Blueberry Buckle

I stood in the kitchen this afternoon looking out the window and smiling as I watched Emilia eat nearly all of the very un-ripe blueberries off of the bushes.  'Are they yummy or are they sour?,' I called out to her.  'They're yummy,' she declared with a complete look of, 'yuck, these are so sour' right across her little face.  We told her a few days ago that the birds usually get to the blueberries before they have a chance to fully ripen, and I'm thinking she is determined to beat them to it.

It gladdens my heart though, watching Emilia roam around the backyard and exploring all the little things that are so new and fascinating to her.  And while I am the first to admit that I do not relish playing in the dirt anymore (at all), I do have very strong memories of loving it when I was little.  In fact, I can even remember eating my fair share of sour fruit — just because I could, and not because it was particularly good.

I've still been in recovery mode from the strawberry mayhem in our house last month.  And I've tried very hard to shun all thoughts of raspberries (unless, of course, Kari suggests we go... I do like me some raspberries...) and blueberries.  However, as we walked through Metropolitan Market yesterday, Emilia began pointing out the enormous containers of blueberries.  'Maybe we get some blueberries, mama?'  And what could I say?  They were local and dirt cheap.  Done.

Strawberries Part 4 — (Not So) Perfect Génoise and French Strawberry Cake

Yes, well, there is no need to be rude about it.  I'm well aware of the fact that my French Strawberry Cake looks far from elegant (as the recipe promises), and just plain wonky — excuse me, I mean rustic.  This was even my second attempt, if you can believe it.  As we sat to the table eating the first attempt, Michael says to me, 'what kind of crust is this?'  Of course I completely let loose and told him off.  'There is no crust!  It just cake, OK!  A very difficult and rather testy cake, in case you were wondering, not that you were.  And if you think you're so smart then make the damned thing yourself!  Hmpf!'  Or something like that anyway.  And if some of those words were left out of the actual exchange, then I can promise you that they were on the forefront of my thoughts.  I mean, really.  Crust?  For hell's sake.

Anyway, if you happen to find yourself thumbing through Baking With Julia, the ever so marvelous cookbook (and telly show) that Julia Child hosted once upon a time, then you will find yourself stumbling across the recipe for Génoise, or The Perfect Génoise, as it is called.  Apparently anybody who fancies themselves to know anything about cooking at all can whip up one of these little babies in no time.  And everyone then stands back to marvel at your most amazing and adept skill.  That being said, the recipe says something along the lines of this: 'this cake is wildly temperamental.   You must tread lightly and you will still completely fail.  People will probably even laugh at you for it.  So, bearing that in mind, you must make it at least five times in a row if you ever plan to master the concept.'  Well, I never!

The funny thing is that the cake is actually so easy to make.  The second time I made it I did not even pull out the cookbook because I remembered the whole thing. Yet there is still fear and intimidation; because, yes, it is easy — but it also requires a serious understanding of the technique.  And sadly, after all the work you put into it, if it is going to crumble and turn into a 'crust', that bit happens literally within the last thirty seconds of making it.  Drat, to say the least.  However, if it does turn disastrous, then you can always fall back on the divine, heavenly, beyond superb filling that goes in the cake — just sitting on top the crust, if you will.  Essentially you are meant to cut the cake into three, and then sandwich it with layers of macerated strawberries and cream.  It's superb.  In fact, the next time I make whipped cream for anything I am doing it in the manner of this cake — adding two tablespoons of sour cream.  The rest is a given: heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla extract.  After I made it the first time, Emilia and Governor stood in the kitchen cleaning the bowl for me — Emilia with the beaters and Governor with his little head lost somewhere inside the deep bowl.

And so, as my pièce de résistance, here is the last strawberry recipe I am giving to you.  In many ways it is my favorite.  The only problem with it (other than the sheer temperamental-ness of the cake) is that is does not store well in the fridge longer than a day or so.  (This is ironic as you are meant to put the cake in the fridge for at least an hour before you serve it.)  And having a rather small group to feed here, we cannot possibly eat that much cake (no matter how elegant/rustic it may be) in that short of time.  Particularly when you are already doing battle with jam, muffins, and ice cream — all of the strawberry nature.

Strawberries Part 3 — Strawberry Ice Cream

We are quickly running out of room in the freezer on account of this strawberry craze.  However, it would have been a very sorry thing indeed to leave out strawberry ice cream this year.  I love ice cream, always have.  However, strawberry ice cream has never been at the top of my list.  (I typically go more for the scoop of chocolate and the scoop of coconut or something.  You know how it is.)  But there is something very lovely about homemade strawberry ice cream in the summer.  Particularly if it turns out well. 

I've made strawberry ice cream several times over the years, and every now and then my eyes begin to roam to other cookbooks looking for a different one to try. There is no point though. This recipe from Nigella Lawson is the best one.  I've also tried the Williams-Sonoma one from their Ice Cream book, but it pales in comparison.  For starters, Nigella's recipe is basically a frozen custard, meaning it is loaded with heavy cream, whole milk, and an absurd amount of egg yolks.  Whereas the WS one has no egg yolks, less strawberries, and less flavor altogether. Also Nigella's recipe calls for a whole vanilla bean.  However, the vanilla flavor is never strong enough for me.  So I'm thinking that next time I will try vanilla paste in its stead.  We'll see how it turns out, but not till next summer.

Typically I store the ice cream in a plastic tub in the freezer.  But I tried something different this year — big glass canning jars.  I've gone a little nuts with trying to steer clear of plastics — particularly when you are heating or freezing the stuff, which is why I've gone the glass jar route.  However, if you happen to be into BPA, hormone disruptors, carcinogens, and all that good stuff, then by all means please use it.  Anyway, it hasn't been too difficult to scoop out of the jar.  But it does require a nice sitting on the counter for ten minutes before even attempting to scoop it.  This is supposedly a desirable thing anyway.  I remember reading that ice cream needs to breath the same way wine does before consuming.  Not only does it soften it up making it more palatable, but it also somehow enhances the flavor.  (This is what the Rosengarten Report said a few years ago anyway.)

And so, with (finally) soaring temperatures, we've had a few lovely nights of dinner on the deck in the backyard, with Emilia reminding us constantly throughout that she wants ice cream, 'after you finish your dinner!'  It has been so nice to sit out there, eating our ice cream and looking at how much the backyard has changed over the past while — trampoline, kiddie pool with a whale that blows water, and anything else that Emilia can slip out there when mama and dada are not looking. 

Summer has arrived.  Hopefully it will stick around for a bit.  

Strawberries, Part 2 — Strawberry Muffins

I have made this recipe for strawberry muffins several times over the last few years, and it seems to be better than most others.  The only other muffin recipes to give Ina Garten a run for her money are by Ottolenghi.  But the Ottolenghi recipes can be so fiddly sometimes that I have to build up a bit of stamina before starting one.  They are always well worth it though.  Anyway, this recipe calls for a nice mix of berries — blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries, and that is what I normally do.  (I also usually use frozen berries.)  However, with so many strawberries coming out of our ears, I skipped the medley and opted for just strawberries.  And they were divine — so divine, in fact, I've made them twice in a week.  And yes, a whole batch is currently residing in the freezer, because we'd have to be out our minds to eat that many muffins in such a short span of time.

When making these, do make sure to use paper muffin liners.  Every now and then I forget that berry recipes demand them.  If you simply brush the inside of your tins with butter, then half the muffin (the half with the berries making contact with the tin itself) will stay inside the tin and practically refuse to ever come out. Rather annoying — especially as your previously gorgeous muffins now look all mangled and disastrous.

Also, for some reason Ina Garten always calls for extra-large eggs.  She is the only cookbook author that calls for this and it drives me bananas.  Maybe I should start a petition or something against it.  Anyway, in the past I have taken an additional egg, whisked it, and then used only half, making me think that must be equivalent to two extra-large eggs.  But that is very wasteful, and besides organic eggs are nearly 5 bucks a dozen.  Now, if the batter looks somewhat dry, I'll simply add an extra splash of whole milk and say a prayer.

As I've already said, the muffins freeze beautifully.  Just pull them out the night before you want them, and let them come to temperature, fully wrapped, on the counter.  When you wake up, turn the oven on to 350°F, put the muffins on a lined baking sheet, and plonk them in the oven for 5-7 minutes to crisp up.  Nothing worse than a soggy muffin first thing in the morn.

Strawberries, Part 1 — Strawberry Picking and Freezer Jam

My hands have been grubby since Friday.  Try as I might, I cannot seem to get these strawberries out from underneath my nails.  I suppose that may have something to do with the fact that I have hulled hundreds of the little beauties.  And right as I finish up with one recipe, I have (quite laboriously) gone straight into another.  I'm not sure if I will mind not seeing another strawberry in our house for awhile.

So there we were, late Friday morning, standing out in a field of strawberries somewhere in Carnation, Washington, ready to get to work.  I had Emilia with me, and my sister had Elsa and Vigo -- the rest of her offspring was either globetrotting or just too busy to go and stand in the dirt and pick berries.  Anyway, everyone was astonished with the fetching ensemble I had managed to put together for the occasion: t-shirt, shorts, and rubber wellies.  (I still neglect to find the humor in my choice of footwear.  I wear my Le Chameau's nearly everywhere, and besides, I was counting on it being a lot muddier than it was, thank you very much.)

I believe we were less than twenty minutes in to our work when Emilia was officially fired from her job as berry picker. The girl picked four strawberries and then spent the rest of the time running around with Vigo, grabbing the wooden row-markers (that were not supposed to be touched) and smooshing strawberries into her mama's sunglasses, to nice effect, I might add. Kari was rather miffed that over half of her laborers had left her high and dry to pick strawberries (those would be the world travelers and such, not Elsa. Elsa did a great job of picking, when she wasn't pointing out the fact that Aunt Tonya's shorts, were, in fact, rather low-rise. But really, what do you expect when you are bent over picking berries? Sheesh.) Anyway, my sister raised a fine point, and one that I've maintained for years, and that is: half the reason you want to have kids is for the manual labor you can get out of them. Berry picking, weeding, shoveling snow, cleaning the bathroom, you name it.

Raspberries, Part II — Peak of Summer Berry Crisp

This is the dessert I look forward to all year long. I typically make it several times throughout the summer until both my husband and I simply cannot bear the thought of it. It looks and tastes like the Fourth of July — raspberries and blueberries baked into a crisp with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream melting into it. And strangely enough, I can completely justify it as a health food. Well, maybe not completely, but you get my point. After all, the recipe calls for four cups of fruit. And being a lady of smaller bone structure, the serving of calcium in the form of vanilla ice cream cannot be all bad.

The recipe for the topping calls for six tablespoons of cold butter. I have finally learned after six or seven years of making this crisp that a bit more butter is better. I now add an extra two tablespoons, which I melt in the microwave before adding. Otherwise the topping seems a bit dry and does not have a uniform consistency. Also, I typically cut the amount of sugar added to the berries down quite a lot. While I certainly don't want the crisp tart (two thumbs down for mouth-puckering tartness), I do not want to ruin the natural sweetness of the berries. Besides, it feels slightly wrong to add so much sugar to something that is (theoretically) already sweet.

Tom Douglas, from whence the recipe came, suggests serving the crisp with either vanilla ice cream or sweetened whipped cream. Personally, I cannot be bothered with the cream. It isn't cold enough and the consistency is not thick enough. Besides, the whipped cream seems a tad too fancy for me. (What!? Did I really just say that!?) And the ice cream gives it a decidedly more American feel. The two ice creams that we prefer are Julie's Organic and Häagen Dazs (their new Honey Vanilla is rather nice...). But whatever you do, don't get the cheap stuff unless you absolutely must. It is worth it to pay a smidge more for better quality and just eat less — as it typically comes in a much smaller container. (See, I told you it was a health food.)

Michael, my lovely husband, who is annoyed I have not referred to him by name, loves this crisp and happily eats it with me every time I make it. However, I can promise that despite the not-humongous-portions, he will still lay down afterwards and moan "Ooooooh! I ate too much crisp!" Whereas I have just fought the urge to go for round two. To each their own, I suppose.

The recipe yields four-to-six servings, which means we always have leftovers. To reheat, I usually put it back in the oven with a foil for a few minutes, without foil for a few more. The topping is a little softer — not so 'crisp' the second time around, but still good, nonetheless. If you do not use foil, then have a good time cleaning the dish later on!

For the Crisp Topping:
⅔ cup old-fashioned oats

⅔ cup firmly packed brown sugar

⅔ cup all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into dice

(If desired, 2 more tablespoons butter, melted and cooled)

For the Berries:

2 cups raspberries

2 cups blueberries

½ cup sugar (I cut the amount in half)

2 tablespoons flour

Preheat oven to 350°.

For the crisp topping, it is similar to making scones. Add all the dry ingredients to the bowl and stir. Add the butter and work into the dry ingredients — trying not to pulverize it. It is best to use your hands, but you can use a pastry cutter, if you prefer.

In another bowl, mix the berries with the sugar and flour. Pour into a pie dish and cover with the topping. Bake until the juices are bubbling — 40 to 45 minutes. If you are not feeling like living dangerously, then you may want to put a lined baking sheet under the crisp while it is in the oven, on account of the aforementioned bubbling juices. (Recipe from Seattle Kitchen by Tom Douglas, Harper Collins, 2001.)

Raspberries, Part I — Pinot Noir Raspberry Sorbet

It was a matter of a few days to work through the nearly ten pounds of raspberries that I had tucked away in the fridge. Needless to say, it was a very busy time in the kitchen.

In between loading and unloading the dishwasher, hand washing the "delicates", scrubbing out the oven for 45 minutes after a bit of a mishap, wiping down the counters (again and again), making more room in both the refrigerator and the freezer — I managed to make a few things that had raspberries in them. Pinot Noir Raspberry Sorbet; Brown Sugar, Almond, & Raspberry Coffee Cake; Peak of Summer Berry Crisp; Mascarpone & Raspberry Pancakes; and Freezer Jam. Well done, if I do say so myself!

It was the sorbet though that was the most pleasant surprise. It was divine. We had it an hour or so before dinner — couldn't do it after because we had a delicious crisp already on the menu... It was light, and sweet, and refreshing, and almost creamy. Emilia kept shouting "Mo!" after each taste, meaning "more, please!", in case you needed a translation. And don't worry — even though it calls for wine, the alcohol cooks out long before it goes into the ice-cream maker. So I was not being a bad mom by giving our 16-month-old Pinot Noir Raspberry Sorbet, thank you very much.

The recipe came from Tom Douglas's Seattle Kitchen, a cookbook that I hate to say I don't use often enough. However, my now two favorite raspberry recipes are in it — this sorbet and the crisp. The recipe yielded enough that I thought about bringing some over to our lovely neighbors, but I am ashamed to say that I have yet to do it.

2 pints fresh raspberries
1 ½ cups sugar

1 cup Oregon Pinot Noir (He recommends Adelsheim. However, I went to QFC and bought a not-so-fancy bottle for less than $10.00.)

2 cups water

Combine the berries, sugar, wine, and water in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to boil, stirring occasionally to dissolve the sugar, then reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and with a rubber spatula, force the mixture through a sieve. Chill the mixture completely, then freeze in an ice cream machine using the manufacturer's directions. Transfer to a container, cover, and freeze for several hours or overnight until form. The wine flavor begins to fade after a few days. (Recipe from Seattle Kitchen by Tom Douglas, Harper Collins, 2001.)

Raspberry Picking

Almost every summer I go raspberry picking with my sister and her kids. We all dutifully stand under the blazing hot sun (it was almost 90° today) and fill our containers — buckets with a rope for the little kids and cardboard flats in some sort of wooden-basket-contraption for the others. You have to squat down, place your face a few inches from the bushes, and get to picking. It is a glorious time — but only get the good berries!

You aren't meant to put any pressure on the berry as you pull it off the bush — it should just slide off into your hand. If you have to tug at all, then just leave it alone. It isn't ready yet. And before you sample any — because you know you will — you may want to blow on them before popping them into your mouth. There are bugs.

I look forward to doing this every summer — even though we missed last year because it was a ridiculously cold summer and, therefore, a miserable (and short) raspberry season. However, there is something to be said for eating things when they are truly in season and truly local. Our plan usually consists of eating so many that we are sick to death of them by the end of the summer. That way we don't mind waiting until next year for more. That's the idea anyway...

Typically we make jam. And typically we do it at my sister's house. The difference this year is that Kari has a three-month-old baby (now completing the jazz band), and I've got Miss Milia. So instead we have decided to stay at home and fend for ourselves. Kari is trying to convince me to make freezer jam because it is supposedly rather simple. We'll see. I do intend to make a few crisps — I am a big fan of Tom Douglas's Peak of Berry Summer Crisp from his Seattle Kitchen cookbook. But I also want to try a raspberry & nectarine crisp. Other than that, I'm still not sure.

Seems that in years past we've eaten so many of them right out of the flat on top of vanilla yogurt in the morning. And since it is 90° degrees with no air conditioning, that doesn't sound half bad right now. Still thinking though...

(Picture taken by Grace Miller.)