The Perfect Bundt Cake

As a matter of course, I regularly read other food blogs and websites. One of my favorites belongs to uber baker, pastry chef and cookbook author Rose Levy Beranbaum. I own several of Rose's books: "The Cake Bible"; "A Passion for Chocolate"; and "Rose's Christmas Cookies" and I'm anxiously awaiting her forthcoming book, "Rose's Heavenly Cakes."

One of the tips I recently picked up on Rose's blog is how to make the top of a cake baked in a fluted tube pan look as perfect and without air pockets as much as possible. I love the variety of decorative Bundt® pans, such as Nordic Ware's "Cathedral Pan", "Fleur de Lis", and "Bavaria Bundt Pan", but sometimes it's difficult to achieve the intended definition of these beautiful pans. It seems that the more complicated the design of the pan, the more chance there is for the batter to stick in the nooks and crannies.

According to Rose: "Fill the pans about one inch full with batter and then using the back of a spoon with a side to side motion, press the batter into the grooves of the pan before adding the remainder of the batter."

The Nordic Ware company also has a list of helpful tips to ensure fail-safe results for "The Perfect Bundt Cake". Complete instructions are available on their website http://www.nordicware.com/ but here are the highlights:

(1) Spray the pan with a non-stick spray such as Baker's Joy, which contains flour or better still, brush the pan with solid vegetable shortening and dust with flour (Nordic Ware recommends Wondra flour for superior results). Nordic Ware cautions against using a non-stick spray that contains lecithin (a natural and otherwise harmless ingredient derived from soy) as a gummy residue can build up over time, which is difficult to remove. My recently purchased can of Baker's Joy lists lecithin among the ingredients, however. For my part, I'd rather stick to shortening or clarified butter applied with a pastry brush.

(2) Avoid bubbles in the batter by slowing pouring the batter in one corner of the pan and allowing it to slowly flow in and around the Bundt design. When the pan is filled, tap the pan on the counter a few times to release air bubbles;

(3) Fill the pan no more than 3/4 full to avoid overflow. With a spatula, push the batter to the outside of the pan pushing slightly up the walls. This will ensure that the cake will climb up the sides of the pan, giving you greater detail on the outside of the cake.

(4) Black or dark colored pans require a 25° heat reduction.

(5) After the cake is baked, cool the cake for 10 minutes (no more, no less) before inverting on a plate or cooling rack. Using hot pads, pick up the cake and gently shake the pan from side to side. A thumping sound indicates the cake is loose and ready to invert. Apply a glaze or simply dust with powdered sugar.

The photo of the "Bavaria" Bundt® pan and instructions for "The Perfect Bundt Cake" are provided with the permission of Nordic Ware.

Addendum: I recently came across a cake tester just for Bundt® cakes appropriately named the Bundt® Baking Thermometer. You just insert the thermometer into the center of the cake for 15 seconds. You know the cake is done when the tip turns red. Although I have yet to try it, I imagine it works (although not with the "Tunnel of Fudge" cake which remains soft in the center). The cake tester/thermometer is available from Nordic Ware and at http://www.kitchenkrafts.com/.

Feast of St. Honoré

Today, May 16, is the Feast of Saint-Honoré, the French patron saint of bakers and pastry chefs. There's even a special cake, Le Gâteau Saint-Honoré, to mark the occasion. No doubt every pâtissière in France is offering this classic cake today. It consists of a pastry base surrounded by a ring of pastry-cream laden profiteroles and crowned with caramel. Mon Dieu!

My paternal great-grandfather was named Honoré and although I never knew him, I'm compelled to think of him today and wonder about him. My daughter is researching her ancestry. Perhaps she will find something fascinating! Sacrébleu!

While I have no plans to create the famous French cake this week, I'll be baking a birthday cake for my daughter, as soon as she tells me what she would like. She's usually very specific, like "Chocolate-Orange Layer Cake with Grand Mariner Ganache adorned with a trio of Kumquats", or "Raspberry Almond Layer Cake with Framboise and Candied Rose Petals". Last year it was "Pineapple Chiffon Cake". One never knows. I suggested cupcakes for ease in transport. We'll see...

May is a great cake-baking month - there's Mother's Day, graduations, first communions, weddings and wedding showers, and, of course, birthdays. Even if you don't have a special occasion for which to bake a cake, bake one anyway in honor of St. Honoré, and share the wealth of deliciousness. You'll be glad you did.

Cranberry-Orange Upside Down Cake for Heidi

Late last night, my colleague and friend Heidi and I were e-mailing back and forth. It was getting on to midnight and both of us commented that we were having a stressful week. Like me, Heidi loves to bake and she agreed that baking is a great way to relieve stress. She said, "I'm in complete agreement on baking as a tool for calming the nerves: the concentration required in following a recipe precisely AND understanding the why behind that precision and technique, the cleaning up during the baking, smelling it finally coming into its own, pulling it out of the oven to see what it's become, letting it cool and finishing it off. It's a clean serenity with a big delicious pay-off at the end." Wow! Heidi's wordsmithing captured the essence of one of our favorite pastimes.

Although Heidi is twenty years my junior, it's comforting to know that certain pursuits cross generational boundries. Of course Heidi and I have other things in common. We graduated from the same college, we serve together on a not-for-profit board, we're both consultants serving the not-for-profit sector, we're both professional writers, and neither of us operates with a hidden agenda - what you see is what you get. Although Heidi is a "foodie", she also has concerns for those who are less fortunate, and especially for those who go hungry. She has been directly involved with providing nutritional lunches to low-income children. She has always said that if just one child comes back years from now to tell her that the food she helped to provide had a lasting positive effect, her efforts will have been worthwhile.

Heidi is a busy mom too, with a very active four-year old. While she enjoys baking from scratch, recipes that are streamlined have a certain appeal. This simple recipe "takes the cake". It can be made on a whim because it uses melted butter - you don't have to wait for the butter to soften - and it only requires a hand-mixer. Other fruit - blueberries, peaches, pineapple, bananas - even well-drained canned apricots - can be substituted. You can also swap lemon rind and extract for the orange or just add 2 teaspoons of pure vanilla extract.

CRANBERRY-ORANGE UPSIDE-DOWN CAKE

Generous tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
1 12-ounce bag (about 3 cups) fresh or frozen cranberries
2 cups sugar, divided
2 large eggs
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder, preferably aluminum free
1/4 teaspoon non-iodized salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
2 tablespoons milk
Grated rind of one large navel orange, colored part only
1 tablespoon pure orange extract

Preheat the oven to 350°. Melt the stick of butter and set aside. Generously grease a 9" cake pan with the tablespoon of butter. Spread the cranberries over the bottom and sprinkle with 1 cup of the sugar (reserve the other cup).

In a medium-sized mixing bowl, beat the eggs with an electric hand-mixer on high-speed until foamy. Add the remaining cup of sugar, the flour, baking powder, salt, melted butter, milk, orange rind and orange extract. Beat on medium speed for 1 minute until just combined. The batter will be thick.

Bake for 40-45 minutes or until a wooden toothpick or cake tester inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack for 30 minutes. Place a large cake plate on top of the cake pan and flip over. The cake may be served warm or at room temperature. You can gussie it up with a scoop of ice cream, but I like it plain. It makes a nice coffeecake as well as a dessert.

Vanilla Buttermilk Panna Cotta with Summer Berries

The beauty of Panna Cotta is in its remarkable simplicity. It's made with just a few ingredients - milk, cream, sugar, and gelatin - and on the surface, appears quite plain, until you eat a spoonful. It's light, silky and cool with a fresh dairy taste. Panna Cotta translates as "cooked cream" in Italian. A decade ago, we never heard much about this ethereal dessert. Now, it often supplants Crème Brûlée on dessert menus. It pairs beautifully with virtually any fruit and the contrasts of flavor and color, especially with berries, are stunning. Because Panna Cotta is less rich and not as sweet as other desserts, it's refreshing after a heavy meal or during the summer when our appetites are not so rapacious. It's elegant enough to serve at a dinner party but because it's so easy to prepare, it's equally welcome after a weeknight supper on a warm summer night.

Summer berries are ideal with Panna Cotta - raspberries, strawberries, blackberries, or blueberries. I like a mix - whatever berries are at their peak at the market. Be sure to rinse the berries in cool water shortly before you use them. You can use a colander, or my favorite method - in a salad spinner. Raspberries are particularly fragile. After rinsing, gently spread the raspberries on several layers of paper towels to dry them.

VANILLA BUTTERMILK PANNA COTTA WITH BERRIES

Cooking spray
2-1/2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
1 cup whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups buttermilk
1/2 cup sugar, preferably superfine
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon non-iodized salt

3 cups berries, rinsed and dried

Coat 8 6-ounce custard cups or ramekins with cooking spray. Set the cups on a baking sheet. Combine the milk and cream in a medium saucepan. Sprinkle the gelatin over the mixture and let it stand for 10 minutes. Cook the mixture, stirring constantly, over low heat until the gelatin dissolves (about 7-8 minutes). Add the sugar and salt. Increase the heat to medium and stir until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat and add the buttermilk and vanilla. Divide the mixture among the custard cups. Cover the entire baking sheet with plastic wrap and refrigerate until chilled - at least 6 hours or overnight.

When you are ready to serve the berries, cover each custard cup with a dessert plate and invert. Divide the berries among each serving. If the Panna Cotta doesn't slip right out, (1) run a thin knife around the edge of the custard cups and/or (2) rinse a kitchen towel in very hot water and wring. Set the cups on the warm damp towel for a few seconds.

Note: It's important not to add too much gelatin. The Panna Cotta should set up but not be as firm as a gelatin mold.

Cry Me a River - The Perils of Chopping Onions

You know how it is, you start chopping onions and you realize you didn't apply the waterproof mascara. Your eyes start to sting and your nose starts to run. Before long, rivulets of tears are streaming down your face. Your nextdoor neighbor rings the doorbell wanting to borrow the lawnmower, takes one look and asks if your husband just ran off with the girl from the video store. As for me, I used to start weeping uncontrollably while chopping onions and listening to Placido Domingo singing "Una Furtiva Lacrima" from Donizetti's "L'elisir d'amore". Hey, I was cooking Italian food - what did you expect?

Yes, I've tried all the homespun remedies: burning a candle close to the chopping board (my sleeve nearly caught fire); holding a piece of bread between my teeth (I started to drool); freezing the onions first (I wanted to chop the onions, not hack away at them); cutting the onions under water (not practical); spritzing the cutting board with vinegar (too smelly); keeping my mouth shut and breathing through my nose (seriously, anyone who knows me is aware that I can't keep my mouth shut for any length of time); drinking sips of water from the opposite side of a glass (oh, wait - that's for hiccups); and praying (I couldn't find a patron saint of onions but I did find one for cooks. St. Lawrence was martyred by being grilled on a gridiron. Frankly, I think he should be the patron saint of the backyard barbecue, a topic for another post).

Sure, I could use the food processor but do I really need to for a couple of onions? The mini food processor is a bit too small so I'd have to quarter the onions anyway. Either way, the tears would prevail. I could buy frozen chopped onions but for most tasks, it just doesn't feel right - I want to cook, not assemble.

The key to solving this dilemma was to put on my food science hat and find out why onions make us cry. I turned to food science guru Alton Brown (sort of a contemporary "Mr. Wizard" of the kitchen). The short answer? Sulfuric acid. Nasty, eh? Onions don't contain sulfuric acid. They do, however, release a gas that forms sulfuric acid when their ruptured surfaces come in contact with tears. The best defense, according to Brown, is to use a very sharp knife. Brown, in a Food Network "Good Eats Moment" explained that when you cut an onion, cells rupture releasing enzymes which break down nearby sulfur compounds into oxides and acids. These combine to make a gas. This gas takes up residence in your eyes and then mixes with your tears to form sulphuric acid. Ouch! When you use a sharp knife to chop an onion as opposed to a dull or serrated knife (or grater, for that matter), you damage less cells, which translates to less tears. About two years ago, I started to replace all my knives. I've since acquired new and better cutlery, and it has made all the difference.

Onion Goggles can also be of help. These cool looking unisex goggles protect your eyes from noxious fumes while chopping onions. They're anti-fog, come in three colors, and fit like regular glasses (but don't fit over regular glasses). The comfortable foam padding keeps them snug and unlike swimming goggles, they won't mess up your hair. They're available at Amazon.com, The Bakers Catalogue and other outlets for about $20 (see links). The combination of a sharp knife and the goggles should make your onion chopping nearly tear free. The best part for me? I don't wind up looking like a raccoon and the neighbors will have to gossip about somebody else.

The photograph of the Onion Goggles is used with permission of the nice folks at The Baker's Catalogue (King Arthur Flour).

Molecular Gastronomy

The famous theoretical physicist, John Archibald Wheeler said, "In any field, find the strangest thing and then explore it." For some, it's enough to prepare good food. Others are happy to eat good food, leaving its preparation to those who have a keen interest in cooking or who are, perhaps, more adept in the kitchen. Then there are those who read cookbooks like others read novels - staying awake late into the night pouring over pages of recipes and techniques. Finally, there are a few like me who enthusiastically engage in all of those activities but who are compelled to take the gastronomic experience to another level. We are the food science nerds.

It's not enough for me to be able to successfully craft a loaf of Russian Rye. I have to know WHY I was successful - or when I was first learning, why I FAILED. Through the years I've become fascinated with the science of baking. I've studied the biology of yeast; pondered the characteristics of various types of flour and the nature of gluten; ruminated over the transformation caused by the reaction of sugars and proteins, known as the Maillard Reaction - the phenomenon that gives bread its brown crust; and considered why my bread dough behaves so much differently in the summer than in winter.

The science of cooking is captivating, too. Why does an egg yolk facilitate the emulsion of oil and water in mayonnaise? Why do apples and artichokes darken when they're exposed to air? Why are blueberries blue? Why do microwaves cook some foods well and others poorly? Why does salt enhance sweetness? Why does a copper bowl produce more volume in egg whites? Why do we cry when chopping onions? Why does melted chocolate seize into a grainy solid unworkable mass when a mere drop of water is added - and can it be revived? When it comes to the culinary experience, I'm like an investigative reporter, never satisfied until I get the whole story.

When I was growing up, there was a man by the name of Don Herbert who hosted a show called "Watch Mr. Wizard", for which he won the Peabody Award. Mr. Wizard conducted all sorts of science experiments, many of which were simple and safe enough to be replicated by his young viewers at home. In 1983, Herbert created "Mr. Wizard's World", a jazzed up version of the original show. (Today we have "Beakman's World" and for food science, Alton Brown). Kids absolutely loved Mr. Wizard and he was undoubtedly responsible for helping thousands of young people develop more than a passing interest in science. I was one of those kids. Although I don't have a degree in the hard sciences, I've never wavered in my curiosity. I'm especially taken with particle physics and cosmology. I don't understand most of it (neither do the physicists) but that never discourages me from the pursuit. A classmate commented that I had "wildly diverse interests from physics to cooking". I replied that they're not diverse at all, but directly related. You can't create a loaf of homemade bread without being indisputably involved in biology, chemistry, physics, and mathematics.

The photo above is a variety of Broccoli called Romanesque Broccoli. It's characterized by a fractal appearance - it's most important feature being self-similarity. Fractal geometry was coined by Benoit Mandelbrot in the 1970s, (which is why I never heard of it in grammar school when I was studying the basics of Euclidean geometry). Romanesque Broccoli is a classic "fractal food". It's beauty is in its self-repeating motif that repeats indefinitely, each time smaller. If you were to place one tiny bit of the broccoli (actually a variant form of cauliflower) under a microscope you would see that it looked like the whole. Food science at its most compelling! Strange and beautiful and certainly worthy of exploration. Other examples of fractals in nature include crystals, snowflakes, and ferns.

The well-known computer programmer John Walker said that Romanesque Broccoli is, "so visually stunning an object that on first encounter it's hard to imagine you're looking at a garden vegetable rather than an alien artifact created with molecular nanotechnology. But of course, then you realise that vegetables are created with molecular nanotechnology, albeit the product of earthly evolution, not extraterrestrial engineering."

Hervé This, a physical chemist on the staff of the Institute National de la Recherche Agronomique in Paris, together with physicist Nicholas Kurti, originated the term "molecular gastronomy". Molecular gastronomy describes the scientific discipline concerning the study of physical and chemical processes that occur in cooking and baking. This has written two books on the subject, both designed for the general public and quite readable. His American friend, Harold McGee, has written on essentially the same topic (see my book list). These volumes are highly recommended, as they do indeed make for fun and intriguing reading.

Molecular gastronomy isn't a fad like low-carb diets, beer can chicken, nouvelle cuisine, or the pretentious food foams which are currently in fashion. It is, perhaps, a more academic term than "food science" which, as any culinary student can tell you, is a required part of their training. One thing for certain, Molecular Gastronomy is here to stay.

Why is it so important to know the how and why of the science of baking and cooking? Aside from enriching our brains and making us popular at cocktail parties, it makes us keenly aware of WHAT we're eating. Genetically modified tomatoes? Organic produce? Processed food laden with artificial ingredients? Fish contaminated with mercury? Blueberries loaded with healthful antioxidants? Understanding the science of food helps us to prepare better meals, reduce waste, debunk old wives' tales, make food more pleasurable, invent new and better ways to cook, devise new recipes, appreciate the thousands of tastes and nuances that fall upon our tongues, develop a healthy relationship with our food, and be truly conscious of our entire eating experience.

Cakes and Ale

In Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, Sir Toby Belch says, "Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" Gosh, I hope not! The Bard was referring to the good life when he wrote of "cakes and ale". The phrase, however, made me think of how much I like Gingersnaps with beer. I've eaten Gingersnaps, and their thinner spicier Swedish cousin, "Pepparkakor" for most of my life. I always liked them, but most of the time I'd have preferred something chocolate. Then one day, a young man with whom I worked suggested the idea of Gingersnaps with beer. Dennis is half German, half Greek and has a most discriminating palate. I tried it and discovered a match made in heaven.

I like a spicy Belgian or Belgian-style ale with Gingersnaps. A good choice might be Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Another option might be Blue Moon Belgian White Ale, which is flavored with coriander and orange peel. I'm not a beer expert, so I'll leave the choice up to you. Among the hundreds of beer and ale offerings, there's a brew for everyone.

These Gingersnaps have a bite, providing your spices are fresh. Open the bottles - if you don't smell anything, discard them! While you're at it, check the expiration dates on all of your herbs and spices - if they've been in the pantry since the Gulf War, it's time to replace them. Crystallized ginger can be found in the spice or bulk foods section of most full-service grocers. It's also available at Sur La Table, Williams-Sonoma, and The Ginger People (see link).

DOUBLE GINGER GINGERSNAPS

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/8 cup crystallized ginger, very finely chopped*
1/2 teaspoon non-iodized salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup vegetable shortening (I use Crisco® sticks)
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 large egg
1/4 cup light molasses (I use "Grandma's Original")
Grated rind of one medium orange and one lemon, colored part only
1 cup granulated sugar for rolling

Preheat the oven to 350°.

Sift the flour, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and salt into a medium-sized bowl and set aside.

Combine the butter, shortening and brown sugar in a large bowl. Beat with an electric stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment or a hand mixer on medium-high speed until fluffy. Add the egg, molasses and citrus rinds and beat until combined. Add the crystallized ginger. Reduce the speed to low to incorporate the chopped ginger and then add the flour mixture and beat until just combined.

Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, nonstick foil, or nonstick baking liners.

Roll the dough into 1" balls and then roll each in the granulated sugar to coat evenly (an easy way to do this is to put the sugar in a shallow disposable food container with a lid, put 5 or 6 balls in at a time, snap on the lid, and shake back and forth).

Arrange the cookies 2 inches apart on the baking sheets. Bake one sheet at a time for about 11-12 minutes, until the cookies are puffed, light brown around the edges and cracked on top.

Cool for 5 minutes and carefully transfer the cookies to a wire rack to cool completely. The cookies may be stored in an airtight container for 1 week. Yields about 3 dozen cookies.

*Note: lightly coating or spraying your knife with cooking oil will make chopping the ginger easier.

Date-Oatmeal Bars

In the 1965 film, "The Flight of the Phoenix", a single-engine aircraft (piloted by Jimmy Stewart) crashes in the Sahara desert. One of the surviving passengers asks what they're going to do for food (a man after my own heart). The character played by Peter Finch replies, "As far as food is concerned, we seem to be singularly fortunate. There appears to be an almost unlimited supply of pressed dates on board." I love dates, so I figure I would have managed just fine with those guys - providing I had an ample supply of SPF 50 sunscreen, plenty of moisturizer, and a several cases of Fiji water. I love that film (I own it) so when I know I'm going to watch it, I get a small bag of Medjools to much on - or bake some date bars - just to get into the spirit of things.

Nutritionally speaking, dates are high in iron and potassium and contain modest amounts of folate and a small amount of vitamin A, and the B vitamins. Dates have been a staple food of the Middle East for millennia. In fact, some evidence points to their having been cultivated for more than 6,000 years! There are at least 40 varities of dates, generally divided into soft, semisoft, and dry. Medjools are in the semisoft category. Dates grow in the Middle East, North Africa, Southern California, and Arizona. Suffice to say, along with olives, grapes, honey, and wheat, dates are one of our oldest foods.

Date bars are remarkably easy to make and are a real comfort food. Please use Medjool dates for this recipe. They are plump, sweet, and soft - and far more delicious than the familiar dates in a box (which can be hard and sugary). I find Medjools in the bulk foods section at Whole Foods. Ask to sample one before you buy to make sure they are soft. Medjools are quite wrinkled and sometimes have a thin white film of sugar on the surface, which is fine. The dates are sold with the pits, so you'll have to remove them. It's a sticky chore but it doesn't take long to do. Medjools can also be ordered from Oasis Date Gardens (see link). This recipe makes a big batch - plenty to share.

DATE-OATMEAL BARS

DATE FILLING

3 cups Medjool dates, pitted (buy about 1-1/4 pounds)
1-1/2 cups water
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons pure orange extract (optional)

OATMEAL CRUMB MIXTURE

2-1/2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 light brown sugar, packed
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon non-iodized salt
2 sticks unsalted butter, divided into 4 pieces and softened

Preheat the oven to 350. Butter a 13"x 9" pan and set aside.

In a heavy, medium-sized saucepan, combine the dates, water and sugar. Bring to a boil over moderate heat. Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring frequently, until thickened and jamlike, about 10-12 minutes. Remove from the heat, add the optional orange extract and cool for about 10 minutes.

In a large bowl, stir the oats, flour, brown sugar, baking soda, and salt together. Add the butter and crumble with your fingers until blended. Press half of the crumb mixture evenly in the bottom of the pan. Spread with the filling. Top with the remaining crumb mixture and press lightly. Bake 25 to 30 minutes until light brown. Cool on a wire rack for ten minutes and cut into bars or squares while still warm. The bars may be stored in an airtight container for 2 days, in the refrigerator for 1 week or in the freezer for 1 month. Makes 24 or 36 bars, depending on size.

Break Out the Good Dishes

We human beings are a strange lot. We spend a lifetime acquiring things that we're afraid to use. The precious jewels and luxury timepieces reside in a safe deposit box or home safe in favor of wearing faux gems. The Mercedes convertable comes out of the garage only on days when the weather is perfect. The $800 suit stays in the garment bag waiting for a state occasion and (this is my favorite) we rent designer handbags while we keep the well-crafted ones we purchased in chamois sacks in the closet. Does this make sense? I think not. I'm reminded of a woman I met who had a gorgeous state-of-the art kitchen. When I asked her how she was putting her new custom copper mixer to work she replied, "Oh, I don't know how to bake but the copper finish matches the hood on my range!"

My mother used to say that one should never drink 12-year-old single malt scotch out of a Flintstones jelly glass. Use the Waterford, for heaven's sake! People make shrines out of their china cabinets - not to mention their dining rooms (come on, admit it, you know who you are). You've seen them - beautiful cabinets with subdued track lighting, some as wide as eight feet built right into the wall - with enough shelf and cabinet space to house the reference section of the New York Public Library. All manner of china, crystal, silver service and flatware are on display, along with the requisite porcelain tchotchkes and candle holders (if you're housing one of Fabergé's lost Imperial eggs, you get a pass). There they stay, except perhaps for Christmas dinner or a papal visit. Goodness, what if Great-Great-Aunt Violet's turkey platter bites the dust? What then? How can we move on?

There was a relative on my former husband's side who had some lovely china and crystal residing in an attractive curio. During the 18 years of that marriage and multiple visits to said relation, we never ate on anything but paper plates and certainly not in the dining room. If the weather was nice, we ate in the back yard (certainly plasticware is appropriate around the pool and with
small children in tow). During the winter months, we gathered in the basement. Why? To protect the good china! God forbid anyone should shatter a wine glass. We gather and hoard and protect. Then we get on in years and pass the stuff along to our children and grandchildren who repeat the process. Generations of families relocating from one place to another, wrapping and packing all the delicate stuff with extraordinary care so the movers don't break it. Then, back into the cabinet for another ten or twenty years, and so it goes. Nonsense!

There are exceptions of course, and many of the young couples getting married today opt for a more practical approach. My daughter and son-in-law registered for porcelain place settings - but they chose classic white in an affordable range. Their flatware is 18/10 stainless, so if a fork gets caught in the disposal, life can go on without a fuss. Their stemless lead crystal makes great sense as it's less apt to get broken - but if it does, replacements don't cost a week's salary.

Look, if you're going to enjoy preparing and eating good food, serve it on the good stuff - even if it's just for youself - and sit at the dining room table instead of standing at the kitchen counter. Go ahead, live on the edge, open that bottle of Shiraz and pour it into your best crystal. Throw caution to the wind and get out the Royal Doulton or Lenox or Coalport and treat yourself. Great-Great Aunt Violet can't object and you'll still have a few things to pass on to your children. The better thing to pass along to them is the idea that some things in life are meant to be enjoyed and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich served on a pretty plate accompanied by a double-damask dinner napkin is one of life's small and civilized pleasures.

Caveat: Do not, however, store fruit juice or wine in a lead-crystal pitcher. The acids can cause the lead to leach out and that, my friends, is a toxic situation.

Serendipitous Jasmine Rice with Coconut Milk and Fleur de Sel

Last evening I dropped an entire half-gallon of milk on the kitchen floor. Of course it was a glass bottle that shattered in 846,836 pieces. The shards of glass flew under the refrigerator and sprayed in a circular pattern all over the kitchen. The milk turned into a river of Amazonian proportions, with tributaries branching out in all directions. Oh yes, that was fun. I grumpily went off to bed without my warm milk and honey after gingerly carrying the triple-bagged glass out to the trash (while wearing draw-string jammie pants and a funny shirt).

This morning, I put some Jasmine rice on to simmer (I really have to buy a steamer). Once in awhile I eat a small bowl of rice for breakfast with a little sugar and cinnamon. Lately, I've been wanting to try Baby Basmati and Kalijira rice because their tiny grains cook in less than ten minutes - ideal for morning. The sugar and cinnamon having already been sprinkled, I reached for the milk. Oh yes, the clumsy demon took care of that. There was a can of evaporated milk in the pantry. No, that wouldn't work. I spied several cans of coconut milk and one that was labeled "light". Now I was in business. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention. Although even the "light" coconut milk has mucho fat compared to fat-free dairy, it's delicious and I didn't need much. Suddenly, the good angel tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Hey, doofus, how about a finishing salt? I retrieved the French Fleur de Sel and set about to create my early morning repast.

The Fleur de Sel brought out the exotic flavor of the rice and the delicacy of the coconut milk and married perfectly with the cinnamon. The slight crunch of the salt also provided textural interest. The only missing element was perhaps a bit of fruit. Thanks to the recent trade agreement between the U.S. and India, Alfonso, Kesar and Banganpally mangoes will soon be in season.

JASMINE RICE WITH COCONUT MILK AND FLEUR DE SEL

1 cup cooked Jasmine or Basmati rice
1/3 cup light coconut milk, well-shaken
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1-2 teaspoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon fleur de sel
1/3 cup chopped mango (optional)

Put the rice in a bowl. Sprinkle with the cinnamon and sugar. Add the optional mango. Pour the coconut milk over the rice. Sprinkle with the salt.

Note: Regular and light coconut milk can be found in the Asian section of your market. Do not use "cream of coconut" which has sugar added. It's fine for pina coladas and some desserts and is usually found in the liquor section.

Fleur de sel or "flower of salt" is so named because it smells like violets when harvested. It's a coarse, unprocessed, hand-gathered salt (which involves raking the top layer of crystals from salt beds), so it tends to be expensive, but a little goes a long way. Its delicate flavor adds brightness and brings out the flavors of whatever you're serving. Its crunch adds textural contrast. Maldon sea salt is a good substitute. Finishing salts are just that -they're meant to be added to a dish just before serving. Some finishing salts have a smokey taste (such as Hawaiian black salt) and others are an eye-catching red, pink (such as Himalayan), or orange. Each has a distinctive flavor (coarse grey sea salt has a briny taste) and use. They can be found at Whole Foods, Sur la Table, Williams-Sonoma, Dean & DeLuca, and at several online outlets.

Emergency Blender Chocolate Cupcakes: Zap-Zap! You're Ready to Bake!

Last month I was looking for a dessert recipe as a take-along for an impromtu celebration. It was already the middle of the afternoon and I was up against the clock. Fortunately, I had clipped a recipe for "Emergency Blender Cupcakes" from the Chicago Tribune and tucked it in my "Chocolate Desserts" file. I'm so glad I did because not only were these the easiest cupcakes I'd ever made, they were the best - chocolately and moist through and through. I've made them three times since and they've been perfect each time. They can be made in a blender or a bowl - either way, it's a snap. The best part? The ingredients were already in my pantry - no special trips to the market! There's no doubt that these delectable treats are now my "go to" recipe for chocolate cupcakes.

The recipe was created by pastry chef and cookbook author Abigail Johnson Dodge. Abby Dodge is also a contributing editor at Fine Cooking magazine and founded the magazine's test kitchen. After college, Abby studied pastry-making in Paris at LaVarenne and later worked under Michelin 3-star chefs Michel Guérard and Guy Savoy. Despite her rigorous formal training and high-end experience, Abby likes to bake approachable comfort desserts on a regular basis (perhaps because she's also a mom). This streamlined chocolate cupcake recipe appears in her book "The Weekend Baker", a warm and friendly volume written for home bakers. Abby was kind enough to grant me permission to publish the recipe, which includes the equally quick and delicious "Fudgy Frosting". Thanks Abby!

The recipe here is exactly as written by Abby Dodge. If I'm in a hurry, I make the frosting first, to give it a chance to set up. Please see my notes at the end of the recipe.

EMERGENCY CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES

1 cup (4-1/2 ounces/128 grams) all-purpose flour
1/2 cup (1-1/2 ounces/43 grams) unsweetened natural cocoa powder* (not Dutch process), sifted if lumpy
1 cup (8 ounces/227 grams) granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon table salt
3/4 cup (6 fluid ounces/175 ml) hot water
1/2 cup (4 fluid ounces/117 ml) canola or corn oil
1 large egg
1-1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Position an oven rack on the middle rung. Heat the oven to 375 degrees (190°C). Line 12 regular-sized muffin cups with paper or foil liners.

Combine the flour, cocoa, sugar, baking soda and salt in a blender (I combine the dry ingredients in a 4-cup Pyrex® glass measuring cup and whisk them together and then pour the mixture into the blender). Cover with the lid and blend on medium speed until blended. Pour in the water, oil, egg, and vanilla. Cover with the lid and blend on medium-high until smooth and well blended, stopping to scrape down the sides once or twice. Alternatively, combine the flour, cocoa, sugar, baking soda and salt in a medium bowl (one with a pouring spout and handle would be ideal). Whisk until blended. Pour in the water, oil, and vanilla. Add the egg and whisk until blended, about one minute.

Pour into the lined muffin cups, dividing evenly. Bake until a tooth-pick or cake tester inserted in the center of one cupcake comes out clean, 17 to 19 minutes. Transfer the muffin pan to a rack to cool for about 10 minutes, and then carefully remove the cupcakes from the pan and set them on the rack to cool completely. (At this point, the unfrosted cupcakes can be covered in plastic and stored at room temperature for up to 3 days or frozen for up to 1 month.)

FUDGY FROSTING

8 ounces (227 grams) bittersweet chocolate*, finely chopped
8 tablespoons (4 ounces/113 grams) unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces
1 cup (8 fluid ounces/233 ml) sweetened condensed (not evaporated) milk; measure carefully - do not use the entire can of milk
1/4 cup (2 fluid ounces/58ml) light corn syrup
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Pinch of table salt

While the cupcakes are baking, melt the chocolate and butter in a double boiler or in the microwave. Add the condensed milk, corn syrup, vanilla, and salt. Whisk until blended. Set aside at room temperature, whisking frequently. It will continue to thicken as it cools. When the frosting is completely cool, cover the bowl with plastic wrap until the cupcakes are completely cool and ready to frost. No need to refrigerate. (At this point, the cooled frosting can be covered with plastic wrap and stored at room temperature for up to 1 day or in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks. Bring the frosting to room temperature before using it.)

Using a small spatula or table knife (I use a small offset cake spatula), spread 2-3 tablespoons frosting on top of each cupcake. (You can also pipe the frosting through a pastry bag with a star tip for a fancier look.) Dust with colored sprinkles, if desired.

*Notes: I use Hershey's natural cocoa for this recipe and it works perfectly. Semisweet chocolate works as well as bittersweet. I've found that there's no need to finely chop the chocolate. I just use an 8-ounce scored bar and break it into 4 pieces. Use the bowl method if your blender container is on the small side or if your blender motor labors a bit. I actually make 11 cupcakes from this recipe which produces a slightly taller end-product. If you make 11 cupcakes, be sure to fill the remaining empty cup with water so it doesn't burn in the oven. Feel free to frost with a recipe of your own choosing. For some reason, guys like chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream - but for me, it's got to be chocolate!

Strozzapreti with Asparagus and Smoked Salmon

You might want to strangle your parish priest for putting you through those long homilies every Sunday, but why not invite him to dinner instead? You may be able to persuade him to cut his sermon time in half (and spend more time on the golf course) by plying him with a little pasta and wine. May I suggest Strozzapreti with Asparagus and Smoked Salmon? Never heard of this strange sounding pasta?

Strozzapreti means "strangle the priest" or "priest choker" in Italian. There are several legends to explain its origin. One is that in the Italian countryside, it's the custom to invite the parish priest for Sunday dinner. As the priest is often poor, he rarely buys meat. The host, in an effort to conserve the roast, fills the priest with pasta to the choking point during the first course so he won't overindulge on the meat during the second course.

Strozzapreti is a handmade rustic pasta that hails from the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy near the top of the boot - the same region that produces Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, balsamic vinegar, Prosciutto di Parma, and Tagliatelle alla Bolognese - so it's in good company. It's hand-rolled into irregular cylinders about three inches long, but is rarely uniform in size. The food purveyors at Dean & DeLuca call it "penne with an attitude". It's a bit capricious as it doesn't always cook evenly so you have to watch it carefully while cooking - better a little underdone than mushy. Test a couple of the cylinders to make sure they are "al dente".

Although it may be hard to find at big chain grocers, Strozzapreti is available at Williams-Sonoma, Dean & DeLuca, and many other speciality food markets. I have found it without difficulty at the gourmet market at Sam's Wines & Spirits in the Chicago area.

I like the combination of asparagus and smoked salmon at this time of year when fresh asparagus is readily available. You may substitute a pound of shrimp (toss the raw shrimp in at the same time as the asparagus) for the salmon or whatever will encourage your parish priest (or any clergyperson) to get off the pulpit sooner. It can be served as a first course or for lunch, as well as a main dish. Pair with a Sauvignon Blanc or an unoaked Chardonnay.

STROZZAPRETI WITH ASPARAGUS & SMOKED SALMON

1 cup fresh breadcrumbs made from crustless French bread
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons finely snipped chives
1 lb. strozzapreti or penne pasta
2 lbs fresh asparagus, trimmed and diagonally cut into 2-inch pieces
1-1/2 cups heavy cream
2/3 cup low salt chicken broth
1/3 cup dry white wine or white vermouth
juice and rind (colored part only) of 1 large lemon
4-6 oz. smoked salmon, cut into julienne strips
freshly ground black pepper

Melt the butter in a small skillet over medium heat. Add the breadcrumbs and chives and stir until the crumbs brown, about 4 minutes. Set aside.

Cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water for about 5 minutes. Add the asparagus and cook until the asparagus is crisp-tender and the pasta is al dente, about 5-8 minutes (watch carefully). Drain the pasta and the asparagus and return to the pot. Meanwhile, bring the cream to a simmer over medium heat. Add the warm cream and the remaining ingredients to the pot and toss well with the burner on low until heated through. Add the bread crumb-chive mixture and a few grinds of the pepper and toss again. Serve immediately.

Today's post is dedicated to the memory of Reverend Victor J. Sivore. Father Sivore was half Irish, half Italian and one hundred percent lovable. He was a dear friend and a wonderful priest and shepherd. Wherever you are Vic, mangia, mangia!

Spanish Rice and Turkey Brazil

My college experience was a remarkably happy one. I attended a small Catholic institution 30 miles from Chicago. The school was a little gem residing in an idyllic setting. Our enrollment was under 800 and we had a faculty-student ratio of 11 to 1. Everybody knew your name - from the college president to the guy who trimmed the bushes. We were a family in a nurturing - albeit academically rigorous - environment. It was nearly perfect. There was only one drawback: the cafeteria food. Suffice to say that there were many plaintive calls to home asking for pizza money.

In the best of circumstances, institutional food is rarely desirable. In the worst, it isn't even identifiable. I have a vivid recollection of my first day on campus eyeing a large container of carrot-raisin salad when one of the "raisins" flew right out of the bowl. I'll pass, thank you. Then there was the taupe gelatin mold. I like taupe in a suit or a sofa, but not as jello. How did the food service come to such a hue? By melting red, green, and yellow leftover gelatin and recasting it - an effort toward recycling food to save money. The addition of canned fruit cocktail with its day-glo red cherries didn't help and made the whole thing look like it came out of a bad horror movie such as "The Revenge of the Cafeteria Workers". It was a shimmering, wiggling, rubbery mass that might be mistaken as the result of nuclear fallout. A biological hazard with a seemingly long half-life. With the exception of the cottage cheese, the "salad" table, as far as I was concerned, was officially off-limits.

There were a few highlights and we always had the makings of a PB&J sandwich. Saturday was "steak and shrimp" night and although the steaks were something like "grade x", the french fried shrimp were acceptable and with a little cocktail sauce and a squirt of lemon, were pretty tasty. The sour cream and butter laden baked potatoes passed muster and there was chocolate cake and ice cream, with seconds if you were so inclined (I was) - but only on Saturdays. I was young and lean and had the metobolism of a roadrunner so I could put down a fair amount of groceries. My third floor dorm mates and I would often eat dinner at 5 and then order a couple of large pizzas or a sack of Italian beef sandwiches to be consumed during the "Mary Tyler Moore Show" in the early evening. "Creature Features" came on at 10:30 and we'd contentedly munch on candy bars while we watched monster movies and wondered if the gelatin mold would show up as one of the characters.

One of the things that human beings seem to need is certitude. It's the reason we're hooked on routines. Certitude gives us security and makes us feel safe - most of the time. Among the cafeteria constants were Spanish Rice and Turkey Brazil. You could count on their presence as surely as night follows day. In fact, Spanish Rice was served every day at lunch and dinner during my entire four years as a student. I have nothing against Spanish Rice - but every day for heaven's sake? The "Turkey Brazil" was another matter. It was served no less than three times per week, the only constant being the water chestnuts - the rest was unknown - worthy of a spot on "Unsolved Mysteries".

How the food service came up with the name "Turkey Brazil" is also a mystery. I suppose it just sounded more exotic than "This Week's Leftovers Casserole". I doubt the Brazilians have such a dish, although they have a heady sugarcane spirit called cachaça which makes a potent drink called caipirinha. It's a wonderful drink going down but if you're not careful, you'll wind up with a rubber mallet headache for days. I never actually ate the Turkey Brazil as I didn't think food should be frightening. A classmate once tried to salvage it with a healthy dose of Tabasco, but it was a lost cause.

Sadly, the college has closed and the cheerful cafeteria with its beautiful view is a distant memory. There were some good times in that dining hall, like the turkey-with-all-the-trimmings banquet the week before Thanksgiving break and the pie eating contest, which I won my junior year (OK, I got sick but it was worth the pain). I remember the "all-you-can-eat-sundae" Sundays and sitting around the cafeteria after breakfast with my classmates trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe. A few years ago, I returned to the college for a big reunion. It was a three-day affair with the Saturday luncheon being served in the cafeteria. On that day, I half expected to see Spanish Rice and Turkey Brazil. Instead, I found a lovely catered event with white tablecloths and flowers, proving that you can indeed go home again, but it just won't be the same.

Like most people, I have a few regrets - things I might have done. I often wonder if I'd started a pizza business in a college town, if I would have been able to retire years ago.

Chocolate and the Art of Diplomacy

A few years ago, when I headed a not-for-profit institution in Chicago, I was asked to entertain a group of young would-be not-for-profit executives from Belarus. The reason for their visit to the United States was to learn how to effectively manage their organizations. Here in the U.S. we refer to the not-for-profit sector as "The Third Sector". We have scores of nonprofits so our Eastern European counterparts must think we know how to run them.

Belarus is a small country in Eastern Europe that borders Russia, the Ukraine, Poland, Lithuania, and Latvia. Its capital is the city of Minsk. Without going into a long political or economic commentary (I have a degree in Political Science but I'll leave that to the experts), it's safe to say that the people of Belarus have had their challenges. Formerly a part of the Soviet Union, Belarus declared its independence in 1991. The populace of Belarus speaks Russian, as well as Belarusian, Polish, and Ukrainian. My new found friends spoke mostly Russian and had not yet mastered the English language. I was in a cultural, if not diplomatic quandary. How do I break the ice? How do I communicate? How do I reach across and build a bridge? I have a friend who has a degree in Foreign Service from Georgetown. Why I didn't think to call her I cannot say – hindsight. Suddenly, the light went on ... chocolate!

I bought bags and bags of foil-wrapped chocolate candy and miniature chocolate candy bars. I brought several cut-glass bowls from home (didn't I say you can never have too many bowls?) and filled them with the chocolate. When my international colleagues arrived at my office, I was ready! It was a wonderful meeting, a complete success ... seven of us munching happily on chocolate. They were happy, they listened, they understood ... I listened, I understood. At the conclusion of our gathering, I filled little bags with the chocolate, so my guests could take some along. Ahh ... so this is diplomacy! I'm good at this! Ambassador potential! The experience left me wondering if world leaders at summit conferences concentrated more on what they had in common - FOOD - they might get along a little better. As James Beard remarked, "Food is our common ground, a universal experience." Maybe there should be summit meetings disguised as food conferences. A chocolate convention instead of a Geneva convention. Butter instead of guns. I'm reminded of Madhur Jaffrey's comments regarding America's nuclear and trade pact with India. India gets nuclear fuel for its energy and America gets Indian mangoes - perhaps India's greatest culinary gift (if you've never had one of the seasonally available mangoes from India, I implore you to do so).

As I was recently patting myself on the back for being such a diplomat, I came across Dorie Greenspan's recipe for "World Peace Cookies" so called, because a neighbor of Dorie's is convinced that these fantastic chocolate cookies (originally the creation of Parisian pastry chef Pierre Hermé) could help ensure world peace. I quite agree. In an effort to foster continued harmony, Dorie was kind enough to give me permission to publish the recipe, which can also be found in her book, "Baking from My Home to Yours". Thanks, Dorie.

Got to run - I have to update my resume so I can send it off to the United Nations.

WORLD PEACE COOKIES

1¼ cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 cup plus 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup light-brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon fleur de sel* or 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
5 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped into chips, or a generous 3/4 cup store-bought mini chocolate chips

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa, and baking soda.

Working with an electric mixer, beat the butter until it is soft and creamy. Add the sugars, the salt, and the vanilla and beat for another 2 minutes. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the dry ingredients, mixing only until they just disappear into the dough. You want to mix this dough as little as possible once the flour is added. Toss in the chocolate pieces and mix only to incorporate.

Turn the dough out onto a work surface, squeeze it so it sticks together, gather it into a ball, and divide the ball in half. Working with one piece of dough at a time, shape it into logs about 1½ inches in diameter and about 9 inches long. (Make sure the logs are solid—if they feel as if they’ve got holes in the center, flatten and roll them again.) Wrap the dough in plastic and chill the logs for at least 2 hours or up to 2 days.

Before baking, center a rack in the oven and preheat to 325° F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, nonstick aluminum foil, or silicone baking mats.

Working with a sharp knife, slice the logs into ½-inch-thick rounds. (Don’t worry if the rounds break—just squeeze the bits back together again.) Place the cookies on the sheets, leaving about 1 inch of spread space between them.

Bake only one sheet of cookies at a time and bake each sheet for 12 minutes—they won’t look done, but they’ll firm as they cool. Put the baking sheet on a cooling rack and let the cookies stand until they reach room temperature. Repeat with the second sheet of cookies.

* Fleur de sel is available at Whole Foods, Sur La Table and other specialty shops. The “wow” factor in these cookies is the salt which intensifies the chocolate. It’s impossible to eat just one of these fantastic treats.

Bananas Foster

In a sincere effort to keep my aging mother reasonably healthy, my brother advised her to eat several bananas a week. That was a mistake. Anytime anyone made a suggestion to my mother, she often (though not always, depending on the source) did the exact opposite, just to be obstinate. Up until this point, my mom loved bananas. Mostly, she enjoyed them cut up in a little dish with a light sprinkle of sugar and cream. She liked them on cereal, too. Back in the day, mom also prepared Bananas Foster for dinner parties. She also made Crepes Suzette. The late 50s was the era of the "chafing dish" and flaming desserts were all the rage - a sort of "food as theatre" ritual - drama! Suddenly, mom despised bananas. Why? Because they were good for her! A nutriceutical! Baa! No more bananas! If my brother had suggested that mom give up bananas - then she'd be eating them every day! The same thing happened with eggs. No more scrambled eggs for mom! I told my brother to zip it and just show up with pickled herring from Chicago's Andersonville neighborhood.

Bananas eaten out of hand are fine but I always end up with too many as I don't want one every day. Bananas can easily be frozen and placed in a freezer bag, but sometimes I just don't get around to doing so. I bake Banana Bread and Banana Cake with Chocolate or Caramel frosting and sometimes make Banana Ice Cream, which is very easy as it contains no eggs. I usually take the really ripe bananas (one day away from soupy) and throw them in the blender with milk and protein powder. This usually makes me feel rather self-satisfied - as if it somehow reverses yesterday's martini.

Most bananas that we eat are "Cavendish". They're engineered to withstand long transports and to maximize shelf-life. They really don't have much taste until they get quite ripe, although the folks at Cook's Illustrated (America's Test Kitchen) maintain that roasting bananas brings out their flavor. In her book, "The Weekend Baker", pastry chef Abagail Johnson Dodge said, "For the deepest banana flavor, the peels need to be completely black, so black that you might be tempted to throw the bananas out. Bananas this ripe are the only kind that will give breads, muffins, and cakes the strongest banana flavor." Her comment is attached to her recipe for Banana Layer Cake, which is excellent as are the other fine recipes in this approachable volume. Lately, I've been trying some of the other cultivated varieties such as finger bananas and red bananas - which have become readily available. Some of them seem sweeter and have a more intense flavor. In any case, bananas are nutritionally sound - packed with potassium, Vitamin B6, and Vitamin C. They seem to be eminently digestable, as well, and they're the ultimate portable food.

Bananas Foster was created in 1951 at Brennan's restaurant in New Orleans. The original recipe includes butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, banana liqueur, dark rum and of course, bananas. The dish is flamed and served over vanilla ice cream. The thirty-five thousand pounds of bananas consumed at Brennan's each year is a testament to the enduring popularity of this dessert.

Now I don't want to mess with Brennan's formula. They invented this luscious sweet and they evidently know what they're doing. Their recipe is readily available on the Internet (I don't print original recipes on this website without obtaining permission from the authors and/or their publishers) and it's delicious. I prepare a similar dish which technically isn't Bananas Foster. The nice thing about this recipe is that you're likely to have all of the ingredients on hand (I don't keep banana liqueur in the pantry but I always have dark rum).

CARAMELIZED BANANAS WITH DARK RUM

4 firm ripe bananas (yellow with a few black spots*)
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
2 tablespoons whipping cream
1/4 teaspoon non-iodized salt
1/4 teaspoon mace
1/3 to 1/2 cup dark rum (I use Myers's)

Slice the bananas lengthwise and then quarter them. Melt the butter in a skillet over medium heat (this is one of those times when a non-stick pan is quite useful). Add the brown sugar, the salt, and the mace and stir with a wooden spoon until the sugar dissolves and the mixture begins to bubble. Stir in the corn syrup and cream. Add the bananas and saute until they are heated through and coated with the resulting syrup. Carefully pour in the rum. Cook over medium heat until the rum is reduced a bit. You can flame this dessert if you want (omit the cream) but I don't. Frankly, I don't flame things - even with a fire extinguisher in the kitchen. I have enough excitement without creating more, so you're on your own in this regard.

This dish can also be made with frozen pineapple or peaches, which are available all through the year (feel free to use fresh in season). Just substitute 1 bag of frozen fruit. The warm fruit can be served over ice cream or pound cake - or, what the hell, ice cream AND pound cake (a purchased "all-butter" poundcake is fine). This dessert is ridiculolusly simple to pull togther and everyone will think you're a genius (and you will be if you routinely keep fruit and pound cake in the freezer at all times). If you want to serve it as a family dessert - kids included - just leave out the rum or substitute an equal amount of apple cider. In spite of everything, I think mom would approve.

Note: For this recipe, the bananas should be yellow with no green color. A few black spots are acceptable. The bananas should still be firm enough so they don't fall apart.

Lamb Shanks with Rosemary

It is said that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. This is especially true in Chicago. We recently had a teaser - a couple of sunny spring days - but today we're back to winter with several inches of snow. Spring, being inherently mercurial, will be on-again off-again until mid-April. There's still time to savor those one-pot bistro-style dishes before we get into grilling this and that and eating lighter fare. A favorite among the stove-top stews are Lamb Shanks, which take especially well to braising. The long slow simmering renders the lamb as supple as butter and the addition of fresh rosemary, thyme, red wine, orange peel and garlic make me feel like an alchemist of sorts, creating a sensation of accomplishment and comfort. I always prepare extra lamb shanks as the leftovers can be made into a marvelous ragu served over pappardelle, at which point I'll be able to transcend comfort and move directly to the higher plane of peace of mind.

Braised Lamb Shanks are not as temperamental as Coq au Vin, less greasy than short ribs, easier on the conscience than Osso Buco and sexier than Pot Roast. It's a dish that begs you to haul out that blue enamel Le Creuset Dutch oven (or if you're really fortunate, a Mauviel copper Dutch oven) that you got for Christmas. I use a 7-quart hard anodized Dutch oven that my mother gave me more than 20 years ago. It's a honey - with high mileage. There are some newer pots that I'm considering that are a bit wider and more accommodating for certain dishes, but my trusty old Dutch oven has yet to fail me.

Braised Lamb Shanks is one of those dishes for which I really don't need a recipe, although I have several recipes in my file which I have used from time to time and they're all excellent. I just wing it and know instinctively how to put this dish together. For the sake of this post, I retraced my steps and penned a recipe which I trust will bring my readers comfort.

BRAISED LAMB SHANKS WITH ROSEMARY

6 lamb shanks, about 1 pound (12 to 16 ounces) each
All-purpose flour, for dredging
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Non-iodized salt and freshly-ground pepper
2 large onions, chopped
1 large carrot, diced
1 stalk celery, chopped
3 cloves garlic, 1 minced, 2 left whole
2-1/2 cups dry red wine or white vermouth, divided
2-1/2 cups low-salt beef or chicken stock or broth
1/2 cup diced canned tomatoes
2 tablespoons aged balsamic vinegar or pomegranate juice
2 tablespoons tomato paste
3 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary or 3 teaspoons dried rosemary
3 fresh thyme sprigs or 1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 Turkish bay leaf (do not use California bay)
1 teaspoon Herbs de Province*
Scant teaspoon grated lemon peel(colored part only)
Scant teaspoon grated orange peel (colored part only)
1/3 cup tawny port (such as Graham's, Dow's, Sandeman's or Warre's)

With a sharp paring knife, cut away the papery parchment covering (the "fell") from the lamb shanks and remove any excess fat. Dredge the shanks in flour and sprinkle them with the salt and pepper. Set aside. Heat the oil in a 6-8 quart Dutch oven over medium-high heat and add the onions. Reduce the heat to medium-low, and sauté the onions until caramelized, about 10-15 minutes. Add the shanks, three at a time, and brown them on all sides. Transfer the shanks to a platter. Add 1 cup of the wine and bring to a boil, scraping up the onions and brown bits. Return the shanks to the dutch oven (they do not have to be in a single layer) along with the carrot, celery, garlic, and the rest of the wine and simmer for 5 minutes at medium heat to reduce the wine. Add the remaining ingredients (except the port) and stir to distribute the tomatoes and tomato paste. Bring mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes. Add the port. Simmer another 60 to 90 minutes until the lamb is tender when pierced with a fork. Serve with egg noodles, mashed potatoes, polenta, or couscous. The meat from any leftover shanks can be shredded and mixed with the sauce and served over pappardelle or any pasta your heart desires. This dish is even better the second day.

* Herbs de Province is a blend of chervil, rosemary, tarragon, lavender, marjoram, savory and thyme.

Bread Pudding

The results of my "comfort dessert" survey are in and it appears that Bread Pudding remains the stepchild of desserts, the bastard at the family reunion, a dessert with humble origins but with so much potential. Bread Pudding need not feel ashamed among the glossy ganache laden Chocolate Cake, the towering Croquembouche, the charming Pavlova, or the ostentatious Black Forest Torte. No, it must stand tall and proud, ultimately outshining its pretentious fellow desserts with its genuine intentions and warm approach. Originally devised in England as a way to use up leftover stale bread, Bread Pudding now shows up on the menus of many upscale restaurants, making it a legitimate and welcome member of the dessert cart.

My former husband was repelled by the very mention of Bread Pudding. When he was a youngster, he attended a Catholic military grammar school for boys run by nuns (yes, you read that correctly). As it so happens, I was educated through grammar school and prep school by the very same congregation of sisters, although my educational experience was normal - at least in a Catholic school sort of way. Beginning in about the fourth grade, whenever any of the boys in my class would act mischievious, the nuns would threaten to send them to their military school 25 miles away. Sometimes we'd acquire a new teacher who had taught at said military school, and we'd be frightened to death. "Sister Mary Eva Braun taught at St. John the Terrifying so you had better watch out!" Yikes!

When I met my then husband-to-be and we were going through the requisite disclosure of our respective childhoods, his attendance at the military school was unveiled (he's the youngster to the right of the priest) I was mesmerized. At last I'd get the real story, a behind-the-scenes revelation of what actually happened at this gulag. It was like seeing something you weren't supposed to see (like the convent laundry room). I discovered that these poor kids had to go to school six days a week! They had some sort of military drills on Saturday mornings that were commanded by a retired United States Army General, which I think was followed by chopping rocks. Our nuns were strict and God knows we had better tow the line and show up for First Friday Mass, but drill instruction? No way.

Meals at the military academy were undoubtedly designed to quash one's spirit. According to my former spouse, this was no more apparent than in the Bread Pudding - a grey and soggy mass of questionable origin. A spurious "dessert" crafted to remind the children that they must indeed do penance to pay for their sins. I decided when we married that this was a past that could not be overcome, a mountain that I could not hope to scale.

I baked cookies and cakes and pies and muffins. I prepared Chocolate Mousse and Raspberry Roulades. I frosted and whipped and plated - but I did not dare wander into the land of Bread Pudding. Years later, after we had divorced, I had a small family gathering to celebrate my daughter's birthday. We had Basque Chicken and I fashioned a tall and impressive cake with a mountain of buttercream and snowy flaked coconut. As the chicken dish already had potatoes, I pondered the realm of possible side dishes. I came across a Savory Bread Pudding with mushrooms, artichoke hearts and strips of red bell pepper. Like a Breakfast Strata, it could be prepared the night before and refrigerated and then just popped in the oven the next day. Perfect! I told my guests it was a "Souffle" whose origins were in Orléans, France. My former husband had been stationed there while in the army and was taken with the town (home to "Joanie on the Pony" - his humorous reference to St. Joan of Arc). Success! The "Souffle" was gobbled up with gusto. Could he have a second helping? Why certainly - have all you like! Back in the 50s, my mother used to serve Beef Stroganoff at dinner parties. Her secred ingredient? Anchovy paste! An infintisimal amount designed to enrich the sauce. Mom never told anyone - not even my father (I was sworn to secrecy) and there were never any leftovers. Lesson learned.

Bread Pudding is one of my favorite desserts. This is evidenced by the fact that I have 57 dedicated recipes for this comforting sweet - all kept in its own special file. All are fantasic. Some have dried apricots, others use cherries or blueberries. Some are graced with a generous dose of Chinese cinnamon (cassia) and raisins and others use pumpkin puree or cranberries. There are a few that contain chunks of chocolate - dark, milk, or white and still others that are swirled with tart lemon curd. One is full of apples and walnuts and ribboned with caramel. Some are served in squares, others in individual white porcelein ramekins. My favorite way of serving Bread Pudding is spooned directly out of a deep gratin dish. They are all rich with eggs, whole milk, and cream and almost all of them are intended to be christened with some sort of boozy sauce - Whiskey, Rum, Cognac, Grand Mariner, Kirsch, or Framboise. Perhaps if the good nuns at St. John the Terrifying had managed a little Whiskey Sauce, everyone would have been a little happier, Saturday drills would have eliminated, and Bread Pudding would have been a Thursday night regular at our house.

BREAD PUDDING WITH BLUEBERRIES AND GRAND MARINER SAUCE

1 large 2-day-old challah or day-old French bread (about 8 ounces)
2 tablespoons soft unsalted butter (for buttering the gratin dish)
2 cups half-and-half
1 cup heavy whipping cream
1 cup buttermilk
6 large eggs
1 cup sugar
zest of one medium orange (colored part only)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 teaspoons pure orange extract
1/4 teaspoon non-iodized salt
2 cups fresh or Individually Quick Frozen* blueberries, divided (see note)

Preheat the oven to 350°. Cut the bread into 1/2 cubes and spread them on a baking sheet. Toast the bread until light golden brown, about 20 minutes - tossing the bread around with a spatula after 10 minutes. Leave the oven at 350° if you plan to bake the bread pudding within an hour.

Generously butter a 2-1/2-quart gratin dish. In a large bowl, whisk together the half-and-half, cream, eggs, sugar, orange rind, extracts and salt. Add the bread cubes and 1 cup of the blueberries and toss together gently with a large spoon. Transfer to the gratin dish and refrigerate for 1 hour and up to 8 hours so that the bread soaks up the liquid.

Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350°. Cover the pan with aluminum foil (preferably nonstick foil) and place the dish in a larger pan such as a roasting pan. Pour in enough hot water (from a tea kettle) to reach about an inch. Bake the pudding in the water bath (bain-marie) for about 30 minutes. Remove the foil and bake another 10 minutes until the pudding is set. Remove the pudding from the larger pan very carefully with oven mitts so as not to burn yourself. Let the pudding rest for 10-15 minutes before serving with the sauce. The pudding can be cut into squares or spooned out of the baking dish and may be served warm, or at room temperature.

GRAND MARINER SAUCE

1 cup light brown sugar, packed
1-1/2 cups heavy whipping cream
1/3 cup Grand Marinier or Gran Gala Liqueur
2 tablespoons light corn syrup
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/4 teaspoon non-iodized salt
1 cup blueberries

In a heavy medium saucepan, stir together the brown sugar, salt, and cornstarch until well blended. Stir in the cream, orange liqueur, corn syrup and butter. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring all the while and cook for 1 minute. Add the blueberries and cook for another minute or two until the blueberries soften a bit and release their juices. Take the pan off the heat, cover, and let the sauce thicken further for about 10 minutes. Serve with the bread pudding.

Note: Individually Quick Frozen blueberries (IQF), are flash frozen at extremely low temperatures. This gives the blueberry an individual fruit identity. You can tell if blueberries are IQF if they appear separate when you open the bag. Other frozen or canned blueberries will turn the bread pudding an unappetizing greyish color.

Irish Soda Bread with a Special Nod to St. Joseph

It seems to me that St. Patrick's Day (March 17) overshadows St. Joseph's Day (March 19) by a mile. The greeting card stores are fully stocked with St. Pat's Day cards with only a few dedicated to St. Joe. The wine and spirit merchants are busy hawking dozens of Irish brews, whiskeys, and cream liqueurs. The "wearing o' the green" extends to shamrock festooned socks, but I have yet to see a red pair devoted to St. Joseph. Then there are the St. Paddy's Day parades, the music, and of course, the requisite Irish Soda Bread. Oh, sure - you'll see a "St. Joseph's Day Table" here and there, particularly in ethnic neighborhoods - but unless your Roman Catholic parish is hosting such an event, you'll likely miss it altogether. The real loser is poor St. Edward the Martyr who gets caught in the middle with his feast day being March 18. St. Ed wasn't even a martyr in the strict sense but he defended his faith nonetheless and he gets swept under the carpet (sort of like having your birthday on Christmas).

Irish Soda Bread - preferably with lots of butter - is my favorite part of St. Patrick's Day. I like Corned Beef and Cabbage (the horseradish being the best part of that deal) and I've been known to down a pint or two - but Soda Bread is irresistible and comforting - with raisins or not, white flour or whole wheat, or with caraway seeds - I never met one I didn't savor.

Wanting to give St. Joseph his due, I decided to devise a soda bread that would pay him homage. The answer? Dried cherries! A bit of red in the midst of all that green! Dried cherries are a wonderful addition to many recipes. My friend Jim bakes fabulous Chocolate-Cherry Biscotti. I like dried cherries in Chocolate Chip Cookies and they're good in many savory dishes, too - especially with pork and lamb. Dried cherries are easy to find - American Spoon Foods, Target Stores (Archer Farms brand), and Trader Joe's are good places to start. If you cannot find them, dried cranberries are a good substitute.

IRISH-ST. JOSEPH SODA BREAD

1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder (be sure it's fresh!)
1/2 teaspoon non-iodized salt
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted cool butter
3/4 cup dried cherries (or cranberries)
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon very soft butter

Preheat oven to 375°. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt and blend well with a wire whisk. Using a pastry cutter, work the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in the dried cherries. Add the buttermilk and blend well. Knead the dough - about 5 or 6 times - on a floured board until it just comes together. Do not overknead. Shape into a round loaf. Using a sharp knife, cut an X on top of the loaf about 1/2" deep. Rub the top with the soft butter.

Place the loaf on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Bake for about 30 minutes until golden brown and the bottom sounds hollow when tapped. Transfer bread to a wire rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Rhubarb

One of the first indicators of spring is rhubarb. Most people have a strong response to rhubarb - they love it, they hate it, they don't understand it (is it a fruit or a vegetable?) or they're afraid to try it. I think those who say they hate it either have never tried it or perhaps as a child, they took a bite of raw rhubarb thinking it was red celery - surprise! Rhubarb is not related to celery but one can certainly see the resemblance between the stalks. A relative of buckwheat (which is not really wheat - are you still confused?), rhubarb grows without much encouragement in both temperatate and cold climates throughout much of the world. It is native to Asia but loved by the British, Scandinavians, Russians, Eastern Europeans, Iranians, and many of us who live in the United States.

Much of the fresh rhubarb sold in stores is cultivated hothouse rhubarb (most of it grown in Michigan, Oregon, and Washington) but you'll find it at farmer's markets from April until June . Rhubarb is also available frozen in some supermarkets, Dole being the most popular brand in my neck of the woods. It's conveniently already washed, trimmed and cut into handy size pieces. One caveat, the huge leaves of rhubarb are full of oxalic acid and therefore highly toxic. Rhubarb in stores is sold minus the leaves - but if you acquire some with the leaves, remove them by cutting the rhubarb high on the stalk thereby removing the leaves with a portion of the stalk and discard them. Fresh rhubarb should be stored in the refrigerator for no more than three days.

Rhubarb's history is peppered with tales of its curative powers. My Great Aunt Cora regarded it as a "tonic" and used to make rhubarb syrup (which added to sparkling water becomes a refreshing drink). While its so-called medicinal properties are no doubt old wives' tales (though it is reported to be a natural laxative), rhubarb is nutritionally sound - zero fat, high in fiber and rich in Vitamin C. Rhubarb's best buddy however is sugar, without which it would be inedibible.

Also known as "pie plant" in the United States, undoubtedly because so much of it ends up in pies, rhubarb is also wonderful in muffins, quick breads, cakes, coffee cakes, fools, crisps, cobblers, chutneys, and jam (usually strawberry-rhubarb). I'm currently considering the jam as a cake filling for a classic White Cake with a Cream Cheese Frosting. Rhubarb also works in savory dishes and pairs nicely with pork. It seems to be enjoying a resurgence as it is appearing on the menus of some very tony restaurants. My mother used to make "stewed rhubarb" which was just rhubarb cooked with a little water and a lot of sugar. We ate it ice cold in little dishes. Sometimes mom would serve it over vanilla ice cream, which is my preference - and served over a piece of classic New York cheesecake, it's divine!

Mixing Bowls

When my mother died, someone asked me about the most valuable advice she had given me. Without hesitation I said, "moisturize, moisturize, moisturize!" OK, that was NOT the most valuable advice she bestowed upon me - but it was great advice. Kitchenwise, mom said, "You can never have too many bowls!" I have to agree. From my collection of four-ounce stainless prep bowls to my 13-quart stainless "granola" bowl (great for mixing large granola concoctions), I rely on all of them. I recently eyeballed a 20-quart stainless steel bowl at Bridge Kitchenware and found it nearly irresistible. It's big enough to bathe an infant (assuming it would be reserved for just that purpose) but in the kitchen it might serve to brine a turkey.

For the most part, I prefer stainless steel or Pyrex® bowls because they are sturdy, nonreactive, dishwasher-safe and unlike plastic, they don't transfer funky flavors to food. Stainless insulated bowls are great for keeping ice cream custards cold (yes, on occasion I make homemade ice cream, the last batch being "Pomegranate Pistachio"). My melamine bowls with pouring spouts and handles have dozens of uses and are especially handy for pancake and cupcake batter. Some of my bowls have plastic covers with snap tight lids, others have non-skid bottoms that keep them from skittering across the countertop and I have several that have measurements clearly etched directly on their surfaces.

Those of you who saw the film "Ratatouille" may remember the term "Mise en place". Literally, it means "set in place". Practically, it means "everything in place". When you get ready to bake a cake, for instance, you read through the recipe, make sure you have the necessary ingredients, and then go about organizing your equipment, preheating the oven (which can take as long as 20 minutes) and putting many of the ingredients in individual bowls. For a cake, this may mean baking soda, baking powder, salt, spices and extracts. I like to line my little filled prep bowls on the counter. It assures that I have what I need, eliminates the stop and start which wastes time, and guards against cross-contamination (reaching for the vanilla with raw egg on my hands, for example). I also think these little bowls are damn cute.

Aside from food preparation and storage, I have quite a few serving bowls - from fruit and cereal bowls to soup bowls, chili bowls, and the usual vegetable recepticles. I have Bosco-Ware soup bowls in an array of cheerful colors that keep soup hot and onion-soup bowls that can be run under the broiler. Two of my favorite bowls are cobalt-blue glass. I like to fill them with lemons and set them on the counter. If you're not ready to replace your countertops just yet, a transparent blue bowl piled with lemons can really spruce up your kitchen.

One of my favorite memories of my mother is of her sifting flour into a cream colored ceramic bowl with a blue stripe. That bowl saw a lot of action. Mom also had a deep-fryer. There was a little chef on the side whose eyes would light up when the oil had reached the right temperature - very cool! When garage sale time comes around, go ahead and get rid of that waffle maker you haven't used for 20 years and that bright orange enamel fondue pot from 1972, but hang on to those bowls! On second thought, you might keep that fondue pot, too. Fondue is back and retro is fashionable.

Cupcake Love

Cupcakes, it would seem, are all the rage. From New York City's celebrated Magnolia Bakery (famous for their Red Velvet Cupcakes) to San Francisco's imaginative Citizen Cake (and now Citizen Cupcake!), cupcakes have captured our hearts. Dozens of cupcake instruction manuals line the baking sections of bookstores such as Dede Wilson's "A Baker's Field Guide to Cupcakes" and "Cupcakes" by Elinor Klivans. There's even a website called "Cool Cupcakes" for all your cupcake decorating needs (see links).

In the past, cupcakes seemed to be reserved for children's parties and casual family gatherings. Now you see them at black-tie events and weddings (I don't know what happens with the traditional "cutting of the cake" but the presentations I have seen are gorgeous and it certainly makes serving effortless). Not only are cupcakes chic, they are often the pièce de résistance of the dessert cart - edging out Crème Brûlée and Flourless Chocolate Cake in popularity.

Baking equipment and supplies designed specifically for cupcakes are selling like ... well, cupcakes. Wilton Industries offers a little kit called "Cupcake Heaven", a 12-piece cupcake decorating set that sells at Target and other stores for under $10. Several manufacturers sell covered cupcake pans, some with extra high tops to protect more elaborate frostings, making portability a snap. Cupcake "tiers" make a dynamite presentation and they can be had for only a few dollars. Cupcake liners are available with every possible decor geared to holidays and special events. In addition to the three pan sizes for conventional cupcakes (mini, regular, and jumbo), Wilton, King Arthur Flour, and other outlets also sell a giant cupcake pan with a 10-cup capacity. This isn't really a cupcake, however, but might be a whimsical alternative to a conventional birthday cake. There are silicone pans and cupcake liners, too - but there's something about those little paper liners that makes cupcakes unique and I prefer conventional pans for baking anyway.

You don't really need a cookbook devoted to cupcakes to make these divine confections (although these volumes offer many decorating ideas). Virtually any recipe for a layer or 13"x9" cake will work for cupcakes (just be sure that the capacity of the pans is the same as that of the recipe and don't fill the individual cups more than 2/3 full). Angel Food and Chiffon Cake recipes work just fine, too. Chiffon cakes work especially well for whipped cream injected cakes, as they have to be refrigerated and Chiffon Cakes, being oil-based, don't get hard in the refrigerator. The flavor possibilities for cupcakes are nearly endless and embellishments can be as easy as a sprinkling of powdered sugar or as elaborate as candied violets and edible gold leaf.

My favorite cupcake? Almond-flavored White Cake injected with a bit of raspberry jam and frosted with white buttercream. Or is it Coconut Cupcakes with tart lemon filling and showered with flaked coconut, or ... I'm reminded of my father when asked what his favorite opera might be - "The last one I heard", he would reply. My favorite cupcake? Probably the last one I ate. What makes a cupcake special is that everyone has their own little cake, and frankly, a freshly baked cupcake just lifts one's spirits.