

In one corner: a lemony, herb-laced fromage blanc, perfect for dredging a baton of bread through before popping the whole thing into your mouth. In the other corner: eggs en cocotte.

I know, I've made the fromage blanc spread sound far more addictive (and it is astoundingly good) but I have to say it's the eggs en cocotte that I want to make every evening of late. Can I be blamed for falling in love with a dish whose very name seems to coo softly, oh please make me every time I give it a glance? 

I didn't think so.

My good friend Louisa, she being the latest MIX cover girl and (as of tomorrow) my cooking instructor, sent this recipe over with a photo that was positively mouthwatering. That image made me believe this would be the golden child of a week's worth of meals, and I was right. These humble baked eggs have trumped everything I've made since we first met.  

Eggs en cocotte is a superbly simple sort of dish, one that's rich and creamy and belly warming at once without hitting you over the head with said richness. With the addition of bright green spinach, it even feels healthful and subtly spring-esque. I imagine it's just the sort of thing I'll want to serve around Easter with mimosas on the side.

Here's what I love best about this dish though: it has layers. Once I broke through the crust of the baked eggs, I found myself trying to concoct the perfect bite, one that included the slippery egg white and runny yolk, the crunchy-chewy croutons, the supple spinach and the sweet onions hidden way down beneath. That bite was pure, perfect bliss.

There's not much more I can say about this dish except to offer the thought that since this is a winning dish, you should take the chance to dress it up. Louisa's suggestion: set it atop a folded napkin on a small plate and serve it as the first course at a dinner party. The napkin, you see, gives the dish an elegant edge and hints that these aren't your average baked eggs. 

Eggs en Cocotte 
The name is fancy and yet this dish is nearly effortless to make. The one key to this recipe, says Louisa, is to fry the bread cubes in butter until they are golden on the outside but still give a little in the middle. 

4 servings

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for buttering the ramekins
3 slices (about 1 1/2 cups) artisan bread, diced into 1/4-inch pieces
1 small yellow onion (about 1 cup), diced
1 1/2 cups spinach, roughly chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 eggs
2 ounces heavy cream
2 tablespoons flat leaf parsley, finely chopped

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Lightly butter the insides of four 8-ounce ramekins.

Melt 2 tablespoons of the butter in a small skillet over medium heat. Add the bread to the skillet and fry, stirring occasionally, until the bread is crispy and brown on the outside. Transfer the croutons to a small bowl.

Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons butter in the skillet and add the onions, cooking until they have softened slightly and are golden brown. Divide the onions between the ramekins, then layer the chopped spinach over the onions. Pile the croutons on top of the spinach and sprinkle with salt and pepper. 

Fill a large Dutch oven with 1 inch of water and place it on the stove top. Break an egg into each ramekin and spoon the cream over the eggs, dividing it equally between the ramekins. Set the ramekins in the pot and bring the water to a boil.

When the water begins to boil, place the pot in the oven. Bake the eggs for approximately 10 minutes, until the egg whites are set. The yolks should be soft and runny. Garnish with the chopped parsley and additional salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

-Recipe from Louisa Neumann

Granola Bar Remix

I do believe that everyone has a food that helps them forget, a comfort food if you will, one to turn to when your heart needs a little coddling or your busied mind a distraction in the form of something sweet on a plate. And I know this will seem odd, disappointing even, but the food I turn to in tough times is a granola bar.

I know, you were hoping for something more exciting. A triple tier cake perhaps? Or in the least a homestyle cobbler that looks and tastes just like the one mom used to make? Well, you're getting none of those things because though I'm sure my mom made cobbler, I mostly remember her making these bars. When I think of comfort food that's just like mom used to make, my mind turns to granola, and more specifically to these chewy, oat-strewn bars.

In my childhood home - and I expect the neighborhood I grew up in - my mom's granola bars were legendary but also utterly simple to make (recipes don't get much better than that). They are equal parts hearty and indulgent, all oaty and buttery at once, with subtle hints of molasses and cinnamon added for warmth. If I remember correctly, my mom served them on dainty glass plates with pretty scalloped edges; they were a snack time staple when we arrived home from school. 

I'm long past needing an after-school snack and yet I make these bars every week (I have to admit, I usually eat one at breakfast and another for dessert; these bars crossover between am and pm beautifully). 

In the last few years, I've tweaked the recipe again and again to keep things interesting. As I'm apt to do, I substituted applesauce for some of the butter to make them a tad healthier, and also to give them a hit of my favorite fruity flavor. And why we're on the subject of fruit: these bars make an excellent home for plump dried cranberries, golden raisins and apricots. 

This morning I gave the bars a bit of crunch with a handful of slivered almonds - tomorrow, they're traveling south to soothe the soul of a sister who needs a little taste of home. 

Mom's After-school Granola Bars

This isn't the original recipe (though I'll share it if you want it) but these are my version of my mom's granola bars. Think of this recipe as a blank template for your favorite mix-ins. Anything you'd toss in oatmeal cookies is fair game to swap for the dried fruit I call for here. 

Makes approximately 9 bars

1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted
1/4 cup honey
1 tablespoon molasses
1 scant cup dark brown sugar
2 scant cups white whole wheat flour
2 cups old fashioned rolled oats
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup dried fruit (I prefer equal amounts of cranberries, golden raisins and diced apricots)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Combine the applesauce, butter, honey, molasses and brown sugar in a large mixing bowl. Stir in the flour, oats, cinnamon, baking powder and salt. Add the dried fruit to the bowl and mix until it is evenly distributed.

Line a 9-by-9-inch baking pan with parchment paper. Press the oat mixture into the pan until it is level and evenly spread. Bake for approximately 25 to 30 minutes, until the bars are starting to turn golden brown around the edges. (The bars will look a bit soft in the center but will harden as they cool). 

Let the bars cool, then cut them into squares and serve with a glass of milk. The leftovers will keep in an airtight container left on the counter for a few days, or in the freezer for a few weeks.

Chef Crush

I cannot believe we've gotten this far along without addressing my, ahem, crush on Jamie Oliver. I think I can sum my admiration up like this: when Jake and I talk about moving to London, as we sometimes do, I always, always remind him that if we did transport our lives overseas, I could finally apply to work for my chef crush. Nothing spectacular mind you. I would sweep floors for a living if it meant I could pick that Brit's brain.

I bring this up tonight because I was having a bit of a blah day, with nothing much on the agenda and nothing at all simmering on the stove for dinner tonight. Because it is a Saturday and because I had time to spend hours in the kitchen, I supposed I should make something special. But by four o'clock I hadn't so much as picked up a spatula, much less made a grocery list or any real plans for dinner. Thank goodness I reached for my favorite Oliver tome just then; finally, I became inspired.

Many dishes caught my eye, among them cheat's pappardelle with slow-braised leeks and a quirky sounding, new-to-me dish called bubble and squeak. But what really interested me was the grilled squid salad with warm chorizo dressing that Jake and I made last summer. I'd forgotten how good it was. 

Obviously, the grill is tucked away for the rainy winter, and I'm not really one for grilling anyway. (When you marry a firefighter, you let them deal with the flames.) Nor was I in the mood for squid  - it seemed too chewy, too tough for my tender mood tonight. What I needed was an adaption, one that used a neutral fish fillet as the base for that warm, smoky chorizo dressing.

Within 30 minutes - including a trip to the store - I was spooning my twist on Oliver's dressing over the top of a thin strip of Dover sole. The dish on its own was impressive enough - all layers of sweet-spicy dressing balanced by the clean flavor of the fish. But because I'm the kind of girl who needs greens to consider a meal complete, I repurposed my favorite quick, pan-kissed kale as a side dish. Only this time, I tossed the kale with quartered artichoke hearts, crusty cubes of bread and slivers of Parmesan cheese. The plate was perfect, something I'd like to think Oliver might call "proper feel good food." 

Dover Sole with Warm Chorizo Dressing
You could use any type of white fish here, though I'm told halibut and chorizo don't play well together. I found sole fitting since the long, thin fillet was perfectly portioned for one. Be sure to get soft chorizo when shopping because if you mistakenly use the hard variety, you'll be sorely disappointed by this dish. 

Serves 1

1 white fish fillet, such as Dover sole
Olive oil
1 teaspoon red onion, finely chopped
1 ounce soft chorizo sausage
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 sprigs thyme, leaves picked clean

Set the oven to broil. Place the fillet in an oven-safe baking dish and drizzle a bit of olive oil over it. Season it very lightly with salt and pepper, and slide it into the oven to cook. (The fish will take approximately 5 minutes, depending on the thickness of your fillet).

Saute the onion in a bit of olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat. When the bits are transulescent, add the chorizo to the pan. Using a spatula or wooden spoon, break the meat into pebble-sized pieces as it cooks. When the chorizo has released some of its fatty juices and is cooked through, turn off the heat. Stir in the thyme and balsamic vinegar.

Remove the fish from the oven and place it on a plate. Spoon the chorizo dressing over the fish and serve immediately.

-Adapted from Jamie at Home by Jamie Oliver

Trading Pastries for Produce

Pardon my pregnant pause but I have a good excuse...I was in Paris, land of buttery pastry, fluorescent macaroons and dozens upon dozens of those little raisin-studded artisan rolls that had me tramping about the city in search of the best one.

As you might guess, after eating all that and more chouquettes than I care to count (a rough estimate halfway through the trip suggested we were approaching triple digits), I entered my kitchen ready and willing to trade the pastries for produce, the cream for cabbage - literally. I was ready for Brussels sprouts.

For the sake of honesty, I have to admit that I haven't made these post-trip, yet. But I did make this dish multiple times before we departed and the memory of the dish is informing the way I'm cooking these days. It's January, after all, time for those New Year's resolutions to start eating well again. Part of that, for me, is embracing the much-maligned sprout. 

Before you start your diatribe against Brussels sprouts, let me say this: I know they are stinky and sulfurous. They are the red-headed step child of the produce aisle, an ingredient shrouded in many decade's worth of bad memories and misinformed opinions. I wasn't subjected to them as a child but I know they are the terror of the table for many of you.

But when you cook Brussels sprouts properly and pair them with equally bracing ingredients - say a biting coarse ground mustard - they shine. You'll forget the mushy sprouts of your past, those charred, overcooked little nobs that your relatives tried to pass off as food at Thanksgiving when you were ten, and find yourself craving the things.

Proper cooking, in my opinion, starts with proper prepping, so we're going to start this recipe off by hashing those little green spheres. Throw the strips in a smoking hot pan with a bit of white wine, olive oil and butter and they'll turn silky without loosing their delicate crunch. Then dress them with a bit of that aforementioned mustard and you'll develop a soft spot for sprouts. You might even find yourself trading them for pastry.  

Hashed Brussels Sprouts
You can, as my friend Amber did, eat these sprouts plain for dinner. But you could also toss in pine nuts or bacon to add some texture to the dish, serve it atop creamy polenta or try it for breakfast with corned beef hash. One thing to note: the hashing of these sprouts takes time. Your best bet is a mandoline slicer, food processor fitted with a slicing disk or, failing that, the help of a good, sprout-loving friend.  

4 Servings

1 pound Brussels sprouts
1 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/8 cup dry white wine such as a Sauvignon Blanc
1 tablespoon coarse ground Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste

Rinse the Brussels sprouts and slice off the stem at the end of the sprout. Remove any blemished leaves and, using a sharp knife, half the sprouts. Slice each of the wedges into 1/8-inch strips. Alternatively, use a food processor fitted with the slicing disk attachment or a mandoline blade to hash the sprouts. Place the pieces in a large bowl and dress them with the apple cider vinegar.

Heat the butter and olive oil over high heat in a large skillet. When the skillet is very hot and the butter melted, but not browned, add the sprouts. Turn the heat down to medium and cook the sprouts, stirring occasionally, until they have wilted slightly but are still bright green and slightly crisp, or about 4 minutes.

Add the wine, and cook the sprouts for a minute longer, stirring occasionally. Turn off the heat and add the salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the Dijon mustard until well mixed. Serve immediately.

Buckle for Breakfast

I hope you can forgive me for we're wandering down the baking aisle again. It is Christmas after all. 

This time we're jumping back a few entries in the baker's bible from bundt cake to buckle. What is buckle, you ask? As best as I can tell, it's coffee cake annoited with a name that often raises eyebrows and elicits questions, and that's also far more fun to say. I've also read that it differs just slightly from everyday coffee cake because you sprinkle the berries over the top of the batter rather than folding them into it before you bake the cake. This way, as the cake bakes the berries sink into the batter and give the cake a "buckled" appearance - and its clever name.

You could easily serve buckle for dessert but because it is Jake's favorite breakfast, I'll be serving it as a surprise when he gets home tomorrow morning. (I somewhat doubt it will be much of a surprise though: he's already asked me to make it on Christmas dozens of times this month.)

There are three buckles in the book Jake's favorite recipe comes from but he will not let me make any others or tinker with the one he adores. And truthfuly, I don't blame him for begging me to leave the lemon blueberry buckle alone. It's perfect as it is, a tart little thing graced with pockets of blueberries and a fluffy, buttermilk-based crumb.

The success of this buckle, as I believe it, lies in the boost it gets from not one but three additions of lemon. There's lemon zest in the buttery crumb topping, and more zest in the cake batter. And then there's the lemon syrup that adorns this cake and makes it so darn irresistable. It's positively mouth-puckering and the perfect contrast to the sweet cake beneath.  

Lemon Blueberry Buckle 
This citrusy, blueberry-studded buckle comes from a handsome little cookbook called Rustic Fruit Desserts, which is a truly useful baking handbook filled with straightforward recipes and desserts that are beautiful in their simplicity. That doesn't mean recipes like this one aren't on the longer side. Stick with it and you'll be rewarded with a buckle you'll never want to replace. 

Crumb Topping
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
Zest of 1 lemon
1/4 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature, cubed 

Cake 
1 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
Zest of 1 lemon
2 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 cups blueberries, fresh or frozen (I prefer frozen this time of year) 

Lemon Syrup 
1/3 cup granulated sugar

Juice of 2 lemons

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line a 9-inch square pan with parchment paper. (Alternatively, I've had success using a 9-inch round cake pan if you prefer a cake with curves).

To make the crumb topping, whisk together the flour, sugar, salt and lemon zest in a medium size bowl. Add the butter, using a fork or your fingers to cut in the butter until the size of peas. Place the bowl in the freezer while you mix the cake batter.

To make the cake, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and nutmeg in a medium bowl. Set aside.

Using a handheld mixer or a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream together the butter, sugar and lemon zest on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, or about 3 to 5 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition if necessary.

Mix in the flour mixture in three additions, alternating with the buttermilk, until both the flour mixture and buttermilk are evenly incorporated into the batter. Scrap down the sides of the bowl when necessary.

Gently fold 1 cup of the blueberries into the batter with a spatula. Spread the batter in to the prepared baking pan and distribute the remaining 1 cup of blueberries evenly over the top of the batter.

Remove the crumb topping from the freezer and sprinkle it over the berries, then place the pan in the oven and bake for 50 minutes, or until lightly golden and firm on top.

When the cake is nearly finished baking, make the lemon glaze by combining the sugar and lemon juice in a small saucepan. Whisk the mixture until blended, then cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally until syrupy, or about 8 to 10 minutes. The glaze will bubble while cooking, so you may need to remove the pan from the heat to check that it has reached a syrupy consistency. When the syrup is finished, turn off the heat.

Remove the cake from the oven and drizzle the warm glaze over the top of the cake using a spoon. Serve immediately, or cool to room temperature if desired. The buckle will keep at room temperature for 2 to 3 days, when covered.

-From Rustic Fruit Desserts By Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson