I have decided, based on very little research, that the best bread pudding is comprised of a custard made w half milk and half heavy cream and about twice as many egg yolks as eggs.
For an 8" square pan, which I really don't recommend bc unless you are feeding just one, there won't be any left overs, but anyway, 8" square and double it for a 9x13.
5 c bread cubes, 1 1/4 c milk, 1 1/4 c heavy cream, 2 eggs, 5 yolks, 1/4 c sugar and 1 1/2 tsp vanilla, bit of salt. You cook the milk to scald then whisk the rest of it together and then whisk the rest of it in w the scalded milk, pour over the bread cubes. You have to have raisins, so add them now and toss to distribute. Cover w foil and bake it in a water bath at 375 for 45-60 minutes. Should be quivery in the center.
I like it w caramel sauce and, to really guild the lilies of the field, whipped cream.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
you can't beat a roast chicken
Last night I got home at the usual hour and found a most unusual sight. My husband was in the kitchen (nothing unusual in that) but he was stuffing a chicken that he bought himself with no coaching, prodding or whining, with a mixture of quince and chopped onions, both of which he also purchased himself. He liked the idea of quince, it sounded seasonal, he was curious about it - that's why. He asked the woman at the store about it and she said, sure, she'd had quince. Quince paste. Once.
He surrounded the stuffed bird with chopped little potatos and put the whole thing in the oven that is usually about 50 degrees low (see Thanksgiving nightmare) set at 400 and we sat down to watch a documentary about Afghanistan. an hour and a half later we paused the film, got up and helped ourselves to a completely tender and delicious bird that didn't taste a thing like quince. Some steamed zucchini (I know, out of season, not local, but what are you going to say when someone is cooking dinner for you?) and we were happy as could be.
He surrounded the stuffed bird with chopped little potatos and put the whole thing in the oven that is usually about 50 degrees low (see Thanksgiving nightmare) set at 400 and we sat down to watch a documentary about Afghanistan. an hour and a half later we paused the film, got up and helped ourselves to a completely tender and delicious bird that didn't taste a thing like quince. Some steamed zucchini (I know, out of season, not local, but what are you going to say when someone is cooking dinner for you?) and we were happy as could be.
Monday, December 14, 2009
rugelach, always the ugly duckling
These are the two types of rugelach I make, ugly and must be kept for myself, and pretty enough to give as gifts.
I had decided that Rugelach will be the only cookie I make to give away this year and now I am worried that the difference between the ugly and the pretty is negligible and maybe I should reconsider. Maybe the pretty rugelach only look pretty when paired with their unsightly siblings, but on their own, or arrayed with someone else's almond sables, they are really pretty unsightly themselves. Maybe I should make oatmeal cookies.
Too late for the vet and the chiropractor though.
the sisters come together to realize a dream
It wasn't my dream.
Once upon a time, my sister had a cranberry upside down gingerbread cake. I had the same cake, well, not exactly the same cake, but from the same bakery, same cake, sent at same time of year, Christmas. And I thought it was gooey, in a sort of overly macerated way, slimey. My sister thought it was moist; damp in a wonderfully soft and luxurious way, not a dank and fetid basement way.
So she has toiled for years trying to duplicate it, and it seemed that either she got a cranberry upside down cake, or she got a gingerbread with cranberries ascended through the batter to clump near the top. There was an ascension, but she wasn't in heaven.
So my sister visited me, and in between dog walks where we had to pull the dogs off the half grown fawn, literally, (see Venison pie) we worked on her dream.
We started with Dori Greenspan's recipe for cranberry upside downer. And we didn't chop the cranberries, although, I think we should have and Laurie Colwin does for her Nantucket Cranberry pie. We used the spice blend from Laurie Colwin's gingerbread, my sister loves that gingerbread. And we thought that a gingerbread needed molasses. I believe there is an entire post devoted to that question. So we cut back on the milk and added 2 TB of regular molasses. That one was insipid. For the next one, we kept everything the same but added an extra TB of black strap molasses. On that one we glazed half of the finished cake with melted black current jam. It was supposed to be red current jelly, but this was what we had.
At first my sister was overjoyed. The cranberries stayed on the bottom and when the cake was turned out of the pan, it looked just like a cranberry upside down gingerbread cake. She danced around the kitchen, took pictures and sent them to her husband. I thought we had done it.
And I thought it tasted great. She was pleased at first, but as she worked her way through the 3 small pieces, the insipid one, and 2 better ones, one w the glaze and one w/o, she grew dissatisfied. It needed more sugar, maybe more ginger, maybe more molasses, different molasses. I thought the cranberries should be chopped. Other than that, I was pretty happy.
We decided that gingerbread might be like pumpkin cake for me, I just don't like it enough to be a really discerning judge. If it tastes pretty much ok, well, that's about the best you can expect from gingerbread. Pass the whipped cream.
My sister will continue to pursue her dream. I'll probably just make the cranberry pie with exactly the right amount of almond extract.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
pie crust or roofing shingles, humiliation AND dissapointment
I've made this crust before. Many times, bc it was such a success the first time, probably the first decent pie crust I've ever made. I attributed this to the way the water is added. You FOLD it in w a spatula, pressing and smearing, and you get a very flaky, crispy but tender crust. Also it is the crust that is given w my all time favorite pecan pie recipe, from cooks illustrated, (is there a conclusion to be drawn about people who are overly reliant on Christopher Kimball?) This time I doubled the recipe bc I was making two pies, one for me and one for my bf and his family. And I usually cut the butter into the flour with a pastry cutter and it is usually just fine. I am lazy and don't like having to wash the food processor; it seems so large and cumbersome and takes up the entire drying rack and I just have an aversion to it.
So I cut the butter with the pastry cutter, added the water with egg white, added a little extra water, but I usually do, so I'm still thinking it will be ok. I wrap it and chill it and roll it out and press it into the pan, and my mother flutes the edge bc I am incapable of doing that, it always looks as if my dog tried to wrestle the pie away from me.
The first clue was the smoke, thick, dark smoke seeping out from the edges of the oven door. I opened the door, knowing full well that the ridiculously placed smoke detector, the one directly above the oven, would go off, but I wanted to see what exactly had happened. The smoke detector started screeching, my mother and I flew around and opened doors and windows trying to create a cross draft. I tried to remember my password to stop the alarm, then I tried to remember where I had left the sheet with my password helpfully written on it. The alarm company called and I was still trying to find the cheat sheet and I could barely hear the man on the other end of the line as he asked me for my password and kept saying, "no, that's not it," "no, that's not it," as I ran through my elementary school teachers, the names of each band member from The Talking Heads, then The Gourds. Finally they said they were going to have to send the fire department.
Really? Someone has broken into my house, set it on fire and stayed around to answer the phone, even though she doesn't know the stupid password? It's not the burglar alarm that was going off.
Finally I found the cheat sheet, it's always the last place you look, silenced the alarm, and reassured the alarm company personnel.
Now I only had the voluminously smoking pie crust to deal with. Actually, it was the butter that had dripped onto the oven floor that was smoking. When I took the crust out to remove the pie weights, there were great puddles of melted butter washing back and forth in the pan. This seriously alarmed my mother. And in hind sight, that was the there-and-then moment. I should have started over, dirtied the food processor and done it correctly. But I still believed that it would be OK. I've done this before.
We blotted up the melted butter and put the crust back in the smoky oven. The alarm went off again, the alarm company called again, I left it for my mother to answer as I went to the basement to get a fan so we could direct the smoke away from the smoke detector.
The filling went beautifully, the pie looked lovely, thanks to my mother's fluting.
I left one for my bf who was having his whole family over for Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently his family, just in trying to cut it, never mind eat it, said, "Oh, now we know why she didn't come to dinner."
And it was awful. Like cardboard, only tougher. Like plywood, plywood that has been tempered in a grease fire. My mother thought I had mismeasured. She was really disturbed by the failure, even though it was my failure, or maybe because it was my failure. At one point she said, "Think of all the people who don't even cook, and they can make a better pie crust than that." I know she was just trying to deal with her own feelings about the experience, but how was I supposed to take that?
The lesson is (why do there always have to be lessons, why can't we just wallow in ignorance and still have a tender crust?) use the food processor and then fold the water in after. Yes, then you end up with both a food processor and a bowl to wash, but at least your bf's entire family doesn't make joke after joke at your expense.
And pecan pie is my favorite pie, so there was also the whole dashed expectations thing to deal with.
So I cut the butter with the pastry cutter, added the water with egg white, added a little extra water, but I usually do, so I'm still thinking it will be ok. I wrap it and chill it and roll it out and press it into the pan, and my mother flutes the edge bc I am incapable of doing that, it always looks as if my dog tried to wrestle the pie away from me.
The first clue was the smoke, thick, dark smoke seeping out from the edges of the oven door. I opened the door, knowing full well that the ridiculously placed smoke detector, the one directly above the oven, would go off, but I wanted to see what exactly had happened. The smoke detector started screeching, my mother and I flew around and opened doors and windows trying to create a cross draft. I tried to remember my password to stop the alarm, then I tried to remember where I had left the sheet with my password helpfully written on it. The alarm company called and I was still trying to find the cheat sheet and I could barely hear the man on the other end of the line as he asked me for my password and kept saying, "no, that's not it," "no, that's not it," as I ran through my elementary school teachers, the names of each band member from The Talking Heads, then The Gourds. Finally they said they were going to have to send the fire department.
Really? Someone has broken into my house, set it on fire and stayed around to answer the phone, even though she doesn't know the stupid password? It's not the burglar alarm that was going off.
Finally I found the cheat sheet, it's always the last place you look, silenced the alarm, and reassured the alarm company personnel.
Now I only had the voluminously smoking pie crust to deal with. Actually, it was the butter that had dripped onto the oven floor that was smoking. When I took the crust out to remove the pie weights, there were great puddles of melted butter washing back and forth in the pan. This seriously alarmed my mother. And in hind sight, that was the there-and-then moment. I should have started over, dirtied the food processor and done it correctly. But I still believed that it would be OK. I've done this before.
We blotted up the melted butter and put the crust back in the smoky oven. The alarm went off again, the alarm company called again, I left it for my mother to answer as I went to the basement to get a fan so we could direct the smoke away from the smoke detector.
The filling went beautifully, the pie looked lovely, thanks to my mother's fluting.
I left one for my bf who was having his whole family over for Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently his family, just in trying to cut it, never mind eat it, said, "Oh, now we know why she didn't come to dinner."
And it was awful. Like cardboard, only tougher. Like plywood, plywood that has been tempered in a grease fire. My mother thought I had mismeasured. She was really disturbed by the failure, even though it was my failure, or maybe because it was my failure. At one point she said, "Think of all the people who don't even cook, and they can make a better pie crust than that." I know she was just trying to deal with her own feelings about the experience, but how was I supposed to take that?
The lesson is (why do there always have to be lessons, why can't we just wallow in ignorance and still have a tender crust?) use the food processor and then fold the water in after. Yes, then you end up with both a food processor and a bowl to wash, but at least your bf's entire family doesn't make joke after joke at your expense.
And pecan pie is my favorite pie, so there was also the whole dashed expectations thing to deal with.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Rest of the Story, or Disaster 2009
As previously mentioned the turkey that was supposed to come out of the oven at 5:30 was done at 2:30.
Christopher Kimball of Cooks Illustrated (you know, the people who cook something 50 different ways to determine the BEST way to make it?) has a recipe in The Cooks Bible that has you cook a 13# turkey upside down at 350 for an hour, then 200 for two hours, then flip it breast side up for another 2.75 hours, and finish at 400 to brown the bugger. Seemed like a good idea, and he should know right?
Well, since our oven has seemed to run about 50 degrees cool since we moved in last spring, I adjusted for this and roasted away. I even gave up stuffing the bird to be sure it got cooked properly at this low temp. Ha! When I flipped the bird at hour 3, she seemed pretty done and the instant read thermometer confirmed my fears. Done. 3 hours early.
Fifteen minutes on hold to reach a Home Economist at the Butterball Hotline, and she told me in no uncertain terms to put it back in the oven at 150 degrees and hold it there 'til time to eat. She swore it wouldn't over cook. Since I'd been cooking it at 200 (or so I believed) this seemed unlikely and I put it in the refrigerator. Being the older sister I never learned to take good advice.
While the turkey was in the fridge, I ran the pan drippings through my wonderful fat separator and put them back in the pan along with the turkey stock that my sister shamed me into making from the giblets and neck.
Out of the fridge at 4:30 and into the oven to reheat and brown the top, which didn't get brown the first time around bc of being upside down. 5 PM not getting brown, instant read thermometer says 120 degrees, lets just turn the heat up. To 450. And lets go sit in the living room and have a glass of prosecco while we wait. Or 2.
The smell of the sumptuous blend of pan drippings and turkey stock carbonizing to the pan brought a volley of pirate language that would have made our grandmother turn in her grave. Or crack up.
So we had turkey as tough as shoe leather with no gravy to grease it down. Fortunately there was lots of stuffing and it was Guh-ood.
The bugger is in the soup pot now, and I'm determined it'll be tender this time around. And while it's cooking, I'm going to test the oven temperature for real.
Christopher Kimball of Cooks Illustrated (you know, the people who cook something 50 different ways to determine the BEST way to make it?) has a recipe in The Cooks Bible that has you cook a 13# turkey upside down at 350 for an hour, then 200 for two hours, then flip it breast side up for another 2.75 hours, and finish at 400 to brown the bugger. Seemed like a good idea, and he should know right?
Well, since our oven has seemed to run about 50 degrees cool since we moved in last spring, I adjusted for this and roasted away. I even gave up stuffing the bird to be sure it got cooked properly at this low temp. Ha! When I flipped the bird at hour 3, she seemed pretty done and the instant read thermometer confirmed my fears. Done. 3 hours early.
Fifteen minutes on hold to reach a Home Economist at the Butterball Hotline, and she told me in no uncertain terms to put it back in the oven at 150 degrees and hold it there 'til time to eat. She swore it wouldn't over cook. Since I'd been cooking it at 200 (or so I believed) this seemed unlikely and I put it in the refrigerator. Being the older sister I never learned to take good advice.
While the turkey was in the fridge, I ran the pan drippings through my wonderful fat separator and put them back in the pan along with the turkey stock that my sister shamed me into making from the giblets and neck.
Out of the fridge at 4:30 and into the oven to reheat and brown the top, which didn't get brown the first time around bc of being upside down. 5 PM not getting brown, instant read thermometer says 120 degrees, lets just turn the heat up. To 450. And lets go sit in the living room and have a glass of prosecco while we wait. Or 2.
The smell of the sumptuous blend of pan drippings and turkey stock carbonizing to the pan brought a volley of pirate language that would have made our grandmother turn in her grave. Or crack up.
So we had turkey as tough as shoe leather with no gravy to grease it down. Fortunately there was lots of stuffing and it was Guh-ood.
The bugger is in the soup pot now, and I'm determined it'll be tender this time around. And while it's cooking, I'm going to test the oven temperature for real.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Turkey Trauma
How did it happen so fast? It's 3PM and the Turkey has been done for half an hour. The Guests don't arrive until 6PM and the wait time on the Butterball Hotline is 5-25 minutes. I guess it depends on the complexity of the questions the Home Economists have to answer.
Now what? How am I going to keep it from either overcooking or poisoning all who partake? WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH IT FOR THE NEXT 3 HOURS????
Now what? How am I going to keep it from either overcooking or poisoning all who partake? WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH IT FOR THE NEXT 3 HOURS????
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