Thrown Together

I often think about what it must have been like to grow up in my dad’s house when he was a kid. By all accounts, there were always homemade baked goods on the counter. Always. His grandmother, a Hungarian immigrant and known to everyone as Gram, lived with him growing up and, well, although I know she had a bedroom and frequented other rooms in the house, I think she pretty much spent most of her time in the kitchen, baking and cooking and baking some more

From what I hear, there were cheese pockets and coffeecakes (”Oh, we were never without coffeecake,” my grandmother has told me) and muhn cookies and pies. Seeing as Gram grew up sleeping on a dirt floor in Hungary and made her way here at 13, formal “recipes” weren’t really part of her vocabulary. Over time, she worked out her own recipes, but more than anything she developed a feel for how recipes worked. She could throw together a pie or dessert without really thinking about it.

I recently came across a stack of Gram’s old recipes, written in barely legible chicken scratch, a Yiddish/Hungarian/English hybrid, most of it phonetic. Some day I will make and post those recipes — promise — but I need to work out the ingredients and measurements and, well, I’ve been a little busy. You know, planning a wedding and stuff.

Though my Hungarian great grandmother surely never used rhubarb in her cooking — and I know the words “sponge pudding” never grazed her lips — this rhubarb sponge pudding is the sort of “thrown together” dessert I picture someone like her baking. It’s almost effortless, and you can have it together and in the oven while you make dinner on a lazy Sunday. With recipes like this in my arsenal, I just may have baked goods lining my counter constantly too.

Rhubarb Sponge Pudding
Adapted from Bon Appetit, May 2007

Note: This calls for rhubarb only, but I had a handful of strawberries in the refrigerator and threw them in as well. They were a wonderful addition. Also, for a flavor twist, feel free to substitute chambord or framboise for the water.

1 1/3 pounds rhubarb, cut into 1-inch lengths (about 5 cups)
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1 vanilla bean
2 tablespoons water

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
Pinch of salt
1/2 cup sugar
7 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 large eggs
6 1/2 tablespoons whole milk

1-2 tablespoons turbinado sugar

Preheat oven to 375F. Butter a 11″x7″x2″ baking dish. Place the rhubarb pieces in the baking dish. Split the vanilla bean down the middle and scrape the seeds into the baking dish; discard the pod. Sprinkle the brown sugar and water over the rhubarb and toss gently so the vanilla bean seeds and sugar are evenly distributed.

In a small bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder and salt. In a large bowl, beat together the sugar and butter with an electric mixer until the mixture is pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Fold in the flour mixture in 3 additions alternately with the milk in 2 additions, mixing just to blend after each addition. Spoon the batter over the rhubarb, smoothing the top with a spatula to cover.  Sprinkle the top evenly with turbinado sugar.

Bake until the top is golden brown and a toothpick comes out clean, about 35-40 minutes. Cool at least 30 minutes and up to 1 hour. Serve warm with whipped cream or ice cream.

Yield: 8 servings

It’s Alive!

There’s a living thing growing in my refrigerator…and I’m loving it!

This weekend I tried my hand at cultivating a sourdough starter, the yeasty, bacteria-laden joy of bread bakers around the world. For bread baking enthusiasts, sourdough starter is serious business. Given my newbie status to the Sourdough Club, I decided to wade into the shallow end of the pool rather than dive in head first. I didn’t make bread; I made pancakes. How could I run into trouble with pancakes?

Growing a starter indulges all of my nerdy impulses. In college I majored in molecular biophysics and biochemistry. (Why didn’t I just tattoo “NERD” on my forehead, right?) I spent hours in the lab, toiling with bacteria and the occasional radioactive isotope. I didn’t mind lab work — in fact, sometimes I found it relaxing — but in the end, lab work wasn’t for me. Too solitary, not my style.

But given my interest in science, the idea of growing a colony of something that I could ultimately eat thrilled me. I already make my own yogurt on a regular basis (a nerd-o-rific but hugely satisfying process, and one that I highly recommend), so why not give a sourdough starter a try?

Now, minor disclaimer: I don’t think the starter I created is “authentic” as far as starters go. Traditional sourdough starters are basically just a mixture of flour and water that you let sit for an extended period of time, discarding some of the mixture and feeding the remainder with flour and water. Fresh flour contains yeast and bacteria spores, so as you feed the mixture, the water breaks down the flour’s starch into sugars, the yeast feeds on the sugars, and the bacteria feeds on all the stuff the yeast produces in that process. The cycle goes on and on as long as you keep the mixture alive. Symbiosis never tasted so good.

The starter I used combines flour, water and a dash of yeast to get it going. Then you let it sit for 12-24 hours, at which point you use most of it but keep a half cup in the refrigerator for future use. And that’s it. No feeding, no multi-day schedule — and you even cheat by adding a little yeast at the beginning. But the recipe came from Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, two people who know their bigas from their poolishes. Surely they wouldn’t lead me astray.

They didn’t. The pancakes — enormous, and easily a half-inch thick — charm the tongue with that characteristic sourdough flavor. As someone who likes her pancakes sweet, I was worried they’d be too puckery, but their yeasty, hearty flavor won me over. They soak up warm maple syrup like sponges, but I also imagine they’d be wonderful slathered with warm jam and whipped cream.

So now the question remains: What do I do with the remaining 1/2 cup starter living in my fridge? I could always make another batch of pancakes, but as resident scientist, I was hoping to experiment…

Ventry Sourdough Pancakes
Adapted from Home Baking by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid

Starter:
1/4 teaspoon dry active yeast
2 cups lukewarm water
2 cups all-purpose flour

Pancakes:
2 large eggs
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
About 2 cups all-purpose flour

For the starter, dissolve the yeast in the water in a large bowl, then whisk in the flour until you have a smooth batter. Let stand at room temperature, covered with plastic wrap, for 12 to 24 hours. (If leaving for longer, refrigerate; it will keep for 5 more days in the refrigerator.)

Before using the starter, remove a 1/2 cup and save in a well-sealed glass jar in the refrigerator for use at a later date.

To the remaining starter, add the eggs, oil, sugar, salt and baking soda and beat until you have a smooth mixture. Add the flour and stir until you have a thick, pourable batter.

Place a large 8- to 10-inch heavy skillet over medium heat (cast iron works great here). Wipe the skillet with an oiled cloth or paper towel. Scoop out about a 1/2 cup batter and pour into the skillet, tilting the pan to encourage the batter to flow to the edges (you can also use the back of a spoon or a spatula to spread the batter). Cook until the top surface shows bubbles all over, about 3 minutes, then turn the pancake over and cook until the second side is golden, about 2 minutes more. Turn out onto a warm plate and repeat with the remaining batter. (You can also keep pancakes warm in a barely warm oven.) Serve with warm maple syrup or jam and fruit — or any topping you like!

Note: The day before you want to make these pancakes the next time, refresh the 1/2 cup starter: Add 2 cups water and 2 cups flour and stir well, then cover and refrigerate overnight. Bring back to room temperature and remove 1/2 cup before using.

Yield: 6 to 8 large pancakes

A Small Smackerel

Many years ago, when I first started collecting recipes, I allowed my obsessive compulsive tendencies to run wild and began to organize the recipes by type: entrees in one folder, desserts, vegetables,  and appetizers their own folders.  As the collection grew, I began to divide the recipes into subsets of those categories, separating the chicken recipes from the fish recipes in the entree folder, and clumping together the cakes, pies, cookies and so on in the dessert folder.  What can I say — I like to create order in a world driven by chaos.

But then my collection grew.  And grew.  And grew.  And before I knew it, dividing desserts among cakes, pies, cookies and custards didn’t really do the job.  “Cake,” for example, could describe any number of recipes — layer cake, cheesecake, coffee cake, fruit cake.  Imagine having to sift through a disorganized pile of all of the above.  Perish the thought!  So I started grouping those recipes together as well.   

(If you’re wondering, no I don’t group my underwear by color.  I’m not *that* crazy…or at least I’d like to think I’m not…)

Needless to say, I have amassed a rather large and unwieldy recipe collection.  I think it’s safe to say I will probably never get to half the recipes in those folders, as organized as they may be.  But one sub-subset that I love and have yet to bulk up with recipes is the “snack cake” section.

Ah yes, the snack cake: perfect for when you want a nosh of something at, say, 3:30pm, when dinner is hours away but the tummy starts purring like a kitten.  In my opinion, a good snack cake should be more substantial than a coffee cake, less sweet than a cupcake but less wholesome than a granola bar.  I like snack cakes with some texture: maybe some nuts or bits of chocolate, or some oats or dried fruit.

I have a handful of these recipes, but recently I decided I wanted something new and merged a few recipes to come up with my own: chewy banana-oat snack cake with coconut.  I basically threw together three of my favorite ingredients — bananas, oats and coconut — and hoped the result would be equal to or greater than the sum of their parts.  It was.

Chewy, sweet and filling, this cake is just the thing when all you need is a little nibble — a smackerel, as Winnie the Pooh might say — to make the afternoon hunger pains go away.  But you don’t have to stop at a smackerel.  Sometimes my appetite is as big as my recipe collection, and the only way to bring that into order is to turn a small smackerel into a cake-filled afternoon feast.

Chewy Banana-Oat Snack Cake

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
1/2 shredded unsweetened coconut
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 large eggs
1 1/2 cups mashed banana (from about 3 very ripe bananas)
1/3 cup low-fat plain yogurt
1 teaspoon vanilla

Topping:
1/4 cup shredded unsweetened coconut
1/4 cup old-fashioned oats
1 tablespoon light brown sugar

Center rack in the middle of the oven and prehead oven to 350F. Spray an 8″x8″ square pan with non-stick spray or coat with butter.

Combine the first six ingredients in a medium bowl (the flour through the salt). Mix well.

In a large bowl, beat the butter with the sugars until the mixture is light and fluffly. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Blend in the bananas, yogurt and vanilla, mixing at low speed.

Continuing at low speed, mix in the dry ingredients, mixing just until they disappear into the batter. To be safe, stop the mixer when there are a few patches of flour left and fold in the remainder by hand.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan. In a small bowl, stir together the ingredients for the topping (oats, coconut and brown sugar) and sprinkle the mixture over the cake. Bake for 40-50 minutes, until the top is golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Cool cake in the pan until it is room temperature or just slightly warm.

Yield: One 8″x8″ cake, enough for several smackerels