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

Bringing Back Bundt Cake

For absolutely no reason, I have decided that the holidays were made for bundt cake. I can't imagine why the holidays make me crave it; I've replayed the memory reel of Christmases past through my head over and over, and I never catch a glimpse of my mother carrying a regal bundt cake to the table on a platter. There's French toast to be sure, and plentiful oranges yanked out from the toe of our stockings. And in later years, when my pancake-loving stepdad appears, there's always Swedish pancakes, the batter blitzed in a blender and poured onto a hot skillet to make thin little pancakes that we stuff with berries or douse with syrup. And for dessert, there's often cranberry-apple tart.

But there's never bundt at the breakfast table or on the dessert buffet either.

So now that I'm grown, I vow that it will have a place of prominence at my family's holiday table. It belongs there for reasons of both flavor and ease. Bundt cake at its best is dense and moist and, on account of its fluted edges, more elegant than a flat-top cake. It is exactly the sort of rustic elegant baked good I seek out this time of year and I just love that the pan takes the pressure of making a pretty presentation away; the pan's groves do that for you once you flip it to reveal its beguiling curves. Even better, it makes a perfect special occasion breakfast, preferably eaten in new Christmas pajamas, and a showy dessert to devour in party attire. (Likely, you'll find it can serve as both because bundt cakes are huge.)

In my opinion, a good bundt cake has a delicate crumb, a hint of warming spices and something of a surprise hidden inside. That surprise could be plump little raisins, chunks of apples strewn through the batter or even, I've learned, a ribbon of crunchy granola. Trust me, it works. 

This time of year though, my bet is on cranberries. I've adored them in bundts ever since this spiced cranberry bundt cake caught my eye last year. It seemed the perfect dessert to fork into on a night when the snow drifts rose higher than I'd seen in a decade, which is to say they reached my knees. I do live in the Northwest. And even though this particular bundt took more effort to make than usual (it required a few treks through the snow to gather the ingredients from local stores) I have to say, it tasted even better for all that extra work.

With no snow to slow my efforts, this year the cake come together easily, though a bit differently. Though I'm usually content to make good, easy recipes again and again, last night I found myself tweaking the original recipe to make it my own. Compare the two recipes and you'll see I changed quite a bit, making the cake a hint healthier with applesauce and whole wheat flour and changing the flavor base from almond to hazelnut by swapping in hazelnut meal for the almond flour. I replaced the dried berries with a few more fresh berries, simply because I prefer the juicy pop of the fresh ones to those wrinkly little bits in a batter. 

Then I crossed my fingers and hoped that I'd tinkered my way to creating the star of my holiday table. I like to think I did. 

Spiced Cranberry-Hazelnut Bundt Cake
I ate a wedge of this cake last night with a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream, and it was lovely. I also imagine it would benefit from a dusting of powdered sugar or, if you're really looking to impress, a sweet citrusy glaze dripping down the sides. 

Makes approximately 8 to10 servings

1 cup white flour
1 cup white whole wheat flour
3/4 cup hazelnut flour (also called hazelnut meal, I get mine here)
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 
1 1/2 teaspoons cloves
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda 
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup applesauce
3 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup plain, reduced fat (2%) Greek-style yogurt
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries (do not thaw if you use frozen)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 12-cup bundt pan. Whisk the flours, cinnamon, cloves, baking powder, baking soda, salt and ginger together in a small bowl. 

Using an electric mixer, beat butter in a large bowl until smooth. Add both sugars and beat until fluffy, about two minutes. Add the applesauce and beat for one minute more. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating 30 seconds or so after each addition. Beat in vanilla extract, then the yogurt. Add the dry ingredients and beat until just blended.

Gently fold in the cranberries with a rubber spatula. Transfer batter to prepared bundt pan.

Bake cake until a tester stick or knife inserted near the center comes out clean, or about one hour. Cool the cake in the pan until the pan is cool enough to handle, then turn the cake out onto a rack and cool completely. 

Serve plain or with vanilla bean ice cream, powdered sugar or icing. 

-Adapted from Dorie Greenspan

Cold Spell

When it comes to soup, my tastes have always sided with the tomato camp. For years, I've been making tomato soup in all its incarnations from an incredibly basic soup made with crushed tomatoes, olive oil and a whisper of broth to more elaborate recipes like cioppino or a pesto-topped sausage-tomato soup. For a time (ok a year) in college, I was obsessed with tomato ravioli soup and meatball soup. If you ate with me, you uncovered my addiction quickly; I alternated between the two recipes every other night. 

But this week, something in me snapped: I fell out of love with my old favorites. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been fine for I could just make salads and pastas and sandwiches to stand in for the soup until my cravings returned. But unfortunately, we're having a bone-chilling cold spell this week and all I have wanted to eat is a soup that will warm my noes and toes and fill my empty belly - so long as it wasn't tomato-based.

So out came the cookbooks, piles upon piles of them that I leafed through in search of The Perfect Recipe. I found none. Instead, I discovered my savior outside my cookbook shelf, during the pasta course at a newly reopened Italian restaurant in town. The kitchen's Agnolotti alla Piemontese was elegant and sustaining, with a clear, fortifying broth and little pasta pockets stuffed with beef, chicken, pork and escarole. It was perfection in a bowl and exactly the dish I'd been dreaming of.

I have spent most of my waking minutes since craving this soup, and after a quick online search, I found a version to try at home. The recipe requires few ingredients and the preparation is incredibly simple. Ever one to complicate things, I attempted to make my own ravioli (hence the picture of pasta, not soup, above) though I can't say their flavor bowled me over. They were hearty and filling and good but not good enough to share the recipe with you - yet. So I'm hoping you have a magical stuffed pasta recipe you can use for this soup. Or maybe you live near one of those quaint little markets where a nimble-fingered pasta maker spends every day stuffing squares of pasta for dishes just like this. 

Ravioli or Tortellini in Broth
To contrast the pure chicken broth, I like to use a pasta filled with a hearty ingredient or two, like sauteed chard and ground sausage. For a variation on this soup, try making it with beef broth to give it a bold, meaty flavor.

Serves 4

1 quart chicken stock, preferably homemade
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 pound prepared tortellini or ravioli
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped, plus more for garnish if desired
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan, divided

Place the chicken stock in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce to 2 cups, then keep at a simmer while you prepare the pasta.

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add the tortellini or ravioli, and cook as directed. Drain and toss with the olive oil, parsley and half of the Parmesan cheese. Place an equal number of ravioli in each of four soup bowls.

Salt and pepper the chicken stock to taste. Ladle 1/2 cup broth over each bowl of pasta and top with a spoonful of the remaining Parmesan cheese and additional parsley, if desired. Serve immediately.

-Adapted from The New York Times

Shortbread For My Sister

 
The kitchen in my little sister's Los Angeles studio is a spare and sunny space with whitewashed cabinets and a hulking, full-sized fridge that eats up a third of the nook. The rest of her retro-leaning apartment is spacious (for a studio) but in the kitchen, you could hold your arms out to your sides and almost touch the walls. In that way, it's not unlike the studio kitchen I cooked in years ago. It wasn't a room but merely a section of appliances that hugged a stretch of wall and offered just a foot or so of counter space and an oven just larger than an Easy Bake toy.

There is a certain amount of charm to cooking in tiny, no frills kitchens like these. You learn to make do, to work with what you have and improvise where you can - turning say, an empty bottle of wine into an improptu rolling pin because you have no space to store the real thing. And you master that peculiar space-saving shuffle that occurs when you're chopping and mixing and tossing and sauteeing, elbows flying, with family or friends in a space made for one. 

What these sorts of kitchens aren't good for is baking. They offer little space to store standard baking ingredients, much less the muffin tins, silpat mats and mixing bowls you need to keep on hand to bake. So, while I lived in that tiny space, I shelved my baking obsession. And though my sister bakes at home, I imagine she hasn't picked up a measuring cup since she left.

All this is to say that I feel a certain responsibility to bake for my sister, to stuff as many bar cookies and blackberry muffins as I can into those clever flat rate postage boxes before shipping the sweets south to her studio door. But lately, I've began feeling guilty for sending the same old things time after time. After all, one can only eat so many homemade granola bars the next shipment leaves them running for the door.

This time around, I wanted to send something exciting and imaginative, something that would excite her tastebuds and get her curious about something new. So after toying with the idea of brittle and biscotti, I settled on shortbread.

This is the kind of cookie that wants to snuggle up next to a mug of tea, which is apt since my sister drinks more tea than anyone I know. It has a sandy texture that's all the better for the crunchy bits of nuts that pock the shortbread rounds. And though I've yet to confirm this fact, I think it ships well making it a perfect gift for any space-strapped studio dweller you know.

Pecan Shortbread Cookies

Don't be tempted to leave out the vanilla bean in this recipe. Yes, they are expensive but the vanilla bean is what gives these cookies a sweet, nuanced flavor that will have you reaching for another again and again.

3/4 cup pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped

1 1/4 sticks (10 tablespoons) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1/2 cup confectioners' sugar

1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise, seeds scraped and pod reserved

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

3 tablespoons demerara sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line 2 large rimmed baking sheets with parchment paper. Set aside.

In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter with the confectioners' sugar, vanilla bean and seeds, vanilla extract and salt on medium speed until fluffy, about 3 minutes.

Add the flour in 3 batches beating at low speed until just incorporated. Discard the vanilla bean. Using a small spatula, stir in the pecans.

Transfer the dough to a lightly floured work surface and roll into a 1 1/2-inch-thick log. Wrap the log in plastic or parchment paper and refrigerate for one hour.

Spread the demarara sugar on a platter. Brush the log with the egg yolk and roll it in the sugar. Slice the log into 1/2-inch-thick rounds. Roll the rounds in the sugar again if needed so that they are coated all the way around. Transfer the sugared rounds to the prepared baking sheets, spacing them 1 inch apart.

Bake the shortbread cookies for about 15 minutes, until the edges are golden; rotate the baking sheets from top to bottom and front to back halfway through the baking time. Remove the cookies from the oven and transfer them to a wire rack. Let stand until cooled completely, about 30 minutes, before serving - or sending.

-Recipe from The Craft of Baking by Karen DeMasco