Mother's Recipe for a Mother-to-Be

Since my husband and I would certainly balloon to 300 lbs. if we actually ate all of the desserts I'll need to test in order to get through my mother's collection, I am constantly looking for occasions where I can bring the tested delicacies and have someone else gain weight from them. Risky, I know, since the end result of a first attempt could turn out disastrous. But I'll usually give it a go...particularly when I have 2 dozen Susie Cakes cupcakes ordered as back up just in case I have another XXX Sugar incident.

A co-worker's baby shower is the perfect opportunity to test a cake that was one of my all-time favorites growing up: Sarah Oldfield's Hoosier Cake. Sarah Oldfield was a women who attended Westchester Church of Christ with my family when I was a child. Many a Hoosier Cake was consumed at many a church potluck! Not sure why it's called Hoosier Cake...must have originated in Indiana, right? Regardless, it's pretty delicious, yet not extremely rich; you can see from the photo below that the batter is really light—my mother always used Hershey's Cocoa. I guess if you used a darker cocoa, the end result would be richer, more decadent. But then it wouldn't be my mother's Hoosier Cake!

Cooks.com has a recipe for Hoosier Cake that is essentially the same as my mother's but doesn't come on one of her, um, sometimes-not-so-easy-to-decifer recipe cards:

Hoosier Cake
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 sticks butter
4 Tbsp. Hershey's cocoa
1 cup water
1/2 cup buttermilk (again with the buttermilk!)
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla

Mix flour, sugar, baking soda and salt; set aside. Melt butter. Add cocoa and water. Bring to boil and pour over dry ingredients. Mix and add buttermilk, eggs and vanilla. Pour into greased jelly roll pan (this is roughly 2" deep and 9x13"; I borrowed the very one my mom uses...my kitchen will implode if I purchase one more cooking tool). Bake at 350 degrees about 30 minutes.

Icing:
1 stick butter
4 Tbsp. cocoa
6 Tbsp. buttermilk
1 box powdered sugar
1 cup chopped pecans
1 tsp. vanilla

Melt butter with cocoa and buttermilk. Bring to boil (I would say simmer; the boiling seemed to make the icing thicker) and add powdered sugar, nuts, and vanilla. Pour over cake while icing is warm.

My mom would suggest that you poke holes in the cake before you pour the icing over it so that the gooey goodness of the chocolate permeates the cake thoroughly. And she also recommends that you refrigerate to set the icing before cutting into roughly 2 inch squares.

I have to say this wasn't a great attempt...the icing was not as shiny and oozing as I remember it. Poking holes wouldn't have mattered since the icing turned out to be pretty thick. Next time I'll probably modify it with a darker chocolate and I'll cook the icing slower so it doesn't separate, which is why it had a denser consistency. Still yummy and nicely paired with the tried and true Dutch Cake...I had a quite a bit left over so I was able to share the calories with friends and neighbors!

The Lone Italian

My mother lived the majority of her life in Tennessee, until my father took a job in Los Angeles in 1963 and moved the family out west, to the land of palm trees and crazy liberals.

This was a dramatic move. Their friends and family asked if my parents would actually be taking their furniture with them. How could they possibly want to live out there in La La Land, heaven forbid, permanently?

But move they did and it wasn't easy...mother cried the first time she saw her teeny tiny house and the bizarre palm trees that surrounded it. She says, "My very first impressions were pretty sad since I had moved from an acre lot and a beautiful 4 bedroom home with a big bay window to what I thought looked like a Pan Am filling station." Imagine moving from an idyllic suburban existence in Nashville to the heart of South Central Los Angeles, on the precipice of one of the most violent periods in L.A.'s history, with two teenage daughters and a husband who was married to his job. Dramatic to say the least. [I came along about 8 years later, making me the only member of my family to actually be born in La La Land.]

"I knew this would be our home so I just decided o.k., I hate it, but I couldn't allow your father to feel like he had made a mistake, and I also didn't want didn't want your sisters to have the same feelings I had." [Of course, my sisters were thrilled. Think Beach Boys and bikinis and eternal sunshine...] Ever the optimist and able to turn any negative into a blessing, my mom settled in, with the help of many dear and loving friends who found themselves in the same situation as my family...transplants in a very foreign land.

I can only imagine what her first trip to a grocery store in L.A. was like, her first look at an artichoke, her first bite of pizza. "We had great grocery stores in Tennessee so I didn't think the ones here were any bigger or better.  The foods were different; we saw things I didn't even know what they were.  For instance, jicama...what in the world was that? And since Tennessee was a 'dry' state it was a real shock to see beer and wine in grocery stores and also drug stores."

Mexican and Italian food were introduced to the family as well. Her recipe for Manicotti probably came from the box of manicotti noodles, which she picked up after trying the dish in a restaurant. It is the lone Italian dish in her collection. The recipe doesn't resemble anything that you would find in an Italian cookbook...no garlic, basil, olive oil, homemade sauce. But it is delicious anyway. I, of course, tinkered with it and added a few more items, namely homemade ricotta cheese...

I found a recipe for ricotta in this month's issue of Bon Appetit. I read it and was amazed at how incredibly easy it would be...kind of like my epiphany about bread. So off to Sur La Table I went to buy a candy thermometer and cheesecloth, bought yet another quart of buttermilk, pilfered some of my daughter's whole milk, and less than an hour later, I had made cheese. I made the cheese that would fill the shells for the manicotti that my mother's makes. Cool in many ways.

I think this recipe is a very typical one from my mother's collection. Like many others, it is not a difficult recipe, it does not have a complex array of ingredients or instructions, it's not necessarily authentic, but it tastes good in the way that only something your mother makes for you can taste good...and every time you eat it for the rest of your life, it tastes like family and home. And in the case of my family, it was a flavor that was only experienced after they moved across the country to a very new place, during a very difficult time, where everything that was familiar and comfortable was many miles away, where new worlds of food were available for the first time.

Manicotti with Homemade Ricotta

15 oz. ricotta cheese
1/4 lb. mozarella cheese, grated
1 Tbsp finely chopped parsley (I added basil and oregano as well)
12 manicotti shells, boiled al dente
1 jar marinara sauce
3 Tbsp grated parmesan
2 tsp granulated sugar
1 egg, lightly beaten

Boil shells until al dente. Let cool. Mix ricotta, herbs, sugar, and egg in a bowl. Fill shells with ricotta mixture. Cover bottom of baking dish with marinara sauce. Place stuffed shells in baking dish in a row. Cover with marinara, mozzarella, and parmesan. Cover dish with foil and bake for 25-30 minutes at 400. Remove foil and bake another 5-10 minutes uncovered until bubbly and slightly browned on top.

Breadmaking, The First Attempt

I read the following phrase online somewhere a few months back: "First and foremost, bread is alive." Then, after sharing with a friend that I thought I'd try my hand at breadmaking, he simply said, "Bread is magic." Huh. You don't usually hear people saying a quarter-pounder with cheese is magic, do you?

I guess there must be something about taking the most basic of ingredients—flour, salt, yeast, water—and making a food that is hearty, earthy, universal, and substantial. I had to give it a go. And now that I've taken my first step into this magical world, I completely understand the sentiments. As I sit here eating my first slice of homemade bread, I've never felt so satisfied—and blown away—after 5 hours in the kitchen.

I'm not afraid to admit it—I was nervous. What if I worked the dough too much (I've heard bad things about that) or what if the dough was too sticky and unworkable, or didn't release from the sides of the bowl like the recipe said it would, or what if I cooked it too long or not enough or it tasted funny. But I dove in anyway, despite my feelings of inadequacy.

My fears were fueled by all those scary terms and instructions used in bread recipes..."punching down the dough" (how hard do I punch, and is it one punch or three?), "water shouldn't be more than 130 degrees or you'll KILL the yeast" (I don't want to kill anything, I just want to bake bread), and "knead the dough for no more than 8 minutes" (really? 9 minutes or 7 minutes would mean a complete fail?)

Every step along the way, though, I felt more and more confident. As I completed each task, the dough did what it was supposed to do: it came away from the sides of the bowl, it rose, it worked it's way into nice loaves with my gentle prodding, it rose again, it didn't stick to the board, it moved over to the cookie sheet without falling onto the floor, it browned in the oven, and it smelled truly AMAZING while it cooked. I was feeling the magic—I followed directions and the bread appeared before my eyes. Magic.

Did I mention that this little adventure involved two different recipes prepared simultaneously? Why make things easy, right? The first (pictured above) was an Italian bread recipe found and tried by my baking fanatic friend (she may be the only person on earth that will actually kill her breadmaker from overuse). She found it at AllRecipes.com and it did involve the use of a MY Breadmaker Ultimate—a wedding present that has spent most of it's lifetime in our garage. All of the ingredients went into the breadmaker for 1:30, and then onto a surface covered in cornmeal to rise again. The two loaves look beautiful and golden, and taste so, so good. Paninis, anyone?

The second recipe I got from a co-worker's mother—appropriate, right? It's called Kefir (or Buttermilk). Sorry, can't share the recipe—wouldn't want to piss off a mother I've never met! This one was truly from scratch with the help of Mr. KitchenAid, my fancy new electronic thermometer that I got for Christmas but hadn't yet used, and the timer on my oven, since there were so many timed instructions (mix for 2 minutes, add more flour, mix for 2 minutes more, then the 8 minute kneading time thing...all of which I timed to the second. Nerd.)

These loaves browned up even nicer than the first and the sesame seeds made them look that much more professional. I would say that the non-breadmaker dough was actually easier to work with—not quite as fluffy and flimsy as the first, more dense and firm, and the flavor is slightly sweeter, buttery, and equally as delicious.

Most importantly, more than the end result or the flavor or the successes along the way, I feel a bit transformed, elevated, inspired. I feel like I want to bake bread all the time, because now I know I can. There is so much more bread to come in the future...such as my grandmother's homemade rolls that have always seemed elusive, unforgiving, and never as good as when she used to make them. Ah, another challenge...

Spring in L.A.

When spring arrives in L.A., it's subtle. We don't have a thaw, we don't see blades of grass popping out from hardened, snow-weary soil, or whatever the typical signs of spring are in other parts of the country. We just sense a change. I know it's here when tiny green leaves start appearing on a few of the trees in our yard, when I can smell flowers in the air, when I can wear a skirt without my opaque tights (despite my pitifully untanned legs.) Another sure sign of spring: really amazing strawberries. I bought a basket of them at the farmer's market last Saturday, and my daughter proceeded to slurp up most of them sitting in her stroller before we made it to the car. So bright and juicy and sweet. Looking at her face covered in strawberry juice, smiling wide, and saying, "More, mama!" Well, that's just springtime, people.

Spring makes me want to plant things and dig in the dirt and make iced tea with fresh mint and cook things that are light and fresh and lemony. I've been daydreaming about our Driveway Garden...so named because this is the only place in our backyard that gets enough sun for our potted vegetable garden. We had a huge bounty of tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers last year from just 3 pots lined up along the wall of our driveway, perfectly positioned to get the most amount of sun. I was so empowered knowing that I could make food products emerge from my yard simply by putting some plants in some dirt, adding water, and letting it happen. It was a revelation. So until we get the acreage that will roll out for miles behind our dream home (with the Viking range, wood-burning oven, and the ever-elusive walk-in closet), where we will have rows and rows of farm fresh, organic goodness, we will grow food in pots. And this year, more pots, more veggies, more herbs, more spring in the driveway.

We bought two dwarf citrus trees last year at this time, one lemon and one lime. Well, turns out they were both lemons (so much for trusting the plant vendor at the local farmer's market). We're near the end of a great harvest of gorgeous bright yellow lemons that are so fresh and tart and juicy. Since the beginning of this project, I have been saving the famous Icebox Lemon Pie recipe test for when I could use my own lemons. Today was the day!

The handwritten recipe card is a bit cryptic. For instance, nowhere does it say exactly how many Nilla Wafer cookies you are supposed to use. Or what size pie dish, or whether or not it's greased. And the card is written as a narrative, not with a list of ingredients at the top like recipes in cookbooks, but with the ingredients and their amounts included in the instructions...which are pretty funny in themselves. But I'm finding this is often the case with my mother's recipes and it makes it that much for fun...

Icebox Lemon Pie (why the Icebox, don't know...)
Make vanilla wafer crust (Nilla Wafers). Crush until fine cookies—mix in pie pan (glass) with 5 Tbsp melted butter. Press down in bottom of pan. Insert whole wafers around the edge, pressing bottom edge into bottom crust.

Filling:
1 14 oz. can Eagle Brand Milk
4 eggs yolks, beaten
1/2 cup lemon juice (I used 3/4 cup thinking more would be better, but it's a bit too tart even for me)

Mix above items well. Put in saucepan and cook over medium heat over low heat (huh??); stirring constantly about 10 minutes. Finely crush vanilla wafers and sprinkle over crust. Bake about 15 minutes. Or make meringue. Beat 4 eggs whits, 1/2 tsp cream of tartar at high speed. Gradually add 1/3 cup sugar a little at a time. Beat until stiff peaks form. Pour over filling, sealing around edges. Bake at 325 about 20-25 minutes until golden brown.

I love making meringue. It's like a science experiment watching 4 egg whites turn into this billowy pile of white foam 4 times the original size. I prefer to put it in a piping bag and make these cool little mounds that brown on the top. I then dusted it with grated lemon peel and some of the wafer crumbs.

Except for the fact that I would have made the crust a bit thicker (because it is really a delicious crust) and the mouth-puckering tartness that caused even Olivia to rethink a second bite, I think I replicated the traditional pie pretty well. Plus it was satisfying using an ingredient that we grew in the backyard...foreshadowing great things to come from our Driveway Garden.

Sunday Baking: Pound Cake

If there isn't a thin layer of flour covering everything in my kitchen, am I really baking? If a tree falls in the forest...

While the little one sleeps, I'm baking a pound cake. There are two to test: one with buttermilk (from an old "ladies Bible class" friend of my mother) and one with sour cream (from Granny Lula's collection). Today I need to get rid of the remainder of a quart of buttermilk I had in the fridge (who ever uses a whole container before it goes bad? Do people, other than my father, drink the stuff straight??) Granny's version will have to wait.

Why do they call it pound cake, you may ask? Well...back to my old frenemy, Wikipedia:


Pound cake refers to a type of cake traditionally made with a pound of each of four ingredients: flour, butter, eggs, and sugar. However, the quantity is often changed to suit the size of the cake that is desired. As long as the ratio is preserved, the resulting cake will generally be very similar to that using the traditional quantities. Hence, any cake made with a 1:1:1:1 ratio of flour, butter, eggs, and sugar is also called a pound cake, even if the quantity used is smaller or larger than a pound.

Well, not really sure if this recipe is a REAL pound cake because the ingredients do not follow this ratio precisely. Not surprising—as I've mentioned before, I'm sure my mother's recipes have all been tinkered with and manipulated to fit the tastes of the individual cook, or her family members. Plus, I think I've mentioned before, I don't do math. And that includes measurements and quantities. So for all I know, 5 eggs is a pound. I'm not going to sweat it and just assume that this is a traditional pound cake regardless. We'll see when it comes out of the oven...

Looks right to me!!

Buttermilk Pound Cake
from Carol Shelton, Ladies Bible Class, circa 1970s

3 cup sugar
1/2 cup Crisco
1 stick butter
5 eggs
1/2 tsp baking soda, dissolved in 1 Tbsp boiling water
1 cup buttermilk
3 cup flour
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp vanilla

Cream butter, sugar, and shortening. Add eggs one at a time and beat well. Combine salt and flour; then add alternately to creamed mixture with the buttermilk and soda. Beat well and blend in vanilla. Pour into a greased and floured 10" stem pan. Bake at 350 for about 1 hour, 15 minutes.

And when you're finished, cut a slice, add some juicy delicious strawberries you just bought at the local farmer's market, and then drench it in chocolate sauce of some kind (Hershey's will do just fine). A pound of delish.

Laughter in the Kitchen

Sometimes I have to remember that it's okay to sit on the kitchen counter.

Last night, I was doing my usual scurry in the kitchen: trying to get dinner organized, figuring out what to feed Olivia for dinner and for lunch tomorrow, trying to keep her from emptying every drawer while torturing the dog, spilling water everywhere, stealing the pepper mill to grind pepper all over the carpet...generally making it impossible to focus on anything but her. She is two, after all. Everything can cause a tantrum. Everything is fun—Saran wrap, tongs ("Be gentle with the doggie!"), a very sharp steak knife. We are always riding that fine line between sheer joy and utter frustration. They don't call em terrible twos for nothin!

So Olivia was hell bent on sitting on the counter last night. This is her new spot for wreaking havoc on the dinner process. After I relented with my usual guilty surrender, she perched herself and decided to dismantle the KitchenAid. She was doing a very good job of it when she knocked the plastic splatter shield onto the formica counter. Don't know what it was about the sound that it made, but you would have thought a talking monkey was telling really funny jokes or something. She laughed and laughed and laughed. She dropped it again and laughed again. Tears streaming down her red face—finally the good tears!—over and over she did it, until I'm sure her belly ached and her attention span was nearing it's inevitable swift end. I ran out as soon as I acknowledged the Kodak moment to grab the camera—wondering if this would be the time that she finally fell off the counter—and raced back to capture about 15 shots of the hilarity. James came in and we stood there bewildered but laughed our heads off. I think the dog was even laughing. Or maybe he was just sure Olivia was going to throw him some food as soon she composed herself.

A friend on Facebook posted this yesterday: "...loves that what could be a 5-minute roundtrip between the house and Starbucks takes 45 minutes with Henry. Every dandelion is exciting; every roly poly amazing; every found penny a treasure. And of course every flower must be smelled. One of life's great pleasures: watching a two-year-old be two."

I move too fast. I try to do too much. I strive for perfection and am surprised when I fail. But when 2-year-old laughter erupts in the kitchen, everything is okay.

True Testing

Ahhh, a day to do some real testing. Actually baking and re-baking and carefully watching the variations of brown on the bottoms of cookies and working on my food photography, and doing all this without a little one at my knees. I need one of these days every so often to just find some real focus in the kitchen, to stretch my skills, to really think about what I'm making and how I can make it better. So I say again, Ahhhhh.

I started yesterday with some baked goods to take to our monthly wine club affair. We are part of a very small, select group of neighborhood friends and wine lovers who get together once a month (roughly) to learn about wine (sparingly). This month's theme: champagne brunch. Perfect opportunity for a breakfast muffin from Granny's collection and a cake that has been a family favorite for years.

Starting with the cake...I figured Poppyseed Wine Cake would be appropriate for wine club. This recipe comes from one of my "extra sisters," Suzy Lynch. Considering my mother doesn't drink, this may be the only way you will get her to injest alcohol. She often makes it for Christmas, baking it in little tins to give as gifts. It actually smells like Christmas to me for that reason.

Poppyseed Wine Cake
Suzy Lynch

1 box yellow cake mix
3/4 cup oil
4 eggs
3/4 cup white wine or cream sherry
1 tsp nutmeg
5 tsp poppy seeds

Mix all ingredients in a mixer and beat at medium for 5 minutes. Pour into a greased bundt cake pan or 2 medium loaf pans. Bake at 350 for 45 minutes or until cake tester comes out clean. Let cool, remove from pan, and dust with powdered sugar.

Next up: Granny's Bran Muffins. I followed the recipe precisely and produced the stereotypical dense, dark, generally flavorless bread item that is almost medicinal—eat one of these and it will cure any intestinal discomfort you may be experiencing. No frills, no sweetness, no stickiness, no yumminess. The recipe is simply milk, molasses, bran, egg, flour, butter, salt, and baking powder. No sugar, honey, fruit. Straight up bran muffins. I took one bite and then immediately drenched it in butter and a fair glob of honey. Passable but still dense, dark, and generally flavorless. I opted not to take these to the brunch, although looking back, they would have been perfect to soak up the alcohol!

So, today, I tried it again, this time adding about 1/4 cup of honey, some golden raisins, and a 1/2 cup of applesauce. The result was a considerable amount more moisture, sweetness, and a hint of the apple flavor. These will be shared!

Bran Muffins
Granny Lula

3/4 cup milk
1/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup honey
1 cup bran (All Bran Cereal)
1 egg
2 Tbsp melted butter
1 cup flour
3 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup applesauce
1/4 cup raisins

Combine milk, molasses, honey, and bran in a bowl. Let stand until most of liquid is absorbed. Stir in 1 egg, slightly beaten. Add butter and mix. Add dry ingredients and stir just enough to moisten. Fill greased muffin pan cups 2/3 full. Bake at 400 for 25 minutes. Makes 12 muffins.

My next test is actually a do-over. I hate to admit my mistakes but I totally messed up a very simple peanut butter cookie recipe a few weeks ago...forgot the sugar. Yep, no sugar. One bite of the resulting chalky disaster and they all went in the trash. Today was my chance to redeem myself.

This recipe is one of those that my sister told me I had to include. Just your traditional peanut butter cookie...buttery, sweet, and chewy. Yum. I decided to add chocolate chip cookies. Double yum.

Peanut Butter Cookies

1 cup brown sugar
1 cup white sugar (don't forget this)
2 eggs
1 cup smooth peanut butter
1 cup butter
1 tsp baking soda
2 1/2 cup flour
1 tsp vanilla
3/4 cup chocolate chips

Combine butter, sugar, eggs, and peanut butter in mixer. Add dry ingredients. Mix well. Fold in chocolate chip cookies. Shape dough into balls. Place on ungreased cookie sheet and press with a fork. Bake 9 minutes at 374. Yield: 3-4 dozen.