a pistachio cake for evan

do you remember old school pistachios? i do. their red shells would stain our fingers when we ate them, mom and me, the glorious ceremony of it all. im sure they were colored with red dye #2, and our lives were probably at stake as we devoured them by the bagful. alas, the world is wiser now, no more cancerous dyes, and who can be bothered with shells when trader joes pulls them off for you and roasts them to boot.

olive oil pistachio cake with orange flower water

i've been wanting to make this pistachio cake for a while now. i got the idea from my friend valeria, who is italian, and thus knows the virtues of the little green nut that most everyone reveres. have you been to italy? they toss pistachios around, devil-may-care, like they grow on trees.

just a quick bit of trivia, the pistachio is one of two nuts mentioned in the bible, so that makes them holy, yeah? maybe judas stuffed himself with them before he brought the axe down on his good friend, the one who made a living sanding tables and dispensing miracles on the side.

and evidently bags of this praiseworthy nut are given as gifts to parting house guests in syria, such a beautiful bestowal, so when evan's birthday arrived in full stealth mode (he tried to keep it secret, to no avail), it was settled: orange blossom water would need to be procured, and the cake would be made without further hesitation.

i loved valeria's recipe, but i wanted something a little citrusy, a little floral, and besides, i'm not afraid of the downside of creme fraiche (valeria uses yogurt in her recipe, how lovely and health-minded). can i just tell you, what came of my afternoon experiment was nothing short of a miracle. earthy and fragrant, yes, just sweet enough, really, the cake of my dreams.

the best thing is that it comes together quickly with virtually zero effort. and once you've had it, i venture that this little joy will make it into your repertoire of regulars tout de suite. lets just hope that judas doesn't get wind of our plan and put an end to the dispensation of our little miracles.

here's your larder and the method:

-100g all purpose flour
-50g whole grain pastry flour, i used arrowhead mills
-2 eggs, yolks & whites separated
-120g roasted pistachio nuts
-125g creme fraiche
-125g granulated sugar, i used organic evaporated cane
-50g good fruity olive oil
-10g baking powder
-1/2 tsp vanilla extract
-1/2 tsp orange blossom water (don't be tempted to use more, it will overwhelm and embitter the cake)
-zest of one large, darkly hued orange

Preheat the oven to 360 degrees and line an 8.5" x 4.5" x 2" loaf pan with parchment paper.

1) mortar the pistachio nuts until they arrive at a coarse consistency, set aside

2) whisk together the egg yolks, the sugar, the extracts and the zest, then add in the creme fraiche and olive oil, set aside

3) sift both flours and the baking powder, set aside

4) whisk the egg whites until they form soft peaks


5) fold 100g of the nuts into the yolk mixture

6) with a wide spatula, fold the flour into the yolk mixture in 3 passes, careful not to overwork the mixture or the cake will be tough. streaks of flour can remain after each pass

7) fold the egg whites into this mixture in two passes, carefully now, you don't want to deflate the whites or overwork the flour. streaks of the whites can remain after the final pass


8) pour into the prepared loaf pan. the mixture will be quite thick, so you will have to spread it out into the corners of the pan. sprinkle with the remaining 20g of nuts

9) bake for 38 - 45 minutes, checking at 38 minutes. check the cake by inserting a thin knife into the center, it should come out relatively clean, but if a few bits of the moist cake adhere to it, its fine. just be sure that there are no streaks of raw cake batter on the blade

mangia bene, vivi felice


This post was sent off to Wild Yeast Bread's Yeast Spottin'

sbrisolona

I don't have a terrifying sweet tooth, well, except for certain things. Scharffenberger extra rich milk chocolate bars with cocoa nibs? Fugget about it. I will bite your hand if you try to steal a piece.

What I mean is, I'm not a girl who likes gooey/syrupy/cloying desserts. I prefer mine crumbly, buttery, earthy. For example, I'm a sucker for anything sweet made with oats or cornmeal, fregolotta is my favorite cookie, and I can happily eat Jenny Raven's buttery (heavenly) tart dough without any adornment at all (Jenny Raven works at Oliveto, and is one of the best pastry chefs in the Bay Area).

You can imagine then how I nearly gave up the ghost when I saw a recipe for sbrisolona, a large Italian cookie that reminds me of fregolotta. In fact, I think the difference between the two is miniscule, perhaps merely regional and vernacular. In both cases, what you arrive at is a buttery, crumbly, cornmealy cookie that you break into pieces and share, but only with the most deserving of friends.

This sbrisolona is an adaptation of Suzanne Goin's recipe from her book Sunday Suppers at Lucques, one of my fave cookbooks, and one of my fave chefs who happens to own three of the best restaurants here in Los Angeles (rumor has it that a cookbook for AOC is in the works, which is a good thing since it's my favorite restaurant). In case you've not leafed through Sunday Suppers, I suggest picking up a copy at once. It's truly an inspiring work, and worth the coin indeed.

But without further ado, here is the larder and method for your ambrosial cookie.

4 oz raw almonds
1 egg yolk
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp almond extract
1 cup + 2 T  all purpose flour
6 T organic cornmeal, I use arrowhead mills
1/2 tsp sea salt
4 oz cold butter, cut into 1/2" pieces
1/3 cup evaporated cane juice sugar
3 T brown sugar

1) preheat the oven to 350 degrees and butter an 8" round springform pan, set aside.

2) toast your almonds until golden, about 10 minutes, then coarsely chop. set aside.

3) combine the egg yolk and extracts, set aside.

4) combine the flour, cornmeal and salt, then cut the butter into this mixture using your fingers and working quickly so that you do not melt the butter. Do not over mix, it should resemble coarse meal.

5) stir in both of the sugars then add the almonds.

6) pour the egg yolk mixture over the top of this and incorporate with your fingers. Do not overmix. The end result should look like streusel.

7) pour the mixture into your prepared pan and spread it out evenly, very gently pressing it into the pan with the tips of your fingers. Use very light pressure. Your goal is not to make a compact pie, only to ensure that the mixture is even and will bake cohesively. Don't worry, it might look loose, but it will turn into a cohesive cookie once fully baked.

8) bake for 40 minutes or so (mine took 45), or until the cookie is golden brown.

9) cool in the pan on a wire rack before unearthing.

10) break into pieces and enjoy with a glass of vin santo.

Mangia bene, vivi felice!

Truffled Cauliflower Puree

The other day I had nothing in the fridge but a head of cauliflower, a small tub of truffle butter, and a wedge of  Époisses, you know, the wash rind cheese that affords the assurance that there truly is a God, and this God hath imbued mankind with an intellect steep enough to devise such ambrosia.

I was a staunch atheist until I tasted my first wheel of Époisses.

But this day la fromage was just a sidebar, if you can imagine, because what resulted from my culinary dearth was something that I don't think I can from here forth live without, and I'm certain you will take up residence with the same belief once you make it yourself.

Truffled cauliflower puree has come into my life by sheer happenstance. This is what comes of seeing the glass half full, Dear Reader, making lemonade out of the sour fruit, walking on the refulgent side of the street... I could go on with countless silly (but wise) aphorisms that are supposed to make you feel better when you know the glass is really bone dry, and not only are your lemons too sour, but they're also more pithy than juicy, and filled with bugs to boot.

This lovely dish is bound to brighten your day, if not make you feel a little genius. It takes but a paltry few ingredients, which you may already have on hand. And I have a feeling it will be turning up on the holiday table because the most difficult thing about it is waiting for the cauliflower to soften before you stir in the truffle butter.

Here's your larder.

truffled cauliflower puree

- 1 large head of cauliflower
- 4 TB white truffle butter (be sure the ingredients listed are only truffles, butter & salt)
- 1.5 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade
- 3 or 4 TB cream
- Salt & pepper


1) Carve the green leaves and the stem from the head of cauliflower, then break the head into florets.

2) Add the florets and the stock to a pot, cover, bring to a boil, then lower the flame so that the stock is simmering. Cook the cauliflower until it is meltingly tender.

3) Drain the stock from the cauliflower.

4) Mash the cauliflower well with a potato masher, then stir in the truffle butter and cream.

5) Adjust the seasoning with salt and a twist or two of fresh cracked pepper, white or black, dependent upon your aesthetic inclination.

Mangia bene, vivi felice!

Aubergine

I'm not an eggplant groupie.

Hear me out.

I adore its lead role in baba ganoush, but my interest wanes when I hear suggestions for its use in dishes like caponata, parmigiana, ratatouille, and worse, that horrible Chinese takeout where chunks of the slimy fruit wade around in volumes of cheap oil.

Did you know that the aubergine is a fruit, and what's more, that it's botanically classified as a berry? That's some news, now isn't it?

Yet, sometimes at the market when I see the lovely nightshade in multitudinous shades from lavender to the deepest black, and even some whose orbs are as white as alabaster, I snatch one up with the hope that she will whisper ideas for which to employ her so that I'm not resigned to tucking her between sheets of zucchini in some boring tian.

Grimace.

As my love affair with Slater's Tender grows, I am willing to try just about anything that this chef suggests. After all, you saw that the carrot browns idea just one post prior yielded a beautiful focal point for a lunch of salad and a bright orange tangle of the root. Brilliant.

So today I set out to give my aubergine fantasy another shot, and as luck would have it, Slater conjured this fabulous idea for a Japanese inspired dish that heralds the fruit's attributes.

What I arrived at was sheer divinity as well as simplicity. It was sweet and savory, and I imagined no less than one million things that it would happily pair with: grilled black cod, roasted chicken, a bowl of simple steamed rice.

I'm happy to submit that there may be a place for Ms. Aubergine in my repertoire after all. As you can see, I never did bother to pair it with anything today, I ate it right from the pan with a pair of chopsticks, and all too happily indeed.

You will find the inspirational recipe on page 223 of Nigel Slater's Tender, below is my bastardization of it.

Here's your larder:

425g Japanese eggplant, or other small variety
1/4 cup mirin
2 TB + 1 tsp highest quality peanut oil
2 TB white miso paste
1 medium-sized Thai chili
5 gram nugget of fresh ginger
2 tsp roasted sesame oil
White sesame seeds, enough for a scattering
Coconut sugar for sprinkling


1) Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, and fit a baking sheet with a piece of parchment.

2) Next, halve the eggplant and score the flesh, being careful not to pierce the skin.

3) Whisk together 2 TB of the peanut oil with 2 TB of the Mirin and brush this mixture over the scored eggplant, going over it in two or more passes until all of it is used. Sprinkle with salt.

4) Roast the eggplant until it is meltingly tender. While this little miracle is happening, in your mortar and pestle, pulverize the ginger nugget along with the chili to a fine paste. Mix in the miso, the remaining 2 TB of mirin, 1 tsp of peanut oil and 2 tsp of sesame oil.

5) Using a flat spatula, carefully flip the roasted eggplant over and liberally brush with this mixture. Sprinkle with the coconut sugar, then disseminate the sesame seeds over the whole shebang. Pop under a broiler until the sugar bubbles and the faces of the eggplant brown.

6) Try not to eat the entire panful before the rice is steamed.

Mangia bene, vivi felice!