The Real Strawberry Cake That Made Me Want to Blog Again

During my quiet months, I felt no real desire to share anything.  Much of that time I was depressed. (I'm not really that happy a person, in case no one noticed. Thank God for dinner.) Then I was just out of the habit and feeling sheepish.  The closest I came to wanting to sing the praises of anything was when I first made that cake up there. The second time (no need to wait for a third) was the charm.  This is too good not to be shared with my little corner of the world.

Here's the story.  We had a supper club night with some new friends (more about them later, in a sad way) for which I was to provide dessert.  I had my mind set on a strawberry chiffon pie until I found that I had missed a chilling step that I no longer had time for when I finally got myself lurching into gear.  A search for other strawberry options, which ate up a little more time, turned up that revivifying cake. One-step-and-done nicely fit the now restrained time available.

I was also curious to find a strawberry cake recipe that actually tasted mightily of the berries. It is an unfortunate fact that the very berries whose aroma during baking prepares you for an ecstacy of flavor tend to almost disappear from the flavor profile once the baking is done if they're in the batter. (I had that disappointment with muffins once.) The solution with which I'm familiar, but which I cannot endorse, is a version made with a white cake mix and strawberry flavored gelatin. Not something I can do with philsophical grace. I knew there must be some way to have a cake that tasted wonderfully of the berries and looked like it contained them, too, without involving pink dye. This seemed the day and the recipe to find out.

Martha Stewart gets credit for the recipe version I used (even Marcus Samuelson gives her the nod on the post sharing his whole wheat version, a must-try someday), but it's really classic American butter cake.  You know the drill: whip the butter and sugar till transformed into pale, fluffy wonderment; add eggs, milk, and leavened flour; and voila--cake.  Really good cake that didn't tax you too much to produce, no extra box of mix required.  With the top covered with halved strawberries and a sprinkle of sugar, it doesn't even need to be iced.

That top dressing with the delicate berries mean that they are magnified, not lost at all, during the oven time.  As Deb at Smitten Kitchen pointed out, a delicious jamminess forms around each one, while the sugar forms a crystalline crust on the batter fluffing up around them.  Don't those just sound like two good things?  Let me assure you that they are.

Yet the cake isn't intensely sweet.  It's delightfully berried, but mellow enough to serve as breakfast, especially with whole wheat flour in it (I snuck some in--don't tell), or as a snack, especially with a cup of tea, which I've now happily experienced.

You see, I made the cake that we and our new friends so enjoyed at supper club for the second time because one of those friends, who was quite ill and, we hope, benefited from our visits, left his very interesting life this week.  When I decided to take food to his wife, I knew that I would make this cake, for the memories as well as the sustenance.  I also made her a blackberry version to use the berries from her yard that are a bit neglected right now. She wanted to try it right away with tea.  (I think she'll make a pot of tea at the drop of a hat, as they say, and she often drops the hat.) It was equally good.  And surely other berries would work, too.  So now we have versatility as well.  A true winner.

This extra good cake reminded me, when I wasn't sure why I ever started this thing if isn't going to catapult me to success and fame, that recording the food winners is one of the reasons to blog. It's my record of the repertoire I've longed to create for myself, handily corraled in one ephemeral place.  I may not be the next Heidi Swanson, but I can have my virtual cookbook today, for me.  I'll know what I did, how to do it again, and maybe share with others, too.  Those rewards, like this cake, are simple and deeply satisfying. 

Real Strawberry Cake
adapted slightly from Martha's 

Makes one 9- or 10-inch cake

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened, plus more for the pan 
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

1 large egg
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pound strawberries, hulled and halved

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 10-inch pie plate, a 9- or 10-inch springform pan, or a 9-inch cake pan. (Do not use a 9-inch pie plate.  According to Deb of Smitten Kitchen, the results are overflowing.) The butter wrapper works quite well for this step.

Place butter and the 1 cup sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about three minutes.  Meanwhile, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt, and set aside.  When the butter-sugar mixture is transformed, reduce speed to medium-low and mix in egg, milk, and vanilla.

Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture.  Transfer batter to prepared pan.  Arrange strawberries on top of batter, cut sides down and as close together as possible. Sprinkle remaining two tablespoons sugar over berries.

Bake cake for ten minutes.  Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees.  Bake until cake is golden brown and firm to the touch, about one hour. Let cool in pan on a wire rack.  Cake can be stored at room temperature, loosely covered, for two days. 

Wading Back In

I've done it.  I've clicked the New Post button for the first time in about two and a half months.  I've been feeling it percolating on the back burner of my mind for a while.  With my husband happily drawing in his studio, posting his art again, I'm practically shamed into....

Into what?  Being creative?  Being true to the voice that wants to speak even when the owner doesn't know what it will say?  Trying, rather than reading till bedtime while pretending that normal life is all I need?

Earlier tonight I was reading other peoples' encouraging words when something caught my eye to my left.  Beautiful evening light glowing through the lace curtain.  As if under a spell, I grabbed the camera and photographed it.  I acted without my usual fruitless thinking.  That's when I knew I'd write something again soon.

In the quiet months, I've eaten some delightful dishes that I wish I'd recorded, if only for myself, so that the good stuff would be handily in one place:  strawberry cake, zucchini salad with mint, roast beef with tomato gravy, black eyed peas with leeks and tarragon, madeleines.   I've traveled--to see family, with all the attendant love and lessons--and experienced new places, one of them thrilling in a deep and instructive way.  While for some it would be enough to do, I never feel complete unless I say or write something about the good, the bad, and the otherwise moving.  That's who I am, when I remember and can be her.

My mother told me once that I learned to talk at ten months and never shut up.  I believe it.  I in no way feel that I deserve to be heard more that anyone else or that I'm all that with a bag of chips and pickle, but I am one of the expressers.  I humbly wait my turn, but I also have to take it.  Tag, I'm it.  Again.

I'm a dreamer, a questioner, a food lover, a functional chocoholic, an encourager, a writer, and an aesthete, all held back by a glass ceiling of restraint.  My toes are in the water; I wade out, but I never dive.  Well, almost never. 

But I'm still here, vacillating among dinner, despair, and desire.  Wonder what tomorow will be?

Getting My Waffle Groove Back

After the thrill of pretty darn decent club soda waffles erased years of home made waffle disappoinment, I actually got out my waffles maker's instruction booklet and checked the quantity of batter recommended for each pour.  As I suspected, I had gone horribly wrong somewhere years back.  I had been making crunchy waffles because I was being too skimpy with the batter per waffle square.

I'm a holder-backer from way back, as my friend Lana would say.

With my mental error corrected, of course I had to make waffles again.  This time I chose a gingerbread waffle recipe from my Breakfast file. (Yes, they're categorized and alphabetized.  How else would you do it?)  I had made them years ago with good results, but this time I would get the right batter quantity onto the waffle iron and also not put the listed yogurt meant to be a topping into the waffle batter, even though the mistake worked out edibly.  I thought I'd do them right this time in two ways.

They were perfect for a cool early spring morning, darkly spiced and blessed with interior fluffiness, thanks to proper batter generosity.  All that spice got along swimmingly with real maple syrup and bacon, although the suggested vanilla yogurt and citrus fruit would be well-mated, too.  I'll have to try the latter on my own.  The Mr. is a super traditionalist when it comes to waffles.  Syrup only.  No alternative funny business allowed.

One fabulous bonus of this recipe, aside from whole-wheat flour for better blood sugar regulation, is that it makes quite the quantity.  I got 16 rectangular, 4-at-a-time waffles--enough for four breakfasts for two.  We consumed four that day and froze the rest for later, reheating them briefly and effectively in the toaster.  What a deal: make waffles once, eat them multiple times!  And no crazy chemicals or high prices as with commercial frozen ones.  Another winner, my friends.

I may not be done with waffles, now that I'm good at them.  I just spied a whole wheat version that sounded promising. There are yeasted waffles to try, too.  Wait.  Don't I have a lemon waffle recipe in my file?  And then there were those zucchini waffles with pimento cheese sauce from a few years back.....



Gingerbread Waffles

Makes: 16 4-inch rectangular waffles

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole-wheat flour
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 3/4 cups buttermilk
1/3 cup canola oil
1/3 cup molasses

In a large bowl, whisk together the all-purpose flour, whole-wheat flour, cocoa powder, ginger, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, buttermilk, and oil until well blended.

Add egg mixture and molasses to flour mixture. Stir just until ingredients are combined and dry ingredients are moistened.

Cook according to your waffle makers instructions (!).  Keep warm stacked on a baking sheet in a 200 degree oven.

Serve with your favorite toppings.

Never Buy It Again: Alfredo Sauce

As I recall, when I discovered how easy homemade ranch dressing was to make, I threatened to do a series of posts on foods that one should never buy again.  Well, the game is on because I've found my second inspiration.

Actually, I haven't so much discovered this DIY fave, as finally photographed it. (I'm so lazy sometimes.  Raahlly, I am.)  The point is that I made my own Alfredo sauce again--just to take it's pretty picture--because it's so easy.  Though I've never been tempted to pay real American dollars for a jar of gloppy pseudo-Alfredo sauce, I'm hoping to convince you to avoid it now.   

Truth be told, Alfredo sauce is so simple that it doesn't really require a recipe, just a basic understanding of what goes into it.  In essence it's cream, butter, and grated Parmigiano.  I add garlic because the scent of it in combination with cream makes me a little swoony, even left over.

Of course, I found many versions out there on the interweb when I was seeking comparison to what I'd already done.  The purists do not do garlic.  Some people substitute other, more melty cheeses for part of the Parmigiano.  White pepper or black may be used.  In short and as usual, have a grand old time adapting it to your desires.  With a little protein and vegetable added (turkey and spinach in my photographed version), it's a quick, rich one bowl meal.

Whatever you do to it, the sauce is still easy enough that it should be added to your repertoire and never bought again. I mean, cream is almost a stand-alone ingredient.  It's hard to go wrong here. 

Also...Yes, I know that cream is FULL OF FAT, and therefore calories.  So, no, I am not recommeding that you make this often.  I'm just bossily opining that, if the old calorie budget has a cream sized niche in it, there is no need to buy a jar of unreal (and I mean that literally) chemicals trying to approximate cream, when a pint of cream is cheaper and more authentic, and the sauce itself is...Well, I would say a piece of cake, but cake isn't nearly as easy as Alfredo sauce.  Maybe we should say "Easy as Alfredo" instead.  

If you try it, "Easy as Alfredo" may become your new catch phrase.  But I want credit if it goes viral.

Alfredo Sauce

Serves: 4

1-2 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup cream
Freshly ground black pepper or ground white pepper to taste
1/2 cup (or more, to your taste) Parmigiano, grated

In a small saucepan over medium heat, cook the garlic in the butter for about a minute, until fragrant.  Add the cream and allow to simmer and reduce for 10-20 minutes. (Let's say, while your pasta water comes to a boil and the pasta cooks.  Beautiful plan, isn't it!)  Stir in the pepper and cheese, reserving some cheese for garnish.  Toss with hot, cooked and drained pasta, and serve.

My Old Pal Curry

Today was a slow cooker dinner kind of day, since I had a meeting in another town during the usual cooking hour. While prepping my chosen recipe this morning, I realized that I had not yet included it in my blog collection, an omission that surprised me once it had come to my attention, as I've made it many times, and I'm not one for repeating dinners. (My husband has been known to opine that we never have the same dinner twice.) I may love to explore the seemingly endless possibilities, but occasionally it's time for a stand-by pal like Chickpea and Vegetable Curry.

I do love this vivid stew. Back in our days on the farm with Dave's plain-eating parents, it was the first dinner that came to mind when they went out of town, and I could cook whatever meat-free, vegetable-heavy, exotically spiced dinner I wanted.  We reveled in it then, and still love it now.  And we're not the only ones.  I've shared it with a goodly number of people who have also enjoyed it.  Some have asked for the recipe as well.  Again, I am mystified that I am only now getting around to recording such a winner. 

I found the recipe in Cooking Light a few years back, shortly after I decided that the slow cooker needed to become my new favorite kitchen tool and sanity saver.  The ingredient list is long, but that's the only daunting part.  The chopping and sauteeing can be done the night before if necessary, which it was in my formerly busy life.  After that modicum of work, the prepped mixture can be stored in the refrigerator in your slow cooker's removable crock. (If yours isn't removable, it would be a worthwhile investment to purchase one so made.) In the morning, pop the crock into its base, turn on the heat, and go about your business.

In the evening, come home to the saturating fragrance of curry and a bowl of flavorful, colorful, nutritious goodness that only requires the stirring in of some spinach and coconut milk to be ready for belly filling.  If you're feeling fancy, cook up some couscous or rice over which to ladle it.  (OK, you could also eat it with saltine crackers, as my husband did in my absence, but I'm not recommending that approach.) 

In case you have picky eaters who may experience anxiety over curry, rest assured that the printed version minus serrano chile, which is my forced version since they aren't available in my local grocery store, is mild.  If you want to pump up the spice volume, use the serrano, or increase the curry powder and/or ground red pepper.  I'm sure the vegetable content could be adapted to what is on hand, too, although I have somehow not tried that yet. 

After taste and nutrition, the plus is quantity--six servings worth. If you don't have a big family, that's enough to eat for days or to take for lunch, which will probably make co-workers ask enviously "So, what are you having?" 

Chickpea and Vegetable Curry
from Cooking Light

Serves: 6

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/2 cups chopped onion
1 cup (1/4-inch-thick) slices carrot
1 tablespoon curry powder
1 teaspoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 serrano chile, seeded and minced
3 cups cooked chickpeas (2 cans)
1 1/2 cups cubed peeled baking potato
1 cups coarsely chopped green bell pepper
1 cup (1-inch) cut green beans
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground red pepper
1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 (14-ounce) can vegetable or chicken broth
3 cups fresh baby spinach
1 cup light coconut milk
Lemon wedges

Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat; add onion and carrot; cover and cook 5 minutes or until tender.  Add curry powder and next 4 ingredients; cook 1 minute, stirring constantly.

Place onion mixture in a 5-quart electric slow cooker.  Stir in chickpeas and next 8 ingredients.  If you're prepping ahead, store in refrigerator at this point.  If not, or when ready, cover and cook on high-heat setting for 6 hours or on low-heat setting for 8-9 hours.  Adds spinach and coconut milk; stir until spinach wilts.  Serve with lemon wedges.

Lull With Mysteries

There hasn't been much written about food around here lately because I've hit one of those lulls that come, whether we want them or not.  There have been flops, so-so's, and emergency pizzas that support the local business man.  Now the time has come to sit at baseball games paying attention mostly, I confess, when my son is in action.  When I planned this week's cooking yesterday (a heavenly day, truly), there were only three days on which we would be home for a cooked dinner. This is real life.

Despite the lull, there have been two mysteries--one lingering, one solved.

First, how is that a promising recipe can be such a failure?  How can I like every ingredient in a dish and yet dislike the result so much that I can't bear to eat it again, throwing away over a pound of chicken, ounces of cheese, and a heap of vegetables?  I don't know, but it happens sometimes.  Last week's bake of chicken breasts with lemon, feta, and zucchini was just such a disappointment.

Perhaps my first mistake was succumbing to the lure of cheap chicken after weeks of grocery sticker shock when I know by now that quantity over quality is a concept that doesn't usually work for me.  Other than that error in judgment, I can't account for the phenomenon.  I simply proffer the mysterious results.  The feta's normally vibrant flavor seemed to have disappeared, the bitterness of the lemon pith out-thugged the fruit's usual zest, the zucchini was watery, and the texture of the ill-chosen chicken was oddly brittle.  For whatever reason, this assemblage of favored friends didn't party well together at all that night. But one moves on. 

The mystery solved was an easy delight.  For some time I had wondered in a latent way what cooked radishes would be like.  Years ago, I had run across the idea of sauteeing them, a radical enough idea.  Then my online search turned up--of course, why didn't I think of that, almost any vegetable is better that way--roasted radishes. In an Asian style, with chicken alongside.  Being dinner on a sheet pan, I was in.

The surprising result was that we instantly liked them.  Considering that I had never consumed radishes in any other form than raw, I expected an adjustment, a bite or two of getting aquainted with the difference in texture and flavor.  Instead, we absentmindedly dug in like we'd eaten roasted radishes all our lives and found that we felt right at home with them.  It seemed quite natural, in fact.  Nothing watery or unpalatable this time.  And so rosy!

Oh, yes, and the chicken was good, too.  But that wasn't news.

These two dishes are proof that we never really know much except through experience.  A seeming sure thing can be a disappointment.  A what-the-heck-just-try-it effort can be delicious.  The only way to know is by doing.  So, if you're contemplating something that sounds safe, and you've never tried cooked radishes before, consider it.  You might hate them.  Then again you may love them.  There's only one way to find out.

If you get really wild, try roasting the greens as instructed (mine were, um, dead, or I would have) and learn even more. 

Sesame Ginger Chicken with Roasted Radishes and Radish Greens
from An Hour In The Kitchen

Serves 2-4

4-6 pieces of chicken, skin on
2 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
3 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger root
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup sake, optional
1/4 cup sesame seeds
1 tablespoon lime juice
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1/4 cup water
2 bunches of radishes with greens
Oil for greasing the pan

Rinse chicken pieces and pat dry, if you feel you must. 

Mix soy sauce, toasted sesame oil, honey, ginger, garlic, sake (if using), sesame seeds, lime juice, rice vinegar, and water. Set aside a 1/4 cup and pour the rest over the chicken pieces. Marinate for at least 20 minutes, longer if you have the time. I had only the twenty minutes before hunger would begin threatening critical mass, and it worked just fine.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Wash radishes and greens well.  Remove greens and set aside. Cut radish globes into quarters and toss in the reserved 1/4 cup of marinade until coated.

Brush the bottom of a roasting pan or rimmed baking sheet with oil. Arrange chicken pieces skin side up on pan.  Pour marinade over chicken. Add radishes around the chicken.

Cook for 30 minutes at 400 degrees.  Then reduce the oven temperature to 350 degrees and roast for 15-20 minutes more or until the internal temperature of the chicken reaches 170 degrees. Remove chicken and radishes from the pan and keep warm, leaving the liquid in the pan. Toss the washed radish greens into the pan.  Return the pan to the oven for 3-4 more minutes until the greens are wilted.

To serve, place the greens on a plate.  Top with the chicken and radishes.  Drizzle the pan juices over all.

Spring--On The Plate Anyway

Today, while winter makes another pass on its way out, my thoughts drift back to last Sunday when spring was in town for its annual get-aquainted visit.  Seventy-eight degrees and sunny...Birds, leaf buds, flowers...Caressing breezes.  Ah, the day that was. 

All days are precious when you think about it, but those tender early spring ones are especially easy to love.  I hauled my beloved rocking chair up from basement storage to the  deck on the shady side of the house because it was so warm.  I rocked contentedly and read Elizabeth Bard's Lunch in Paris, a delightful escape and inspiration for a Francophilic foodie.  It's a story of love and France with recipes. I couldn't ask for much more except pictures, but I'm not greedy like that. Some of the recipes and menus may even appear on the ole blog in the future, they sound so enticing.

Despite my fond memories of a warmer day, I'm not sorry that it's cold again.  Spring does this. She dances back and forth for a while. I patiently let the seasons do their thing.  Soon enough it will be hot, and no one but this lizard will even want to be out in it.  Besides, at our dinner table it was determinedly spring today anyway:  salmon cakes with dill sauce, lemon-parsley rice, and buttered asparagus.  (Take that Old Man Winter!  Time to go bye-bye soon.)

I'm not sure how exciting salmon cakes are to you, but every once in a great while, I just suddenly want them for dinner.  I never follow a recipe, and still they end up rich and satisfying with very few ingredients and at a very low cost: I picked up my can of salmon on sale for $1.99 when I felt the urge coming on.  All I add is enough mayonnnaise to bind, a few bread crumbs, and a dash of salt.  That's it.  Talk about economical.  And since the asparagus was also (seasonally!) on sale for $1.88 per pound, the whole plate couldn't have rung up at more than $3.00.  I'm too lazy to do the detail math, but surely that about covers it.  The cost is as big a refresher as that fondly remembered spring day, after weeks of higher than usual grocery store expenditures. 

But back to salmon cakes.  One could be fancier with them, adding capers, onion, etc, but sometimes it's nice to do the simple, easy thing. 

Oh, wait.  I usually find that nice, don't I?  And don't you, too?  I mean, I know you're busy and all.  So, the next time you see cans of salmon on sale, grab one or two and throw these together like an old pro.  If you need a little fanciness, stir up the quickie sauce and gloat.  Add rice dolled up with a little grated lemon rind, chopped parsley, and salt, and blanched asparagus rolled in a dab of butter, and spring's on the plate.  Now there's an escape that doesn't require the weather's cooperation at all.

Super Simple Salmon Cakes

Serves: 2

1 14.75-ounce can of salmon
Mayonnaise
Salt
Fine dry bread crumbs

Remove any undesirable bones from the salmon and place in a medium bowl.  Add a couple of spoonfuls of mayonnaise, a sprinkle of salt, and a palmful of bread crumbs to the salmon.  Stir gently together.  If it looks dry, add a little more mayonnaise.  Form salmon mixture into 4 cakes and roll in additional bread crumbs to coat.  Place cakes in the refrigerator for about 15 minutes to firm up.

After the cakes have rested, coat a skillet with oil and warm over medium heat.  Fry the cakes a few minutes on each side, until golden brown.  Drain on paper towels.


Dill Sauce

Mayonnaise
Buttermilk
Salt
Lemon juice
Dried dill

In a small bowl, whisk together a couple of big spoonfuls of mayonnaise with just enough buttermilk to thin it to a thick sauce consistency.  Add a pinch of salt, a squeeze of lemon juice, and about a 1/2 teaspoon of the dill.  Whisk, taste, and adjust the seasoning to your liking.