National Boston Cream Pie Day

BCP7

I don’t know why October 23rd is National Boston Cream Pie Day, but it is! Boston Cream Pie has been on my to-make list for so long. I think I’ve actually tried to do a post on it for several years running, and something always came up. But 2019 is my year in so many ways, that it’s also going to be the year I tackle the Boston Cream Pie post. Strap in.

If you’re unfamiliar, I should first break the news that Boston Cream Pie is not a pie at all. Instead, it’s a two-layer sponge cake, filled with cream, and topped with chocolate ganache. It’s likely, though, that the “pie” part of its name came from the cake being baked in a pie tin. Pies and cakes were often cooked in the same pans in earlier days, and the names would have been used interchangeably.

The Boston Cream Pie is associated most closely with the Parker House Hotel (now the Omni Parker House Hotel) in Boston. More specifically, they can be traced back to one man, Augustine Francois Anezin, a Frenchman who was the head cook at the Hotel. Many records incorrectly listed Anezin’s name as Sanzian, which immediately made me think he was Armenian, instead of French, but it turns out they just got his name wrong. He was definitely French, born around 1824 in Marseilles, France. He didn’t begin his tenure as chef at the Parker House until he was about 40, so his famous pie-cake would’ve been created sometime after 1865, but before he retired in 1881.

However, even though Anezin was responsible for bringing the pie to the Parker House Hotel, he did not invent cream pies (cake). They had already been around for years, but might have been enjoying a bump in popularity around this time. In fact, there is a recipe that dates back to 1864 called “Boston Cream Cakes” in Godey’s Magazine and Lady’s Book, a women’s monthly book published in Philadelphia. The Boston Cream Cakes recipe differs slightly from the Boston Cream Pie recipe that we know today, but it does show how common pudding pies and cakes were in that day. And it is interesting that, even in those early days, a pudding cake was attributed to Boston.

I’ve found no original recipe for Anezin’s Boston cream pie, but it was likely composed of sponge cake leavened with eggs, as baking powders were not yet commonly used in American baking until after the 1860s. And his recipe may or may not have had chocolate on top at the time. What we do know is that it was years before it would become known as Boston Cream Pie. Recipes referencing “Boston Cream Pie” begin popping up in newspapers outside of Boston as early as 1876. These recipes call for a sponge cake to be baked, split and filled with pudding, but with no mention of chocolate on top. Perhaps some credit for the chocolate covered version of the Boston Cream Pie should go to a woman named Maria Parloa, a well-known “domestic scientist” of her time. In 1877, she opened Miss Parloa’s School of Cooking in Boston. Ten years later, Parloa published her book Miss Parloa’s Kitchen Companion. In the book, Parloa has a recipe for “chocolate cream pie,” which appears very similar to what we know today as the Boston cream pie, calling for two rounds of cake, filled with pastry cream, and now with the addition of a chocolate icing topping. While Ms. Parloa’s name isn’t as well-known today, she was considered something of a “celebrity chef” of her time. (So, perhaps the “Boston” in Boston Cream Pie comes from Ms. Parloa’s version of the pudding pie, and her link to the city of Boston, rather than Anezin’s. It’s hard to know without documentation of the original recipe.) Whatever the origin, the pie-cake, topped with chocolate ganache, over time became eponymous with, not the hotel that it is attributed to, but the city of Boston itself. In 1996, it was even declared that Boston Cream Pie was the state dessert of Massachusetts, beating out other local treats, such as the Toll House cookie and Indian pudding.

BCP

BCP2

BCP3

BCP4

BCP6

Boston Cream Pie
Makes one 8-inch cream pie.

Ingredients:
For cake:
3 eggs
3/4 cups granulated sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3/4 cups flour

For pastry cream:
3 egg yolks
1 egg
6 tbsp sugar
3 tbsp cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
2 cups milk
2 tsp vanilla extract
3 tbsp unsalted butter

For ganache:
4 oz semi-sweet chocolate bar, chopped into small pieces
1/2 cup heavy cream

Instructions: 

For pastry cream: Stir together the yolks, egg, sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a heat-safe bowl until completely combined. Set aside.

Heat the milk in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, until small bubbles just begin to form around the edge of the saucepan. Turn off the heat.

Pour about half of the milk, very slowly, in a thin stream into the egg mixture, whisking rapidly and constantly to temper the eggs. Once the eggs are tempered, pour the egg mixture back into the remaining milk in the saucepan.

Turn the heat back on medium. Whisking constantly, allow the mixture to come to a boil. Once you see bubbles forming, keep mixing for about 1-2 minutes. You should see the mixture becoming thick.

Remove from heat, pour into a clean oven-safe bowl, and put a piece of plastic wrap directly on top of the hot pastry cream. Allow the pastry cream to come to room temperature, then refrigerate for at least two hours before using in your cream pie.

For cake: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Thoroughly grease an 8 x 2-inch round cake pan, and line bottom of the pan with parchment paper.

Beat together the eggs, sugar, salt, and vanilla extract until very pale yellow in color, about 12-15 minutes, with a hand mixer. The mixture should be quite thick.

Sift the flour over the top of the batter in three or four batches, completely mixing the flour in with a wooden spoon between each addition.

Pour the mixture into the greased cake pan and place on the center rack in the oven for 20 minutes.

The top of the cake should be golden on top by this time. Before opening the oven door, turn off the heat and crack the oven door, but do not yet remove the cake. Allow the cake to sit in the oven for 5 minutes.

Remove the cake from the oven and allow to cool upside down on a cooling rack.

Once the cake has cooled completely, carefully remove the cake from the pan. You may need to use a butter knife to loosen the sides of the cake from the pan, even if you greased the pan well.

Slice the cake in half, lengthwise.

Top the bottom half of the cake with the pastry cream, and place the top of the cake on the pastry cream. Place in the fridge while you make the ganache.

For ganache: Place the chopped chocolate in a heat-safe bowl.

Warm the heavy cream in a small saucepan, until you just begin to see bubbles forming around the edge of the pan.

Pour the milk directly over the chopped chocolate. Allow to sit for about 5 minutes.

Stir together the chocolate and the cream until it is fully combined and smooth.

Spoon the ganache over the top of the cake and smooth to the edges, allowing some to drip over the sides.

Enjoy!

BCP8

I got lost in the research for this post, because I was fascinated to learn about Maria Parloa, whom I had never heard of before. Also, the recipes that I saw reprinted in newspapers under the name chocolate cream pie seem to be taken verbatim from her book, so it is surprising that she has not traditionally been a part of the Boston cream pie story. The research is a bit thin all around, but I always love to chase these histories, and I also loved making this pie/cake.

Raspberry + Lemon-Poppyseed Battenberg Cake

7Battenberg Cake

I’ve made lots of recipes for this blog now. Something like, 90, I think! But, I’ll be honest, some are way more interesting to me. Battenberg cake has been on my list now for years. I mean, it’s just so pretty!! The perfect spring cake. I finally got around to looking up what it’s all about, found out that it had royal connections, and decided now was the time to share it. So what is Battenberg cake? The famous checkerboard teacake is a beautiful dessert, and its design, reminiscent of a coat-of-arms or a flag, is fitting of its royal history.

Though we don’t know the exact origins of the Battenberg cake, it is believed that it was created for the marriage of Princess Victoria of Hesse, a granddaughter of the English Queen Victoria. Princess Victoria married her first cousin, once removed, Prince Louis of Battenberg, a German nobleman serving in the British navy.

The couple were to become the maternal grandparents of Queen Elizabeth II’s husband, Prince Phillip. But before the wedding, Princess Victoria’s father did not approve of the marriage, believing that the Prince of Battenberg couldn’t financially support the lifestyle his daughter had grown up accustomed to. Victoria paid little attention to this, and married Prince Louis on April 30, 1884, in Darmstadt, Germany. (A bit of irony on the side here: Princess Victoria’s father, though unapproving of his daughter’s marriage to a man he thought of lesser status, took the opportunity of her wedding day to marry his second wife, Countess Alexandrina Hutten-Czapska. The Countess was certainly not of equal rank to her husband and, due to the disapproval of his family, their marriage was annulled within three months.)

(And if the only royalty you like is the terribly tragic, or the terribly Disney, kind, you should know that one of Princess Victoria’s sisters would marry Nicholas II of Russia, becoming known as the Czarina Alexandra, who eventually lost her life in 1918 during the Russian Revolution, along with her husband and five children, including the well-known Anastasia.)

The Battenbergs would eventually change their last name in response to the anti-German sentiment brought on by World War I, to the English translation of Battenberg: Mountbatten. (The British royal family would change their last name too, from the extremely German-sounding “Saxe-Coburg and Gotha,” to the much more English sounding “Windsor.”)

The Battenberg cake, which was said to have been created for the wedding, and which is also sometimes called domino cake, or church window cake (for its resemblance to stained glass), was to become a British teatime classic. Battenberg cake is traditionally composed of pink and yellow sponge cake, arranged in a checkerboard pattern, held together with jam, and wrapped in a layer of marzipan. The new teatime delicacy was a complicated step forward in the evolution of a fairly recent invention: Sponge cake as we know it today became popular during Queen Victoria’s rule, when eggs began to be used in cake baking, which allowed for a fluffier texture. The invention of baking soda in 1843 allowed for an even lighter and taller cake. It was also during Queen Victoria’s rule that English teatime became popular. (Queen Victoria herself was said to have been a fan of sponge cake during tea time, so much so that sponge cake in Britain would become known as “Victoria Sponge.”)

But just why the Battenberg cake is checkered is unknown. Some suggestions say it’s possible that the cake was used as a welcoming symbol to the German prince. It has been said that the four quadrants of the cake represent Prince Louis and his three brothers (an older sister was omitted).

Another unknown is why the the Battenberg Cake is pink and yellow. Perhaps it was because it was made for a spring wedding. Perhaps the pastels represent Easter colors, as the bride was born on an Easter Sunday.  I was able to find a reference to a “new Battenberg Cake” in a Scottish newspaper from November of 1885, the year after the wedding, which lists the confection as “flavored by fresh fruit.” It may have simply been that sponge cake, using additional eggs, naturally made for a yellow cake, and fruit was added as contrast.

As for why the cake was wrapped in marzipan, it may have been to celebrate the German union. Lubeck, in northern Germany, is considered the marzipan capital of the world. Marzipan would have been immensely popular in both England and Germany at the time.

This cake looks a lot more difficult to make than it is. For the longest time, I couldn’t even wrap my head around how anyone would make it. My brain just doesn’t work that way.  But just walk through the steps (there are a lot of them!), and don’t rush the process. It will all make sense in the end, and by then you’ll have a pretty pastel cake!

1Battenberg Cake

2Battenberg Cake

3Battenberg Cake

4Battenberg Cake

5Battenberg Cake

Raspberry + Lemon-Poppyseed Battenberg Cake
Makes one 7-inch cake.

Ingredients: 
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup, plus 1 tbsp of sugar
1 egg white, plus 2 whole eggs
3/4 tsp vanilla extract
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1/4 cup whole milk (room temperature)
1 2/3 cups flour
1 tbsp poppyseeds
1/2 tsp lemon zest
3 tbsp lemon juice
1/2 cup raspberry jam, warmed and strained through sieve to remove seeds, separated
2 drops red food coloring, optional
7 ounces prepared marzipan
Confectioner’s sugar, for rolling marzipan
Freeze-dried raspberries, optional

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease an 8×8-inch square pan with oil. Crisscross two sheets of parchment paper over each other in the pan.

Take an 8×6-inch piece of foil and fold until it is a two-inch tall strip. Place down the center of the pan, cutting down if needed.

Beat together softened butter and sugar until fluffy and light in color. Add in the egg white and stir in until just combined. Add the additional two eggs, one at a time, mixing each in fully. Stir in the vanilla extract, baking powder, and salt. Stir in the vegetable oil and milk. Finally, add the flour, all at once, stirring until just barely combined (as you will continue to stir when adding flavors).

Equally separate the batter into two bowls. To one bowl, add the poppyseeds, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Stir together until just combined. In the second bowl, add three tablespoons of raspberry jam, plus two drops of red food coloring, if you want to enhance the color. Stir until just combined. Pour the lemon-poppyseed batter into one half of the pan. Pour the raspberry batter into the other half.

Bake for 25-28 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of each half comes out clean. Remove from oven and allow to sit in pan for 10 minutes. Then, remove the two cakes to a rack to cool completely.

(From this point on, I found it easiest to work with the cake with some periodic 10-15 minute refrigeration.) Once the cakes are cooled, trim each cake into two equal strips, approximately 1.5 by 1.5 by 8. There should be four strips total, two of each color.

Using the remaining raspberry jam, lightly paint each side of the cake strips with raspberry jam (you should still have approximately 1/4 cup of jam left at this time). Then, place one raspberry strip next to one lemon-poppyseed strip. Next, put the second lemon-poppyseed strip on top of the first raspberry strip, then place the second raspberry strip next to the second lemon-poppyseed strip. This should make one large rectangular cube with a checkerboard pattern. Refrigerate while you prepare the marzipan.

Lightly dust your work space and a rolling pin with confectioner’s sugar. Roll your marzipan out to approximately an 8×12-inch rectangle. Brush the remaining raspberry jam across the surface of the marzipan.

Place the cake lengthwise on the longer side of the marzipan. Carefully pull the marzipan up closely around the cake, pressing the two ends together. Trim the excess off, and carefully rub the seam to smooth it. At this point, you’ll probably have some excess marzipan hanging from each end. This is fine. Refrigerate the cake for another 10 minutes. Then, cut about a 1/2-inch from each end. Score the top of the marzipan with a knife, and sprinkle with crushed freeze-dried raspberries, if you’d like.

Enjoy immediately with tea.

8Battenberg Cake

So, folks, if you’re… I don’t know… planning a British-themed party to celebrate the impending birth of a half-American movie star, half-British prince, member of the royal family… maybe you should consider this cake. Just saying. Happy caking!

National Oatmeal Month + Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

oatmeal chocolate chip cookies12

It’s January. The weather is nasty, and is supposed to get nastier before it gets better (tomorrow the temp is a high of -12!!!!). Comfort foods are a necessity and my chosen breakfast has become oatmeal. I’ve been eating it every morning, and while looking for new recipes to make my daily oatmeal more savory, I discovered that January is National Oatmeal Month! My best guess for this designation is that everyone is trying to detox from the holidays. But instead of eating healthy, we’re going to discuss the history of oats as food, and then reward ourselves with oatmeal chocolate chip cookies at the end. Let’s go!

It seems to me that oatmeal cookies, and oatmeal as food in general, are fairly divisive even today. Oatmeal raisin cookies in particular seem to be an issue for many. (I mean, can it really even be considered a cookie??) Present-day oatmeal cookies can be traced back to Scotland, where oatcakes, a less moist, crisper version of modern-day oatmeal cookies, have existed since the Middle Ages. Scotland seems to have been an early adopter of oats as a viable food option for humans. However, some other places were not as fast to catch on. Samuel Johnson’s famous dictionary, written in the mid-1700’s, defined oats as “A grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland appears to support the people.”

Many Americans before the mid-19th century agreed with the English. While oats were grown in the United States since the 1600s, they were mainly used to feed cattle. It wasn’t until Ferdinand Schumacher, an immigrant from Germany who arrived in the United States in the 1850s, attempted to change people’s minds about oats. Shortly after settling in Akron, Ohio, he founded the German Mills American Cereal Company. Realizing that oats, which were commonly used for porridge in his home country, were relegated to horse feed in his newly adopted land, he came up with a plan. At this time, oat kernels were ground very coarsely and would have taken a great deal of time to cook. Schumacher developed the “rolled oat”–literally a kernel that had been rolled flat–reducing the cooking time significantly. The timing worked in Schumacher’s favor, as it was around this time that the Civil War began. Rolled oats were a relatively cheap and shelf-stable food, making it an ideal food for both soldiers and civilians during lean times.

After the War, in 1877, Henry Seymour and William Heston registered the trademark for rolled oats as the first breakfast cereal. These two founders of the Quaker Oat Company chose perhaps the most famous face now associated with oatmeal in the United States: The smirking, elderly, Quaker man. He is not based on any real person, but was created for their logo by the two founders as “a symbol of good quality and honest value.”

Even before the cereal was trademarked, people began figuring out how to use oats in sweet treats. Oats were often used in the South during the War to make a cheaper version of pecan pie. And the earliest record I could find for an oatmeal cookie was in several newspapers from the fall of 1883 (though this means that recipes certainly existed before this, in unpublished form). The same recipe was circulated from New England to the Midwest, calling for the oatmeal cookie to be made “just like an ordinary cooky, using two-thirds oatmeal and one third wheat flour.” By 1896, a recipe for oatmeal cookies appeared in Fannie Merritt Farmer’s famous The Boston Cooking School Cook Book. Farmer’s recipe is much drier than the recipes we know today. Her recipe instructs you to mix the ingredients and then “Toss on a floured board, roll, and cut into shape,” in something that sounds more like a scone than a chewy cookie. Farmer’s recipe also did not include raisins, which did not become the norm for oatmeal cookies until Quaker Oats began printing a recipe for oatmeal raisin cookies on every carton of their oats in the early 1900s, the result of a collaboration between Sun-Maid Raisins and the Quaker Oat Company, who employed the same advertising agency. The recipe gained popularity during the difficult times of World War I and the Great Depression, again, as a somewhat cheap staple pantry item.

If you are comfortable knowing your go-to breakfast choice and common cookie ingredient were once horse food, then I think you’ll be able to get on board with these oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. (The recipe I made calls for chocolate, not raisins, but they could easily be substituted if you’re a oatmeal raisin cookie purist.)

oatmeal chocolate chip cookies - edited

oatmeal chocolate chip cookies2 - edited

oatmeal chocolate chip cookies3 - edited

oatmeal chocolate chip cookies5 - edited

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies
For the recipe, I used a mash-up of the classic Quaker Oats Vanishing Oatmeal Raisin Cookies, and the original recipe for Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies. Makes 18-24 cookies.

Ingredients: 
1/2 cup unsalted butter (1 stick), softened
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 large egg
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups oatmeal
6 oz. semi-sweet chocolate, chips or chopped into small pieces, or a mix of both (approximately 3/4 cup total)
Flaky sea salt, optional

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two large cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, combine the butter and both sugars. Beat until fully combined and smooth. Add in the egg and vanilla, and beat until combined.

Add the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt to the butter and sugar mixture. Beat until just combined so that no flour streaks remain.

Use a wooden spoon or spatula to mix in oats and chocolate.

Use a tablespoon to create scoops and place at least two inches apart on the baking sheet. Sprinkle lightly with flaky sea salt, optional.

Bake for 10-12 minutes, turning the pans 180 degrees halfway through baking.

Allow to cool on the cookie sheet for 10 minutes before eating warm, or moving to a cooling rack to cool completely.

chocolate chip cookies10

These cookies have come a long way since the oatcakes of Scotland. Simple and so good. I could’ve gone with the traditional raisins, which I actually really like and maybe even prefer, but I can’t be trapped inside my house by the cold with a bunch of oatmeal raisin cookies. Like, I can’t trust myself. Plus, my husband likes chocolate and is, generally, a cookie fiend. And he’s really into these. I think you will be too.

Happy baking and, please, stay warm, my friends!

Chocolate Beet Cake with Cream Cheese Beet Frosting 

Chocolate Beet Cake4

Happy November! I hope you all had a great first week and have had time to adjust to the fact that we are less than two months away from a NEW YEAR! Whoa. We are spending our time delaying pinning down travel plans for the holidays and watching Hallmark Christmas movies. (We like to yell life advice at the characters, like, “HE SHOULDN’T WANT YOU TO GIVE UP THE JOB YOU LIKE IN THE CITY IF HE REALLY LOVES YOU!”) Anyway.

As soon as it turned chilly, I started cooking up a storm, and now our fridge is now full of deliciously cozy leftovers. I’ve reached an age (and the time of year) where I cook at home almost every day because I just don’t want to go outside. Our dinner sides often consist of whatever vegetables I can roast together with some salt, pepper, and oil without giving them much thought. In fall, that vegetable increasingly becomes beets. We have them around the house constantly this time of year, which made me start hunting for new recipes. Then I realized, why not dessert??

This recipe for chocolate beet cake with beet cream cheese glaze comes to you because 1) I LOVE beets (tbh, it’s hard to believe there aren’t several more beet recipes on this blog) and 2) because it’s been really dreary here lately and I needed a pop of color (provided by the bright, naturally beet-colored cream cheese glaze).

The thought of pairing beets and chocolate might seem strange, but it shouldn’t. During the World Wars, when sugar and butter were rationed, home cooks would often add beets or beet juice to their chocolate cakes for both their color and to help keep the cake moist.

And, you may not think of beets as a sweet vegetable, but they actually contain a high amount of sugar. It wasn’t until the mid-1700’s that German chemist Andrea Margraff discovered that sucrose could be derived from beetroot. Initially, this discovery was nothing more than an interesting realization, but a few years after Margraff’s death, and almost fifty years after Margraff first made his discovery of sucrose in beets, one of his students, Franz Carl Achard, revived his studies. Achard began experimenting with sugar-producing plants on the grounds of his home, finding that sugar beets were the most efficient producers of sugar. More than 10 years after beginning his studies, Achard opened the first sugar beet processing plant in present-day Konary, Poland, under the patronage of Frederick William III of Prussia. Within 10 years of opening, the Napoleonic Wars had started, and the plant was destroyed during the fighting, though by this point other factories had begun springing up. The sugar beet sugar industry surged during the war, particularly in Germany, because Napoleon established a blockade that prevented Caribbean cane sugar from reaching Europe and, in 1813, banned the import of sugar all together. This ban ensured that factories producing sugar from sugar beets continued to pop up. The success of Achard in deriving sugar from beets so worried British sugar merchants that they offered him money to say that his experiments had failed, but he refused. Today, most of the sugar we consume comes from sugar cane, but a surprising 30% of the world’s sugar still comes from sugar beets.

Which brings us to this chocolate beet cake–in this case, not made with the sweetest beet, the sugar beet, but just regular old purple beets you find in the grocery store.

Chocolate Beet Cake5

Chocolate Beet Cake3

Chocolate Beet Cake8

Chocolate Beet Cake6

Chocolate Beet Cake2

Chocolate Beet Cake with Cream Cheese Beet Frosting
This recipe is inspired by Joy the Baker’s Beet Cake, and my recipe for malted chocolate cake. I used a 10-inch bundt pan, but this is about 6 cups of batter, so two 8 or 9-inch round cake pans could be used instead, though you will need to adjust your cooking time.

Ingredients:
For cake:
1 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 1/4 tsp baking soda
1 1/4 tsp baking powder
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder, plus more for dusting the bundt pan
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup vegetable oil, plus more for greasing the pan
1/2 cup boiling water
1 1/2 cups shredded beets (about 2-3 large beets)

For glaze:
4 oz cream cheese, very soft
1/3 cup milk
6 tbsp powdered sugar

Instructions: 

For cake:
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Thoroughly wash beets (without peeling them), coat them in olive or vegetable oil, and wrap them in foil. Place on a cookie sheet and bake for about an hour or until you can easily pierce them through with a fork. Remove from the oven and allow them to cool completely. Once cooled, cut off the ends, peel with a knife or vegetable peeler. Shred them on a box grater. Set aside.

Turn oven down to 350 degrees.

In a medium-sized bowl, mix together the flour, sugars, baking soda and powder, unsweetened cocoa powder, and salt.

In a large bowl, beat together the eggs, buttermilk, vanilla, and vegetable oil.

Pour the dry mixture into the wet mixture and use a spoon to stir together until no flour streaks remain.

Add the boiling water and stir until completely combined. Add the shredded beets, reserving about 1/4 cup for glaze, and stir until combined.

Coat a 10-inch bundt pan with vegetable oil or butter, and dust with cocoa powder.

Add the batter evenly to the bundt pan and bake for 35 to 45 minutes. Begin checking at 35 minutes by inserting a toothpick or thin knife. If it comes out clean, it’s done.

Allow the cake to cool in the pan on a wire rack for 15 minutes. Then, trace the edges of the pan with a butter knife and invert onto the wire rack to cool completely.

For glaze:
In a small saucepan, add 1/4 cup shredded beets to milk. Heat, stirring occasionally, removing from heat when the milk begins to steam. Strain the shredded beet from the mixture. Allow to cool slightly.

In a small bowl, combine the softened cream cheese with powdered sugar. Beat with a mixer until smooth. Beat in 1 tbsp of the beet-milk until you reach the desired consistency.

Pour evenly over the top of the cooled cake.

Serve and enjoy!

Chocolate Beet Cake

I like a tender cake. Tender and moist. Probably because I grew up on cakes made from boxes (I love them still), with everything perfectly measured and timed for the home baker. This cake gives me both of those things. And it makes me wonder why everyone isn’t putting beets into their baked goods. Please let me know if you have other beet-in-dessert recipes. I’m dying to try them!

Maggie Hennessy + Oma’s Cabbage Rolls

MH2

I’m extremely excited to welcome Maggie Hennessy to the blog today. If you often read about the Chicago food scene, you may already know her, or at least her words. She is a certified chef, freelance food writer and, since last summer, the restaurant and bars critic for Time Out Chicago, one of a very small number of female food critics in the city. Luckily for me, Maggie agreed to take time out of her busy schedule to talk to me about what food means to her, and to share one of her favorite family recipes.

For Maggie, food is a bond, a point of contention, and the subject of some of her favorite memories. Her mother prioritized her children’s diet, spending hours shopping for and preparing their meals. “I remember her saying ‘food is love’ every day,” she told me.

Her mother’s mother–her Oma–was a German immigrant who smuggled seeds for German mache lettuce to America in her socks, and grew and preserved her own comestibles–the definition of old-world cooking, who was nevertheless “thrilled when she got her first microwave.” Maggie sees food as an expression of love, but recognizes it also as a reminder of the traditionally narrow role of women. That’s why “making raspberry jam in the suffocating summer heat with my grandmother was almost terrifying–with pots slamming and fruit splattering, so we knew the true labor involved.”

The time and energy that both her mother and grandmother sacrificed to make sure their families were fed had a profound effect on Maggie. “Coming from a first-generation German mom who stayed home to raise her kids instead of pursuing a full-time painting career, whose mother came to the States during World War II, grew her own food and did all the cooking–food has this duality as an expression of love complicated by a burdensome sense of the ‘role’ of women first and foremost as caretakers,” Maggie told me. “It makes me appreciate that they fed us in spite of and because of this–and it connects me to them in a way I couldn’t possibly understand as a kid. That they did the best they could with their situation.”

Maggie’s older sister Madeline has also shaped Maggie’s relationship with food. Her mother’s excellent and healthy cooking led Maggie and her sister to a sort of rebellion, indulging in sweet cereals at sleepovers and “breakfast Cokes” on the way to middle school, and later, “mid-afternoon cheese fry and banana shake runs” when her sister could drive. Maggie’s sister went on to a career of non-profit grant-writing, with a great concern for social issues, which has put them on seemingly opposite sides of the food world. “You try bringing up the trendiness of bone broth over a couple drinks with someone who spends her days fighting tooth and nail to get sick, chronically homeless people into housing.” Their lifelong dialog has been fruitful for both. Maggie is “still smitten with the notion of food as a unifier—a source of joy and an expression of love,” she says. “But I’ve also developed a healthy skepticism about its pretension, which I owe in large part to my sister.”

This life with food led Maggie to a career in food, by a roundabout way. She moved with her family from Boston to the suburbs of Chicago when she was seven, and studied journalism in college. “After graduation and about 35 newspaper job applications that went mostly unanswered, I finally got a job as a financial journalist. I hated the work, but was too afraid to take the plunge and quit. So instead, I’d research culinary schools on my lunch break and fantasize about leaving to pursue a dazzling career in food writing.”

However, like many young professionals in 2008, Maggie was affected by the recession: “Two years later, my whole team got laid off.” Seeing this as an opportunity, Maggie took her meager savings and went to culinary school. “For one year, I spent my nights trekking to Kendall College in that tragically unflattering chef’s uniform to make crepes, sear lamb chops, weave challah bread, roll fresh pasta, and make blood sausage from scratch.” 

Still, she wasn’t sure how to transition from culinary school into food writing. But she found that the “chef-instructors were accommodating, letting me observe student dinner service and tirelessly document and photograph every moment of class. That year taught me wondrous things, too, like the magic of making consomme, the secret to Roman marinara (anchovies!), and the sound a perfectly baked baguette makes” 

Once she finished her courses, she was able to find work in business-to-business food journalism. She told me, “I worked at a series of trade publications covering every aspect of fine-dining and fast-casual restaurants, bakeries, supermarkets, and packaged food and beverage. I was desperate to maintain some connection to food, even if it meant covering high-volume bakery equipment or GMO labeling.”

But eventually she decided it wasn’t enough. With the support of her “husband / soulmate / best friend Sean,” she took the plunge to become a full-time freelance food and drink writer.

Oma

Though she credits her mother and sister with shaping her ideas about food, her earliest experience came from her grandmother. “My grandma grew up in a little town in Germany not far from Frankfurt, in a family of poor farmers,” Maggie told me. “She married my grandpa, who was Croatian and a watchmaker, during World War II. They moved to Fairfield, Connecticut, where her sister lived, and had three children. My grandparents were very religious. Oma worked in retail and was a wonderful seamstress. She used to make these incredible retro dresses and coats for our Barbie dolls.”

Maggie tells me that her Oma “maintained a massive backyard garden, cooked and baked everything from scratch and made preserves out of what she couldn’t use up.” Even though she died of cancer at the young age of 64, when Maggie was only five, she and her story left a strong impression. Maggie dreamily recalls “the smell of newspapers in the kitchen, where my grandfather would sit reading and muttering about corrupt politics while he slathered thick pats of butter on his poppy seed bagel; hunting for deliciously grainy lumps in Oma’s famous cream of wheat laced with sugar and heavy cream; the tinny scraping sound of fork on metal as my grandmother whisked oil, lemon and green onion together to make her now-famous ‘Oma dressing,’ which my mom, sister and I still make almost daily to this day; the taste of syrupy raspberry-filled milk chocolate bars, which Oma always presented us with the moment we arrived.”

The recipe that Maggie decided to share is for her grandmother’s cabbage rolls. When I asked Maggie why she decided to share this recipe in particular, she told me a few reasons. “One, because as I’ve gotten older cooking has increasingly become a meditative pursuit in the sense that it requires us to truly live in the moment. The first part of the recipe fulfills this–with plenty of chopping, par-cooking, mixing, stuffing and assembling. Each step is simple, but you have to be present,” she said. “The second reason I shared this recipe is exactly the opposite of the first–and equally why I love it so much. Stuffed cabbage rolls are one of the most forgiving dishes you’ll ever make; I’m not kidding. Even if a few cabbage leaves rip, or you overfill them, or forget to add the sauerkraut till the very end, or the bottom of the pot burns a little, this dish always turns out delicious. There’s something to be said for submerging a bunch of stuff in liquid in a pot, leaving it alone over low heat, then it comes out the other side as a flavorful, fulfilling and coherent meal.”

Maggie clarified that she had never had these rolls from her grandmother’s kitchen, but only ever had them made by her mother. “We usually visited my grandparents in summertime, and stuffed cabbage rolls–filled with bacon, beef and rice and slow-braised in tomatoes and sauerkraut–are total winter food.” As Maggie was telling me this story, she said something striking: “I’m so glad she never made them for me.” It’s the sign of a true family recipe when it has life beyond the first person to make it. These are Oma’s cabbage rolls when Maggie’s mother makes them, and they are still Oma’s when Maggie makes them today.

These rolls define the type of food that Maggie always comes back to, “warming, hearty and comforting one-pot meals, heavy on vegetables and never without starch.” As I’ve often been told in previous posts (and as I’ve done myself with my family recipes), Maggie has adapted her grandmother’s recipe to her own taste, “upping the tomato because I’m an unapologetic sauce lover and seasoning every layer because being a chef turns that into a compulsory act. Adapting it filled me with endless joy, because I deem that the real mark of recipe mastery. “

I also like to think they’re the perfect expression of the type of woman my grandmother was–resourceful, labor-intensive, warm and tidy, with a slight bite.” 

Cabbage Rolls

Cabbage Rolls2

Cabbage Rolls3

Cabbage Rolls4

Oma’s Cabbage Rolls
Makes about 12 rolls

Ingredients:
1/2 cup white rice
Salt, as needed
1 large head cabbage
3-4 strips bacon, diced 1/4 inch
1 tsp butter
1 medium yellow onion
Pepper, to taste
2 pounds 85% lean ground beef
2 eggs
1 pound sauerkraut
1 14-oz can tomato sauce
1 14-oz can diced tomatoes
14 oz water

Instructions:

Bring 1 cup water to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the rice, and cook for about 10 minutes, until cooked about halfway through (it will cook the rest of the way inside the cabbage rolls). Drain off any excess water and dump the rice into a large bowl.

While the rice is cooking, heat a large pot two-thirds full of salted water until boiling. Carefully add the whole head of cabbage and boil for 5 minutes. Remove, and immediately plunge into a large bowl of ice water for 30 seconds, turning constantly, to stop the cooking process. Set on paper towels to drain.

Place diced bacon in a cold skillet with a large pat of butter. Turn the heat up to medium, and slowly render the bacon until slightly brown, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the onion and a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Saute until the onion is softened and slightly caramelized, about 5 minutes. Add the onions and bacon to the rice mixture. Then add the ground beef, eggs, and a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper. Puncture the yolks, and mix everything together until evenly incorporated.

To assemble the cabbage rolls, pull one cabbage leaf off at a time and place it on a cutting board with the inside facing up and the root end closest to you.

Place a few tablespoons of the beef mixture in the center of the leaf. Fold each side in toward the center so they’re overlapping. (Don’t worry if there are a few rips in the cabbage leaves. Everything will come together when it cooks.)

Roll forward and away from you, tucking in the sides as you go like you’re rolling up a burrito. Set the rolls seam-side down on a sheet tray, and repeat until you’ve used up all the filling. If there is only a little cabbage left, chop it up finely and toss it in the pot with the cabbage rolls. Otherwise, seal the rest in an airtight container and put it in the fridge.

Place a 5-quart Dutch oven or other large, heavy-bottomed pot on the stove. Cover the bottom with a layer of sauerkraut (and extra chopped cabbage if you have it), then a layer of cabbage rolls. Season with a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Repeat this process until all the cabbage rolls are nestled inside the pot.

Pour the tomato sauce and diced tomatoes over everything. Fill the 14-ounce tomato sauce can with water and pour that over the rolls as well. Top with a little more sauerkraut and season again with salt and pepper.

Turn the heat on medium, and bring the mixture to a simmer. Turn the heat down to low (the pot should be lightly bubbling), cover the pot and cook the cabbage rolls for 2 hours, until the meat is cooked through and the cabbage leaves are tender.

To serve, place 2 rolls in a shallow bowl or on a plate. Top with a few ladles of the sauerkraut tomato sauce. Serves 4 to 6.

Note: Stuffed cabbage rolls freeze beautifully. Place the cooked cabbage rolls and a few spoonfuls of sauce in airtight containers in the freezer up to 3 months. The day you’re ready to eat them, put them in the fridge 8 hours ahead to thaw, then reheat them gently over medium low on the stove.

Cabbage Rolls5

When I had coffee with Maggie to discuss this post, I had just made the cabbage rolls the day before. I told her I was skeptical before I made them, because I don’t count myself as a lover of cabbage or sauerkraut. But then I ate one. And then my husband and I ate every last one of them. Seriously, they’re that good. Cozy comfort food at its finest.

If you are interested in learning more about Maggie and her work, you can catch up with her on Twitter and Instagram, or on her personal website. She also recently co-authored a cookbook with Mitch Einhorn (of Twisted Spoke) that she hopes will be published later this year.

In addition, Maggie recently wrote a piece for Cherrybombe, that is not so much about food, as it is about muting other people’s negativity and overcoming feelings of inadequacy and inexperience to become a food critic. You should definitely read it. If you’re a woman in almost any occupation, but particularly a nontraditional one, this article will strike a chord with you.

Thank you so much for taking the time to share your story and your grandmother’s recipe, Maggie!

Zwetschgendatschi or German Plum Cake

Zwetschgenkuchen5

I first heard of Zwetschgendatschi when NPR did a Found Recipes piece on pastry chef and author Gesine Bullock-Prado (also the sister of Sandra Bullock). Bullock’s father was American, but her mother Helga was a German opera singer. She talks about how difficult it was for her to make this cake after her mother died. It was powerful to read this, and I have seen something similar while collaborating with ladies on this blog about their own family recipes: Sometimes sharing is easy for them, they’re excited to share, and excited to talk about their family dish, but sometimes it’s very difficult. Memories are baked into food and can bring up surprising emotions if you’re not ready for them.

This particular dish, Zwetschgendatschi, is sometimes called “Summer Cake.” The cake is traditionally made with Damson plums, which are tiny, dark purple, oblong plums that only ripen for a few weeks a year around August. This plum is slightly more tart than most plums you will find in the grocery store.

When made in sheet cake form, it is more pie or tart than cake. An alternate version calls for a yeast dough with no streusel on top. Whichever recipe is used can give you a good idea where someone is from in Germany. In parts of Central Germany it is known as Quetschekuche, while in the western region it’s known as Prummetaat, and in Bavaria or Austria it is more often known as Zwetschgendatschi. The people in Augsburg, in Bavaria, claim to be the creators of the recipe. The city’s nickname is “Datschiburg” in reference to the cake, and the arrangement of the plums on top of the cake are said to resemble the pine cone on the city’s coat of arms. Their version uses a shortbread crust, which is what I used here.

Zwetschgenkuchen

Zwetschgenkuchen3

Zwetschgenkuchen11

Zwetschgenkuchen6

Zwetschgendatschi
Makes one 8″ tart. Slight variation on this recipe from NPR.

Ingredients:
For crust:
1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 cup, plus 1 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, cubed and very cold (1 1/2 sticks)

For filling:
1 egg yolk
1 tbsp whole milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
About 10-14 small-to-medium plums (Damson, or Italian Prune Plums)

For topping:
1/8 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1 tbsp sugar

Instructions:

Whisk together the egg yolk, whole milk, and vanilla. Set aside.

In a food processor, or large bowl, combine the flour, cornstarch, sugar, and salt. If using a food processor, add the butter to the bowl and process until the butter pieces are a bit smaller than pea-sized. If using a bowl, cut the butter into the flour mixture. Add the egg yolk mixture slowly. Process or mix with your hands until the mixture just begins to stick together. It will still appear crumbly.

Pour out the mixture onto a lightly floured surface. Pull the mixture together, kneading until all the dry parts are combined. Form into a disc, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for 30-45 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Remove the pits from the plums, and quarter. Set aside.

Using your fingertips, press the dough into a 8-inch tart pan. Reserve a golf ball sized portion of the dough to sprinkle over the top.

Arrange the plum quarters over the top of the tart. Crumble the remaining dough and sprinkle over the top.

Mix together the nutmeg, cinnamon, and sugar. Sprinkle mixture evenly over the top of the plums.

Bake for 35-45 minutes, until the plums are very tender.

Allow to cool completely and then enjoy!

Zwetschgenkuchen7

This cake can be made with other varieties of plums, but make sure they are not overly ripe, which would make them very sweet and too juicy. Italian prune plums are a good alternative to Damson plums, if you can find them. (Prune plums are what I used for this recipe.) I relied on the recipe given by NPR, but I did find a recipe in a newspaper from the 1980’s that suggested adding a little nutmeg and cinnamon to your sugar mixture to sprinkle over the top, and that seemed like a heck of an idea. While it looks a little oozy in the photos above, that does not do it justice. The smooth, buttery shortbread crust holds up wonderfully against the juicy fruit.

I hate to tell you this, but summer is almost over. Now is the time for summer cake! Do it for the season.

One final thought: It always seems strange to be writing about food with everything happening in the world. I’m baking and researching history as a way to work through and try to understand what’s going on in our country, and how I can help. I’m mad, and appalled, and disappointed. We owe so much to the diversity that built this nation. Every recipe that I feature on this site is influenced by countries and peoples from around the world. I have said before that I wish to generally keep politics off this food history blog–it’s supposed to be fun and delicious, you know. However, humanity is not political, and this argument is not about liberals or conservatives, it’s about our fellow humans. We are all equal. It seems elementary to say but, it turns out, some people still don’t understand the concept. If you don’t agree, I don’t expect any of my posts about border-crossing recipes to make any sense to you. For everyone else: Let’s bake together.