Bourbon Nutmeg Pound Cake

Lately, I've been on something of a snacking cake kick. Snacking cakes: hardly a new concept, they're the loaf on the counter to enjoy with tea on a Saturday afternoon, or -- in my case -- the slices of sweet tucked into my lunch bag for when the 3 pm slump rolls around. The best snacking cake ever to leave my kitchen, for certain, is this number. I still make it at least monthly. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I default to it, perhaps slighting other, equally wonderful cakes that deserve their moment in the sun.

When we visited Jess and Eli last month, Jess made a whole wheat cinnamon snacking cake from Melissa Clark that blew me away.  Here I was stuck on maple and yogurt, and Jess had whipped up warm, wheaty cinnamon magic.  I needed to  branch out.

I turned to my baking sensei, Alice Medrich, whose recipes are always perfect. I flipped past her page for kamut pound cake - I don't have kamut, but would like to have some, and try it, one day - and landed on the page where Medrich offers some adaptations of her kamut cake recipe. And there it was: a cake that just had to be the next in my snacking cake repertoire. That would be Bourbon Nutmeg Cake. Bourbon? Check. Nutmeg? already on the table, as I was making this (and always add nutmeg). The one ingredient I might not have had - in fact, didn't have until the day before - was spelt flour. Medrich says you can use either spelt or whole wheat, but I had a shiny new bag of spelt, propped on the counter. Check.

Now, I don't want to mislead you. Despite the bourbon, this cake will not conjure nights at the bar, or the speakeasy. (Yes, speakeasy! We went to one for my birthday and I am now obsessed. More on that another time.) It and the nutmeg perfume the cake delicately. You'll eat it with tea, or perhaps at breakfast. This is a civilized loaf. It's for grown-ups.

But boy, is it delicious. And the texture, mostly smooth but a bit sandy, is perfect. Not like I'm surprised.

We'll be nibbling on bourbon nutmeg cake tomorrow afternoon, along with a few other treats I've baked up. Enjoy the long weekend, and I'll see you back here real soon.

Bourbon Nutmeg Pound Cake

Adapted from Alice Medrich's Pure Dessert, one of my all-time favorite cookbooks

2 tablespoons whole milk 1 tablespoon bourbon 3 large eggs 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla 1 cup cake flour (3.5 oz, according to Alice; my cup is about 5 oz, so I'm glad she noted the weight!) 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon (1.75 oz) spelt or whole wheat flour 3/4 cup sugar 3/4 teaspoon baking powder 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg 13 tablespoons (really) unsalted butter, softened (it's important that the butter be soft; if you didn't leave it out to soften, 10 seconds in a microwave will do the trick)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and line a loaf pan with parchment paper.

Whisk wet ingredients in a medium bowl and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, mix dry ingredients together. Cut the butter into big chunks and add it to the flour mixture along with half the wet mixture. Mix on low speed just until the dry ingredients are moistened. Increase speed to medium and beat for 1 minute. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, add half the remaining wet mixture, and beat just until combined. Add the remaining egg mixture and repeat, mixing just until combined.

Pour the batter into prepared pan, smooth the surface, and bake until a toothpick or skewer inserted into the center comes out clean, about 60 minutes. (Start checking at 55 minutes.) My cake didn't brown excessively on top, but if yours does, Medrich recommends tenting the top of the loaf with foil.

Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes on a rack or the stovetop, then remove to the rack to cool completely.

Serve simply, with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream or as is.

Fava Bean Soup with Chile and Mint

Last week, NDP caught a bug of sorts. The front end of the site looked just fine, but when I tried to get behind the curtain and share my latest cooking projects with you all, I got a scary blank screen and an "access denied" message. Over the last several days, I've discovered that messages like "access denied" fall into a scary purgatory of blog management: neither the host's problem nor Wordpress's problem. I was on my own.

Over the past 5 years of blogging, I've stared down more than one scary white screen. In fact, having to learn (just) enough HTML, CSS, PHP, & SSH to fix my own blog issues has been among the most challenging and rewarding aspects of writing Not Derby Pie. (And that's not to mention the actual cooking and blogging, which no doubt have been the ultimate reward.) The malfunctions have had me in fits, and yes, there have been tears; but by the time last week's scary moments had passed, I had a shiny new back-up, a working blog dashboard, and a fair amount of new knowledge about how the blog actually works. I'd say I got even more than I bargained for. I'm pretty sure I've nipped this thing in the bud, but in case we have a recurrence of scary white-screen - be patient. I'll try to have things back up and running asap.

And of course, those of you who follow me on Twitter already know that this weekend wasn't all spent in front of a computer screen. D, who pretty much laps the crowd for wife of the year, whisked me away on a semi-surprise trip to New York for my 29th birthday. The trip was delicious from start to finish; but I'll have to tell you about it another time. Because today, we're talking about soup.

Now then: shall we?

Fava bean soup with chile and mint: an original recipe from Rick Bayless, tweaked by the lovely Heidi in her own quiet, smart way. I've made Heidi's soup twice now, and it is superb. The first time I couldn't get hulled favas, and thus found myself peeling the waxy brown shells off 2 lbs. of cooked beans. No matter: the result was worth it. Creamy and smooth, piquant with chilies but not painful-spicy, and faintly rich from the sprinkling of feta. If there's a cross between earthiness and luxury, it is this soup.

Here's one of the many great things about it: you really, really don't need to use chicken stock. Vegetable broth and/or water are more delicate, and they let the flavors of the favas and chilies really come through. This soup has the heft and depth of good hummus, which, in many parts of the Middle East, is served with a generous helping of ful, or fava bean puree. But those chilies - they take the dish in a totally different direction, in the best way.

And yet, I had to fuss with the proportions just a bit; I can't help myself. After making it Heidi's way the first time, I swapped half her guajillos out of the pasilla chiles Bayless called for in his original recipe. Heidi left her chile drizzle pretty chunky, so her bowl has whole bits of chile and much thinner bits of sauce. I did that the first time, but I didn't love the texture of the guajillo pieces, so the second time, I added a bit of extra water and pureed the chile mixture. That worked better for me. I also needed a little extra salt to offset the vinegar; start with Heidi's 1/2 teaspoon in the chile mixture, and add more if you desire.

Enjoy, and thanks for bearing with me as I get NDP back up and running. Y'all are the best.

Fava Bean Soup4

Fava Bean Soup with Chile and Mintadapted from Heidi Swanson of 101 Cookbooks

1 pound hulled dry fava beans, rinsed

8 cups good vegetable broth or water 6 garlic cloves, left unpeeled 1 large white or yellow onion, sliced into 1/2-inch thick rings 1 1/2 pounds ripe tomatoes

6 medium dried guajillo or pasilla chiles, stemmed & seeded

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 2 tablespoons cider vinegar 3/4 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano 1 1/2 teaspoon sea salt, plus more to taste 1/2 cup loosely packed chopped cilantro 2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint, pref. spearmint 1/2 cup crumbled feta (Heidi calls for Mexican queso anejo, but none of the Mexican grocers by me had it, and you know what? Feta is pretty delicious)

Rinse the favas a few times to ensure they're completely clean. Put favas in a large soup pot and cover with the broth or water. Simmer over medium-low heat, partially covered, until very tender and starting to fall apart, about 75 minutes.

Meanwhile, preheat your oven's broiler.

While the beans are simmering, roast the unpeeled garlic in a cast iron skillet for about 10 minutes, until cloves have black spots in some places and are very soft. Remove from the pan. When cool enough to handle, remove the skins and finely chop.

By now, the broiler should be ready. Slice your tomatoes and onions, put them in a single layer on two lined baking sheets, and stick them under the broiler for about 12 minutes, flipping slices over halfway through. Depending on the size of your broiler, you may need to do this step in batches. When you're done, onions and tomatoes should be soft and deeply browned in spots. Once cool enough to handle, chop coarsely, then transfer along with the garlic straight into the pot with the favas, being sure to catch the tomato juices as well. Simmer until the beans are have mostly disintegrated, 15-30 minutes.

While the soup is simmering, cut the chiles into strips using scissors or a sharp knife. Heat the oil in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add the chiles and stir for a minute, then remove from the heat. Add the vinegar, 5-6 tablespoons of water, oregano, and 1/2 teaspoon of the salt (or more, to taste). Set aside and let stand for at least 1/2 hour, stirring occasionally. If desired, use a blender or immersion blender to smooth the chile mixture into a uniform sauce. Taste and adjust for salt and acidity accordingly.

If soup is very thick, add a few glugs of water to thin it. Let the soup come back up to a simmer, then remove from the heat and add the mint, cilantro, and another teaspoon of salt. Taste, and add more salt if needed, but keep in mind the cheese is salty as well. Serve bowls of soup with a dollop of the chile mixture and a bit of cheese.

What I've Been Cooking: February 2012

A different sort of post today, because while I've been too busy this week to cook anything noteworthy, there are many little things I keep meaning to mention. So here they are, in one fell swoop.

It's slim pickins'  at the farmers' market these days, but carrots are in abundance. I bought a few pounds from a guy who's known for his carrots, and I put some of them to work in this simple soup from Deb. I loved the clean, pure carrot flavor, and the miso added just the right punch of umami. One change: I found the sesame oil overpowering, and I didn't love the texture of raw scallions in such a smooth soup. Still, I didn't want to lose that scallion flavor. So I took a page from Francis Lam's playbook, and drizzled the soup with some of his genius ginger-scallion sauce. The combination was such a winner, I couldn't resist sharing it.

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I've been making granola for long enough that I know what I like and how to get it. It was all the more surprising, then, to be blown away by this deceivingly simple recipe from Nekisia Davis, by way of Food 52. Olive oil and maple is a combination I've used on many batches of granola - but never as effectively as this. There will still be times when I want my standby granola with tahini; it's a bit more wholesome, and it bakes up in clusters, which I rather like. Still, I know I'll be putting this recipe in heavy rotation, so I wanted to share it with you.

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sourdough

Like somanyother bloggers, I've caught the sourdough bug. I've got two mason jars full of burbling, gurgling starter in my fridge: one is mostly white with some rye; the other is half white, half wheat. Both are showing off for this first-time baker, rising eagerly with each feeding and behaving themselves in the fridge (no overflows, yet). (The rubber bands in the picture are the where the dough started immediately after I fed it and put it back into the jar. See how much they rise? And that's only from 3 hours!) I was told to wait until day 9 to bake, but my starter was so active, I went ahead and baked my first two loaves last week. The crusts definitely need some work - I'm thinking of borrowing the technique I used in baking baguettes of spraying the loaves with water in the oven - but the crumb is beautiful, and the flavor is some of the best in any bread I've made to date. I'm excited about the starter gaining strength and tang, and I've already got my eye on a few non-bread sourdough recipes. Pumpkin-maple sourdough cake, anyone?

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Another excellent Food 52 recipe, this one from "Mrs Larkin." Scones made with a generous helping of baked butternut squash puree and fresh sage. Lest you think they're some health food-type of thing, you brush the tops with cream and sprinkle them with sugar. Definitely not health food. I've made them three or four times; I can't get enough of them. Their bright orange color doesn't hurt, either.

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If you haven't been following Tom Hirschfeld, now's the time to start. Between his blog, Bona Fide Farm Food, his standby Food 52 column, On a Farm in Indiana, and his newest Food 52 outlet, Sunday Dinners, Tom is cooking (and writing) up a delicious storm. His recipes are confidence inspiring; quite simply, they don't fail. At a recent gathering of DC cooks, I made Tom's Madeira Tart. It's a custard tart that comes together without the fussy and often nerve-wracking step of stirring eggs over a flame. Nope, none of that: you just scald the milk, then mix the ingredients together, pour them into the crust, and bake. Out comes a delicate custard, perfectly smooth and perfumed with Madeira. What more could you ask for?

I fancy rye the ugly stepsister to bourbon, with a spicier flavor and a drier finish. Despite its rougher edges, I've come to find a friend in the spirit. I suppose it was the natural next step for this bourbon lover. I've got a couple different varieties on the bar, including the rye from Bulleit, which is lovely, and one from Redemption. If you are curious but less keen on trying it alone, this Apple Rye Punch from Food 52 is lovely.

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I could go on and on, couldn't I? Well, that's enough for now. I'll be back later this week to share another wonderful winter soup.

Broccolini and Snow Peas with Sesame Sauce

This weekend, D and I flew up to Boston to see good friends and their newish babies. We saw Rachel, David, and baby Gabriel; Jess, Eli, and baby Mia. We spent the time gurgling, giggling, tickling, and jowl-pinching. And we ate, of course. Boy did we eat. Rachel made blackberry meatloaf and Jess and Eli made Melissa Clark's wonderful Whole Wheat Cinnamon Snacking Cake (try saying that 5 times fast). But much - maybe most - of what we ate last weekend was from Plenty.

Plenty is open on my workbench at home. It's been that way practically every evening for the past few weeks. I keep telling myself I'll turn elsewhere for the next meal, the next experiment - but then I discover caramelized black-pepper tofu or Mediterranean ribollita, and my commitment to cookbook variety softens as quickly as the onions swimming in olive-oil at the bottom of my soup pot.

Apparently, I'm not alone. Rachel made at least 3 recipes from Plenty over the weekend, and when I was at Jess's for breakfast, I noticed that she, too, had the book propped open. Incidentally, it was open to the ribollita. Back in DC, I dropped my bags, made a beeline for the grocery store, and had that very soup on the table about an hour later.

It's the color that keeps me coming back, I think. The book is drenched in color. Pictures of creamy, blistered eggplant and jewel-like crimson pomegranate seeds beckon me to the kitchen on dark winter nights. And Plenty truly celebrates vegetables from every season. In other treasured books, the full-page pictures are of perfect tomatoes and zucchini, which in winter only make me long for a different time. The most enticing images in Plenty are of winter cabbage slaw, herbed omelets, and warm, creamy hummus. They're as delicious now as ever.

Last week, I found myself with a pile of broccolini and a handful of snow peas. In Plenty, I found a winning treatment for these winter vegetables. Yotam Ottolenghi, the author of Plenty, has you stir up a sweet, tahini-based sauce, drizzle it over just-blanched vegetables, and sprinkle it all with toasted sesame seeds and nigella seeds, also known as black caraway. I first encountered them in Israel (they're called "ketzach" there), and love using them to finish savory dishes.  To me, they recall a more floral, nutmeg-y version of caraway. They taste like nothing, but smell like everything.

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Ottolenghi suggests either piling all the ingredients in a large bowl and stirring into one big salad, or plating individual salads to order. I chose door number 3: composed salad, but on one big platter; dressed lightly, with extra sauce on the side. A success by all accounts. When sunlight is scarce and colorful vegetables are in short supply, I'll be turning to Plenty for recipe ideas -- and, it's safe to assume, I'll be making this dish again.

Broccolini and Snow Peas with Sesame SauceAdapted from Plenty Serves 4

So: Ottolenghi calls for broccolini, snow peas, and green beans. The beans at my market looked wimpy, so I skipped them. But I see no reason to stop the adapting there: if you can't find broccolini or snow peas, feel free to swap in broccoli, or even cauliflower, cut into florets. You're going for a bit more than 6 cups of vegetables total. Blanching time will vary depending on the size of your florets, but it should hover around 2 minutes, maybe a bit less. When the vegetables are bright green and cooked but still firm, pull the broccoli or cauliflower out of the water and set aside. Proceed as instructed below.

For the sauce: 4 tablespoons tahini 2 1/2 tablespoons water 1 small garlic clove, crushed 1 teaspoon tamari or other soy sauce 1/2 tablespoon honey 1 teaspoon cider vinegar 1 1/2 tablespoons mirin (if you don't have mirin, up the honey to 1 tablespoon and up water to 3 tablespoons) 1/2 tablespoon peanut oil pinch of salt

3/4 lb. (3 1/2 cups) broccolini 3 cups snow peas 2 teaspoons sesame oil 1/3 cup cilantro leaves 3 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds 1 teaspoon nigella seeds

First, make the sauce: Whisk together all ingredients in a medium bowl. The sauce should be thick but pourable; if sauce is too thick, add water by the teaspoon to thin it out.

Next, blanch the vegetables: Set a large pot of lightly salted water over high heat and bring to a boil. Trim leaves and ends off broccolini. When water is boiling, add broccolini, cover completely with water, and blanch it until tender but still firm, a scant 2 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to remove broccolini into a large, shallow bowl or platter. Next, blanch the snow peas. Mine took just about 1 minutes until they were bright green and still firm, so watch them carefully. Blanch until firm, then transfer to the bowl with the broccolini.

Assemble the dish: Toss broccolini and snow peas together, or scatter onto a serving platter. Drizzle the dressing over the vegetables with a light hand; I find that using a fork or very small spoon gives me the control I want. Next, drizzle the sesame oil over the vegetables. Top with cilantro leaves, sesame seeds, and nigella seeds. Serve at room temperature.