Once Upon a Time in Michigan, there was Tapawingo . . . (Ginger-Pear Cake with Cognac-Spiked Pear Sauce)

 Once upon a time, there was a charming cottage nestled in the lush woods of northern Michigan. One day, a brilliant and inspired chef named Pete Peterson cast a spell, transforming it into an enchanted restaurant, which he named Tapawingo. It thrived for over 25 years, and the legend of its magical food spread far and wide. By and by things changed in Michigan, and fewer travelers were able to visit and enjoy the culinary treasures that Tapawingo offered. The devoted chef saw no alternative but to close his beloved eatery, though he did so with a heavy heart. All of the people who loved Tapawingo, and all of the people who wished they could have gone there but never had a chance to do so, were sad.     The End.

Fairy tale or true story? It's true, and though I wish I could say I had been one of the lucky diners, I never made it to Tapawingo. Described by the New York Times in 2003 as being of "international stature," the place was a culinary gem unique to the Midwest right up to its closure in 2009. The stuff that used to come out of that kitchen--famous for using the finest and freshest locally-sourced ingredients before doing so was all the rage--sounded so sublime. I am holding out hope, though, that some enlightened literary agent gets on the stick and convinces Peterson to write a cookbook one of these days. It will be such a pity if this never happens. Heck, I'd start a letter writing campaign if only I knew who to write to.

About this recipe . . . 

So if there's no cookbook, how did I come upon this particular recipe, credited to that singular chef, Harlan "Pete" Peterson? It's from a homey compilation called Heartland Baking from the Midwest's Best Cooks, a slim cookbook from the collection of my late mom. Paging through it, when I realized where this particular recipe came from, I knew I had to try it. Thus I offer up this pear and ginger cake in homage to the enchanted Michigan restaurant that is no more.


Very gingery and ultra-moist, with an understated sweetness, this charming little cake is meant to be served with a casual drizzle of warm, cognac-spiked pear sauce. This is one autumn dessert that will help take the chill off.

In adapting this, I made only tiny alterations to the formula, adjusting the proportion of spices a wee bit here and there, as I didn't want to tamper too cavalierly with perfection.

Pear and Ginger Cake  . . . with Cognac-Pear Sauce

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

Ingredients for the cake:
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup packed brown sugar (I used light brown sugar)
2 eggs, large
1/4 cup molasses (I used the brand called Grandma's--the Robust variety)
1 Tbsp. fresh grated ginger root (no need to even peel the root before grating)
1 and 1/2 cups All Purpose flour (I used unbleached)
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt (actually, I substituted 3/4 tsp. kosher salt)
1/4 tsp. ground allspice
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
2/3 cup buttermilk or sour milk (I used the best buttermilk I could find)
1 ripe medium-sized pear, peeled, cored, and sliced thinly (I used an Anjou pear; these tough-skinned pears work really well for baking/stewing, etc.)

Ingredients for the pear-cognac sauce: 
1 lemon
1 cup water
1/4 cup granulated sugar
Four ripe 8 oz. pears (again, I used just Anjou pears)
2 to 4 Tbsp. cognac (I used Courvoisier, but if you're lucky enough to have Poire William liqueur on hand, you can use that. If you prefer, leave the liqueur out entirely; perhaps substitute apple juice if you feel more liquid is required.) 

To make the cake: 

Butter and flour lightly an 8" x 8" baking dish (I used a glass baking dish; it's a very moist cake and somehow I didn't think a metal pan would be the best choice.)


In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, beat the butter just until it's softened, on medium-low speed. Into this add the brown sugar, and beat until fluffy. Add in the eggs one at a time, beating well after each, then add in the molasses and the ginger root.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, allspice, cloves, and nutmeg. Add this, alternately with the buttermilk, into the mixing bowl on low speed. Beat just until combined.

Gently fold the thinly-sliced pear into the batter. Spread the batter into the prepared pan and bake at 350 for about 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean (well, more or less clean!). Cool the cake in its pan on a cooling rack.

To make the sauce:

With a peeler, remove the zest from half of the lemon (just the thin yellow upper skin, be sure to include none of the bitter white pith). In a medium size heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the zest, 2 Tbsp of juice from the lemon, 1 cup of water, and the 1/4 cup sugar. Heat over a medium-low flame until the sugar dissolves, stirring periodically.

Peel, core, and quarter the four pears. Add them into the sugar mixture. Cook this uncovered until the pears become tender, perhaps 10 minutes or more.

With a slotted spoon, remove the pears from the pan and put them in the bowl of a food processor.

Continue cooking the liquid in the saucepan until it has reduced by half, then remove and throw away the lemon peel. Pour the liquid into the food processor bowl.

Pulse the mixture until it is completely smooth. Put it in a small bowl, and stir in the cognac.

Serve the sauce warm, draped over individual pieces of cake. Sprinkle confectioner's sugar on the pieces first, if you like.

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Slow Cooker Marinara Sauce

The minute I read this recipe I knew I would make it sooner than later for many reasons:

• Since the middle of summer, I have been slowly weaning my family away from processed foods, opting instead for a more healthy approach. 
• Because I have never been very successful at making homemade Marinara Sauce, I was still using the jarred varieties.
• My attempts at the homemade version always ended up acidic, tangy, too sweet or some strange combination of flavors that wasn't enjoyable to eat. 
• I wanted to make the sauce that tasted like an Italian grandmother had made it. 

Finally, I found this recipe and it is not understatement when I say, this sauce has saved me from Marinara despair!  Yes, it is more expensive to make than getting a jar for free using coupons, however sometimes it's worth it to me to pay a little more for the flavor and health benefits of making my own.  It is rich and tomatoey, but not with that weird raw tomato flavor.  It is wonderful alone on pasta with a sprinkling of cheese or with the addition of Italian sausage or ground beef.  So next time you can get canned tomato products on a great sale stock up and try this sauce, you might never go back to the free stuff again!

I am sharing this recipe over at Premeditated Leftovers, go take a look!

Slow Cooker Marinara Sauce


Recipe Source: Modified ever so slightly from The Cooking Photographer

printable version
**Note from The Cooking Photographer- This marinara cooks for about 10 hours, so it’s often easier to make this the day before you’ll be using it for your recipe.
Using good quality canned tomato products makes a big difference in this sauce. Also, If you have time, rubbing the leafy spices between the palms of your hands helps release their flavors.

28 ounce can crushed tomatoes in rich puree
29 ounce can no sugar tomato sauce
6 ounce can tomato paste

1 cup water
1/2 cup good red wine
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

3 cloves garlic, crushed and finely minced or pressed through a garlic press

1 teaspoon sugar, to taste

1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
2 teaspoons onion powder

1 teaspoon sweet paprika
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 large bay leaf or two small



Stir the ingredients together and cook on low for 10 to 12 hours in your slow cooker, stirring occasionally.


Total Cost- About $3.76
for 9 cups of sauce.  I froze half and used half for spaghetti
Tomato Products-$2.00
Olive Oil-$.20
Wine-$1.00
Sugar-$.16
Spices-$.40 (give or take I haven't figured all my spice yet)

Autumn Apple Pie with Warm Cinnamon Sauce

I love everything about apple season. Apples are so perfect, so classic. And they never fail to remind me of childhood. I was born and raised in Michigan and, to me, fresh apples just seem like the distilled essence of a Michigan autumn--evocative in the nicest way.

In fact, if I were taking a word-association test and had to respond to the word "fruit," I'm quite sure I'd  blurt out "apple!" without missing a beat. They have such perennial appeal, and they're naturally portable. It's as if each one comes in its own protective little suitcase, making it travel-friendly. It wants to go where you go.

While not a single leaf in these parts has yet turned golden nor burnished red, and neighborhood school-kids have barely had time to crack open their textbooks or sharpen new pencils, I needed to make an apple pie. Not a grand model of complexity, mind you. Just a great hearty pie, served along with a warm, gently spicy, cinnamon sauce. What could be better than that?

About this recipe . . .

This isn't a complicated pie to put together, and it doesn't require a lot of time--both are factors in its favor. The crust, in my experience, is just about foolproof and, as it bakes, turns the loveliest color. The filling is neither time consuming nor does it require any exotic ingredients.

A wedge of this pie is completely satisfying on its own--no question about it. But drape it with a spoonful of the buttery cinnamon sauce and it takes on an added dimension that sets it apart. Really, really good pie!



I borrowed from a couple sources in making this pie. The crust recipe is from Apple Pie Perfect, by Ken Haedrich, and the filling recipe was inspired by one in Carole Walter's book Great Pies & Tarts. I could spend hours (and come to think of it I guess I have!) immersed in Walter's many cookbooks. They're amazing.

The sauce was just something I experimented with after looking at the directions for basic sweet sauces in a number of places; it's elementary and is one of those things, kind of like ganache, that hardly seems to require a formal recipe.

Autumn Apple Pie with Warm Cinnamon Sauce

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

Ingredients for the crust:
3 cups All-Purpose flour (I used unbleached)
2 Tbsp. granulated sugar
3/4 tsp. salt (I used kosher)
3/4 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into chunks
1/4 cup cold vegetable shortening, cut into chunks
1/2 cup very cold water

To make the crust:
In the large bowl of a food processor, place the flour, sugar, and salt. Pulse several times to mix. Take off the lid and toss in the butter chunks. Pulse again, about 6 times, to cut the butter in. Again remove the lid and, using a fork, fluff up the mixture, scraping down to the bottom of the bowl. Toss in the shortening cubes and pulse about 6 times, then take off the lid, scrape the bottom, and fluff again with a fork.

Drizzle only about half of the cold water in and pulse 6 times. Fluff the dough again with a fork, then sprinkle in the remainder of the water. Pulse a few more times, until the dough begins to clump together. Dump it out into a clean mixing bowl.

Test the texture of the dough by squeezing a bit of it in your hand. If it's too dry and won't hold together, sprinkle in a tiny bit more water, one teaspoon at a time, working it in gently with your fingers. When the dough holds together, divide it into two pieces, one slightly larger than the other, shape each into a ball, and flatten the balls into disks about 1" thick. Wrap the disks in plastic wrap and chill them in the fridge for about an hour or so. While the dough is chilling, make the apple filling.

(*If you'd prefer to make the dough entirely by hand, use a pastry blender and a large mixing bowl to combine the ingredients, following the same general steps above in the same order. After you've cut in the butter, the dough should be in bits about the size of split peas. After you've cut in the shortening, the dough should be in smaller bits, perhaps the size of coarse cornmeal.)

Ingredients for the apple filling:

Approximately 7 to 9 large apples (I used some Granny Smiths, and a few nice Honey Crisps, but you should use any nice, firm, baking apples that you prefer. I've also had great luck in the past with really fresh Gala apples. I believe this is a good pie to experiment with, in this regard. I used probably 9 apples and my pie was piled high!)
1 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
3/4 light brown sugar (not firmly packed)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
3 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 tsp. ground cinnamon (or a little more if you adore the stuff! I adore it . . .)
1/8 tsp. ground, or a few scrapings of grated whole, nutmeg (I used grated; use with discretion--this stuff's powerful!)
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter

To make the filling:
Peel apples and cut into 1/4 inch slices, dropping them into a large mixing bowl. Toss the pieces with the lemon juice. In a small bowl, combine the sugars, cornstarch, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Don't add this to the fruit yet-- just set it aside.

* * * * 

Preheat oven to 400 degrees, and place a rack in the lower third of the oven. Brush the inside of a 9" pie plate with a light coating of soft unsalted butter. Remove just the larger ball of dough from the fridge, unwrap it, and place it on a lightly flour-dusted work surface. Roll the dough into a 13" circle and place it carefully into the pie plate; try not to stretch it in the process. Trim the edge so you have an overhang of up to one inch.


Ingredients for egg wash (to brush on inside of pie shell and on top of top-crust before baking):
white only from one large egg
1 tsp. water

To make the egg wash:
Whisk the egg white and water together with a fork. Using a pastry brush, brush the bottom, sides, and edge of the raw pie shell lightly with the mixture.

* * * *



Now, pour the sugar mixture into the apples and stir to coat the pieces.

Shovel your apples into your pie shell, mounding them high in the center. Dot the fruit with bits of the 1 Tbsp. of butter.

* * * * 

Roll out the second disk of dough into a 13" circle and place it over the fruit. Trim the edge of the dough, and seal the edges together by crimping it closed with your fingers or with the tines of a fork, as you prefer. Cut a few small vents in the top crust to release steam. Gently brush the top crust with more of the egg wash, and then sprinkle the crust with a few pinches of plain granulated sugar or cinnamon sugar.

To keep the edges of the pie from burning in the oven, cover them with foil shaped to fit. (My trick is to take a square of foil about 13" x 13",  fold it into quarters into a smaller square, then I cut a large wedge shape out of the inner section. If done right, when I unfold it I end up with a nice round hole in  the middle of a  border of  foil that can be placed atop my crust and gently secured on the outer edges so it won't shift around. I find this is quicker and much less cumbersome than trying to shape random strips of foil around the edge of a pie.)

Place the pie in the oven. About 20 minutes into baking, place a baking sheet beneath; this will help prevent the bottom from burning. Check the pie again periodically; if the top crust appears to be browning quickly, lightly place a sheet of foil atop it and leave it there until the pie is done. Peek also at the edges of the pie to check if they're browning; if they're not, remove the foil border about ten minutes towards the end of the baking time.

Depending in part upon the type of apples you used, your pie may take 40 to 55 minutes. There should be bubbling evident through the vents, and the pie should be golden all over before you decide it's done. If you like softer fruit, plan to bake the pie on the longer side.

Let the pie cool on a rack for at least three hours before cutting.  Make the cinnamon sauce while you're waiting.

 
Ingredients for the cinnamon sauce:
1 and 1/2 cups water
3 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1/2 cup brown sugar, light or dark
1 and 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 Tbsp. water


Dissolve the cornstarch with the 1 Tbsp. of water in a very small bowl. Stir until it's smooth.


In a small sauce pan, combine the 1 and 1/2 cups water, butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Bring to a low boil, then turn the fire down and let it simmer for a few minutes, stirring frequently. Stir a couple spoonfuls of this hot mixture into the cornstarch mixture to temper it; then pour this back into the sauce pan and stir continually on low heat until the sauce thickens. Strain the sauce into a bowl to remove any lumps. Serve it warm, spooned over slices of the baked apple pie.

*If you like this recipe, but you want to guarantee that there's not a lot of juice in the baked pie, I recommend you check out this apple pie post I did last year. It's a more involved and time consuming process (you precook the fruit for a while, etc.) but it produces a truly exceptional pie.

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Retro Desserts, Part V: Cherries Jubilee . . . with Pomegranate Juice & Grand Marnier

Last year, I did a little series of posts focusing on retro desserts. My desire was to zero in on a few of the more definitive desserts that Americans typically associate with the mid-20th century. Sweet and enduring dishes that, despite their lack of modern fashion sense, have managed to avoid full admittance into the dreaded Halls of Obsolescence. How did they escape that fate? By embedding themselves deeply into the treat-loving American psyche, that's how. We don't give up our heroes without a fight, and we obviously feel the same way about our best desserts.

In 2009, we talked here about banana cream pie beneath a snowy drift of whipped cream, triple-layer devil's food cake cloaked in chocolate buttercream, dark chocolate bread pudding, and well-stuffed faux Oreo cookies. It's been quite a while since the last retro post, so I figured it was time to add to the list. No time like the present!

Now, one could argue that cherries jubilee, though having enjoyed a decade or so of wild popularity in the U.S. about fifty years ago, doesn't really fit into the retro American category very neatly. I don't know about you, but my mom sure never made this stuff at home when I was a kid. Flaming food? If food ever caught on fire in our kitchen it didn't happen by design. That was too much pseudo-sophistication for a traditional Midwestern household in the 1960's.

But that's okay. I'm admittedly stretching my own guidelines a bit here. Though it's true I never ate this back then, it seems like every major cookbook I ever peeked into contained a recipe for it. Cherries jubilee, along with its sidekick baked Alaska and its exotic cousin crepes Suzette, popped up constantly and, if not necessarily on middle-class dinner tables, then in TV shows, in movies, in magazines, and on fancy restaurant menus. Somebody out there was eating it, and with good reason.

Of course, cherries jubilee is not at all American in origin. We have the legendary French chef and restaurateur Auguste Escoffier to thank for this beautiful, elegant, and relatively simple dish. He whipped it up in honor of Queen Victoria's "golden" or "diamond" jubilee celebration (exactly which event it was seems to be in question). Whether or not he ever served it over vanilla ice cream is sketchy at best, but that's the form in which it entered our culinary vernacular.

This particular version, which I've taken the liberty of calling my own, is . . . well . . . jubilant. Usually made with cherry brandy, aka kirsch (kirschwasser, literally translated as cherry water), or sometimes with the almond liqueur Amaretto, I instead used Grand Marnier, the bitter-orange based liqueur; it's an interesting alternative to kirschwasser, which doesn't seem to be easily accessible/affordable, in my neck of the woods.

Frequently augmented with almond extract, I left that out of my jubilee recipe entirely. Usually including cherry juice or a cherry juice blend, I chose to use POM Wonderful brand pomegranate juice instead and that worked really well. (Thanks very much to the POM Wonderful company for kindly sending me a free case of their superior juice! I love it!) Pomegranate juice looks and even tastes similar to cherry juice, so it was a natural choice.

Use the nicest, sweetest, ripe black cherries you can find in your jubilee--fresh vs. frozen if at all possible. If you use bad cherries in a recipe that features them, then all will be for naught, so be sure to taste those babies first!

My jubilee did not "flame" in the classic fashion, sadly. Maybe because I didn't add in the full recommended amount of brandy. I got just the tiniest flame out of mine, then it fizzled. Pfffftt. Like that. It seems that the flame concept is mostly for show and not much else, or so I am telling myself, but no matter. Flame or no flame, cherries jubilee is still wonderful.

Oh, and before I forget, this was made using the finest homemade vanilla ice cream recipe I've ever run across. Not unexpectedly, it's from David Lebovitz's book The Perfect Scoop. If it can be improved upon, I just don't know how. The texture is right on target in every way, and the flavor is exceptional.

I've made some sorry dud ice creams in my day, but this one was a huge hit here. My 17-year old son, Charlie, gave me a solid fist-pound directly upon tasting it. He said something like, "Mom, you may have finally cracked the ice cream code." I know it must be a blazing success if that kid will actually eat it with gusto.

The ice cream recipe below makes one scant quart and no more; it's very rich and ultra creamy. If you're serving a crowd, plan to make more than one batch!

Cherries Jubilee . . . with Pomegranate Juice & Grand Marnier

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

For the cherry sauce:

1 cup pomegranate juice (I recommend POM Wonderful brand)
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
4 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1 pinch ground cinnamon
About 4 cups of whole, sweet, fresh black cherries--pitted
2 Tbsp. to 4 Tbsp. Grand Marnier liqueur (Use up to 1/3 cup if you love this stuff; I used the lesser amount  because I didn't want to overwhelm the flavor of the cherries.)

In a medium sauce pan, stir together the sugar, cornstarch, and cinnamon. Add in the pomegranate juice and, on medium heat, stirring constantly, bring the mixture just to a boil. Immedately lower the heat. Simmer the sauce for a couple of minutes, still stirring constantly, just until it thickens enough to easily coat a wooden spoon. You want it to be about as thick as gravy, and no thicker; it needs to remain pourable.

Remove the pan from the heat and gently stir in all the cherries, to coat them. Set aside.

In another smaller pan, carefully warm the liqueur. It doesn't need to be hot--just warm. Now, pour the liqueur over the cherry mixture and immediately light it with a long match. If you time this well, and have your dishes of ice cream scooped and ready, the  cherry sauce can be spooned over the ice cream while it's still flaming, for a classic presentation. (I have yet to achieve this, so don't be discouraged!)

For the vanilla ice cream:

1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 cups heavy cream
pinch of salt
1 vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise
yolks from 6 large eggs
3/4 tsp. vanilla extract

In a medium saucepan, warm the milk, sugar, 1 cup of the cream, and the salt. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean and add them, along with the hull of the bean, into the warm mixture. Cover the pan and remove it from the heat; let it steep like that for 30 minutes.

Pour the remaining 1 cup of cream into a large bowl; set a fine mesh strainer on top of the bowl.

In a medium size bowl, whisk together the yolks. Slowly pour the warm mixture into the yolks, whisking constantly, then pour this all back into the medium size saucepan. Over medium heat, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan, heat the mixture until it thickens enough to coat a spatula. Pour this custard mixture through the strainer over the bowl of cream; stir it into the cream thoroughly. Put the vanilla bean into the custard and add in the vanilla extract. Cool it in its bowl, set over an ice bath (a larger bowl filled with ice).

Once cool, chill it completely in the refrigerator. When you're ready to churn the ice cream, remove the vanilla bean. Churn and then freeze the ice cream according to the manufacturer's instructions for your ice cream maker.

* * * *
(Hey--do you love POM Wonderful? Here are a couple of other great food bloggers' recent posts showing how they used their free POM juice! These are two of my favorite blogs . . . )
Day Dreamer Desserts
More Than a Mountful

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