A New Take on Carrot Cake

Carrot cake is a funny little creature.

It is cherished and loved as a classic of American baking in the United States, yet it surprises more than a few here in France. Just like zucchini cake, when I excitedly mention that it's on the menu for this weekend, I get strange stares.

"You mean... carrot. In a cake? With sugar?" Cue strange looks and eyebrow raises. Just try adding that the frosting is made with cream cheese, and now you really sound weird.

"How can a cake made with vegetables and covered in cheese mixed with sugar actually be good?" The only way to answer that question is to give everyone a taste. Or, you could tone it down a bit and pair a carrot cake with another kind of frosting.

Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting used to be une évidence. I couldn't think of enjoying it with a regular buttercream frosting, let alone some kind of whipped cream. No siree, I needed the lightly sweetened tang of a true cream cheese frosting. However, as I got ready to host a pre-Halloween party this year, images of carrot cake and chocolate sour cream frosting started blossoming in my mind. Why not change things up for once? I'll admit another reason was that none of my other desserts had any chocolate in them. And a party without chocolate, well, it's just not a party.

The sour cream in the frosting imparts a very slight acidic note that, like its cousin cream cheese frosting over there, is a welcome complement to the warm spices in the carrot cake. Sour cream in the cake also guarantees you've got a super moist crumb.

In the form of mini cupcakes, they're the perfect size not to scare anyone away: bite by bite, I'm on a quest to reconcile everyone with vegetables in sweet desserts. Up next: bell peppers? Broccoli? I might just stick with pumpkin.

Carrot Cupcakes and Chocolate Sour Cream Frosting

makes 24 cupcakes

for the cake:

2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 heaping TS baking powder
1 TS baking soda
1/2 TS salt
1 TS ground cinnamon
1 TS pumpkin pie spice
4 eggs
1 1/2 c. granulated sugar
1/2 c. packed light brown sugar
1/2 c. vegetable oil
3/4 c. sour cream
1 lb. carrots, grated

Preheat oven to 350°F / 180°C.

Line a muffin pan with liners or grease pan.

In a medium bowl, whisk flour, spices, baking powder, baking soda, and salt together.

In a large bowl, beat eggs and sugars until mixture is frothy. Slowly add in oil and sour cream; whisk until well combined. Add flour mixture until just incorporated. Stir in carrots.

Fill cupcake liners about 3/4 of the way and bake 25 to 30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cupcake comes out with a few crumbs attached. Cool in pan for 5 minutes, and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Frost when cool.

for the frosting: right here!

Lemon-not-Key-Lime Pie

Sometimes, it doesn't get better than introducing friends in France to a traditional American dessert. My maple pecan and pumpkin pies have always been a success, with everyone--myself definitely inclued--coming back for thirds. 

In my quest to show just how tasty American classics can be, my mind drifted to a summery pie. Fresh, yet creamy, key lime pie is a true traditional dessert. France is the country of tarts, and deep dish pies are something relatively unknown unless you're thinking of a thick, savory slice of quiche. Add the fact that a lot of pies are made with sweetened condensed milk, and you'll get the eyebrow raise. If you've ever spent some time in France (or with my Maman, the eyebrow champ), you've undoubtedly noticed just how expressive an eyebrow can be. Both can be raised when skepticism arises, but more drama comes from a single eyebrow lift. Apparently, I do this without even realizing it, even when I'm filled with trust and acceptance. Must be a hereditary thing.

Back to the pie: sweetened condensed milk, in France, rings a bell for many as "that sweet stuff in the Nestlé tube I used to scarf down when I was a kid". Few people this side of the ocean know sweetened condensed milk is the key to great fudge, and can even be a key component in Asian shaved ice desserts. 

So, there I was, pretty set on making a key lime pie. Then, it hit me: there are no key limes here. Not a problem, I thought. I'll just use normal limes. However, limes at the grocery store here are absolutely ridiculous both in price and in juice yield...ridiculous in a bad way. Not wanting to go all the way to the 13th to buy non-untreated (read, probably covered in chemical) limes from Tang Freres even though they are surprisingly juicy, I simply decided to use lemons.

I think I'm well on my way to trying out every single variation on a lemon pie / tart / bar that exist sin both countries, and I've got to say I've been pretty satisfied so far. Replacing the key limes with lemons yields a perfectly creamy, flavorful pie that I would make again anytime. But watch out: maybe you shouldn't tell anyone about the sweetened condensed milk, because then they will realize how easy this pie is to make. And then, nothing would be able to justify that raised eyebrow--well, unless you're French. In that case, it's just part of your heritage.

Lemon Pie

serves 6 to 8

Graham Cracker Crust
8 whole graham cracker sheets, finely crushed
5 TB butter, melted and cooled
2 TB sugar

Preheat oven to 350°F / 180°C.

Mix all ingredients together in a food processor. Press against a buttered pie pan with your fingers or a measuring cup. Bake approximately 15 minutes until golden and fragrant. Remove from oven and set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, prepare lemon filling.

Lemon Filling
4 egg yolks
1 (14 oz) can sweetened condensed milk
1/2 c. fresh lemon juice
zest of 2untreated lemons (approximately 4 TS)

In a medium bowl, whisk yolks and zest together. Add condensed milk and juice and stir to combine. Set aside for 30 minutes to let mixture thicken.

Pour mixture on top of pie crust and bake approximately 15 minutes until filling center still jiggles slightly. Remove from oven and set on a rack to cool for one hour. Refrigerate overnight if possible before serving.

Pucker Up : Lemon Bars

 

Lemon bars are virtually unknown in France. As in, when you bring up the subject of a lemon bar, translating it awkwardly into "barre au citron" or the even less descriptive "gateau au citron", an American lemon bar is the last thing that comes to mind. Usually, French friends will think you're talking about buttery lemon cookies, or a cookie flavored with tasty candied lemon zest.

And then, you add the magic words: 'It's like a tarte au citron, except it has a thicker crust.' There it is: the look of sheer happiness appears, complete with big eyes and a tell-tale "Mmmm!". You see, the tarte au citron is a nation-wide favorite, and lemon curd recipes range from Pierre Hermé's ultra-buttery version to the extra-tart, extra-delicious ones you'll find in use at most traditional cafés and bistros. Lemon bars are like the perfect mini lemon tart for those in love with the crust-curd pairing: creamy tanginess, balanced by a crunchy shortbread on the bottom. Le paradis.

Lemon bars, in my opinion, are a perfect summer treat. A small 4th of July get-together with friends was the perfect occasion to give my French guests a proper introduction to the beauties that are lemon bars. Originally from Cook's Illustrated / America's Test Kitchen, this recipe yields lemon bars that are a vibrant yellow, and (almost) too pretty to eat. Almost, obviously, because who wouldn't eat bright, spunky lemon bars?

As predicted, the lemon bars were a success. I would make these every day if I could, and eat them all day long alongside glasses filled with cold lemonade. Then again, that would mean having to bring pounds of lemon bars and gallons of lemonade to my next internship...starting tomorrow. And I'm not sure my future colleagues would appreciate being left out--lemon bars are, after all, le paradis in small bites. 

P.S.: New internship = less time online and in the kitchen = less posting and commenting, but I'll do my best to keep up with everything!

Lemon Bars

makes 16

1 1/4 c. flour
1/2 c. confectioners sugar
1/2 TS salt
12 TB butter, cut into 12 pieces and softened
7 egg yolks
2 whole eggs
1 c. + 2 TB granulated sugar
2/3 c. fresh lemon juice (from about 4 lemons)
1/4 c. lemon zest (from about 4 lemons)
3 TB heavy cream

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat to 350. Line a 9" square baking pan with two pieces of aluminum foil at right angles . Lightly coat foil with vegetable oil or cooking spray.

Mix together flour, confectioners sugar and salt. Using a  food processor incorporate 8 tbsp. of the butter until the mixture is pale yellow and resembles coarse cornmeal.


Sprinkle the mixture inot the prepared pan and press firmly into an even layer. Bake until the crust starts to brown slightly, about 20 minutes.

While crust is baking, wisk together egg yolks and whole eggs in a medium non-reactive saucepan.


Whisk in granulated sugar until combined, then whisk in lemon juice, lemon zest, and a pinch of salt.

Add remaining 4 tbsp of butter and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly until the mixture thickens slightly and registers 170 degrees (F) on an instant-read thermometer, about 5 minutes.


Strain the mixture immediately into a non-reactive bowl and stir in cream. Pour the warm curd over the hot crust. Bake until the filing is shiny and opaque and the center jiggles slightly when shaken, 10 to 15 minutes.

Let cool completely on a wire rack, about 2 hours, before removing from the pan using foil and cutting into squares.


Dust with confectioners sugar just before serving.

Un Cheesecake fait toujours du Bien

C'est l'été, ou du moins ça l'était chez moi aux Etats-Unis avant que je ne rentre en France. Lors d'un été normal, donc, il fait chaud--et qui dit chaud dit envie de fraîcheur. Rien de tel qu'une salade de concombres croquants, ou de nectarines bien juteuses qu'on mange toute la journée.

Et puis, il y a le cheesecake. Eh non, ce n'est pas un plat particulièrement léger, mais c'est tellement bon qu'à vrai dire on s'en fiche complètement. Le plus drôle, c'est qu'il semblerait que la fascination pour ce fameux cheesecake soit quasiment plus grande en France qu'aux Etats-Unis. Le cheesecake est partout, et il a ses groupies, qui ne rateraient ses apparitions dans divers restaurants et cafés pour rien.

Si on se penche sur le cheesecake version américaine, on voit que la discussion devient tout de suite beaucoup plus technique. Des articles, non, des livres entiers sont consacrés à l'art du cheesecake parfait. Mais c'est quoi, d'abord, un cheesecake parfait?

Pour la majorité des individus, un bon cheesecake est soyeux sans être trop lourd en bouche. Pas de grumeaux, une crust croquante mais pas trop non plus, et bien evidemment pas de gélatine. Ah, ça, non: le cheesecake sans cuisson, ce n'est pas un cheesecake. Ensuite se pose la question du mode de cuisson--certains privilégient le bain marie et la cuisson lente, pour que le cheesecake ne se "casse" pas. Effectivement, on obtient souvent de petites cassures sur le dessus du cheesecake lorsque le mélange au cream cheese cuit. Mais après tout, si on le sert à l'assiette et on ne compte pas vendre son cheesecake entier, une cassure ne fait de mal à personne.

Du coup, dans la famille on préfère l'option de cuisson simple, sans bain marie. Tout de suite, c'est beaucoup plus facile: on mélange, on fait cuire, on laisse reposer et on met au frais. Quelques heures plus tard, la magie a operé, et voilà: un cheesecake au gout parfait, prêt à être dégusté. J'irais même jusqu'à dire que je dois mon teint rosé et frais à cette recette familiale qui fait mon bonheur depuis mon plus jeune âge. Enfin bon, on me répondra que ce sont plutôt les carottes...mais je n'en crois rien.

Essayez-le, vous verrez bien: même par un été à 20 degrés, le cheesecake rend beau et heureux. Servez-le tout seul, ou alors accompagné d'un coulis rapide de fraises (des fraises équetées et coupées, cuites avec du jus de citron et un peu de sucre, puis mixées quelques secondes).

Un dernier petit conseil: ça peut sembler un peu fatigant d'aller chercher du vrai Philadelphia Cream Cheese, et tentant de remplacer par autre chose--mauvaise idée! La quantité d'eau dans les St Moret, fromages blanc et autres Kiri ne correspond pas au cream cheese et vous pourrez dire au revoir à la consistance crémeuse de ce "vrai de vrai" cheesecake.

Cheesecake

pour 6 à 8 personnes 

160g graham crackers finement écrasés ou mixés (utiliser des sablés ou speculoos si besoin)
150g beurre ramolli
240g sucre en poudre
680g Philadelphia cream cheese, ramolli
2 cuillères à cafe extrait de vanille liquide
3 oeufs
120g crème fraîche


Mélanger les gâteaux, le beurre, et 50g de sucre dans un bol. Repartir le mélange dans un moule à charnière de 20cm de diamètre préalablement beurré. Bien faire remonter le mélange sur les côtés du moule et presser pour le garder en place.

Battre le cream cheese pour l'aérer. Ajouter le sucre restant et la vanille. Ajouter les oeufs un à un puis la crème fraîche.

Verser la préparation dans le moule et cuire une heure dans un four préchauffé à 180 degrés. Eteindre le four, entrouvrir la porte et y laisser le cheesecake pendant une heure. Réfrigérer au moins 4 heures avant de démouler et de servir.

Classic No-Fuss Cheesecake

I'm not afraid to admit that I have one too many recipe clippings.

See, I bought this great little set of drawers from Ikea a year ago: red metal, European letter-sized drawers. They were itnitally meant to house electronic cords, scrap paper, and obviously classwork and readings. Once I filled it up, I was so happy about having two drawers left empty. For once, I managed not to clutter something up!

One week later: "Hey, this is a great place to store recipe clippings!"

And yet another week later...no more empty drawers. But that's what drawers are for, so I don't mind all that much. The only problem is, I don't manage to get around to a tenth of the recipes I store in there. I imagine I am definitely not alone in this situation, but I do have a strange habit. I collect cheesecake recipes, imagining that I will try every single one. The tweaks about water baths and that special way of pouring the filling into the pan? My drawer covers that. New York style, classic style, old-fashioned, you name it. I am the cheesecake queen... without a cheesecake. All those recipes are great, but I haven't tried a single one of them.

Hand me the family cheesecake recipe, however, and I'll go right ahead. No water baths here, or cheesecakes so high you feel like Alice in Wonderland. This is the simple, back-of-the-box version--and it's great. Sure, it might crack here or there, but as long as you're not selling it whole, does anyone really mind? The creaminess is there and so is the cheesecake taste we all like to remember (unless you dislike that particular taste, which unfortunately does exist). It may seem a little heavy for Summer temperatures, or at least that's what I thought, but it isn't. Add a little fresh strawberry or raspberry coulis, and you've got yourself the perfect dessert to go with a fresh seasonal salad.

Although, maybe after all that cheesecake, you won't be tempted to do any drawer cleaning--those unused recipes will have to wait.

PS: Expect to see a French post on the same topic in a week or so!

Classic Cheesecake

serves approximately 8 to 10

1 3/4 c. graham cracker crumbs

1/3 c. butter, softened

1 1/4 c. granulated sugar

3 8 oz packages cream cheese, softened

2 TS vanilla extract

3 eggs

1 c. sour cream

Thoroughly blend first two ingredients and 1/4 c. sugar. Press mixture firmly against the bottom and 2.5 inches up sides of an 8-in springform pan.

Beat cream cheese until fluffy. Gradually add remaining 1 c. sugar and vanilla extract. Beat in eggs, one at a time. Blend in sour cream.

Spread in prepared pan. Bake in a preheated 350°F oven, 60 to 70 minutes or until firm. Turn off oven. Leaving door slightly ajar, allow cheesecake to remain in oven 1 hour. Cool in pan.

Chill 4 hours or overnight.

An Unexpected Cake

You know the story: it's 10:30 PM, you should be studying or at least reading a good book, but you can't get your mind off it.

It? Well, in most cases, it refers to ice cream, cheese, or chocolate. In my case, it was more like baking. All I could think about was baking something, anything, with the leftover pumpkin puree that was in the fridge. I started counting off the available ingredients: applesauce (that was before I realized it had been sitting in the fridge a little too long, and was swiftly replaced by oil), eggs, flour, poppy seeds, almonds, cinnamon, butterscotch chips... After the success of the oatmeal scotchies, I couldn't leave the remaining chips alone for too long.

And somehow, between 10:30 and 11--or 2230 and 2300, to give it some importance--a cake came together. I don't really know how, given that I pretty much mixed a good five recipes together, but it sure was good: very moist, yet with a slight crunch from the poppy seeds and slivered almonds. Not to mention the cinnamon pairing with the pumpkin puree to give it some nice warmth. And the butterscotch chips? I'll just put it this way: perfect combination.

I could call it Lucie's Cake, or Pumpkin Delight, or some other cheesy name. But I think I'll stick with what describes the cake best: The Unexpected.

The Unexpected

This recipe yields two mini bundt cakes (like the ones found right here), enough for four people when serving it for tea or a nice snack.

1/4 c. oil
1 egg
1/2 TS vanilla
1/2 c. pumpkin puree
1/2 c. sugar
1/2 c. flour
1 TS baking soda
1 TS baking powder
1/4 TS salt
1 TS cinnamon
1 TB poppy seeds
1/4 c. butterscotch chips
a handful of slivered almonds

Preheat oven to 350°F / 180°C.

In a medium bowl, mix flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon together.

In a large bowl, mix sugar and oil together. Add vanilla, pumpkin, and egg--one at a time--until combined.

Add flour mixture and blend until combined, adding remaining ingredients as you mix.

Pour batter into two mini bundt pans.

Bake approximately 30 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the center comes out with a few crumbs attached. Let cool in pans 5 minutes and invert onto a wire rack. Cool for at least another 30 minutes before serving.

To store, place in a tightly sealed box for a few days maximum.

Thanksgiving in Paris: Pumpkin Cheesecake

Everyone knows what Thanksgiving in the United States is all about: food, food, food, and...more food. Then comes post-Thanksgiving: Christmas shopping, Christmas decorations, and pretty much getting hyped up about the upcoming holiday season. It seems like all of a sudden, bakers forget pumpkin even existed. After the end of November, it's all about gingerbread and the like.

Paris doesn't exactly follow the same pattern, for obvious reasons. Thanksgiving isn't a holiday here--strangely, some Americans actually wonder why--and nobody goes as holiday-crazy as they do back in the States. That's why celebrating Thanksgiving is always a little strange, especially when your boyfriend is French and doesn't really get the point of it, especially when it's only a week after your birthday and you've only just finished celebrating.

In any case, I wanted to do a little something for the 26th. The truth is, I got a little jealous from hearing and reading about everyone baking endlessly in preparation for Thanksgiving. Even if I wasn't really going to celebrate Thanksgiving this year, I wanted to bake a dessert. I didn't even have much thinking to do: I had a never-been-used mini springform pan that seemed perfectly adapted to a perfectly sounding dessert: pumpkin cheesecake.

Oh, it was risky: I'll admit that I've never made a cheesecake before. I'm planning on it, sure, but I keep saving it for a moment when I have friends coming over. But then, when they do, I figure that I shouldn't try a cheesecake just right now... and it all starts over. A pumpkin cheesecake seemed a little different, and I told myself I couldn't be taking that much of a risk with a pint-sized version of the real thing.



Creamy, nicely spiced, it was everything a Thanksgiving dessert should be. Even if you only eat it on the day after.

Spiced Pumpkin Cheesecake
Serves 12
adapted from The America's Test Kitchen Family Baking Book

Note: I divided the recipe by 3 to fit into my mini-pan and ended up having way too much filling...I made crustless heart-shaped mini cheesecakes and froze them--recipes coming later!
Crust
8 whole graham crackers, broken into 1-inch pieces (or 3/4 c. graham cracker crumbs)
6 TB unsalted butter, melted and cooled
3 TB sugar
1 TS pumpkin pie spice
1/2 TS ground cinnamon

Filling
1 (15 oz) can pumpkin puree
1 1/3 c. sugar
1 TS ground cinnamon
1 TS pumpkin pie spice
1/2 TS salt
1 1/2 lbs. cream cheese (I used the French "nature à tartiner"), cut into chunks and softened
(I pressed it between paper towels to remove excess moisture, since the French nature à tartiner has more moisture than cream cheese)
1 TB fresh lemon juice
1 TB vanilla extract
5 large eggs, room temperature
1 cup heavy cream
Crust:

Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and heat the oven to 325°F.

Process graham crackers in a food processor to fine, even crumbs, about 30 seconds. Sprinkle melted butter, sugar, and spices over crumbs and pulse to incorporate. Sprinkle the mixture into a 9-in. springform pan. Press the crumbs firmly into an even layer using the bottom of a measuring cup.

Bake the crust until fragrant and beginning to brown, 10 to 15 mins.

Let crust cool to room temperature, about 30 minutes. Once cool, wrap outside with 2 sheets of foil and set in a large roasting pan. Bring a kettle of water to a boil.

Filling:

Spread pumpkin puree on a triple layer of paper towels. Press additional layers of paper towels on top of puree until they are saturated.

Whisk the sugar, spices, and salt together in a small bowl.

In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese with an electric mixer on medium-low speed until smooth, 1 to 3 minutes. Scrape down the bowl as needed.

Beat in half of the sugar mixture until incorporated. Beat in the remaining sugar mixture. Beat in the dried pumpkin, lemon juice, and vanilla until incorporated. Beat in the eggs one at a time until combined.Beat in the heavy cream until incorporated.

Brush the inside of the springform pan with melted butter. Carefully pour filling into the pan. Set the roasting pan, with the cheesecake, on the oven rack and pour boiling water into the roasting pan until it reaches about halfway up the sides.

Bake cheesecake until a thermometer inserted in the center registers 150 degrees, about 1 1/2 hours (a lot less if you're scaling the recipe down, watch out!)

Let cheesecake cool in the roasting pan for 45 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack and cool until barely warm, running a knife around the edge of the cake every hour or so. Wrap the pan tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate until cold, about 3 hours.

To unmold the cheesecake, wrap a wet, hot towel around the cake pan and let sit for 1 minute. Remove the sides of the pan and carefully slide the cake onto a cake platter.

Let the cheesecake sit at room temperature for 30 minutes before serving.

Less Is More : Learning from an ancestor

"Less is more" is one of those quotes that everybody seems to know. It's often attributed to the architect Mies van der Rohe and associated with the Bauhaus movement. Well, guess what? He wasn't the first to popularize the saying.

In fact, it first appeared in Robert Browning's poem Andrea del Sarto in 1855--and it turns out Robert Browning (not as famous as his wife though, Elizabeth Barrett Browning) is my great-great-great-uncle, or something along those lines.

Anyway, I forgot to take a cue from my ancestor when I decided that a pumpkin pecan pie sounded good. Actually, it still sounds good if I say it again, but I should have thought about it twice. It's a common mistake--when you love two things, why not mix them up in a single dish? I guess that's how you can explain some people like to dip their fries in ice cream. From what I've heard--from those that enjoy it, obviously--it's a pretty tasty combination. In my mind, however, it just spells trouble. But pumpkin and pecans, you'll say, seem to complement each other quite logically. Plus, I love pumpkin pie, and I love pecan pie. So I should "love squared" pumpkin pecan pie.

It started out well--the recipe, again from allrecipes, had a ton of positive reviews--and all the ingredients were appetizing. I made my new favorite sweet dough and poured the pumpkin filling into my new American-sized pie dish. I then spooned the pecan filling on top, and baked everything until it was ready. My friends couldn't wait for it to cool, so my first bites were of a warm pumpkin-pecan pie, which just might explain why it seemed rather écoeurant to me.

Basically, I think I would rather have a small slice of pumpkin pie and a small slice of pecan pie than a large slice of this combination of both. (Actually, I would rather have a large slice of both.) It doesn't really add anything positive to mix them up.

Keeping it simple seems to be a pretty good idea in baking, even though when I see a recipe that piles ingredients one on top of another--like a seven-layer magic bar--the sugar-crazy child in me feels like jumping up and down. When it comes to pies, however, less really is more.

From now on, I'll stick to the pie basics. Then I can keep thinking "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

Robert and Elizabeth Browning, reconciled in their great-great-great-niece's kitchen.

Pumpkin Pecan Pie
adapted from allrecipes.com makes one 9-in. deep dish pie

Pâte Sablée

1 cup pumpkin purée
1/3 c. granulated sugar
1 egg
1 TS pumpkin pie spice
1/2 TS cinnamon

1/2 cup maple syrup
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 TB butter, melted
1/2 TS vanilla extract
1 cup pecan halves

Make pie dough and press it into pan. Freeze for at least 30 minutes before baking.

Bake dough, covered with foil and with pie weights, for 20-25 minutes at 375°F.

Mix pumpkin, sugar, egg, pumpkin pie spice and cinnamon in a medium bowl and stir well. Spread on bottom of pie shell.

Combine maple syrup, eggs, sugar, butter, pecans and vanilla extract in a medium bowl. Spoon over the top of the pumpkin filling.

Bake at 350°F / 180°C for 50 minutes - 1 hour until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool completely (at least one hour) before serving.

So sticky I ate them all: Sticky Buns

When I was little, we would spend Thanksgiving break at my grandparents' house in Frederick, Maryland. Their house on Elm Street was just like in American movies--that's the way I explain it to my French friends. There was a large front porch with a swing, chairs and a table for late afternoon lounging. One of the rooms upstairs, the girls room, was roomy and had an old radio sitting on a dresser.

I had a few favorite things in Frederick: the attic, where there was an old Ouija board, the basement with its ping-pong table--home to yearly aunt/uncle/cousin tournaments, and breakfast. Breakfast in the house on Elm St. meant one thing: Grandma's sticky buns. They're pretty much a legend on my father's side of the family; every single one of my cousins has some strange kind of emotional link to them and the slight mention of a sticky bun probably has most of us thinking of breakfasts at Grandma's kitchen table.



You might think I'm a little crazy for feeling so strongly about food (like a warm apple crisp), but believe me, sticky buns are justifiably something to go crazy for. "Another one of those rich American breakfast foods that should be eaten for dessert", some people might say. But no, I assure you, sticky buns are international. I dare you to find a single person without a smile on their face after having one of these. I also dare you to find someone who doesn't ask for seconds. I'll prove it to you: my aunt Mimi--my maman's sister--once went to Frederick, years ago. She still remembers the sticky buns she had there. Take my maman, who loves to indulge but isn't really the breakfast food type--she loves them. I won't keep going, but you get the point. Grandma's sticky buns are the real deal.

After a night in the kitchen...

It's tempting to try to call these cinnamon rolls, but they're not. You can't even see the rolled part, to tell the truth. One look at them on your plate and the first word that comes to mind is gooey. One bite, and all you'll be thinking is gooey...and delicious. Packed with a syrupy, pecan-filled cinnamon flavor, you'll keep coming back for more. Obviously, my version of sticky buns was missing that special something, but I don't mind. They're still completely amazing. Plus, the recipe is nice and simple--just get everything ready the day before, and your sticky buns will be oven-ready, and tastebud-ready, within less than a half hour. And believe me, that's quite a long wait when you know what you're getting into.

Grandma Rose's Sticky Buns
makes around 15

1 package dry yeast
1 cup warm (not hot) water
1/4 cup granualted sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter or margarine, softened (I used butter)
1 egg
3 1/2 cups flour

Dissolve yeast in warm water in a large mixing bowl. Stir in sugar, salt and butter and beaten egg, one at a time. Add flour, 1 cup at a time, beating well after 2nd cup. Mark remaining flour in until dough is easy to handle. Cover tightly and refrigerate overnight or up to 4 days.

Caramel Nut Mix: Combine 1/2 cup granulated sugar and 2 teaspoons cinnamon. Melt 1/3 cup margarine (again, I used butter).

On floured board, roll dough into a 15x9 inch oblong. Spread with half of melted butter, covering it well, then sprinkle with sugar-cinnamon mixture.

Combine remaining melted margarine with 1/2 cup brown sugar, then spread in bottom of a greased 13x9 inch pan. Sprinkle 1 TB Karo white syrup (I used maple syrup) and 2/3 cup chopped pecans over mixture.

Roll dough up tightly beginning at wide end. Seal ends well. Cut into 1 inch slices and place in prepared pan. Cover and let rise in a warm place for about 1 and 1/2 hours (I left the pan on the kitch table all night long and it worked out fine).

Bake 20-25 minutes at 350°F/180°C. When taken out of oven, let sit for a few moments before turning out onto a rack to cool (or directly onto plates).

Grandma's Apple Crisp

If you're living in France, you've probably been hearing about les crumbles quite a bit for the past few years. It started out as a "girly" dessert, with summer berries and a light crunch. Then, they discovered that the crumble could be adapted to any type of fruit, and even any type of chocolate. It became a staple in all the little trendy restaurants, and has now established itself as a classic. It reminds everyone of simpler times, when nobody was fussing over raspberry tiramisus or the ever-too-present pannacotta. Not to mention the crazy verrine fad, where pretty much everything was served in miniature glasses for a year.

(Side note: I was stuck at the train station yesterday and spent a good half hour at the bookstore, looking at cookbooks. Pannacotta here, pannacotta there...Seriously?)

Anyway, this doesn't mean that an apple crumble doesn't hit the spot on a cool fall day. It's sweet, tastes like cinnamon, and with melt-in-your-mouth apples that are hard to resist. I really like apple crumbles, but what I love even more are apple crisps.

It's easy to get lost between crumbles, crisps, buckles, brown bettys, and the like. From what I've seen, a lot of people consider an apple crisp to have rolled oats, whereas a crumble does not. Hmm. I think everyone probably has a different definiton, and my American Grandma's apple crisp sure is different.

First of all, there are no rolled oats. Next, when you eat a crumble, you usually (well, I speak for myself here) don't feel really full unless you eat a lot of it, or unless you have way too much vanilla ice cream to go along with it. Yes, I am speaking from experience.

With my Grandma's apple crisp, you definitely feel full afterwards. Granted, this might be because it's hard to stick to only a few bites, but still. The topping is similar to the topping you would find on an American-style apple pie but with a lot more going on--a lot of cinnamon, some sugar, and a delightfully crisp top.

Just one bite sent me back to when I was ten and we would spend Thanksgiving in Maryland. If anyone is looking for a crazy moment, I'd say have some apple crisp, don't take drugs. Just one bite with some brown sugar whipped cream, and I was sent swirling into a mix of yellows, oranges and reds. Visions of jumping into leaves and having a cup of hot chocolate à la maison. The fact that I'm writing this bundled up in a huge sweater and sitting by the fireplace in Saint-Dié is clearly contributing. And maybe the fact that my Aunt just whipped up a batch of fresh applesauce.

In any case, if you're looking for a true experience that leaves you completely amazed by the powers of apples, sugar, and cinnamon, trust me: apple crisp is the way to go.

Tastier than it looks.

The picture speaks for itself: taking a picture of my crisp wasn't even on my mind until the last few bites. And, the apple crisp looks and tastes infinitely better than it seems to on the phone-camera picture--I swear.

Grandma Rose's Apple Crisp

Preheat oven to 350°F / 180°C.

Fill a 9x13 in. pan with peeled and cut baking apples. Add 1/2 cup granulated sugar, 2 TS cinnamon, 1/4 TS nutmeg and mix.

In a medium-sized bowl, mix 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup granulated sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 3/4 TS salt, 1/2 TS baking powder, 1 egg, and a pinch of cinnamon. Spread on top of apples.

Melt 1/4 cup butter and pour over the entire pan. Bake for 20 minutes, and place under broiler for around 2 minutes, until slightly caramelized.

Serve warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

Note: I made brown sugar whipped cream (beat 1/4 cup heavy cream with 1 TB brown sugar until soft peaks form), and I use Vietnamese Cinnamon which, if you can find it--mine is from TJ Maxx--has a strong, amazing flavor.

Giving whoopie pies a try

The nice thing about living in the West Village is that ever since March, it seems like there's a street fair somewhere every weekend. Usually, they're filled with crepes, hot dogs, and the like. Three weeks ago, however, we experienced something different... Ye Olde Village Fair.

Now I'm all for blasts from the past, but I despise--despise!!!!--added e's or any other such absurdity that aims at throwing us back into the colonial era.

No more "centre", "shoppe", or "olde"!

That said, this "Olde" village fair was actually quite nice. It was sunny, the trees finally have leaves, and there was a jazz band, cute like the ones you would find at the Sweet Corn Festival in Urbana. We were walking around when all of a sudden, I spotted a white cap. Not a marine, and not a chef either. Mennonites! Growing up not too far from Illinois Amish country, I knew that the Amish are really good at woodworking, but also baking. If that's any hint as to what mennonites are renowned for, I was hoping to see some great furniture (just kidding, really) or some delicious bread. Good thing for me, the latter was in attendance. Apple bread, cranberry loaves, but above all...whoopie pies!


See, I had never tried a whoopie pie before; I just accumulated recipes thinking that someday I would try them out. Faced with pumpkin, chocolate, and oatmeal whoopies pies, I finally realized that I had to give "real" whoopie pies a try before attempting to make my own.

We bought all three, and tried oatmeal first. It was a clear favorite: the oatmeal cookies were dense and chewy, not overly sweet, which provided a good balance to the super-sweet filling. Pumpkin was alright, although I don't think I'm such a fan of the cakey exteriors. By then, I was full and honestly a little over whoopie pies so I never got around to trying the chocoalte one.

My mennonite whoopie pies were fresh, which is important with any kind of dessert having such high proportions of marshmallow fluff, and good. But they won't top my list of favorite desserts anytime soon--I'd much rather settle on an ice cream sandwich (only a month left to eat them, get ready to see me turn into one) or just a simple, delicious cookie anyday. Or several times a day.

M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I

I'm on a lifelong quest to bake all of the Great American Desserts, or G.A.Ds as I've decided to call them. G.A.Ds are often quite unknown in France, with a few exceptions--most everyone in Paris knows / has tasted cheesecake and carrot cake. However, when I mention Mississippi Mud Pie, I get strange looks: "What is mud?"

And when I explain that mud is boue, "Why would you call a cake mud???" 

They understood after I baked one a few days ago. 

My Mississippi Mud Pie is the result of a two-month-long process involving having my maman bring a chocolate pie crust from Illinois, and deciding who to invite to my exclusive Mud Pie-tasting session (I kid).

Armed with a Keebler's chocolate pie crust, I began my pie-making afternoon. I was surprised by how easy it was to make, and how few ingredients it called for. In 10 minutes, the pie was in the oven and we sat nearby--not so hard when you're in a studio apartment--and waited for it to be ready.

When the pie was out of the oven and had spent an hour in the fridge, I was anxious to see how it had turned out, especially since I substituted honey for the corn syrup called for in the recipe. After making some quick whipped cream, I was ready to serve the pie: it was still warm, because I just couldn't wait for it to cool completely. The first bite was a chocolaty-creamy explosion of not-so-cooked fudge, in other words: pretty amazing. 

My taster was surprised when he had his first taste, because he was expecting something really original--"Mississippi Mud Pie" isn't such a common dessert name, especially here. However, his first remark was that it was like a huge fondant au chocolat with a whipped cream topping, and the same comment came up the next day when I brought the leftovers to work.

You heard it, the leftovers: we didn't eat the whole pie. In fact, we "only" ate half , and my coworkers seemed pretty happy about that. 

Mississippi Mud Pie

1 chocolate pie crust (store-bought or homemade)
6 oz. semisweet or bittersweet chocolate

1/2 c. butter

4 eggs

1 c. sugar

3 tbsp. light corn syrup (I used honey)

1/2 tsp. salt

1 c. crème entière

1/4 c. confectioner's sugar

Directions

- Preheat oven to 325°F / 175°C.

- Melt butter with chocolate

- Using a mixer on high, beat eggs, sugar, corn syrup, and salt until thick (about 3 minutes). Fold butter/chocolate mixture into egg mixture, pour into pie shell. Bake 35 to 40 minutes until top forms a crust and filling is set.

- Transfer to a wire rack, then refrigerate until chilled.

- Make whipped cream: beat cream with sugar until peaks form. Top pie with whipped cream and chocolate shavings (optional)

Next G.A.D. : New York-style cheesecake!

What's your favorite Great American Dessert?

Carrot Cake Adventures Part II

I believe I have discovered my new favorite cake. Cake including the cake in itself, plus a truly wonderful and delicious frosting.

Remember last week? My carrot cake was really awful--I ended up throwing it away and picking at the top of it that was hardened by sugar. But, as Maman always says, you learn by trying. 

That's exactly what I did: I still left out the raisins, nuts and prunes, but also put a lot less oil.

The original recipe calls for 1,5 cups oil; I cut the recipe in half yesterday because I didn't have enough flour and instead of adding 3/4 cups oil, I only put 1/3 cup...

And it turned out perfect! Moist but not oily (p

hew), spicy but sweet, everything. It didn't even break! 

This minor success, plus my friend Jérôme's occasional 

"This cake smells REALLY good" while he was cooking tofu made me want to go ahead and try to get my frosting as good as the cake. I followed the recipe that came along with the cake recipe, and substituted 1 tbsp. milk for sour cream, which I didn't have.

I whipped the frosting by hand and the result was amazing: slightly tangy but also creamy... a delight on its own. It turned out it was even better on the cake:

Frosting: 1 box of "Nature à Tartiner" (150g)

1/4 c. powdered sugar

1 tbsp. milk

From grating the carrots by hand to slicing the cake, making a carrot cake is fun from start to finish. 

Plus, as I was always told, "les carottes, ça fait les fesses roses".

Carrot Cake Adventures Part I

I've been wanting to make a carrot cake for quite a while now, and an uneventful Sunday afternoon seemed like the perfect moment to bake one. Plus, I'm probably spending less money making one than I would buying a tiny slice from a place like Bread & Roses, as good as their carrot cake may be.

Armed with a special family recipe and the trust that goes along with it--"This recipe has never gone wrong"--I thought it would be the easiest ever.

That was before a spider decided to run across the countertop, and also before I decided to divide the recipe by three so it would fit in a smaller pan. The first problem was easier to solve than the second, surprisingly. 

To put it in a few words, my first carrot cake isn't that great. Not great at all, actually. Although "moist" is usually a much sought-after adjective when describing a cake, there is such a thing as too moist.This happens when I decide to leave out the golden raisins, prunes, AND nuts from the recipe, don't add enough flour (that's the problem with dividing a recipe up), and keep the same amount of oil.

I decided not to go any further with this minor disaster so I didn't make the cream cheese frosting I was initially going for, and opted for a quick glaze instead (confectioner's sugar + a little bit of water).

Here is the result, after noticing the oil on my hands whenever I touched the cake. Oh, and after the cake broke in half. Fun:

Update: After cooling off, the cake is looking a little better, and definitely not as greasy as it used to.

I am sticking by this recipe though, but next time I'll just make the whole thing instead of dividing it up like I did. Here goes:

2 cups flour

2 tsp baking soda

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

1/4 tsp nutmeg

1/4 tsp ground allspice

1 tbsp cinnamon

7 large prunes, pitted

5 medium carrots

4 large eggs

2 cups sugar

1,5 cups oil 

3/4 cup golden raisins

3/4 cup pecans (I think?)

Preheat oven to 325° (160C).

Mix dry ingredients together (except raisins & prunes) and set aside.

Shred the carrots--you should have 3 cups. Add chopped prunes and set aside.

Put the eggs and sugar in a bowl and beat until the mixture is thick and light colored. Little by little, add the oil. Add carrot and prune mixture, and golden raisins. Add dry ingredients without overmixing. Put the batter into a greased and floured 12 cup bundt pan, and cook 55 minutes.

Part II will have to wait until Thursday--same recipe, new frosting!