Apple Cake: Scents of Sugar, Cinnamon, and Nostalgia

In the middle of final examination week, stressed out and delirious, I sought solace in text message conversations with my family and friends back home. It was then that a close friend of mine sent me a text that I believe perfectly articulates the essence of most things in life, like friendships and baking. She wrote, "Life is simple when we're together."

Simple. 

Oh, a number of times has this adjective cropped up in my blog posts. In my anniversary post, I decreed fancy twists on simplicity the sole ruler of culinary empires, that gourmet cuisine stems from ungarnished beginnings.

Simple is what, by chance, drew me to this recipe.

This weekend, I searched recipe cards to find something to make for my father. His notorious love of all things fruits and vegetables led me to the crossroad of apple and cinnamon. Torn between 4 different types of apple cinnamon cake (four step apple pound cake with almond streusel, fluffy apple crumble bars, peanut butter-apple snack cake, and earl grey apple loaf), I mulled over the recipes, read each word carefully, played around with measurements, thought Can I change this from a 9x13 pan to a loaf pan?

The hours pedaled away, the shadows on the patio table changed, and I was no closer to deciding what to make. On a whim, I checked another blog,  Smitten Kitchen, an old favorite of mine, and found a recipe labelled "Mom's Apple Cake."

How funny, I thought, my mother used to make apple cake too. 

At first glance, the recipe seemed straightforward: only two bowls, no stovetop required, which, as much as I appreciate brown butter, is a heaven sent on a hot summer day.

As I read over the recipe, I noted how similar the ingredients were to my own mother's cake recipe. Could it be the same? I wondered and decided the only way to find out was crack eggs and preheat the oven.

So I set out the ingredients on the kitchen table and sat down on a rickety off-white chair and started peeling apples.

When we were little, my mother used to make a cake, much like this one, in a large cake pan. She would nestle peeled apple slices on half the cake. My father has always been fond of apple in cakes. On the other half, my mother would let my sisters and I shower the batter with rainbow nonpareils. And every time she made the cake, the house would roar in celebration. Eager to take part in the preparation, I picked up a teaspoon, tugged on the ends of my mother's dress, and asked, "Can I help?"

I'd happily mix the sugar and butter together; mother would grate orange zest, afraid my tiny hands would face the savagery of the sharp grater blades. And after we had scraped down the bowl, making sure every last drop of batter was in the cake pan, I'd sit by the oven, buzzing with excitement to see the cake in all its raised baked glory.

My mother had the recipe memorized. She never glanced at a card or used a measuring cup but the cake was magic each and every time. She cracked eggs with clean lines, no crumbling shell pieces to scavenge the batter for. She never made a mess: the flour never puffed onto her apron, milk never splashed on the counter.

Her cake was my first baking expedition. I remember the joy; I remember the mystery, the curiosity.

So imagine my joy yesterday when I scooped the batter into the bundt pan and noticed the similarity of its consistency. Just like mom's. 

Imagine my joy at how the flavors swirled in the heating oven, a sugary scent wafting through the house.  Just like mom's. 

Imagine my joy when I took my first bite. Just like mom's. 

This apple cake is a song; it sings the same lyrics of my mother's cake. It is dense, a pound cake that smells of sugar, cinnamon, and juicy roasted apples. The inside a soft pillow, the outside delectably crunchy. The bottom is a perfectly cracked golden brown. The hint of vanilla and the touch of orange are the notes that bind the plain flour and sugar together.

The crunchy edges of the cake, the fluffy interior, and the apples hidden within are a friendship bracelet of their own kind. By far, the best kitchen pairing.

Maybe I'm bias because this cake is not just flour and sugar to me, it's nostalgia: a small apartment kitchen and inklings of after school memories.

Or perhaps, maybe, bias doesn't need to be factored into the equation. Perhaps there is no equation.

Simple.

Do yourself, your family, and your friends a favor and make this cake.

I hope you wait, smiling, by the oven door, just like I did.

Thank you for reading. Enjoy your baking.

-Susan

The link to the recipe on Smitten Kitchen's blog: http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2008/09/moms-apple-cake/print/

Orange-Cinnamon-Pecan-Currant Biscotti

 Let's talk biscotti.

Let's talk orange-cinnamon-pecan-currant biscotti.

Let's talk orange-cinnamon-pecan-currant biscotti like we would an old friend from our hopscotch days.

While Old Friend has stretched in height and maturity, Old Friend is still Old Friend who froze you in freeze tag.

Who let you win at playground tetherball.

Who mailed you Valentine's Day brooches, Easter Bunny stickers, and leprechaun hairbands, all wrapped in crinkled cellophane.

Though her visage be different, Old Friend's spirit is the same.

Old Friend now reads Hemingway, not Seuss,
paints her nails dark red, not glitter-glue pink,
munches on multi grain cornflakes, not Lucky Charms.

This biscotti is like running into Old Friend on a quiet Thursday and finding out Old Friend now studies at a liberal arts college back East, sips wine on Sunday evenings, and works part-time at a New Hampshire bookstore.

This biscotti recipe is incorporates old and new.

It takes the plain biscotti we love and imbues it with jazzy pantry pearls.

A refined, cultured version of a favorite biscuit cookie.

The base of the biscotti is infused with the lyrics of orange zest and extract, polka-dotted with tiny bursts of chewy currants, spiced with cinnamon freckles, and speckled by mahogany chunks of pecan.

The cookie is crispy and crunchy, wonderful for dipping into a warm cup of tea or coffee. The ingredients and flavors work so well together. The orange and the cinnamon are the background drawing: always there for swirls of flavor. The pecans and currants are the humble stars: adding richness, depth, and contrast.

Orange-Cinnamon-Pecan-Currant Biscotti Recipe (Adapted from baking.about.com)

Ingredients:

• 2-1/2 cups flour
• 3/4 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• ----
• 3/4 cup butter, softened
• 1 cup sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1-1/2 teaspoons orange extract
• 1 tspn cinnamon
• ----
• zest of 1 orange
• 1 cup pecan pieces, lightly toasted
• 1/2 cup currants

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease large baking sheet.

In a large bowl, combine first set of ingredients with a wire whisk. Set aside. Cream butter until fluffy. Slowly add in sugar until combined. Add eggs one at a time and then extract. Gradually, add flour mixture to butter mixture. Combine completely. Hand stir-in orange zest, cinnamon, currants and pecans.

Evenly divide dough into 2 portions. Shape into 12 inch logs. Place on cookie sheet. Flatten tops until they are 1-inch tall. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove from oven. Place baking sheet on cooling rack. Allow to cool for about 15 minutes. Carefully, cut loaves diagonally into 1/2 to 1-inch slices. Line slices back on baking sheet. Bake for an additional 5 minutes. Remove from oven and turn cookies over. Finish baking for another 5 minutes. Cool Orange Pecan Biscotti on baking sheets for 2 minutes and remove to wire racks to cool completely.

Makes 24 Orange Pecan Biscotti Cookies

This log of biscotti dough looks like my dog…Just wanted to share that with you...

Happy Baking!

-Susan

The Firsts: A Look Back, A Why, and A Thank You

Pumpkin Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

The First Year

One year ago today, I stared at an unfamiliar web page, on an unfamiliar account, and asked my sister if my choice for the URL was alright, if it was good enough to head-line a tab on Mozilla Firefox. My heart drummed, my pinky finger twitched, and I was absolutely certain I was going to be the first person in the history of the universe to have a panic attack over choosing a font type.

One year ago today, I hit the enter key and created an account different from ones I was already logged into. The new account wasn't for the whereabouts of my social life. Nor was it for filtered photographs of my heartbreakingly adorable dog. The account was made to shelter recipes near-and-dear to my heart.

One year ago today, I created this blog.

Sea-Salt Brown Butter Rice Krispies

Rosemary and pink flowers in an empty vanilla extract bottle. 

Clover Honey Graham Crackers

Thank You's

Thank you for following my ramblings about room temperature butter and brown sugar.

Three hundred and sixty days later.

Seventeen blog posts.

This makes eighteen.
Thank you to those who've bookmarked it.

Thank you to those who've shared it to friends and family.

Thank you for the kind words.

Thank you for reading.

Dark Chocolate Chunk Cookies

The First Reason

For years I found solace in the blogs of other bakers. Their posts, recipes, and pictures were secret homes to me. As far as I knew, it could have been hailing and thunder-storming outside my bedroom window, but if I was reading up on how long to bake rosemary palmiers, the sun may as well have been shining and the sky may as well have been crying diamonds and rose petals.

JoyTheBaker's warm honey-pink blog sparked in me an inspiration to stir together ingredients I never would have dreamed up.

SmittenKitchen's rustic authentic feel makes one believe that her photographs are not actually of braided blueberry bread or chocolate swirl rolls, but of goodness, integrity, and honesty.

So, for the longest time, I wanted to be that to someone. I wanted to bake and write and share and let it out in the universe, or in this case, the inter web to see what someone thought.

I wrote at peace, letting the love that curled around my kitchen, patter through a keyboard and weave Times-New-Roman lines.

Orange-Chocolate-Chip-Pound-Cake

Apple-Cinnamon Bundt Cake

I am immensely proud of Good Night Nutmeg and of the creativity it has fostered.

Good Night Nutmeg is about pantry staples that create magic when folded together.

It's about gourmet additions that embellish simple treats.

It's about patting yourself on the back, even if the apple pie turned out too watery or the oatmeal raisin crisps crackled an inedible black.

Shirini Kishmeshi 

But mostly, it's about the recipes and the life in the recipes.

Recipes are beautiful things.

One year ago today, I wrote my first blog post. It was about characterized recipe cards, Hello Kitty band-aids, and lemon pull apart bread.

If you feel like taking a look at the beginning:

http://goodnightnutmeg.blogspot.com/2013/01/recipe-ramblings.html

Here's to another year!

Good Night, Nutmeg.

With Love,

Susan

"Shirini Kishmeshi" for Winters that feel like Springs

In my town, winters do not feel like winter.

Lakes do not freeze and automobile tires do not require chains.

The most popular number on our thermometers is one-hundred-ten; the least popular is anything below the seventies.

In my town, October, November, December, January, February, March are not grouped into their own white-blue season. They are just crisper versions of spring. They are dewy golden mornings, before grass dries and rose petals warm.

The seasons in my town speak a language more united than the seasons 'round the rest of the world.
Across the calendar year, wild honeysuckle blooms in home gardens and neighborhood trees shed amber-orange leaves in such a smooth and flawless metamorphosis, that the first week of a season is not a staccato disruption, but a gentle slide down a playground swing.

The seasons in my town are tangled together by equal temperatures.

In my California town, the sun is president for the infinite orb is almost always shining. On grey days, if you look hard enough, it can still be seen, tucked away behind the fog.

The seasons in my town have the same background: a clear cerulean sky. An overhead painting so glorious and picturesque, it makes you wish you could stroll through, take a day trip to the atmosphere.

It is natural for December to feel like May.
It is natural to light candles that smell like apples instead of gingerbread.
And that is exactly what happened this winter.

A couple days ago, I was in the kitchen. The unsalted butter had reached room temperature and the oven had been cleared of extra cookie pans and muffin molds, but I didn't really know what to make. Christmas hadn't even hit but I was already sick of anything peppermint or cinnamon or chocolate.
How can I bake like I'm at the North Pole when it feels like I'm in the Caribbean?

And I really did feel like I was in the Caribbean (except there was no seven-level cruise ship or black-toothed pirate) because it was 80 degrees outside and I seriously contemplated chucking all my winter clothes into storage and driving to Old Navy to buy twenty pairs of their ridiculously-cheap-but-still-great-quality-because-they-last-forever-and-come-in-every-color-imaginable flip flops.

Alas, I did not do that.

But I did bake something that is reserved for spring.

Shirini Kishmeshi. 

Shirini Kishmeshi is Farsi for "Raisin Cookie".  Every 20th of March, Persian households display supermarket containers of the chewy, light cookie. Every 20th of March, Persians celebrate the New Year.

Flour being mixed into the butter/sugar/egg mixture

Last week, my inspiration for baking the cookie was simple. The New Year was on the horizon and it felt like spring.

The promise of a new year + springlike weather = anything that has to do with Norooz.

This cookie has a special place in my heart. It is my favorite shirini and when I was in elementary school, every Norooz, I would take a store bought container of these raisin cookies and happily pass them out to my classmates (who loved them. everyone always does :)

This was my first time making them at home and they turned out exactly like the ones we buy. The cookie is delicate. The currant raisins add sweetness and texture. The outer edges of the cookie are golden brown and crisp. All around, it's a complete win.

Shirini Kishmeshi Recipe (adapted from The Pomegranate Diaries blog)

(approx 3 dozen cookies)

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1/2 tspn vanilla
1 cup flour
1/4 tspn salt
1/2 cup currant raisins

-Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
-Cream butter and sugar.
-Add eggs one at a time. Make sure to beat well after each addition.
-Add vanilla.
-Slowly add flour. Mix till it becomes dough.
-Gently fold in raisins
-Drop a teaspoonful amount of dough onto cookie sheet lined with parchment pale.r
-Bake 13-15 minutes, until edges are gold.

Thank you for reading.

Happy baking, and happy new year. :)

Anecdotal Gingerbread Post

There are two types of winter days.

Snowflake Gingerbread

1) Outside, the sky is a cold blue, stenciled twig-like from the branches of tall trees. The curbs are painted a swirling mixture of frozen water and mud. And you, in your light wash denim jeans, hooded zipped jacket, and thermal socks, you swear you have frozen. That blood has stopped dancing through your body. That your hands are shaking and your palm has tinted purple-pink and your fingers are cracking and oh my god my palm is now blotched  purple, does this affect my lifeline?

2) Outside, the sky is a cold blue, stenciled twig-like from the branches of tall trees. Hey, you think, Aunt Sally would really love a stenciled tree ornament. You remind yourself to print out a 40% off coupon from Google before you hit up Michael's. The curbs are painted a swirling mixture of frozen water and mud so gorgeous that you wonder if Picasso works posthumous magic on suburban driveway curbs. Your right hand is wound around a mug- steaming earl grey wafts to your red nose. In your left hand, you hold what December gods consider holy.
You hold happiness; beauty; the 8th Wonder of the World.
A gingerbread cookie.

You didn't think I'd let winter float by without blogging about gingerbread cookies, did you?

Actually, in all honesty, I don't really have many holiday memories that involve good old fashioned gingerbread cookies. Sure I've had the occasional one or two at elementary school class parties but I'd always been more in awe of gingerbread houses rather than the actual gingerbread men. And it's nothing against the little cookie. Nothing at all. No trace of gingerbread cookie hater in my soul. (That story about the little gingerbread boy who runs off used to be one of my favorite books! Those were some pretty illustrations.)

I do have one memory that I can clearly remember. About eight Christmases ago, my sisters and I went to go see Christmas with the Cranks. That feel good holiday movie with Jaimie Lee Curtis. And I remember running through the cold blacktop parking lot and swinging the door of the movie theatre open. I was blinded by holiday lights and shiny ornaments and glossy movie posters. We bought our tickets and made our way to the theater. The floor was littered with yellow popcorn, chewed soda straws, and crumpled candy bags. How festive, I thought, They decorated for the holidays. 

As I jumped onto my seat and assured my older sister that No, I do not need a booster seat. I can see the screen perfectly if I tilt my head up and elongate my spine. And yes, it's fine that a 6 foot 7 man just sat down in seat in front of mine. And yes, I can still see. Granted it's just the fuzzy corners of the screen and half of the exit sign- 

"Oh, I almost forgot. Merry Christmas." My sister interrupted me and reached into her purse and pulled out a bag of gingerbread cookies. 

Ta-da.

That was my gingerbread cookie memory. (Is it cheating if the cookies were store bought?) I figured a gingerbread post sort of needs a memory to go with it. Blogging school isn't a thing but if it was, I'm sure a banner that says GINGERBREAD POSTS AND ANECDOTES ARE CLOSE (FRIENDS) would hang around campus.

Ok, now let's talk about this cookie.

This gingerbread cookie is beautiful and aromatic. The middle is light and chewy and the edges are toasted and crisp. The making of the dough is simple and therapeutic. Nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, ginger. Mmmmm. It chills in the fridge before it's rolled out like a red carpet. (Cheesy? Maybe. But seriously. Golden Globe worthy dough.) A dark rich brown, thanks to the molasses, is the base for the cookie cutters. Note: You can use any cookie cutter, not just gingerbread man. I used a snowflake (pictured) and a Christmas tree (not pictured).

The ratio of spicy to sweet is well-balanced, so it will be a sure hit amongst friends who don't necessarily like the heavy-spice-riddled traditional ginger cookies.

These make perfect holiday treats. Wrap 'em up and give them to friends or plate them and leave them by the fireplace. Santa will appreciate it. :)

Gingerbread Cookie Recipe  (From Joy of Baking)

http://www.joyofbaking.com/GingerbreadMen.html

Notes: Didn't fridge the cut out dough and the cookies still turned out fine. However, I did refrigerate the actual dough before I rolled it out. That is a must.

Happy baking and Happy Holidays! :)

The Red-White Razzle-Dazzle of Peppermint Bark

'Tis the season for festive touches.

Like stringing multi-colored lights around porches, donning itchy sweaters emblazoned with sparkling ornaments, or sprinkling crushed candy canes on chocolate.

'Tis the season for peppermint bark.

When the holidays come around, my favorite thing at Target isn't in Aisle 7 or Aisle 24. It's not Rudolph wrapping paper or inexpensive sets of a gazillion nail polishes. My favorite thing is by the cash registers, next to the latest issues of Glamour, Rachel Ray, and Star.

It's the Ghiradelli dark chocolate peppermint bark.

Peppermint bark is glorious and minty and December-y and January and February.

Heck, peppermint bark could be an all-year treat if you ask me.

The dark chocolate base layer is mouth-watering and there's a bittersweet silkiness to it. The white chocolate, which has been infused with peppermint extract, is the perfect blanket for the dark chocolate. And the crushed candy cane topping is refreshing and crunchy and cheerful.

This is chocolate at its finest.

It tastes like it came out of the kitchen of a gourmet chocolatier's house.

It looks like the star of a New York City bakery's window display. I can totally picture cameras panning out, the peppermint bark snuggled up in a diamond-encrusted silver tin, as a slim young brunette dressed in a floor-length black dress, a pearl necklace, and sunglasses, sips her coffee and stares longingly at the chocolate concoction. As she makes her way down an empty 5th Avenue, white lettering appears onscreen. Breakfast at Ghiradelli's. 

This peppermint bark totally deserves a silver screen adaptation or at least an ABC Christmas movie starring Melissa Joan Hart.

Anyhoo, this peppermint bark is cheerful and festive and just all around fun! It's a seasonal treat and I guarantee your happiness will increase when munching on a piece. Also, I think this bark has healing powers because I loathe white chocolate, I absolutely cannot stand it, except in peppermint bark. And a lot of my friends don't really like dark chocolate but love it in the bark.

It's easy to make. It's just melting chocolate and crushing candy canes. It also makes the perfect  hostess gift. Put some pieces in a tin, slip on your heels or tie your bow tie, and your ready for the holidays!

A note on the brand of chocolate: Tollhouse baking chocolate chips works best for me. I've tried a lot of other brands, and actually, Ghiradelli's chocolate chips were the worst. Believe me, I say that with a heavy heart because I adore Ghiradelli, but their chocolate chips just do not melt right. And I've done quite the bit of Google research and have found a lot of other people had this same problem.

Peppermint Bark Recipe (adapted from Food.com)

Ingredients:
- 12 oz. dark chocolate chips (see italicized note above about brands)
- 16 oz. white chocolate chips (see italicized note above about brands)
-3/4 teaspoon peppermint extract
-1/2 cup crushed candy cane

Directions:
-Preheat oven to 250 degrees.
-Line a 9x13 dish with aluminum foil, letting foil overhang sides for easy lift-up later. Spray foil with baking spray. 
-Pour an even layer of dark chocolate chips into the pan, then put in the oven for about 5 minutes. Just so it's almost melted. It should still be in its chocolate chip shape.
-When removed from oven, use a spatula butter knife to spread the melted chocolate evenly around pan. Chill for 40 minutes.

-After it's chilled, take it out of the fridge and let rest on counter top. Letting the dark chocolate layer's temperature drops ensures that the white chocolate layer will stick to it. 
-Melt white chocolate in a bowl over a saucepan of boiling water (make sure the bottom of the bowl doesn't touch water). When it's almost melted, remove from heat and stir in peppermint extract. Let it cool a bit before spreading over the dark chocolate (so the dark chocolate doesn't melt). Then sprinkle with crushed candy canes. Chill for at least 2 hours.

-Break apart with hands. (Found this easier than knives).
-Store in an airtight container in the fridge.

Happy baking! :)

Zaban: A Persian Pastry

There's a Queen Elizabeth quality to Persian pastries: royal and all-mighty, yet modest and grandmotherly like.

Grandmotherly like in the sense of "comfort-care-warmth-joy."

Not grandmotherly like in the sense of "I-just-knit-47-wool-socks-and-cooked-okra-stew-because-yesterday-you-coughed-a-couple-times-and-I'm-afraid-you-could-be-getting-pneumonia."

Persian pastries are elegant without even trying. Garlands of raspberry jam drape over the chocolate-dipped end of heart-shaped shortbreads; pistachio sprinkled orbs of apricot preserves fit snug in the makeshift well of butter cookies. For the most part, Persian pastries are petite, a little smaller than your palm, and it always seems as if they spent countless hours in a hair-and-makeup chair, getting dolled up by a patisserie chef.

But there's a secret and I'm going to let you in on it.

Lean in close.

Real close.

Actually, not that close because you're reading this on a computer screen and I wouldn't want you to strain your eyesight. (Always strive for 20/20, people. Always strive for 20/20).

The secret is….ahem….Persian pastries are actually some of the simplest desserts to make.

Gasp.

Shock.

The crowd is aghast over this stunning revelation. Heads swivel, jaws drop. Hurried murmurs sound as people huddle together, trying to make sense of the chaos. A lone man in a tattered blue shawl lifts his face slowly towards the sky and whispers, "Is this true? Is this really true?"

Yes, man in tattered blue shawl, this is really true.

Consider the Persian pastry myth debunked. (Let's pretend there was a myth).

One of my favorite pastries, Zaban, has only 3 ingredients and has a 5 minute prep time.

Jaw drop, right?

Zaban is a puff pastry brushed with honey both before it goes into the oven and after it comes out.

In Farsi, Zaban means tongue. But rest assured, the title reflects nothing on the ingredients of the dessert. It is simply called Zaban because of it's long rectangular or oval shape, thus giving it the appearance of a tongue.

It's delicate and flaky and honey-sweet and buttery and crisp and I feel like a little kid whenever I bite into one.

 Zaban Recipe

Ingredients:
-1 package puff pastry 
-3 tbspn honey
-2 tbspn water
-sugar for sprinkling

Directions:
-Take out your puff pastry from the freezer and let it thaw out, around 30-40 minutes.
-Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
-Once thawed, unfold/roll out the puff pastry on a work surface. Make sure the longer edge of the dough is horizontal.
-In a small bowl, combine the honey and water and mix until thoroughly combined. (At the beginning, it may seem as if the honey and water are never going to come together, but they do! Happy mixing!)
-Brush the honey mixture over the dough.
- Cut the dough using a pizza cutter or a sharp knife. (If you're using a knife, dip it in flour beforehand). Divide into 3 equal sections. Then, cut each section in half vertically. Cut each half horizontally in thirds.
-Arrange the rectangles of puff pastry on your baking sheet.
-Go back and make a slit in the middle of each pastry.
-Sprinkle pastries with sugar.
-Bake at 400 degrees for 7-10 minutes (until doubled in size).
-Then reduce heat to 350 degrees and continue baking for 18-23 minutes (until lightly golden browned).

-Once removed from oven, brush with more of honey mixture. (Brush a lot of the honey mixture on. If you find you run out, mix together more honey and water because the essence of this dessert is the ooey-gooey honey.)
-Enjoy once cooled! :)

If the recipe seems confusing, it's just the cutting part. Honestly, you can cut it into whatever shape your little heart desires. Totally simple and elegant.

Thanks for reading and happy baking! :)