Boston Molasses Disaster + Joe Frogger Cookies

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Hi! Welcome to my first post of 2019! I was away from this blog for the entirety of December, and instead spent that time working, and napping, and snacking in the light of my Christmas tree. It was a great December. And now we’re in the post-holiday January yuck, and I need something to brighten my days, so I’m back to blogging.

Last summer, Alex had to go to Boston for a work trip. Having never been to Boston before, I tagged along and explored the city’s oldest neighborhood, the North End. It had everything I could ever want: Graveyards dating back to the 1600’s, tiny Italian bakeries, historic homes, and narrow winding streets. But a less noticeable feature of the ward, a tiny plaque near the water, commemorates a tragedy in Boston’s history. On January 15, 1919 (100 years ago today), a tank of molasses exploded in Boston’s North End, sending what some witnesses described as a 25-foot wave of molasses flooding through the neighborhood. Twenty-one people were killed and several others were injured. The explosion, as well as flying debris, was responsible for some of the deaths. Others died trapped in the sticky substance, unable to breath. Some blocks were flooded with two to three feet of molasses and some of the dead were missing for days as rescuers combed the muck.

The failure of the tank, designed by a man named Arthur Jell who had little to no engineering or architectural design experience, was caused by poor construction, and weak rivets and steel. Pressure internally from increasing external temperatures may have also played a role. Finally, some say that the company that owned the tank, Purity Distilling Company, may have overfilled it, due to the expected ratification of the 18th amendment (the prohibition of alcohol), which took place the day after the explosion. Molasses has a long history in Massachusetts, not so much for its use in cookies and cakes, but in rum.

In all, the area immediately surrounding the tanker took at least two weeks to clean, but by that time, people had tracked molasses through the rest of the city, as well as into the suburbs. The class-action lawsuit that families of the victims brought against United States Industrial Alcohol Company, the company that had purchased Purity Distilling, helped shape modern laws on corporate regulation.

Today’s recipe, the classic Joe Frogger, combines molasses, rum, and a little Massachusetts (though not Boston), history. These spiced molasses cookies have their own interesting story, so be sure to stay tuned after the recipe to learn more about them.

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Joe Froggers
Adapted from this recipe from Taste of Home. Makes 24-30 cookies.

Ingredients:
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup brown sugar, packed
1 large egg

3/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup hot water
2 tbsp rum
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

2 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground allspice
1 1/2 tsp ground ginger

White sugar, for rolling

Instructions: 

Cream the butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg.

Stir together molasses, hot water, vanilla extract, and rum.

Whisk flour, baking soda, salt, ground cloves, nutmeg, allspice, and ginger.

Add creamed mixture to dry ingredients, alternating with molasses mixture, beating after each addition. Cover and refrigerate for four hours, or until it’s easy to handle.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Line a large cookie sheet with parchment paper.

Fill a shallow bowl with 2/3 cup of sugar.

Scoop out enough dough for a 1 1/2-inch ball. Roll in your hands, and then drop into the bowl of sugar. Roll to coat, and set on parchment paper. Continue, leaving about 2 or 3 inches between each ball, until the cookie sheet is full. Taking a flat bottomed cup or bowl, press down on each ball slightly, until each is about a 1/4-inch thick disk.

Bake for 12 minutes, rotating the cookie sheet at six minutes. Remove from oven, allow to cool for two minutes on pan, then allow to cool completely on a wire rack.

Enjoy!

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While the focus of this post is the Boston Molasses Disaster, it’s hard to share a Joe Frogger recipe without discussing its own interesting history. Very rarely can you pinpoint a place of origin for a food, but most historians agree that this cookie was created in Black Joe’s Tavern in Marblehead, Massachusetts. “Black Joe” referred to a free African American Revolutionary War soldier (and some sources say hero) named Joseph Brown. Joseph Brown was born into slavery in 1750, the son of an African-American mother and a member of the Wampanoag Tribe. He was likely freed because of his service as a militiaman in Captain Francis Felton’s Company. Shortly after the War, Brown and his wife Lucretia, along with another couple, Joseph and Mary Seawood, purchased a Saltbox, a N.E. architectural style home, where they lived and worked. After Joseph Seawood’s death, Mary Seawood sold her half of the home to the Browns.

Brown’s wife, Lucretia, was born in Marblehead, the daughter of two former slaves. After marrying and establishing their home, the Brown’s opened the front part of the building they had purchased as a tavern. The tavern owned by the Browns was integrated, and was popular with sailors at the time, though women and children would have frequented as well. Lucretia Brown would have done the cooking for the tavern, and she is the one credited with creating the cookie now known as the Joe Frogger. Though Lucretia Brown’s original recipe is lost to history, the constant in any close-to-authentic Joe Frogger seems to be the addition of both rum and molasses. The cookie  was popular with the sailors because they were sturdy enough to survive long trips at sea better than the average confection, and better than many fresh foods, thanks to the addition of the rum. Likely the first recipe contained no eggs, but might have contained a curious addition of seawater.

There are several suggestions for why they are named Joe Froggers. Some say that the name “Frogger” comes from “flogger,” a name for a ship’s provisions. These particular “floggers” came from Joe’s Tavern. Another theory is that, as the cookie would have traditionally been made in a skillet, as opposed to baked, the cookie would take the shape of a frog when the batter hit the pan. Alternatively, some sources say the name comes from the fact that these cookies would have been much larger than what we think of today and would have been as big as the lily pads in Joseph Brown’s pond.

Both of the Browns are buried in Marblehead. Their former home and tavern, built in 1691, stayed in the Brown family until their adopted daughter, Lucy, sold it in 1867. Amazingly, it still stands today, though it is a private residence.

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Shulamis Rouzaud + Challah

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For your post-Thanksgiving reading pleasure, I’m super excited to welcome my guest, Shulamis Rouzaud, to the blog today!

Shulamis is the founder of the Chicago Bread Club, an organization created to “share the art and knowledge of bread and to promote the regional grain economy.” She started the Chicago Bread Club when she was searching for work, but coming up disappointed. “I was not very satisfied with what was out there. Looking back, what I wanted didn’t exist until I created my own position.” It started with an Instagram message. “I messaged my friend, ‘Hey do you want to start a bread club?’ and she said, ‘Yes!'” It soon became a full-time organization. “Having someone say yes to my idea and support me in the initial planning processes was crucial,” she said. Once the organization took off, it was gratifying for Shulamis to see the impact she had on the community. “Our grain farmers, millers, bakers, and brewers need our support,” she said, “and it’s amazing to be a part of that effort. It’s also exciting to highlight the work of our researchers and extension agents on grain that is grown and can grow in our region.”

Shulamis was born in North Hollywood, California. When she was still quite young, her family moved to Cleveland for her father to attend dental school. She attended very strict Orthodox Jewish private schools through 10th grade, and halfway through 10th grade, she moved to Chicago, where she was accepted into an Orthodox private high school, and she has been in Chicago since. Shulamis told me she had trouble with the strictness of her school in Cleveland. About halfway through 10th grade I got expelled for not following the rules,” she said, explaining that the school was very strict about contact with the opposite sex. “I had friends that were boys,” she told me. “That was my first time in my life that I failed, and I would say that I failed up.”

After school, she struggled with the expectations placed on her as an Orthodox Jewish woman. “I was expected to become a wife and a mother as an adult. Everything I was pushed to be interested in was geared around that. I remember being told that I should probably not go to college but if I did that I needed to be careful to stay on the Orthodox Jewish path.” She attended the one Ultra Orthodox Jewish college in Chicago for two years before dropping out at the age of 22, when she got engaged. Shortly after she was married, she welcomed her daughter, Maya. After giving birth to her daughter, she was a stay-at-home mom, which led to her interest in food as a career. “When Maya was little, I became obsessed with baking and just couldn’t stop.” She began taking classes at Le Cordon Bleu, but within two semesters, she began having reservations. She realized, “The price tag for their culinary arts education did not match the wages and salaries of the restaurant industry and I did not feel I was learning anything I didn’t already know.” She thought she would learn more in professional kitchens, so she began interning, and worked as a pastry cook for over a year. She began asking folks in the pastry world about including whole grains in baking and pastry, having been raised by a mother who had insisted on healthy, Alice Waters-inspired California cuisine accompanied by “100% whole wheat bread that was amazingly dry.” Shulamis as a child wanted meals that were more fun and less healthy, but the spirit of nutritious eating stuck with her. “We never fried anything in the house. Even our latkes were pan-fried instead of fried in deep oil,” she told me. Without receiving much response to her inquiries about whole grains, she began thinking about studying nutrition herself, and she soon graduated from Dominican University with her degree in nutrition and dietetics in 2017. 

The recipe Shulamis chose to share was challah–fitting for her in a number of ways. “I have been making it forever. I’ve been eating challah since I was a baby. My mom hated baking and I started making the challah and desserts for Sabbath meals starting at the age of 11.” The religious significance of the bread was impressed on her through worship and through her Jewish day school. “It was the woman’s job to prepare it and say the blessing that is said when preparing to bake the challah. I learned about the history of challah straight out of the Old Testament in Biblical Hebrew,” she told me. “It is impossible to celebrate the Sabbath without it. There are certain Jewish laws governing what is challah and what is not. The laws differ according to custom, but it centers largely on the enrichment of the dough. Sephardic challah is eggless and unsweetened, often called water challah, and even Ashkenazic challah has laws governing how much sugar can be added. I often see people getting creative with their challah production, usually with largely sweet additions. That is not challah to me.”

The recipe she shared came to her from a member of the Jewish community in Chicago, which has been Shulamis’ favorite since she first ate it as a guest at a Sabbath meal. “Since I got the recipe, I haven’t changed anything, although I’ve been using whole wheat for at least half the flour for years.” Along with the recipe, she shared its meaning. “The symbolism of the cutting board and knife that that the challah rests on is as an altar. It hearkens back to when Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on the altar. That is why challah is always dipped in salt by the person cutting it at the Sabbath meal (meat is salted after being slaughtered). Sorry if that sounds gross! The Old Testament is not for the faint of heart!” (No apologies necessary!) “Every religious Jewish woman has been making challah since biblical times. Recipes have been passed from woman to woman over time.” Shulamis was passed this recipe, and now passes it to you!

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Challah
Makes 4 loaves. 

Ingredients: 
150 grams sugar (approximately 3/4 cup) 
1 1/2 tbsp yeast
2 1/2 cups water, warm 
1 egg (plus one more egg for egg wash) 
6 tbsp oil 
3 tsp salt 
2 1/2 lbs bread flour (approximately 9 cups) 

Instructions: 

Whisk together the sugar, yeast, and warm water in a large bowl and allow to sit for 10 minutes. 

Whisk in egg, oil, and salt, then knead in bread flour on a floured surface until dough becomes smooth. 

Allow to rise in a warm area, covered, for 1 1/2 hours. 

After the dough has risen, punch down and divide into four equal pieces. Divide each piece into into 6 strands, roll into a rope that this thicker in the middle and tapered at the sides. Shape into a braid, and set on a parchment paper-covered cookie sheet. Cover and allow to rise for another 1/2 an hour. (If you’ve never braided six strands before, I found this video helpful.) 

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. 

Once the dough has risen a second time, baste with one whole egg (beaten) and sesame seeds or poppy seeds. 

Bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown. Allow to cool and serve.

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If you are interested in seeing what the Chicago Bread Club is all about, you can check them out at 6:30 tonight (11/28) at Dovetail Brewery! The guest host will be Andy Hazzard of Hazzard Free Farm! Most months, however, the Club meets the last Monday of every month at 6:30 pm. (This month’s was rescheduled thanks to Monday’s nasty weather.) The location changes each month to various local bars and breweries around the city that allow outside food. Most meetings are free (though those that have an admission fee are announced in advance), and no RSVP is required. Locations are announced each month on Instagram. Every month there is a guest host, who is either a farmer, baker, agent, or researcher involved in the regional grain economy. Occasionally there are special workshops and panel events, one of which, their collaborative event with Cheese Sex Death in October, sold out! In March of 2019, you can visit the Chicago Bread Club’s booth at the Good Food Expo.

To learn more about Shulamis’ work with the Chicago Bread Club, you can follow the club on Instagram @chicagobreadclub, or like them on Facebook. You can contact Shulamis directly with any questions or contributions at shulamis@chicagobreadclub.org

Shulamis, thank you so much for sharing your story with me! I look forward to seeing what is in store for you and the Chicago Bread Club in the future! 

Amanda McLemore + Green Tomato Sandwich Spread

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I’m pleased as punch to welcome my guest today, Amanda McLemore! Amanda is a chef and urban farmer, originally from Detroit, Michigan, who now resides in Chicago. She runs the website Baguette and Butter, a resource for those interested in eating locally, sustainably, and growing their own food. 

Hoping to be a chef since she was a child, she began her career in food where most do: by attending culinary school. However, it was while she was in culinary school that she realized that she, and many of the people around her, didn’t really know where their food was coming from. So she began educating herself on the politics that surround food in the United States. She told me, “Knowing where my food comes from is so important to me because Americans have given such an essential part of how we survive to politicians, corporations, and industrial farms, yet we cannot trust ourselves to be able to cook and sustain ourselves as a local community.” But she says that outsourcing this fundamental part of our lives is no longer sustainable in terms of our health, the environment, or ethical transparency. It was with these worries in mind that she decided to start her website, with a mission of nourishing and advocating “for a new definition to our American food culture” that lives up to “high ethical standards, is intentional with our packaging waste, and uplifts foods and dishes that help our bodies become stronger.” As part of her own journey of discovering how to live and eat more sustainably, in 2014 Amanda gave up going to the grocery store. Instead, she grew her own herbs and some of her own vegetables, and utilized her local farmers market for the rest. This was not her first foray into gardening, though. Amanda was influenced by her grandmother, a teacher and gardener who had grown up in the south and moved to Detroit as an adult. Though her grandmother passed away when Amanda was only six years old, she told me that she remembers helping her grandmother in the garden. After rediscovering a love a gardening since then, Amanda set out to educate others. “Baguette & Butter was founded to change the way the American diet is defined,” she told me, “by teaching cooking skills that have been lost, simple gardening, and home skills to give Americans more time, money, and space for bettering our community.”

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For her recipe, Amanda decided to share her grandmother’s Green Tomato Sandwich Spread, which is not only delicious, but supports Amanda’s mission of using seasonal ingredients and wasting as little as possible. She tells me that she chose this recipe “since the garden season is coming to an end and green tomatoes are everywhere!” She was happy to share it because “lost recipes and the stories that go with them are important to talk about,” and recipes from previous generations carry with them “stories, memories, and lessons.” Though her grandmother passed away early in her life, Amanda tells me there are a few things she remembers clearly, “She was born in the south. She began working as an educator in Detroit as an adult and loved to cook, run, and garden. She used to make sure that the family was always first and together.” Amanda couldn’t be sure where her grandmother picked this recipe up, but her grandfather told her that “she most likely used it in class, as she taught home economics.” The recipe was saved in her handwriting, and kept in her recipe box. Amanda said, “I know very little about this recipe, but I haven’t found one out there like this either.”

The recipe, it turns out, is as delicious as it is original.

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Green Tomato Sandwich Spread
Makes 10 pints. (Recipe scaled down for photographs.)

Ingredients:
4 quarts of green tomatoes
6 onions
6 green peppers
6 red peppers
1/2 cup salt
3 celery stalks, finely chopped
1 quart white vinegar
4 cups white sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tbsp dry mustard
1 tbsp turmeric

Instructions:

Chop the green tomatoes, onions, green peppers, and red peppers together, and process briefly to combine. Add salt, and allow to sit overnight, covered.

Drain, and add finely chopped celery.

Mix in the vinegar and sugar in a large pan. Heat until boiling.

In a separate bowl, mix flour, dry mustard, and turmeric with some water to make a paste. Add the paste to the green tomato mixture and continue to cook until the mixture is thick.

Add to sterilized pint jars, seal, and boil in a hot water bath for 5 minutes.

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Eventually Amanda would like to “publish a couple of books and continue to build an online platform that will help others learn how to cook, shop, and eat sustainably.” In the meantime, she has some exciting things in the pipeline. For one, her Thanksgiving Field Guide is now available for purchase on her website. The guide is full of family recipes and walks you through how to throw a Thanksgiving dinner that’s “local, sustainable, and made from scratch.” She also has several online, live-streamed workshops coming up, as well as a cocktail pop-up at Mi Tocaya on November 2nd.

If you want to find out more about Amanda’s work, and get more information on her upcoming classes, you can visit the Baguette and Butter website, or follow her on Instagram or Twitter.

Thank you so much for sharing your story and your grandmother’s recipe, Amanda!

The Tatin Sisters + Apple Tarte Tatin

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Hi! Hello! How are you settling into October? The early chilly weather we have in Chicago is wearing me down a little. I wore my winter coat twice last week. TWICE! However, I’m trying to take advantage of the little bit of October I have left by watching all my scary favorites. Cold weather helps with this. Channel Zero just started again. I watched the first episode of the season last night. I… have thoughts. Mostly my thoughts are that I don’t want to go into our basement to do laundry anymore. Season 2 of Lore is up on Amazon, even though I haven’t dug into it yet. AND, just as I was making this list, I realized that the Halloween episode of Snap Judgement should be coming up soon. It’s really a wonderful month. (I just realized how often I talk about the weather and TV here. It really sums up who I am as a person…)

In addition to October being full of ghouls and goblins, and being National Pumpkin Month, it’s also National Apple Month!

Today we’re getting into some tarte Tatin history. Have you ever had tarte Tatin? I had not. However, I had seen many pictures online and I kind of fell in love with it. First, I think it’s beautiful. A little lumpy, with beautifully arranged apples. It’s really ugly-beautiful in a lot of ways. Anyway, if you haven’t had it, you’re in for a treat.

Tarte Tatin is said to have originated in Lamotte-Beauvron, in the Sologne region of France, at the Tatin Hotel, shortly before the turn of the century. The Tatin Hotel, and the subsequent tarte, is named after the two sisters who ran the hotel, Stephanie and Caroline Tatin.

There is, of course, always a story. The story goes that the tarte was created when the older Tatin sister, Stephanie, who was responsible for running the hotel’s kitchen, had a particularly busy day. Stephanie would often serve apple tarts to the Hotel guests, but in her fluster that day, she nearly burned the apples and, not wanting to discard the entire dish, she laid the pastry on top of the apples, finished baking the dessert in the oven, then flipped it over to serve. The dish was well-received and the rest is history. Whether or not this story is actually true, we’ll never know. According to a website dedicated to the tarte Tatin, the dish was already in existence before the sisters opened their hotel in 1890’s. It’s likely this dish was served at the Hotel–however, it was also certainly not the first upside-down dessert of its kind: There was a similar dessert from the area known as the tarte Solognote. The only thing we really know for sure is that the Tatin sisters were not the ones who named this recipe after themselves or their hotel.

By 1917, both sisters had passed away, and there is no record that the Tatin name was linked to the dish until the 1920’s. So, how did the tarte Tatin get its name?

One story credits French culinary writer Curnonsky. He wrote about it in his 1926 La France Gastronomique. He wrote, “The Famous Apple or Pear Tarte from the Demoiselles [Sisters] Tatin of La Motte-Beuvron.” The dessert’s popularity grew when the famed Parisian restaurant Maxim’s added it to their menu. Louis Vaudable, the owner of Maxim’s in the 30’s, claimed that he discovered the dessert after stumbling upon the sisters’ Hotel and, after being refused the recipe, passed himself off as a gardener to gain access to the Hotel, learned the recipe, and brought it back to his restaurant. However, Vaudable was only 15 when the last Tatin sister died, and they had retired long before then. So, while this story may have helped the tarte gain popularity and cement its name, it’s likely very false. C’est la vie.

Tarte Tatin

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Apple Tarte Tatin
Makes 1 12-inch tart. Very slightly adapted from Bon Appetit.

Ingredients: 
6-7 Pink Lady or Honeycrisp apples, peeled
1/2 cup of white sugar, divided
2 tbsp unsalted butter
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
1/8 tsp salt
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 sheet frozen puff pastry
Flour, for rolling out puff pastry

Instructions:

Take one sheet of frozen pastry out of the freezer. Allow it to thaw just enough to unfold it.

Divide the apples into three nearly equal-sized slices, and remove the cores, without going all the way through the apple. (I used the small end of my melon baller and it worked like a charm and I felt like a genius.)

Unfold the puff pastry. Roll it out to reduce the creases slightly, then cut a 12-inch circle out of it. Lay the circle on parchment paper on a cookie sheet and place back into the freezer until you are ready to use.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Put 1/4 of the sugar (so 1/8 cup) into a heavy-bottomed, oven-safe pan (I used my cast iron skillet). Place over medium heat and stir occasionally until the sugar has all dissolved. (If you find you’re getting clumps of sugar, don’t stir them. Give them a minute to melt. Keep stirring the already melted sugar, though, or it will burn.)

Once the sugar has melted, add the rest of the sugar, and stir until it has dissolved and has become a deep golden color. Then add the butter, the apple cider vinegar, and the salt. (The mixture will no longer seem smooth. That’s OK.) Lay your apples into the pan, cut side down. You may need to overlap them a little when they first go in. That’s OK too, as they will shrink as they cook, and you don’t want them to gap. Allow them to cook for about 10 minutes.

Once they are a bit caramelized, remove them from the heat. Flip the apples over so the cut side is now facing up. Lay your frozen puff pastry circle over the top of the apples. Place in the pre-heated oven for about 20 minutes, until golden brown. Then, turn the heat down to 350, and continue cooking for another 10 minutes.

Remove the pan from the oven and allow to sit for about 2 minutes. Then, place a (heat-safe!) serving plate over the top of the pan, bottom up. Wearing oven mitts, grab both the pan and the platter tightly, and invert the skillet so it’s on top. (Do this very quickly, or you’ll lose your caramel, make a mess, and burn yourself!)

Serve while still warm.

Enjoy!

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This is just my kind of dessert. The focus is obviously on the apples because, well, it’s mostly apples! No double-crust. No super-thick caramel. Just delicious apples, lightly sweetened, accompanied by a thin, flaky crust. Next time, I’m going to try it with pears or quinces. File this one under deceptively, but impressively, simple.

Julia Child’s Birthday + Queen of Sheba Cake

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Hi from Beantown! We planned a super-last-minute trip to Boston after Alex got scheduled for a work trip. So I’ve been stumbling over cobblestone, taking pictures of pretty doors and windows with flower boxes, and soaking up every ounce of history I can before we have to go back home.

Before that, though, I’m doing a small virtual celebration post for my girl, Julia Child, whose birthday is today!

A self-confessed late bloomer, I cherish stories of women who did not find their calling until later in life. Factor in a supportive husband and a life that revolves around food… well, Julia Child’s life is my own personal fairy tale.

Julia Child would have been 106 today. Born Julia McWilliams in California to a wealthy family, Child did not cook for herself until she married and, even then, she confessed that she was not a natural. During the second World War, Child worked as a typist for the OSS (Office of Strategic Services). While stationed in Asia, Julia met her future beloved husband Paul Cushing Child. Paul Child was a lover of food, with a refined palate. When he joined the Foreign Service and the couple was sent to live in Paris, Julia experienced the first taste, literally and figuratively, of her future. Later in her life, she described her first meal in France as a life-changing experience.

She attended Le Cordon Bleu, and joined a women’s cooking group where she met a woman named Simone Beck, who was writing a French cookbook for Americans. Along with Beck’s friend Louisette Bertholle, Child began working on the cookbook, which (more than a decade later) would be her first published cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

By this time, Julia and her husband had settled in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she wrote a column for the Boston Globe, and worked on other cookbooks. Child became a television chef when she appeared on WGBH-TV, after a series of other guests canceled. On live TV, instead of simply discussing how she would follow a recipe, Child flipped an omelette, much to the excitement of the viewers. This led to a television show starring Child called The French Chef that would run for more than 10 years. Other shows and cookbooks would follow; she published almost twenty during her life (and one posthumously, with the help of her nephew). She also continued making cooking shows, sometimes teaming up with her friend and fellow chef, Jacques Pepin.

I’ll admit, my first interest in Julia Child did not come from her cooking, but from her height–she was over six feet tall. I don’t know why that stuck with me. I’m fascinated by tall people, probably because I’m so short. I also appreciated her epic love affair with her husband. He even designed a special kitchen to accommodate her height and make cooking easier for her. Paul died in 1994, but Julia lived in their home in Cambridge until 2001, when she moved into a retirement home in California. Before moving, Child donated her kitchen to the Smithsonian museum, where it is housed today. She died in 2004, three days before her 92nd birthday.

To celebrate Julia’s birthday, I decided to make her Queen of Sheba cake. This recipe appeared in her first cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, as well as in some of her subsequent cookbooks. It’s a very fancy name for a very simple and elegant dessert, which is essentially a rich chocolate cake.

This was the first cake that Julia had in France and may have ultimately helped Julia fall in love with French cuisine. It might have the same effect on you, because it’s delicious and approachable and everything good.

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Julia Child’s Queen of Sheba Cake

Ingredients:
For cake: 
1/3 cup ground almonds, plus 2 tbsp sugar 
3 oz semi-sweet chocolate
1 oz unsweetened chocolate
2 tbsp strong coffee (or 2 tbsp dark rum)
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
3 eggs, separated into whites and yolks
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1/8 tsp salt
2 tbsp sugar
1/4 tsp almond extract
1/2 cup cake flour

For frosting:
6 oz semi-sweet chocolate
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 tsp vanilla

Optional:
Sliced almonds

Instructions:

Grease and line one 8-inch round cake pan with parchment paper.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Move the rack to the bottom third of the oven.

Process together 1/3 cup of almonds with 2 tablespoons of sugar. Pour into a small bowl and set aside.

In a small saucepan, combine the coffee or rum and the semi-sweet and unsweetened chocolate and heat until just melted. Set aside.

Cream the butter until completely smooth. Add the 1/2 cup of sugar and beat for another minute. Add the egg yolks and beat together until smooth and light yellow in color.

In another bowl, beat together the egg whites with the cream of tartar and salt. Add the 2 tablespoons of sugar, one tablespoon at a time, beating sugar thoroughly into the egg whites before adding second tablespoon of sugar. Continue to beat the egg mixture until you have stiff, glossy peaks.

Stir the chocolate/coffee mixture, ground almond mixture, and almond extract, into the egg yolk mixture.

Add in a third of the egg white mixture, carefully folding until thoroughly mixed. Add 1/3 of the flour mixture and continue to fold into the mixture. Continue alternating the egg white and flour into the mixture two more times, until completely combined.

Pour mixture into the greased cake pan and bake for 30-35 minutes. Begin checking for doneness at 30 minutes by inserting a toothpick into the center of the cake. When the toothpick comes out clean, the cake is done.

Allow the cake to cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn over onto a cooling rack to cool completely.

If adding frosting, put semi-sweet chocolate into a bowl. Heat the heavy cream until it is hot but not boiling. Pour the cream over the chocolate and stir until smooth. Pour over the cake and smooth over the sides. Decorate edges with sliced almonds, if you wish.

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There you have it. It takes a few bowls to accomplish, but not too much fuss beyond that (unless you find egg whites fussy, which some do). Alex usually makes the same simple request when I try out a new recipe: “Can you add chocolate?” But he was finally satisfied with this recipe. It’s rich, almost like a brownie, but not too sweet, and you get a hint of the almond, which is what does it for me. And you don’t even need a specially designed kitchen for it. Happy birthday, Julia!

Michigan Trip + Blueberry Muffins

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Hey, guys! How was your 4th of July?? I hope it was full of good eating and safe fireworking! We spent our 4th on the road, on our first road trip of the season! We were in Michigan for a few days, stopping in all the adorable lakeside towns we could find. We made a stop at the National Cherry Festival in Traverse City and ate plenty of cherry pie, cherry donuts, and cherry salsa (SO.GOOD.). We ended by spending some time in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, Sleeping Bear Dunes.

On our way back to the city, we stopped to grab some blueberries from a roadside fruit stand. (Did you know that the western swath of Michigan is part of America’s fruit belt? What a perfect place to be when practically every beautiful fruit is in season.) Blueberries are native to the United States, and Michigan is one of the top producers of the berry.

Native Americans have been using the wild plant for centuries, usually combining it with meat and fat to form pemmican, or adding it to cornmeal bread, or using it as a dye for clothing. But wild blueberries are not the blueberries that you find in stores. In the early 20th century, a botanist named Frederick Coville began experimenting with ways to domesticate wild blueberries. He published his findings in 1910, revealing that wild blueberries thrived in acidic soil, and his work was read by a cranberry farmer’s daughter living in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, named Elizabeth Coleman White. She had often noticed wild blueberries growing near her family’s cranberry bogs, so she reached out to Coville, inviting him to her farm to continue his study of how the wild fruit could be bred as a viable season-lengthening crop. Coville, with the funding of White’s father, was able to work with local residents who knew where the the best wild plants were located. For five years, locals would bring Coville wild berry plants. Coville, in turn, would attempt to cultivate the wild plants. Only a handful of the 100 plants that were brought to Coville proved successful. In 1916, Coville and White sent their first domesticated blueberries to market. It’s hard to believe that “tame” blueberries have only been available for a little over 100 years.

Blueberries are on the menu today because… it’s National Blueberry Muffin Day, and on top of that, July is National Blueberry Month! So let’s celebrate!

I have the best memories of my mom making blueberry muffins (from a box) on Saturday mornings, biting into the warm muffins too soon and getting burned by little molten lava blueberries. I also have great memories of just destroying the cartons of blueberries my mom would buy in the summer. I think I was trying to get all my nutrients in one sitting.

Anyway, this recipe for blueberry muffins is not from a box, but it’s still weekend-morning-easy to make, and makes tall and fluffy muffins that aren’t too sweet (very important to me, when it comes to muffins) and are just stuffed to the gills with fresh blueberries. They are what you want in the morning and also any other time of the day.

For the muffin recipe, I tweaked the no-fail pancake recipe that I’ve been using for over a decade. The pancakes are delicious, I thought, so why not try it. The results did not disappoint.

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Blueberry Muffins
Makes 12 muffins.

Ingredients:
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 cup buttermilk (or 1 cup whole milk, plus two tbsp lemon juice or white vinegar)
5 tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 large egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups blueberries, washed and dried

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Combine the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and baking soda in a large mixing bowl.

In a large measuring cup, or small mixing bowl, combine the buttermilk, butter, egg, and vanilla extract. Whisk to combine. (If you don’t have buttermilk, you can instead use 1 cup whole milk, combined with 2 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice or white vinegar. If you use this method, combine these items and allow to sit for five minutes before adding the butter, egg, and vanilla.)

Stir the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until just combined. (If the mixture is still a little dry, you can add up to a 1/4 cup of whole milk, one tablespoon at a time. The mixture should still be quite lumpy, but should not be clumping together or have any dry streaks.) Carefully fold in blueberries, without too much additional stirring.

Allow the batter to rest for about 10 minutes at room temperature.

Fill a muffin tin with paper liners. Spoon the mixture into the top of each liner. Bake for 10 minutes, then turn the pan 180 degrees and continue baking for another 10 minutes. (You can begin checking for doneness at the 18 minute mark. When done, the top of the muffin should spring back when gently pressed.)

Remove the muffins from the oven and allow to cool in the pan for about 10 minutes. Eat right away, or remove to a wire rack until completely cooled.

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I believe these muffins will be making a regular appearance in my house from here on out. The recipe only makes twelve muffins, because I find that they don’t keep for very long, and while they’re good, 12 muffins seems sufficient for most households. However, the recipe could easily be doubled if you have guests or are a blueberry muffin monster.

Also, if you have any good recipes that use blueberries, please pass them on. I still have lots and I cannot sit back and watch these precious babies go bad. Back in May, I made blueberry rhubarb pandowdy. I’m thinking of doing it again, this time swapping out the rhubarb for some delicious, sweet peaches that I’ve had my eye on.

I hope you’re taking full advantage of blueberry/fruit season. If you follow this blog, or my social media, I will apologize now for the inundation of fruit-related recipes/photos that are to come. You’ve been warned!

 

Oma’s Cabbage Rolls

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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

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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.

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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!