Thursday, June 18, 2009

Oh give me a crumb . . .

Several years ago I overheard two women discussing (what I assume were failed) relationships, and couldn't help but eavesdrop just a little. What caught my attention was one admonishing the other to stop accepting crumbs; the men in her life ought to be feeding and nourishing her spirit with their love and affection, not merely throwing her enough crumbs to avoid starvation. I've thought about this many a time since, and concluded when it comes to relationships, of all sorts, I will accept nothing less than the whole cake.











Now, if that cake happened to be a crumb cake, well . . . I might just have to make an exception. Which brings me to the real point of today's post. I am not a cake person by any means. It is not my preferred vehicle for the consumption of flour, sugar, and fat. When it comes to dessert you can count on me to choose a custard of sorts or a fruit laden treat such as a cobbler or a crisp. I would even venture to say that I prefer a good cookie to a nice thick slice of cake. So it came as a surprise during the last couple weeks that whenever I considered a baking project all I could think about was crumb cake. This is even more surprising because, to my knowledge, I've never even had a crumb cake. What on earth brought this on is still beyond me. But when the oven comes calling, I've learned it's best to heed the call. I set to work, poring over my cookbooks and searching the internet for a worthy crumb cake recipe.

My first attempt was a blueberry slump recipe from the SF Chronicle. Now, I realize that the words "crumb" and "cake" are nowhere present in the title. However, it sounded delicious and as I read the recipe I had visions of a moist cake pitted with blueberries and covered in crumble. How could I go wrong?

I'll tell you how. The article said the recipe came about as an accident when the pastry chef mistakenly used only half the flour called for. The result was so delicious, however, that she stuck with the new version. My results were less satisfactory, though I do have to make the disclaimer that I used frozen rather than fresh blueberries, which I am sure had some influence on the outcome. What I ended up with was a soggy, butter sodden, raw in the middle lump of "cake" on top of which the crumble practically dissolved into an oily, lacy crust that burned and stuck to the edge of the pan. It was so bad I couldn't even bring myself to take a picture for evidence.
I jabbed my knife in, dug out a wedge, and started to eat. I managed to choke down one slice before I felt my arteries beginning to harden. I knew I couldn't go on and was then faced with the dilemna of all cooks of failed recipes: 1. struggle through and eat it, even though it isn't very good or 2. bite the bullet and throw it away. I stood in the kitchen and stared at it for a long time, hoping it would miraculously get better as it cooled; that perhaps all the butter that made it soggy would evaporate and it would emerge the cake it was intended to be. I have been known to eat for many reasons. Guilt is not one of them. Into the trash can it went.

My desire was only fueled further by the blueberry flop and I immediately returned to troll the internet. The cake I found claimed perfection; dense, moist, lightly scented with cinnamon and vanilla, and piled with crumbs deeper than the cake itself. I feared it might be too good to be true.


I melted, I stirred, I spread and crumbled. I waited patiently as the oven worked it's magic and my apartment filled with sweetly spiced air. I had to leave the room as it cooled on the rack so I wouldn't pick off all the crumbs and eat them before the cake itself was ready. Then the moment of truth was upon me. Gently I lifted the cake out of the pan by it's parchment ears. Tenderly I layed it on the counter and retrieved a knife, promising the cake this wouldn't be as painful as it looked. As I jiggled the corner wedge free and lifted it onto the waiting plate crumbs scattered across the counter and onto the floor. I grabbed my press pot of coffee for one, snatched up the cake, and headed to the couch to sit and indulge. The first bite was uneventful. Despite my sheer disappointment I gave it another go. The second bite whispered cinnamon and sugar, the third beckoned with crumble, and before I knew it my plate was empty and I was headed back for seconds. The cake was moist and dense with a very fine crumb. The mountain of crumbs on top were crunchy and faintly spiced with cardamom. Put them together and you have a very fine cake.

After getting over the initial bite, which I now chalk up to my tastebuds just needing a little wake up call, I can't say enough good about this cake. It is extremely subtle. The hint of spice is so discreet that several friends couldn't pin point what they tasted. One in fact said it tasted wheaty and wholesome, which generally when referring to cake is not a compliment, but in this case it is, and I couldn't agree with her more. It screams for a cup of dark strong coffee, a rainy morning, and a good book. Go forth and bake this cake. You will not be disappointed.

Cinnamon Crumb Cake
(adapted from Cook's Illustrated)

Crumb Topping:
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/8 teaspoon table salt
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and still warm
1 3/4 cups cake flour

Cake:
1 1/4 cups cake flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon table salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 tablespoons unsalted butter (3/4 stick), cut into 6 pieces, softened but still cool
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup buttermilk

1. FOR THE TOPPING: Whisk sugars, cinnamon, cardamom, salt, and butter in medium bowl to combine. Add flour and stir with rubber spatula or wooden spoon until mixture resembles thick, cohesive dough; set aside to cool to room temperature.
2. FOR THE CAKE: Adjust oven rack to upper-middle position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Cut 16-inch length parchment paper or aluminum foil and fold lengthwise to 7-inch width. Butter 8-inch square baking dish and fit parchment into dish, pushing it into corners and up sides; allow excess to overhang edges of dish.
3. In bowl of standing mixer fitted with paddle attachment, mix flour, sugar, baking soda, salt and cinnamon on low speed to combine. With mixer running at low speed, add butter one piece at a time; continue beating until mixture resembles moist crumbs, with no visible butter chunks remaining, 1 to 2 minutes. Add egg, yolk, vanilla, and buttermilk; beat on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 1 minute, scraping once if necessary.
4. Transfer batter to baking pan; using rubber spatula, spread batter into even layer. Break apart crumb topping into large pea-sized pieces and spread in even layer over batter, beginning with edges and then working toward center. Bake until crumbs are golden and wooden skewer inserted into center of cake comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes (mine took much closer to an hour, but the temperature in my oven may not be accurate). Cool on wire rack at least 30 minutes. Remove cake from pan by lifting parchment overhang. Keeps well wrapped in foil at room temperature for several days.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Dinner in a bowl

I like to think I have my moments of brilliance and glory in the kitchen; the following is hardly one of them. A few days ago I peered into my refrigerator hoping to find the makings for dinner and instead found a half a can of kidney beans in chili sauce, spring onions, eggs, and a few pickled grapes bobbing in their sticky pickling liquid. These were some slim pickins; clearly it was time for a trip to the store. I grabbed my bags, headed out the door, and hoped that inspiration would hit along the way.

My criteria were using up the chili beans, and making something quick and easy. I could tell it was going to be a salad night. I began to see visions of a southwestern style salad and felt a glimmer of hope.

I try to eat seasonally and buy from the farmer's market as much as possible, so I felt a bit like a criminal as I purchased a cucumber and red bell pepper that traveled farther than I have in my whole life, just to end up on my dinner plate. Along with the afore mentioned world travelers, into my basket went a clump of cilantro and a can of corn kernels. I hurried home, whipped out the cutting board and set to work. In mere minutes, with a bit of tweaking here and there, I had a delicious, tangy, crunchy, one bowl dinner. It was so good in fact that I ate the whole bowl, and made a repeat batch just a few days later, which I nibbled on before starting this post.

For all who have fewer moments of brilliance and glory than they wish (and I like to tell myself that there are many, so if there aren't, please don't ruin the illusion) I give you this "recipe" for a speedy, simple way to kill those hunger pangs.


Southwestern Style Salad

1 can kidney beans in chili sauce (use the sauce and all)
1 can drained corn kernels
2 spring onions or 1/2 a regular onion, chopped
1/2 a cucumber, chopped
1/2 a red bell pepper, chopped
1/3 c. cilantro, chopped
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
2 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt and pepper, to taste

Place all ingredients in a bowl and stir together. Taste for seasoning and add more vinegar, salt and pepper if necessary.