Little Jack Horner

Alright. So it's been a little bit of a long farewell with these summertime, hangers-on recipes, but I think this might actually be the last one. I couldn't help myself. The stone fruit farmers just keep bringing these beautiful plums and pluots to market, and the part of me that is only just willing to give up peaches and nectarines is finding comfort in the fact that at least there's something other than apples to put in my shopping bag.

It is no secret, dear reader, that I am a big fan of English cuisine. Yes, I put those two words together and I will not apologize for it. We all know the reputation I'm alluding to.  Let's just put that old assumption to rest, shall we? Some of the best cooking these days is happening in London, and though we can't all take part in that culinary revolution first hand, we can live vicariously through cookbooks.

A lot of the cooking going on in our kitchen this week has been inspired by Nigel Slater's Tender, a combination of uncomplicated recipes and garden journal, charmingly written and dreamily photographed. Fortunately for those of us with a sweet tooth, his follow-up book, Ripe, includes both sweet and savory recipes, including a most delightful recipe for plum cake.

While my usual go-to recipe for plum cake is more in the german style, I find this version to be a refreshing change. The secret is in the Lyle's Golden Syrup. This caramelly stuff reminds me of a combination of corn syrup and maple syrup and can be found in many desserts to be found in Great Britain and the Commonwealth. Fortunately for you, it can also be found in many supermarkets here in the States. It gives this cake a dark, rich, stickiness that melts into the satiny cooked plums that are suspended within. We've been eating this out of hand for breakfast, afternoon snacks, and dessert. It travels very well, which is lucky for the boy. He gets to find it in his lunchbox.

My original intention for this post was to share two desserts: the cake above and this one from the New York Times' Melissa Clark. I made the Plum Chutney Crumb pie about 2 weeks ago to take to an Indian meal and it was spectacular. Being new to the blog thing, I forgot to take photos, and I left the rest of the pie with my hostess. I would have asked her to take a picture of the last handsome slice, but her dog, Lucy, had other ideas, raiding the counter and gobbling that last piece in the dead of night. Bad dog. Good pie.


Plum Cake
adapted from Nigel Slater's Ripe

2 cups (250g) all purpose flour
1 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon cardamom (my addition, because I love it with stone fruit)
2/3 cup Lyle's Golden Syrup
2 tablespoons honey
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup light brown sugar
12 ounces plums (or pluots)
2 large eggs
1 cup whole milk

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Line a 9x9 pan with parchment. This is a sticky cake. You'll be glad you did.

Whisk together the flour, leavening, and spices in a mixing bowl.

Warm the butter, honey, and syrup in a small saucepan until butter is melted. Stir in the brown sugar. While the mixture is warming, halve and pit the plums. Quarter them if they are gigantic.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the milk and the eggs. Pour the syrup mixture into the dry ingredients and mix with a spoon. Add the egg mixture to the batter last, gently whisking until all is incorporated. You will have a pretty runny batter. Pour it into your prepared pan and tuck the plums into the batter.

Bake for 35 minutes, then place a sheet of greased foil loosely over the top of the cake for another 15 minutes. Turn the oven off and allow the cake to sit in the oven for another 15 minutes. My cake took a little longer, so make sure to test with a toothpick and give it another little blast of heat for 10 minutes or so if the center is still squishy.

Choco-coma

So, my boy wanted to make ice cream last week. Though we've made ice cream many times a Summer for all the Summers he's been alive, he had no memory of the machine that sits most of the year in the dark recesses of the most inaccessible cupboard in our kitchen. Go figure. This selective memory of his made the experience all the more novel and exciting. He acted as though we were practicing some kind of alchemy by making our own ice cream at home. This actually made it pretty fun, and unlike so many of the projects that start with the words "Mom, how about we make ________," and end with me completing all but the very first step alone, he was excited to be a part of the entire process.

In the days leading up to the actual ice cream-making, I had him peruse David Lebovitz's Perfect Scoop, and told him that he could choose whichever recipe took his fancy. He chose chocolate with the slight modification suggested by Lebovitz: the addition of peppermint patties. To be specific, he asks for 2 cups of crumbled patties to be added at the end of the churning. Now let's be clear, most home ice cream makers will produce a very scant quart of ice cream. My spidey sense was tingling, knowing that I would have seriously high ratio of candy to ice cream. Did I err on the side of caution and, with an adult's palate, cut down said ratio? Of course not. Was this a big mistake? It sure was.

This chocolate ice cream recipe is one of the richest, most intensely flavored I have ever eaten. People, I have never left an ice cream cone unfinished in my life. I served this ice cream (on homemade cones, no less) to seven people, three of them nine-year-olds, and only one person actually finished their cone. The first licks were met with astounding praise and gustatorial glee, but about half way through, we all had to admit defeat. As much as I cringe at the ridiculously named "Death by Chocolate" desserts, this may have finished us off if my friends and I were slightly more gluttonous than we already are.

Now I know what you're thinking: "Gosh, Jennie, I can't wait to dust off the old ice-cream maker and give this one a whirl!" I've made it sound like such a slam dunk, haven't I? But really, this is a case of taking a really good thing, and going too far. Gilding the lily, if you will. Do I recommend this recipe for chocolate ice cream? Wholeheartedly! Have I asked too many questions in this post? Most definitely! 

I also wanted to share the story as a cautionary tale. If your culinary wits tell you that something doesn't sound quite right in a recipe (even if it's from a highly-regarded chef), you might just want to trust yourself. 

Chocolate Ice Cream

adapted from David Lebovitz's Perfect Scoop

2 cups heavy cream

3 tbs. unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder

5 oz. bittersweet or semisweet chocolate (Without going overboard, quality is important. I used Guittard), in chunks or chopped

1 cup milk

3/4 cup sugar

Pinch of kosher salt

5 large egg yolks

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Warm 1 cup of the cream with the cocoa powder in a medium saucepan. Whisking constantly, bring just to the boil. Remove saucepan from heat, then add the chopped chocolate and stir until melted and smooth. Add the final cup of cream, stir, and pour the mixture into a medium-sized bowl.

Warm the milk, sugar, and salt in the same saucepan. In a separate bowl whisk the yolks. When the milk is hot to the touch, slowly pour it into the bowl with the yolks, whisking quickly to avoid curdling. Scrape the egg mixture back into the saucepan.

Cook this mixture over medium heat, stirring constantly with a heat-proof spatula, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of the spatula. Do not let it boil. Pour the hot egg mixture through a fine-meshed strainer directly into your chocolate mixture. Stir the two together to combine well, and finally add the vanilla. Place in an ice bath to cool, or if you have several hours, place in the refrigerator to cool. This is essential for home ice cream makers. Do not skip this step or your ice cream maker will make little more than a runny mess.

Place the chilled mixture in your ice cream maker, and proceed according to its instructions.

Suggested addition: 1/8 tsp. of mint oil or extract. A little goes a long way, and cuts through the richness of this ice cream.

Between Seasons

On a few recent occasions, I have overheard people complaining about the premature trend toward Fall food when it is still Summer. Food blogs and magazines are brandishing pictures of holiday pies, for goodness' sake. Here in Berkeley, I can understand the reticence since Summer often doesn't come to us until September and hangs on, unbearably, until just before Halloween. By that time, we are dying for it. Come the end of October, the fruits of Summer are long gone, and we have entered in to the long stretch of squash, and apples, and pears, and apples, and pears, and apples, and pears. Not that I have anything against those fine fruits. There's nothing like a crisp apple from the new crop, or the ambrosia that is a perfectly ripe pear, but, by Jove, I'm gasping for something different by the time citrus season creeps around.

My plan for this week was to present you with an oldy but a goody: Mark Bittman's Tomato Jam. It has made its rounds in the blogosphere, but I wanted to bring it back to your attention because, damn it, it is so delicious and can be enjoyed in so many ways. When I originally thought to post it, it seemed like the perfect end-of-Summer recipe, while the tomatoes keep on coming (at least the ones in this gardening zone do). However, when I returned from the store to smell this pot of this liquid gold bubbling away on the stove, the spices took me right into Fall and I realized that it leads from Summer into Fall seamlessly.

The prep comes together in a flash. You'll see below that I have not peeled or diced the tomatoes. Simply give them a rough chop and throw them in with the rest of the ingredients. One diversion I make from Bittman's recipe, is to keep the ginger in diced cubes, instead of grating. The ginger softens up completely in the cooking process, but you get these zingy bites of it that liven up the sweetness of the jam. I also tripled the recipe because this stuff condenses mightily in volume and, once you taste it, you will be so sad when you have this tiny little yield of jam. Since the chopping is minimal, you might as well bump it up. Who knows, you might even want to share. Maybe.

This is a seriously versatile jam, people. Luisa enjoys hers with a fried egg on toast. I think it makes a lovely addition to a cheese plate, and an even better spread on a sandwich made with left-overs from a roast. Lamb sandwich, anyone?

The precious! If you don't have a jam funnel, you should.

Tomato Jam
adapted from Mark Bittman

4 1/2 pounds of tomatoes (Bittman says Romas, but I say whatever looks ripe)
3 cups sugar
6 tablespoons lime juice
1/4 cup ginger, diced into 1/2 cm. cubes
3 teaspoons cumin
3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
rounded 1/4 teaspoon of ground cloves
1 tablespoon kosher salt
a 3-fingered pinch of crushed red chile flakes (or more, if you like)

In a large pot, combine roughly chopped tomatoes and remaining ingredients. Bring to a merry boil over medium heat, and cook (stirring occasionally) for about 1 1/4 hours. Things will get very watery and look the same for a good while, but don't lose heart; they will thicken. Once the mixture starts looking like the consistency of sauce you'd put on pasta, start paying attention. It will begin to near the ketchupy stage, which is where you want to catch it. If you cook it too far, it becomes a little more pasty than is ideal. Remove from heat and pour into clean jars. I don't can mine since it doesn't last, though it should linger in your refrigerator for at least a week, safely.