Good Things Come to Those Who Bake: What Culinary School was Like, and Why I'm Glad I Did It

What began for me in May of 2009 as an exciting and downright scary culinary adventure is drawing to a close. This week, I completed my sojourn as a baking & pastry-arts student in a well-regarded culinary school, here in suburban Detroit. I never expected it would take me quite this long to complete the program but life happened, as they say, and priorities now and then had to shift. It's been a long and occasionally wild ride, and I don't regret one minute of it.

(This fondant-covered wedding cake was my last project, in my last class. I completed it, and brought it home, on Monday night. Biggest cake I've ever made! It weighed a ton.)

(This blown-sugar swan was a project in Pastry II. I wrote about it here.) 

What drove me to plunge into such a program in the first place? After all, I was 48 years old when I started. What in the world provokes a busy middle-aged woman, with plenty of regular responsibilities, to take up something like this? Why put oneself through the stress of such rigorous cooking and baking classes? Really, at the root of it all, I just wanted to learn new things about baking and pastry that I felt couldn't be learned well on my own. I wanted to be able to crack the code of the classic techniques and most mysterious methods. I wanted to get the kind of careful and ordered instruction from experts that, I felt, could not be gained outside of a formal and structured setting. A couple of basic community-education classes in cake decorating, that I took for fun in 2007, just whet my appetite for more. The next logical step was staring me in the face.

(This box, made entirely of chocolate, was filled with artisan chocolate candies. 

From Pastry II class, this was one of my favorite projects. I wrote about it here.)

And, naturally, the support and encouragement of my husband and kids was a critical factor all along. If they hadn't been okay with me taking lots of time for the classes and homework, I wouldn't have been comfortable doing it (thanks so much, guys!). They are truly the greatest.

(Sam-the-Snowman cake was my final project in Theme Cakes class, in 2010. 
I wrote about him here.)

So, was it all fun and games? Not on your life. Were there teachers there, a la Gordon Ramsay, who seemed to get their kicks by publicly berating people? Oh yeah, I can think of one or two in particular. Was I the oldest student there? Not by a long shot. In fact, one of the most interesting aspects of the program was the extreme diversity of the student population. Kids right out of high school, men in their twenties right out of the service, women in their fifties who'd left long and/or lucrative careers to follow their dream.

(Three fresh loaves from my Artisan Breads class. I wrote about that class here.)

The year I started, a cluster of middle-aged folks who'd been laid off in the economic collapse also entered the culinary school. Training for new careers, most of them were hopeful, resolute, and took the endeavor seriously. One man I met had been a pipe-fitter at Ford for over thirty years. His new dream was to open a bagel shop. He looked tough, but was actually a softie, and he loved to chat about his life. I once saw him riding his Harley home from school, cloaked in black-leather from top to bottom, with a brown grocery bag of what I knew to be freshly baked bread strapped securely to the back of his bike. Our artisan-breads class had just ended for the day. When I saw him I thought, "Can't judge that book by its cover. A biker might really be a baker."

(I made this sacher torte for my Cookery class in fall of '09; part of my 

assignment was to write an essay on its historical origins. I blogged about the cake here.)

And in a similar vein, last fall, I was dumbfounded when my baking partner in Plated Desserts II confessed to me that she'd abandoned a decades-long career as an ob/gyn in large part to attend culinary school. She quietly shared this information with me, one night after class, as if she were admitting to a crime. She told me that being a pastry chef had been her one big dream since high school, but her parents hadn't allowed her to even consider it; they'd insisted she go to medical school. I was astounded by her story and even wondered if she might be making it up. Curiosity got the better of me. I Googled her name and, sure enough, that woman is an accomplished doctor. That one really took the cake, no pun intended.

(This Elmo cake was one of  our first projects in 

Theme Cakes class, in 2010. I wrote about this cake, here.)

Being a student in this program exposed me to so many fresh experiences, and to new people. Case in point: I'd never in my life pried open a live oyster before I had to do this in Cookery class. I remember how my teacher, who happened to closely resemble the Swedish chef character from the Muppets, demonstrated our task, then chose me to try it first. He handed me the oyster knife and a special armor-like glove to wear on the hand that would hold the oyster. I took them from him, put on the glove, and then realized I needed to stop for a moment to take off my glasses in order to really see what I was doing. An outgoing student who'd just gotten out of the Navy--a tall, wiry guy who looked rougher and older than his years--commented loudly, "She's keepin' it real!" His name was Nick, and he was a character. Once he asked me if I had any kids and I told him I had two teenage sons, who were at the time 13 and 16. He looked at me in complete surprise, and said to me quietly, "No kidding? Well, bless your heart." I guess he expected anyone with two teenage sons would have to behave like a drill sergeant at all times, a description that rarely fits me. We never had another class together but the one time we ran into each other the next semester, I was in Retail Baking class at the time, stirring something on a stove, and he bellowed out to me from a distance, "Hey Jane! Still kickin' ass?!" Of course I responded, "Always!"

(I thought this alligator bread was about the cutest thing I'd ever seen when we made it, 

along with turtle bread, in Retail Baking, winter of '10.)

I could go on and on with little tales like that from school, and I'm sure in future posts I will. But enough for now. I really just wanted to share the news with you that I am truly and finally done! Joy! And as a result, I hope to be more present, here in this blog, which is like an old friend to me, in the weeks ahead. Thanks to you readers for once more stopping by, and for sharing this journey with me.

Warmly,
Jane

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Coconut Layer Cake with Swiss Meringue Buttercream and Dark Chocolate Ganache Filling . . .

Is it really almost September? Really? 

I guess it must be true. My kids are behaving as if they're straddling the border between two very different countries--one's called Summer, the other's called School. Nathan, my just-turned-sixteen-year old,  has been getting up early to attend marching band practice this week. It's an all-day affair, and  despite the need to haul himself out of bed at the crack of dawn, he still has that unquenchable teenage urge to stay up late every night. What's a mom to do? Remember when your kids were about three and a half and they finally gave up taking regular naps? In your chagrin you realized how helpless you were to change that. The nice quiet break, that reliable daily respite, was a thing of the past. I was reminded of this while pondering the staying-up-super-late issue. Sigh. You can lead a teenager to a comfy bed (well, you can try, anyway), but you cannot make him sleep.

Meanwhile, Charlie, my 19-year-old, is psyching up for his sophomore year in college. He's looking forward to being back in Michigan this time around. Last year, as you may recall, he ventured south to Columbus to experience life as an Ohio State buckeye. (Remember those buckeye cookie cups I made in honor of the event? Those babies were so good.) He had a busy year, without a doubt. Joined the OSU men's crew team, made lots of new friends, and generally loved the place, but ultimately decided that it wasn't the best fit for someone whose heart belongs to the mitten-shaped state, so over the summer he transferred to a university in Kalamazoo (yes, that Kalamazoo). It's pretty nice to know he's back in mitten land.

In any event, I think this Summer vs. School nether world has me feeling a little edgy and when I get edgy, I tend to bake. Yes. Bake. What a surprise.

About this recipe . . .

This sort-of-white cake recipe was adapted from this post at Whisk Kid; that's the adorable blog that started the rainbow-cake craze. I reduced, and slightly modified, the rainbow cake's base recipe (and obviously left out all food coloring!) to make just two 9" layers, adding in a little coconut milk in exchange for some of the regular milk. It's a very easy cake to put together, and this was a good opportunity--between the cake and the buttercream--to use up most of the egg whites I had in my freezer. I freeze whites in Ziploc sandwich bags, and I use black permanent marker to mark on the bags how many whites each one contains, along with the date I froze them. Fresh-frozen egg whites are still completely usable in baking even months after their freeze date. I love that!

The Swiss meringue buttercream frosting recipe that I used is from Sweetapolita, baking blog extraordinaire of the endlessly talented Rosie Alyea. I changed nothing in her recipe, except to add in a few drops of Lorann coconut oil for flavoring towards the end of the mixing process to about six cups of the total batch. Because the credit for this frosting is definitely Rosie's, I have just included a link directly to the post where that recipe appears within her blog; it's accompanied by many helpful photos and her invaluable advice (I highly recommend you check it out, especially if you are new to making meringue buttercream).  Be aware that her recipe makes about 15 cups of frosting, enough for a couple of tall layer cakes, at least. I made the whole huge batch and, in one big bowl, it was a fluffy sight to see. I froze the extra frosting for future use.

The chocolate ganache is so simple it almost doesn't require a formal recipe--two delectable ingredients are all you'll need.

Coconut Layer Cake with Swiss Meringue Buttercream and Chocolate Ganache Filling

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Yield: One two-layer 9" round cake

Ingredients for the cake layers:

1 stick and 3 tablespoons of unsalted butter, softened
1 and 1/2 cups granulated sugar
4 large egg whites
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 and 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 scant teaspoon salt (I used fine sea salt.)
2/3 cup milk, at room temperature (I used 2 percent.)
1/3 cup coconut milk, at room temperature (I used Thai Kitchen brand.)

To make the cake layers:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Grease, or use baking spray on, two 9" round cake pans (I used the latter, generously). Line the bottom of the pans with rounds of parchment. Grease the parchment and flour the bottom and sides of the pan, or spray the parchment with baking spray.

In a medium size bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, and salt together. Set aside.

Stir together the milk and coconut milk in a small bowl. Set aside.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment on medium-high speed, cream the butter and sugar for a few minutes, until very light in color and fluffy. Pour in the egg whites gradually, mixing until they're completely combined, and stop to scrape as needed. Mix in the vanilla.

On the lowest speed, add in the dry ingredients alternately with the milk and coconut milk, starting and ending with the dry (three portions of dry, and two portions of liquid). Beat only until the batter looks completely mixed.

Divide the batter equally into the two prepared pans, and bake in a preheated oven for about 20 to 25 minutes, or until the top of the cakes no longer look wet and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let the cakes cool in their pans on cooling racks for about five minutes then run a thin knife or metal spatula around the edges of the cakes, and invert the cakes out of their pans and onto racks to finish cooling. Peel off the parchment, slowly and carefully, while the cakes are still warm.

To make the chocolate ganache: 

6 ounces good quality dark chocolate, chopped into small pieces
6 ounces heavy cream

Put the chopped chocolate into a bowl. In a small saucepan, gently heat the cream until it's hot but not boiling. Pour the cream into the bowl, over the chocolate. Let it sit undisturbed for a few minutes, then gently stir the cream completely into the chocolate. The ganache should look smooth and silky. Let it cool to room temperature, when it will be ready to use as a filling between the cooled cake layers. Don't cover it until it's at room temperature or cooler.

To make the Swiss meringue buttercream:
For the Swiss Meringue Buttercream recipe that I used, please visit this link at Sweetapolita for detailed step-by-step instructions in her excellent post, Swiss Meringue Buttercream Demystified. Please note that I added in several drops--to taste--of Lorann coconut oil flavoring. You could also use coconut extract/flavoring if you like, or omit the flavoring/oil altogether and just go with vanilla. Her recipe as written makes a very big batch; you will need perhaps one third of the batch to frost a standard size two-layer cake.

To assemble and frost the cake, you'll need:

2 cake layers
At least one cup of the ganache
At least five cups of the buttercream
1 and 1/2 cups of sweetened, shredded coconut

Place one cake layer upside down onto a cardboard/cake-board or onto the plate it will be served from. Spread a generous layer of room-temperature ganache on top. Add the second cake layer, placing its flattest surface facing up. Spread about a cup or so of buttercream on the top, and frost a generous layer on the sides. Because the cake will be covered with sweetened coconut, it's not really necessary to try and make the surface or sides of the cake completely smooth. To add the coconut, hold your cake, on its board/plate over a baking sheet. Gently press handfuls of coconut into the sides as you turn the cake until it's completely covered, and then sprinkle more on the top. Scoop up any coconut that falls onto the baking sheet and scatter it on as well.

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A Midsummer Day's Dream . . . Cream Cheese Nectarine Cake with Crumbly Streusel

Nectarines . . . really fine, really sweet nectarines. Not something one can necessarily count on finding here in Michigan. Usually, though, that doesn't matter. Why? Because typically, in mid-July, we're wallowing in a surplus of glorious local cherries, baking them into this and stirring them into that, not giving those pretty nectarines from out of state a second thought. But late winter weather played holy havoc with Michigan's cherry orchards this year, leaving us with the most pathetic harvest in decades. Trees that would normally be bending under the weight of crimson fruit look instead as if they've been ever so lightly dotted with red.  Just a cherry here, a cherry there. Sorry, folks--forget about "pickin' your own" and keep your fingers crossed for next year.

No home-grown cherries? For born and bred Michiganders that scenario is virtually unheard of. So, nothing left to do but rev up the contingency plans. Time to focus on nectarines instead, nectarines that hail inevitably from elsewhere. A sobering thought, no doubt. Miraculously, though, they're incredibly sweet and more than up to snuff. I've been shocked by their quality, thus I've been munching them the last few days with an unbridled sense of righteous privilege, like a koala in a eucalyptus tree. Don't try to stop me.

About this recipe . . . 

I adapted this from The Grand Central Baking Book, by Piper Davis and Ellen Jackson (I love this book, by the way, and recommend it). I started with their recipe for a cream cheese apple cake, but made some significant tweaks.

First, I reduced the overall size of the recipe by about one third, from one that would produce a large 12" bundt cake down to a reasonably sized 9" round cake made in springform pan. I used a relatively small amount of chopped ripe nectarines, unpeeled, in the batter versus a sizable portion of peeled apples. I added in a modest amount of almond flour/meal (if you can't find it in your usual grocery store, check at Trader Joe's, Whole Foods, or health food stores), which lends a subtle richness to the texture without adding any overt almond flavor. I upped the amount of vanilla, in fact using vanilla bean paste instead of extract, and I also fiddled with the proportion of cinnamon. 


The addition of a streusel topping worked out well, too; I just threw together flour, sugar, almond flour/meal, cold butter, and a pinch of fine sea salt and went at it with a pastry blender. You can count on a cake that happily straddles the fence between a coffee cake and a not-too-dense pound cake. A great cake overall, even without our beloved Michigan cherries.

Cream Cheese Nectarine Cake with Crumbly Streusel


(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Yield: About 16 slices

For the cake:
2 and 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup almond flour/meal
1 teaspoon baking powder
2/3 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2/3 cup unsalted butter, softened (that's one stick and about 2.5 tablespoons)
8 oz. cream cheese
2 cups granulated sugar
3 large eggs, room temperature
1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla bean paste (or vanilla extract)
1 extra-large ripe nectarine, unpeeled, pitted, and chopped into very small pieces

For the streusel:
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup almond meal/flour
1/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
5 tablespoons of cold, unsalted butter, cut into small chunks
1 pinch fine-grain sea salt

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 9" springform pan.

Make the streusel first:

In a medium bowl, whisk together the sugar, almond meal/flour, and all purpose flour. Toss in the butter chunks and combine with a pastry blender or a fork until most of the mixture is in pieces approximately the size of a large pea. Cover the bowl and put it in the fridge.

To make the cake batter:

In a medium bowl, lightly whisk together the flour, almond flour/meal, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Set aside.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment on medium-high speed, beat together the butter, cream cheese, and sugar until the mixture is fluffy and light in color (beat for at least five minutes and as long as eight). On low speed, add in all of the vanilla, and add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each one. Stop and scrape the bowl and paddle periodically.

Still on low speed, add in all of the nectarine pieces, beating just for a few seconds to combine, then add in all of the dry ingredients. Mix only until the flour looks completely incorporated. Scrape all the batter into your greased and floured cake pan. Sprinkle all of the streusel evenly over the top.

Bake the cake on the middle rack of the oven for about 55-65 minutes. You'll know it's done when the top is lightly golden, the sides are just beginning to pull away from the pan, the top of the cake doesn't jiggle at all when you move it, and a toothpick inserted in the center come out mostly dry. Check your cake after about 40 minutes and if it appears to be browning too fast, lay a piece of foil loosely over the top. Let the finished cake cool in its pan on a rack for at least 15 minutes, then run a thin knife around the sides, remove the springform carefully, and let the cake finish cooling on the rack.

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Rose of Persia Cake . . . with Cherry and Rose Water Glaze

I don't know . . . maybe it was the sumptuous and exotic name that first hooked me. After all, I do love roses. And the very word, Persia, sounds kind of sumptuous, don't you think?

Luscious and rich, it's a soft mink coat of a word. (And do you know what trying on a mink coat feels like? It feels like every nice, handsome man you've ever met is gently putting his arm around you.) Say it slowly . . . Perrrsssiaa. See what I mean?

Well, anyway, it took me a while to get around to finally making this unusual cake. Moist and deeply flavorful, the warm cake is finished off with a sweet, tangy glaze that's still hot when you drizzle it on. When I first stumbled upon this recipe a couple of months ago, in a bean cookbook of all things, I mentally filed it away as an item that I knew I'd absolutely have to try. So, over a period of a few weeks, I haphazardly foraged local markets, prowling for the less common ingredients.

Speaking of which, what's the least common ingredient in the cake? That would have to be the chick pea flour. Initially I didn't know where I'd find it, but a couple of Middle Eastern grocery stores later, a chunky little package of chick-pea/garbanzo-bean flour was nestled in my shopping cart. It is, after all, the key ingredient in falafel, a fact that I'd completely forgotten. And, given that metro Detroit is home to a significant population of Middle Eastern families (thus metro Detroiters are the happy patrons of many small Middle Eastern restaurants), one can be sure that a lot of falafel is being fried up around here on a daily--if not hourly--basis.

So, anyway, having assembled all of the critical components--dried cherries, unsweetened cherry juice, rose water, pistachios, and chick pea flour--the planets aligned, as I knew they would, and today became the perfect day for Rose of Persia Cake.

About this recipe . . .

From Crescent Dragonwagon's award winning book, Bean by Bean, I stuck pretty closely to her original formula. That said, I did use less lemon zest in the cake than it called for, slightly more salt, and I modified the glaze recipe to tone down the citrus aspect a bit (it called for half a cup of lemon juice . . . that's a lot) and emphasize the cherry juice and rose water. And, I rewrote the instructions to reflect exactly what I did (I rearranged some of the less critical steps), but the recipe concept is still entirely Ms. Dragonwagon's, and I must give her props for coming up with such a truly unique and tasty cake.

And fair warning: You will be entranced by the scent of this cake baking, just as Crescent predicts in her book. The aroma is a curious and delicate mixture of fruity sweetness and something akin to freshly mown grass. Sounds weird, I know, but it was actually a really good smell. I kept sniffing the air, trying to put my finger on what the scent reminded me of. I am still pondering . . .

Rose of Persia Cake
with Cherry and Rose Water Glaze
(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

You'll need either a 10-inch tube pan, or a 12-cup bundt pan, or several small loaf pans. (I made mine in a 10-inch non-stick tube pan.)

Ingredients for the cake:

1/2 cup dried cherries (Crescent Dragonwagon recomments using dried Bing cherries, but I used dried tart Michigan cherries and they were delicious.)
1/2 cup sour cherry juice, not sweetened
vegetable oil cooking spray (Pam)
1 and 1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour (measure it out after sifting),
       unbleached, plus two extra tablespoons of flour for the pan
1 and 2/3 cups granulated sugar, plus two extra tablespoons of
       sugar for the pan
1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 and 1/2 cups sifted chick pea flour (measure it out after sifting)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
3/4 cup buttermilk or 1/2 cup plain yogurt thinned with water or milk (I actually used 1/2 cup buttermilk mixed with 1/4 plain yogurt because I didn't have enough buttermilk.)
2 tablespoons of rose water (Along with the chick pea flour, you can expect to find rose water in Middle Eastern markets, and in the imported foods section of major grocery stores.)
1 tablespoon of lemon zest, finely grated

Ingredients for the glaze:
2 teaspoons of rose water
2 tablespoons of fresh squeezed lemon juice
1/4 cup unsweetened cherry juice (leftover from soaked cherries in cake recipe)
2 tablespoons of water
1/2 cup granulated sugar

To sprinkle over the glazed cake:
1/4 cup chopped pistachio nuts

To make the cake:
Several hours prior to assembling the cake, soak the dried cherries in the 1/2 cup of sour cherry juice to  plump them up.

When ready to make the cake, preheat your oven to 325 degrees.

Spray your pan liberally with the vegetable oil spray. In a little bowl, whisk together the 2 tablespoons flour and the 2 tablespoons of sugar. (You may find you need even more of this mixture to fully prep your pan. I figure, better to over prep than under prep! The original recipe only called for 1 tablespoon of each. For me, that wasn't nearly enough.) Coat the inside of your pan evenly and thoroughly by shaking the flour/sugar all around. Tap out the excess. (If you're using a two-part tube pan, be sure to hold that inner part in there when doing this. It's kind of a messy procedure, so do it over your sink.)

In a large bowl, whisk together the two sifted flours, along with the baking soda and salt. Set aside.

Drain all the juice off of the soaked cherries and reserve it; don't toss it out! Place the cherries themselves in another bowl.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, cream the butter on high speed until it looks light in color and very fluffy. Continuing on high speed, pour the sugar in slowly. Keep mixing for a few minutes, until the whole thing is really nice and fluffy. One at a time, on medium speed, add in the eggs, mixing each one in until well combined, about a minute or so.

In yet another medium size bowl (I know, lots of dirty dishes), stir together the buttermilk (or buttermilk & yogurt, or yogurt & water, etc.--whatever you end up using), the rose water, and 1/4 cup of the reserved cherry juice.

On the lowest speed of your mixer, add the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the buttermilk mixture (three equal portions of flour and two equal portions of buttermilk). Beat only long enough to combine after each addition. Stop and scrape the bowl and beaters as needed. Use care not to overbeat the batter. Take the bowl off of the mixer, and gently stir in the lemon zest and drained cherries.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, trying to avoid leaving big air gaps. Smooth the top so it's even. Firmly but gently tap the filled pan on your work surface once or twice to help remove big air bubbles.

On the middle rack of your oven, bake the cake for about an hour and ten minutes (less time if you're using smaller pans, or a bundt pan). The cake is done when a toothpick inserted comes out clean, the top is deeply golden brown, and the cake feels kind of firm to the touch if you lightly press on it with your finger. Let the cake cool on a rack for about ten minutes, then remove it from the pan and put it right on  the serving plate you'll be using.

As it is cooling, make the glaze. Place all the glaze ingredients in a small saucepan and heat it on the stove until it just boils, then turn the heat down and let it simmer for about four or five minutes, just until it becomes slightly thicker. Stir it frequently and don't walk away; it's very easy to burn hot sugar. When the glaze looks ready, pour about one third of it over the warm cake. Then, poke several holes in the top of the cake with a toothpick, and drizzle the remainder of the glaze over the cake (I aimed for the holes).

If you like, chop 1/4 cup of pistachios and sprinkle them over the cake right after it has been glazed. Keep the cooled cake covered. The cake is so moist, it should be fine for several days.

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Tangy Kumquat Tea Cakes . . . (Yes, Kumquats Really Do Exist!)

My son Nathan has a pal named Gabe, who was at our house one afternoon this week after school. The two of them were in the kitchen foraging for snacks when Gabe spotted a small container of what looked to be Barbie-doll sized oranges on the kitchen counter. According to Nathan, who was the only witness to his comment, Gabe said in mock amazement, "No. Nooo. You mean kumquats really exist??"

Yes, Gabe, they really do. And though you might not want to just pop one in your mouth and chomp down on it unless you're seriously into puckering, they are awfully good after being sliced, seeded, and undergoing a leisurely simmer in sugar water. Plus, they're so darn cute. A petite box of kumquats is about as appealing as a basket of warm kittens. You just can't resist picking one up and gently examining it. You won't want to put it down, and you'll definitely feel compelled to show it to someone else. Yes, a kumquat is its own little conversation piece.

A relatively scarce fruit around here, as far as common usage goes, I have to admit I've never before used a recipe that featured them, and never even particularly bothered to find out what the heck to do with them until now. But, I think it's safe to say I'm a newly minted member of the tiny fruit's fan club.

About this recipe . . . 

Adapted from a gluten-free formula found on Tartelette--without question one of the loveliest food blogs around--I made a few minor changes. Note, though, that my version is not gluten-free. (As my favorite cake-decorating teacher, Chef Lois, recently remarked, "I'm all about gluten." Quite obviously, I share that sentiment.)

Tartelette's recipe called for millet flour and almond flour. Mine, instead, uses a combo of all-purpose flour, a bit of spelt flour, and almond flour. Tartelette baked her cakes in financier pans, a muffin-type pan with rectangular cavities shaped like gold ingots (thus the moneyed name). I have no financier pans, so I baked mine in twelve small brioche tins.

These little cakes are moist, just sweet enough, and the flavor of the kumquats is definitely present without being overwhelming. My husband, who I thought might show lukewarm interest, gave these two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Tangy Kumquat Tea Cakes

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and lightly flour (or use baking spray on) twelve small brioche, financier, or muffin tins.

Ingredients for batter:
1/4 cup all-purpose flour, unbleached
1/4 cup spelt flour (if you don't have spelt, just use all-purpose)
1 cup almond flour (aka almond meal/finely ground blanched almonds)
1 pinch of kosher salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 and 1/4 cup confectioners' sugar (not necessary to sift, but I'd whisk/pinch out any big lumps)
4 large eggs

1/3 to 1/2 cup kumquat compote (recipe below)
About 2 Tbsp. sanding sugar or granulated sugar, if you prefer, to sprinkle atop the unbaked cakes

Ingredients for kumquat compote:
1 cup of clean, ripe kumquats, seeded and sliced

3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water

To make the compote:
Heat the sliced, seeded kumquats slowly in a medium sauce-pan with the sugar and water over medium heat, stirring periodically, until the mixture just comes to a boil and the sugar is dissolved. Lower the heat and simmer until the kumquats appear translucent (you'll know it when you see it); this might take 15 minutes or so.

Put all of the kumquats into a small bowl with only about 1/4 cup of the sugar syrup (the rest of the syrup can be discarded or saved in the fridge to use for another project). Refrigerate until cool, then puree by pulsing in the small bowl of your food processor. The puree will still contain visible pieces of peel and that's what you want, sort of like marmalade. Set this aside as you begin to prepare the batter.

To make the batter:
In a medium bowl, whisk together the all-purpose flour, spelt flour, almond flour, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, beat the butter and confectioners' sugar on medium speed for a few minutes (start on low for several seconds so the sugar doesn't fly all over), until just fluffy. Pour the eggs in one at a time, mixing thoroughly for a minute or so after each addition and stopping to scrape as needed.

On low speed, add in the flours and mix only until combined--about 30 seconds or so.

Take the bowl off the mixer and use a spatula to fold in three quarters of the kumquat compote; reserve one quarter of the compote.

Portion the batter evenly into your prepared tins and dab a bit of the reserved compote on top of each one. If you like, sprinkle a generous pinch of sanding sugar or granulated sugar over that.

Bake the cakes for about 15 minutes, or until they're lightly golden and the sides have begun to pull away from the tins. Let them cool a few minutes in their tins before removing them from the pans to a cooling rack.

Sprinkle the cakes lightly with confectioners' sugar when cool. Best if eaten the first two days.

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Raspberry Euphoria Coffee-Cake . . . A Tale of Magnetron Redemption

It was 11:00 on Wednesday morning and I stood in my kitchen, face to face with a kindly appliance repairman. "Whatcha need here is a new magnetron . . . that's whatcha need." His tone was laced with sympathy. He knew the very word sounded expensive: Magnetron. Like something Superman might keep stashed under his cape for emergencies.

I gaped at him silently. "Why not just tell me I need a new cyclotron?" That's what I wanted to say, but I  merely nodded and let him continue. "Now, you might still be under warranty, but I dunno. Gotta go to my truck and check it out." While he was gone I pondered the implications. The odds were slim and none that I wouldn't have to pay to replace this futuristic-sounding part. All I wanted was for my once-high-end built-in microwave oven to heat stuff again, and to do so without making aggrieved grinding noises. It had suddenly conked out a couple of days before. My 15-year-old son, a devoted user of the thing, stuck a little note on it that read, "May God help us all."

Imagine my surprise when the friendly repairman popped back in the door and glanced at me reassuringly. Yep, I was still covered and he actually had the part with him! He finished the job within half an hour and my bill was minimal, relatively speaking. I was so happy I just had to bake something. Not in the microwave, of course, but you know what I mean. Sometimes when little daily events like that actually go well, a girl gets the urge to celebrate by baking. It's a perfectly natural response, don't you think?

About this recipe . . .

This one is all mine. Yep, a completely original recipe right from the get-go (whoo hoo!) and I thought the cake turned out really well--not overly sweet, not too rich, just right. It's a simple formula that makes use of ricotta cheese in the batter, and a small amount of cream cheese in the streusel. Fresh raspberries and a smidgen of seedless raspberry jam factor in as well. So, all in all, it was a very good day. I made the cake shortly after the repairman, whose name I never did catch (Clark Kent, maybe?), drove away. If he'd still been here, I'd have given him a nice big wedge of it to take home.

Raspberry Euphoria Coffee-Cake
(or, if you prefer, Raspberry Ricotta Coffee-Cake with Cream Cheese Streusel)

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. This can be made in a 9" round regular cake pan, or a 9" found springform pan.

Butter your pan. Line the bottom with a round piece of parchment paper, then butter the parchment. Flour the inside of the whole pan, tapping out the excess.

Ingredients for the streusel topping, and glaze:
3 oz. cold cream cheese, cut into 1/2" chunks
2 oz. cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2" chunks
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 small pinch salt (I used regular salt)

3 Tbsp. seedless raspberry jam (to drizzle atop the streusel when you assemble the cake)

For the glaze:
1 cup (or more) confectioners' sugar
2 Tbsp. milk (add more if you'd like a thinner glaze)
1/8 tsp. almond extract (optional)


Ingredients for the cake:
1 cup traditional ricotta cheese, not too cold
2 large eggs, room temperature
1/3 cup unsalted butter, melted but not hot
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 and 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. coarse kosher salt
6 oz. fresh raspberries

Make the streusel first:
In a medium size bowl, mix the sugar, flour, and salt with a fork. Cut-in the cream cheese and butter chunks using a hand-held pastry blender or a couple of knives (you can even do this with your fingers if you're quick about it), until small visible chunks of miscellaneous size remain. Cover the bowl and chill the streusel while you prepare the batter.

Make the batter:
In a medium size bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt; set aside.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment on medium-low speed, mix together the ricotta, eggs, melted butter, sugar, and vanilla until smooth; about two or three minutes.

Now on low speed, add the flour in gradually, mixing just until well combined for a minute or so. 

Spread half the batter into your prepared pan.

Dot the batter with half the fresh raspberries and gently press them partway down into the batter.

Spoon the rest of the batter on top and smooth it out with a small offset spatula; scatter the remaining berries and gently press them into the batter.

Stir the chilled streusel with a fork, and evenly scatter all of it onto the top of the cake batter. Drizzle the seedless raspberry jam here and there in little streaks over the top of the streusel.

Bake the cake on the middle rack for about 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out mostly dry. The cake should be just lightly golden on top, and more golden on the sides. The sides of the cake should look like they've begun to pull away from the sides of the pan.

While the cake is starting to cool, mix up the glaze. In a small bowl, stir together the confectioners' sugar, milk, and almond extract. Just keep stirring until the glaze is completely smooth. Add more sugar if you'd like a thicker glaze; add slightly more milk if you prefer a thinner glaze. 

Let the cake cool for 15 minutes, no more and no less, on a rack before attempting to remove it from the pan.

Run a thin knife or metal spatula around the sides of the pan. Place a plate over the top of the cake and quickly invert it, tapping firmly on the bottom of the pan to help knock it out. Lift off the pan, then place the cooling rack on the cake bottom; still holding firmly onto the plate, re-invert the cake back onto the rack to let it finish cooling.

 

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