Rum Raisin Muffins

My recipe journal tells me that I originally made these muffins on 12/28/08. I remember making them. I can't remember if it was snowing, or if it was going to snow, or if it just happened to be that there was lots of snow on the ground. Either way, snow was involved, since it was, after all, December in New Hampshire. I woke up, thinking that I would bake us some muffins for breakfast. That much I definitely remember. I also remember grabbing my copy of Granny's Muffin House and bringing it into the bed with me so that I could find a suitable recipe.

To my dismay, almost every recipe called for dairy--milk, or sour cream, or buttermilk. I do not keep such things in the house regularly--they usually just end up going bad if I haven't bought them for a specific recipe. But, alas, I did not want to leave, due to the snow situation. Finally, I found the one recipe in the book that used only ingredients in the house--Rum Raisin Muffins.

This was the first recipe I ever made out of this cookbook, so I wasn't sure what to expect. It's a quirky book, at best, written in what I take to be a grandmother's Southern accent, with lots of apostrophes where g's should be, and lots of funky little words. Take, for instance, this sentence from the head notes of the Rum Raisin Muffins: "It's because they're fixin' all the goodies for the homecomin' picnic tomorrow." So, with the all the cutesy intros, I was a little worried about the quality of the recipes. I didn't need to be.

These turned out wonderful. I don't know what you say about a household that doesn't have milk available on a Sunday morning, but has no trouble finding the dark rum. But, I can tell you that these muffins were worth it. They made the house smell incredible, and had just a little hint of that special holiday-season feel to them.

I made them again last Saturday. Again, I chose these muffins because I didn't have milk in the house to make any others. I also wanted the taste of the dark rum, without consuming the alcohol. I used up almost all of the Black Seal we had in the house (which wasn't much--trust me). I've told Kurt that he will have to go alone to replenish. Can't imagine waiting in line at a liquor store with a bottle of Black Seal in my hand, while nine months pregnant. Don't really want the angry glares.

Without further ado, here is the recipe for the Rum Raisin Muffins (colloquialisms and apostrophes removed):

1 cup raisins
1 cup boiling water
1/4 cup dark rum

2 cups flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup sugar
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup butter, melted

Pour boiling water over raisins. Add rum and let sit about 30 minutes. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Stir together flour and next three ingredients. Stir in the raisin mixture, liquid included, egg, and butter, just until moistened. Fill paper-lined muffin cups full, and bake approximately 20 minutes. Makes a dozen muffins.

Cottage Pie & Comfort Food

Tonight, it feels like November. It was dark out as I was leaving work. The air had a distinct chill to it. It felt like the kind of night where you want to stay in and make a comforting meal. So, I turned to one that my mom made all the time when I was growing up.

"Cottage Pie," as we called it in our house, had many incarnations throughout my childhood. It started out as the classic beef and mashed potato dish that it is expected to be--the meat sauteed with onions, then simmered with salt, pepper, and beef bouillon. Right before baking, tomato sauce was added to the meat. But, then it morphed. It seems there is someone in our family, who may or may not be me, who hated mashed potatoes. So, the cottage pie was baked without the mashed potatoes, but with American cheese melted on top, for a while. Then, it mutated again, and grew a crescent roll crust, over which the meat was spooned, and then the cheese melted. Eventually, I think it came full circle and the mashed-potato-hater among us agreed to allow them to top the dish once more--though I do believe the layer of cheese remained.

When I began making cottage pie in my own kitchen, the ground beef was switched out for ground turkey--I just like it better. The crescent roll crust was abandoned, as was the melted cheese layer. Essentially, I went back to the original recipe, except for the ground turkey aspect.

The thing about this dish is that as it cooks, I can close my eyes and be magically transported back to 8 Marwood Drive. Mike would be getting home from baseball practice. I would finally be finishing my AP U.S. History homework. Mom would whip this together, with something green on the side, and this is what we would eat together. This is the weeknight food of my childhood.

Now that I am 6-7 weeks away from having a baby of my own, I can't help but wonder what foods my child will come to think of as "home." Sure, chicken soup will probably top the list, just as it does for me. But, that is a big production and, at least for me, is associated with holidays and snow days and times when someone in the family was sick. I'm hoping pot roast will top the list--again, as it does for me--but, again, pot roast encompasses the tastes and smells of holidays and extended family gatherings--not of normal weeknight dinners when it is "just us." And so, I wonder what smells and tastes will transport my child, when he or she is in their 20s, back to our kitchen table. Will it be the smell of bread rising? Of garlic sauteing in olive oil? Will it be cinnamon in the middle of summer--not during the holiday season, as it is for most--as the zucchini bread bakes? What will our kitchen smell like in the coming years? And how will that shape the person we are about to raise?

While I contemplate these questions, I will share with you one of the quintessential recipes of my childhood, which, even while I am twenty-eight and far from New York, comforts me on a cold November evening.


Edited to add that I have found the wonderful, heart-warming Family Recipes event, hosted by Shelby, of The Life and Loves of Grumpy's Honeybunch. While I've been reading through past round-ups, I decided to make my first submission. This recipe seems to fit the bill nicely, tied as it is to my childhood dinners. Hop on over to Shelby's blog to view the roundup after December 1.





Cottage Pie--the original recipe, before it morphed according to family tastes:

1 lb. chopped meat (ground beef or turkey)
1 small onion, chopped
1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
1 lb. potatoes
2 Tbs butter
1/2 cup water
1 beef bouillon cube (or whatever flavor bouillon you have on hand)
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Brown onion and meat. Drain fat. Add salt, pepper, and beef cube that has been dissolved in 1/2 cup water. Cook for about 20 minutes. Add sauce. Bring to full boil.

While the meat is cooking, cook cubed potatoes in water. Mash the potatoes with 2 Tbs butter and salt and pepper. Make sure to taste them before putting them on top).

In a pie dish, put meat mixture on the bottom, and the mashed potatoes over it. Bake at 400 degrees for 25-30 minutes, until golden brown.

Golden Bubble Bread--the Ancestor of "Monkey Bread"

I've been on baking hiatus for a while. As a matter of fact, I've been on kitchen hiatus for a while. At first, it was because I was newly pregnant and exhausted, and had very little interest in food unless it was very unhealthy and served to me (oh, yes, this otherwise-veggie-loving girl was all about the burgers and chicken fingers and fries). But, then, an odd thing started happening. I would try a new recipe for dinner, and it would flop. We're talking "throw it away and order pizza instead" flop. Seemed that the growing fetus was feeding on my kitchen mojo. I guess it will be worth it, once we have a child. But, in the meantime, it has been somewhat frustrating.

I took the day off from work today so that Kurt could get his car looked at. I decided to attempt to bake bread again. Risky, I know. But, I guess, if I didn't start trying again, then I would never go back to being the baking diva that I used to be.

The recipe I chose was "Golden Bubble Ring," from a really old cookbook. It's from the Better Homes and Gardens Bread Cook Book," originally published in 1963. The back says, no joke, "360 exciting ways to let your hospitality show!" Now, why they couldn't add in another five recipes so that we had one for every day of the year, I do not know. But, I can tell you that I simply love the pre-feminist ways the book addresses the reader. There's just something that makes me happy about "Let your talents show when you serve a colorful and refreshing fruit plate accompanied with oven-fresh Puff Pillow Buns...For a beverage serve tall glasses of pink lemonade." It's just so...quaint.

Okay, back to the bread that I made today. Lately, it seems that "monkey bread" is all the rage. You know the stuff--it's all over the internet. You break up pieces of refrigerated biscuit dough and roll them in butter and cinnamon/sugar to make a pull-apart bread. This bread is that trend's ancestor. Same idea--pull-apart cinnamon bread. Except that you use yeast. And it takes four hours to make...if you're good...and don't have to pick up a car in the middle of one of the rises...and don't get interrupted by a call from a rabbi who wants to give you the name of the mohel you asked for, and to also woo you so that you join his congregation. My total was five hours, because of all of the above.

But, oh boy, were those five hours worth it! This bread turned out fabulous. Meltingly rich crumb, and strong, comforting cinnamon flavor. It was quite a treat...even at 6 at night, instead of for breakfast.

It seems that this recipe restored my baking mojo. Maybe it's just that the recipe was written in 1963, and was therefore directed toward my current "barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen" state. (Yes, I was barefoot--how cliche of me.). Whatever the reason, I'm glad to be back to baking.

Oh, and here's the recipe. It's worth picking up the book, if you can find it at a used bookstore or garage sale, though. The kitsch factor alone is worth it.

Golden Bubble Ring

adapted from Better Homes and Gardens Bread Cook Book

2 packages active dry yeast (I used 4 1/2 teaspoons)

1/2 cup water

1/2 cup milk, scalded (I used 1/6 cup dry milk reconstituted in 4 ounces of water--didn't scald)

1/2 cup shortening (oh, hell no! I used real butter, all the way)

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp salt

4 to 4 1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour (I didn't sift, and used the 4 1/2 cups)

2 beaten eggs

melted butter or margarine (butter!)

3/4 cup sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

Soften active dry yeast in warm water. Combine milk, 1/2 cup sugar, and salt. Add 1 cup flour; beat well. Add yeast mixture and eggs. Beat smooth. Mix in remaining flour, or enough to make a soft dough. Knead on lightly floured surface until smooth and elastic (8 to 10 minutes--about 6 minutes in my Kitchenaid). Place in greased bowl, turning once to grease surface. Cover; let rise in warm place until double (1 to 1 1/4 hours). Punch down. Cover; let rest 10 minutes.

Shape into about 28 balls, golf-ball size. Roll each in melted butter, then in mixture of 3/4 cup sugar and cinnamon. Arrange in well-greased 9-inch tube pan (I used my Bundt pan). Sprinkle with any remaining sugar mixture. let rise in warm place until double (about 1 hour).

Bake in moderate oven (350 degrees) about 35 to 40 minutes. Cool in pan 15 to 20 minutes. Invert on rack. Eat.

Home Is Where the Heart (and the Hot Pastrami on Rye) Is

When I moved to New England, I was aware that I was moving to a place that is, essentially, a culinary wasteland. I knew full well, as I waved good-bye to my parents from in front of my dorm freshman year, that it would be months before I tasted a real bagel again. However, nothing brings to light this lack of culinary culture quite like pregnancy.

I have no appetite right now. At least, I have no appetite for foods that might be good for me, or, even available to me. Do I want the farm-fresh spinach in my fridge? No. Do I want the chicken and bok choy stir fry that we are supposed to make this week? No. Do I want any of the local delicacies—clam chowder, Boston brown bread (bread from a can????), baked beans, a crockpot full of kielbasa? Absolutely not.

But, if you offered me a bagel, schmeared so thickly with cream cheese that you can’t find the hole, I’d take it. Three nights ago, I had a dream about a pastrami sandwich, piled so high with meat that the backs of the bread didn’t touch (thank you, Mike, for that perfect description)—the bottom slice of rye was soggy with good greasiness, and on the side of my plate was a huge full-sour pickle, sliced in half so that the seeds glistened invitingly. I made the mistake of going to a local luncheonette-type place and getting their pastrami sandwich, in an attempt to satiate that craving. Bad move. Three slices of tough meat, on marble rye (?!?!?!), with so much Gulden’s mustard that I could barely taste anything else…That must have been the point.

As the days tick by in my pregnancy, my homesickness for New York gets worse. Knishes. Round ones, with an oniony tang. Maybe even some broccoli or mushrooms scattered throughout them. (Thank you, Mom, for the recent square knishes—they hit the spot!) Pizza. Dripping in oils that run down your arm and chin. Slices so big that you have to fold them in half to make them manageable. Bagels. Oh, bagels! Hot, so that I can dig out the doughy center and eat that, and then first start on the outside. Cooler, spread with toasted onion cream cheese. Crunchy bottoms, even though they have never seen a toaster. And, when they get a little old, toasted in the toaster oven with a single slice of cheese melted on top. Black and white cookies. Cakey bottom, perfectly firm, shiny icing. Split in half so that each person gets part vanilla and part chocolate when I’m sharing with Mom, but split so that I get the vanilla and he gets the chocolate when sharing with my brother.

No one warned me that dreams during pregnancy are incredibly vivid. Further, no one warned me that the strongest sense in my dreams was going to be taste, and that I was going to wake up with my stomach grumbling, and my heart aching to go home. To have the foods that have always comforted me nearby and readily available. To have the people I used to share those foods with even closer. No one warned me about quite how far away New England is from New York, when we are speaking in terms of appetite.

Potato Rosemary Bread

Last holiday season, Kurt bought me all the tools I needed to become a real bread baker. He got me a nice, big, sturdy wooden bread board for kneading, and a DVD that showed me, step by step, how to make bread by hand. At the time, I wasn't a complete stranger to bread baking. I had made lots of it in my bread machine, and one or two loaves using my Kitchenaid stand mixer. Still, I considered these "cheating," due to all the mechanical help.

Over the course of the last year, I have developed somewhat of an obsession with yeast. I've acquired more bread baking books than I care to admit. I've read through recipes, absorbing the process until it is as familiar as my multiplication tables--mix, knead, rise, punch down, shape, rise, bake, cool. I've learned why breads rise, and what is really happening while kneading. I've started to understand the chemistry behind the process.

However, throughout all of this, I haven't baked all that much. I have baked a fair number of the breads from Artisan Breads in Five Minutes a Day, and have been happy with the results and fully endorse it to those who want to bake fast, easy, REAL bread. But, for me, it still fell into the "cheating" realm, somehow, because not all the steps were included.

Over the course of the last two weeks, I have turned a corner in my bread baking and have somehow become a little less intimidated. Last Sunday, I made Cinnamon Rolls from The Bread Baker's Apprentice. They came out very well. I was bolstered. I made the Chocolate Swirl Wreath from my last post. It turned out very well. So, I continued.

On Friday, I started a seed culture for a sourdough starter. It's on day three now, and has risen significantly. I can't wait to start baking with a real sourdough starter. And today, I made the Potato Rosemary Bread from The Bread Baker's Apprentice. Actually, I started this bread on Friday, by making the biga. Today, I finished it.

This bread was a long, involved process. I started first thing this morning, by setting a head of garlic in the oven to roast for an hour. At this time, I took the biga out of the fridge, to take the chill off. In the meantime, I made a dozen Ginger Rum Muffins from Granny's Muffin House for breakfast. Then, I boiled the potatoes to make the mashed potatoes. By the time the garlic was done roasting, the potatoes were ready for mashing.

Kurt was busy getting himself on Facebook (finally), so I let the Kitchenaid do the kneading, so that I didn't have to move Kurt in favor of my bread board. This dough rose nicely, and was ready to be shaped after the two hours expected. The boules doubled in size after about an hour and a quarter. Then, I baked them.

The smell alone was worth making this bread. The roasted garlic and rosemary blended together to make my house smell amazing. The taste even surpassed the smell, though. The crumb is tender, the crust crunchy. The roasted garlic and rosemary meld with a hint of potato, and some bite from the ground pepper. Paired with a slice of aged cheddar, this bread is pure enjoyment.

I am probably inordinately proud of this bread. With the biga, and all of the prep work, I finally feel like this is the real thing--even if I did let the Kitchenaid knead it. I will definitely make this one again.

A Bread for Christmas

As a young Jew, I was always very secure in my religious identity. The only times I began to see cracks in the surface involved certain Christmas traditions. To this day, I cannot be in the same room with a Christmas tree without being completely transfixed with it. I have to inspect all of the ornaments, and watch the lights intently as they run in different patterns.

Around the time of college, there was another Christmas tradition that came to my attention that has invoked a sort of envy. That tradition comes in the broad category of "special food," and, very specifically, "celebration breads." There is something about the idea of a bread that is only made once a year--a bread that is enriched with decadent ingredients--that has always appealed to me. So many cultures have their own Christmas breads--stollen, pannetone, etc. I love their festive shapes and sparkling sprinkle of candied fruit. I don't actually like the taste of citron, but boy, is it pretty.

Perhaps it all comes full circle, and the reason Christmas breads appeal to me is really related to my Jewish-ness. After all, the ceremonial or symbolic bread is not exactly a foreign concept to me. Between the challah and the matzoh, the idea has been pretty ingrained in me. Once, I asked Kurt why he thought I am so attracted to cooking and baking, and he told me he thought it was because I love exploring the nuances of other cultures, and food is one of the most direct ties to that. Whatever the reason, this year I wanted to make a Christmas bread.

Luckily, King Arthur Flour provided me with the perfect opportunity. On their homepage last week, there was a picture of a grand bread wreath. It was beautiful--round, swirled with chocolate, and glazed with confectioners' sugar. The minute I saw it, I knew I wanted to make it. I knew that it was going to stretch my abilities as a bread baker, but I was willing to take on the challenge.

Last night, I embarked on my journey. I let my Kitchenaid do all the kneading, because the dough was very sticky, and I didn't want to toughen it with too much flour while kneading by hand. I let it rise while we ate dinner, and then rolled the dough out. I sprinkled it with semisweet chocolate chips. It called for chocolate schmear, but I didn't have any (or time to order it), so I used the chocolate chips instead. I was liberal with them, using far more than the 1/2 cup suggested. On went the sugar, and the almonds. I had Kurt roll it up, since he has become rather proficient at the task after years of making our cranberry-pecan spiral cookies. We sliced it, and made it into a pretty circle, and let it rise again while I chatted with my family on the phone.

I took the pictures after pulling the bread out of the oven, but before glazing it. I am sorry that I do not have final photos, since the glaze made it even prettier (and then removed it from the filling-encrusted baking sheet, which also improved the presentation).

The end result was a dessert bread that tasted like a dense Danish ring. The chunks of chocolate chips provided a nice bite, and the almonds melted to a near-marzipan quality. I will definitely be making this one again.

If you are interested, here is the recipe, courtesy of King Arther Flour. I replaced the Hi-Maize with regular all-purpose flour, and used semisweet chocolate chips in place of the chocolate schmear.

Happy holidays!

Why NOT to buy a first edition of a cookbook...

Tonight, we are having friends over for dinner. Well, kind of. We are having friends over, and we will eat dinner, but the friends are cooking for us. This particular friend is an amazing cook, so we let him have free reign over our kitchen when he visits.

Not wanting to look like a slacker, I decided to make a cake for dessert. I chose the Quadruple Chocolate Loaf from Nigella Lawson's book, Feast. I had made her Guiness cake, and it is nothing short of heavenly. So, I was confident in her recipe-writing abilities. And, even though it made me a little nervous and queasy, when the recipe said to line the pan in plastic wrap (with a note that said, "Don't panic--it won't melt."), I followed the instructions because I figured she knew what she was doing.

She didn't. At all. I checked on the cake after a half hour of baking, and there was no plastic wrap anymore. It had completely melted into the cake, onto my bread pan, and onto the bottom of my oven. Wonderful!

I was obviously very upset about the disaster that was my cake. So, I did what any rational girl would do. I Googled it. First, I came up with the recipe--clearly stating that you should use greased tin foil. And then I came across some other people who had had my problem. It appears that later editions of the book had the tin foil, but that the first edition that some of us unluckily had, states to use the plastic wrap.

So, I guess the moral of the story is never to buy the first edition of a cookbook, no matter how much you trust the author. And, if something doesn't seem right, Google it BEFORE you start baking. Chances are, some poor, unfortunate blogger has already made your mistakes. But, I won't know that unless you search it out beforehand.

From now on, I'm trusting my instincts in the kitchen more than the written word in front of me. Now to go see if I can get that melted plastic wrap off of my bread pan.