Nice to Meet You

“The Net of Indra is a profound and subtle metaphor for the structure of reality. Imagine a vast net; at each crossing point there is a jewel; each jewel is perfectly clear and reflects all the other jewels in the net, the way two mirrors placed opposite each other will reflect an image ad infinitum. The jewel in this metaphor stands for an individual being, or an individual consciousness, or a cell or an atom. Each jewel is ultimately connected with all other jewels in the universe, and a change in one jewel means a change, however slight, in every other jewel.” --Stephen Mitchell, The Enlightened Mind

I didn’t intend on getting philosophical right off the bat while baking my cake, I originally just wanted a good transition food that would assist in keeping my lungs clear for the approaching winter. After listening to a Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner rattle off a number of medicinal foods appropriate for the long cold months ahead, I latched onto sweet and soulful adzuki beans, a favored childhood treat (which incidentally is rejuvenating to the kidneys and heart but is moisturizing to the whole system, said to give one a rosy complexion, and is the most yang of beans). Earthy rich with a chestnut like crumble; red bean paste stuffed into chubby sticky rice mochi makes me feel tucked-in, small and a wee bit nostalgic. Away from any Asian communities, it has been far too long since incorporating legumes into my desserts. Perhaps a simple rice and adzuki porridge would provide nutritive ballast for the day as well as recreate some facsimile to memories past.

In one hard blink I fly to J-town in San Francisco where I used to ritualistically crane my neck forward to peer behind the glass counter of May’s Coffee Shop angling to see if any fish-shaped waffles pocketing a dark magenta magma center might be hatched, stacked and steaming. If not, I’d leave disappointed and a tad disgruntled forced to feed my hunger down some other tributary or side lying nook.

Further in the pursuit of silky bean puree, I recall the tall silent men dressed in crisp suits, lean as shadows that would pop into my work place on rare occasion to sell pieces of bean pie shrouded in plastic on flimsy paper plates. Never having tasted such a thing, I no longer remember whether or not I bought the pie out of curiosity or out of strange discomfort with the severity that would descend upon a once ordinary room. Delightfully, the pie stood in odd contrast to the bean bearers’ cool disposition, full of homey comfort and redolent with honey and spice. Both baked goods and men were straight from Your Black Muslim Bakery in Oakland and years later I still think about them both.

So in a pull towards three parts (more or less) to the past, porridge became sticky rice which turned to pie, before finally shape shifting into a tea cake. And it is no secret; I have been lavishing sweet admiration upon my newest creation which seemed to miraculously emerge from my oven but in reality has been quietly gestating until now. Beautiful with an understated elegance, it seems impossible for anyone to refute this simple fact. But indeed even this upstanding cake has garnered its own share of opposition ***and once again I find the contrast in opinion to be just the thing to open my eyes.

It isn’t like I have never encountered various perspectives before. My architectural education has trained me to gather and synthesize bits of information from many sources and then whittle and shape my response into physical form. And then there has been living in the culturally sophisticated Bay Area for years where one can get swept up in every kind of diversity imaginable. Yet I can see now that my enjoyment and participation in those view points have been largely mental, an intellectual process, maybe an amusing trifle, and thereby always a little removed.

The recent dramatic changes in my life have altered my landscape as I have moved from one coast to another but more importantly lost a significant amount of my physical ability to move independently. I am suddenly more sensitive about deviating from the norm, sometimes feeling like a stranger in my own skin. Holding a different perspective incorporates much more than expressing a surface idea or opinion. Rather it plums the depth of emotions, wandering through socio-economic borders, it includes the totality of a lifetime of experience.

At moments I feel the edges of my new life bear down on me from all sides. Unwittingly my change in form and various other displacements which have occurred rise up in locations becoming an obstruction, blurring the way that I experience myself. This has been the true impetus for writing and drawing within this blog: to see deeper and connect with myself and other, unencumbered. And this is what I think of as I learn about the bankruptcy and criminal trouble which have befallen Your Black Muslim Bakery. I cannot help grieving in some small way remembering the distance of these men, feeling the knot and pain which comes from being marginalized, exiled and living on the fringe. But with this sadness also comes a hint of relief with the hope that walls and barriers attended by the desire for change can become conciliatory conduits and ultimately arms for embracing our shared humanity.

*** My attendant remarked that the cake had the same color as people have just before they die. I was dreaming along the lines of pale lavender and was somewhat startled to hear her response. I exaggerate when I suggested that this was “oppositional”. I was exploring the idea of divergent view points.

Adzuki Pandan Tea Cake makes 8” round- Inspired by Korean dduk, mochi and that bean pie. I seem to be putting disclaimers on everything posted lately. Around here three people thought this was fabulous. Two thought it was exotic but a little disorienting. Two other people thought it was different and disgusting (they were too repulsed to even try). For some, beans and desserts do not go together with the exception of jellybeans. If you are at all inclined towards Thai food, give this a go. If not, follow the link to the bean pie. That is very good too but I believe the vanilla has a typo and should be 2 teaspoons.

Ingredients:
1 can 14 oz. adzuki beans drained
¾ C coconut milk
3 eggs
½ C melted butter
1 ½ tsp. pandan extract
3 Tblsp. Rice flour
½ C plus 2 Tblsp. Sugar
2 oz. grated dark chocolate

Directions: This is a busy cook's dream come true. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Drain your can of adzuki beans and dump into a blender with the coconut milk. Puree until smooth, add the other ingredients minus the chocolate and blend some more. I used ½ C sugar and very dark (74%) chocolate, this was nice but thought that a bit more sugar might enhance the flavor. Next time I would add a few tablespoons more and use a lighter chocolate. Pour into a buttered pie plate or cake pan and sprinkle the chocolate on top. Bake for about 45 minutes more or less until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. I’d suggest letting it cool before eating and serving it with green tea.

A Sweet Passage

Some changes happen so slowly that a collection of months can go by without any perceptive difference and then in a blink, there is movement. These past few weeks have ushered in cool damp weather signifying to me an early Fall. In the air I detect traces of a distinct odor that as a child reminded me of watermelon rinds green, full of brisk wetness. Perhaps slivers of rind have been left discarded after the pink fullness of a summer day picnic or there is a concentration of morning dew collecting under curled leaves scenting the shortening days. Both possibilities have its hidden story and I wonder into each and other.

In my hand I hold a generous sized tin of pure maple syrup. It comes from Sheila, clinical secretary over at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hospital. Her professional title belies her warmth and significance to me. I remember so clearly calling her from my small room in Berkeley, feeling out to her sunny voice which carried from a different time zone. Her radiant kindness was a line that I held onto giving me reassurance and hopes for better medical care and in turn, a higher quality of life. The syrup is melted amber, inspissated store of carbohydrate turned sucrose. It takes approximately forty gallons of sugar maple sap, boil and toil to create one gallon of liquid gold. Tawny, bronzed and glassy with a touch of viscosity, sweet tinged with smoke, maple syrup is intimate kiss between sun and tree. It seems to be the quintessential by-product of New England generosity: a combination of simplicity, heartiness, hard work and charm. I set to work dreaming of ways to properly celebrate this food-of-the-tree, the giver and acknowledge the change in season as well. With a primal pull towards storing up energy for winter, I fall upon oil rich fruit-of-the-tree, the walnut.

There was a time when I snubbed pedestrian walnuts and peanuts in favor for the more exotic almond, cashew and pecan. It might have been that growing up, these nuts were always stockpiled within a pottery bowl on the coffee table posing as interior decoration as well as afternoon snack. For a short while, I was greatly impressed with how much the nut meat looked like a miniature brain insulated within its very own fitted traveling case. This interest quickly waned; I was repelled by the bitter acrid taste which filled my mouth. Fortunately a chance lunch with a college friend set me straight. E_ compiled a small plate which cradled a few slivers of apple with a scatter of walnuts encompassed by a puddle of golden honey. What I didn’t know then but years later realized, was that she had organized the tastes and elements of a traditional Passover charoset (symbolizing mortar, which represented the back breaking work of the Jewish slaves) upon her co-op dessert plate. I remember how newly delicious each taste was, one heightening the other, clear notes hung in space. Unbeknownst to me within this crowded public dining hall, we had just consumed a private sacrament. I reflect upon this some fifteen years later as I consider the invisible power within that afternoon. Foods are intimately linked to memory and story and harvest time makes visible the passage of time showing us the end-product of growth. It is a marker that allows us to examine where we have come from and where we are going. I draw upon the sweet story of friendship and experience and layer today onto the back of yesterday to compose a new beginning. This journey back East has been long in coming, a movement up a sometimes bumpy path. But there is nothing like a rich confection decorated with good company to make the passage undeniably sweet.

CANDIED WALNUT WEDGE adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques by Suzanne Goin
While flipping through Sunday Suppers at Lucques, I stopped fast in my tracks at Candied Walnut Wedge. The book raves that it tastes similar to the pried of chewy nut layer of a pecan pie. To my mind this is the perfect repository for NH’s finest tree syrup. A small note: this wedge did crumble a bit in parts. I suspect that the pieces of my coarsely chopped nut layer were too big. I also wonder if the maple syrup had as much adhesive properties as the corn syrup. For the most part, storage in the refridgerator helped the crumble. Also a further nod to New England and Passover- the wedge can be served with accompanying apple slices and dare I suggest a crumbly chunk of good sharp Cheddar or even Blue? May our hard times be made easier with Candied Walnut Wedge!

INGREDIENTS:

3 Tblsp. unsalted butter, plus more to butter pan

1 1/4 Cups coarsely chopped walnuts

1 1/2 Cups walnut halves

1/2 vanilla bean

3 Tblsp brown sugar

3 Tblsp sugar

2 Tblsp dark rum

6 Tblsp maple syrup (Goin uses light corn syrup)

1 extra-large egg yolk

1 extra-large egg

DIRECTION: Preheat oven to 375. Butter then line a 9 inch springform pan with parchment. Place the pan upon a large sheet of aluminum foil and fold up and around the sides of the pan to prevent leaks. Place upon a cookie sheet. Toast the chopped nuts and walnut halves separately until browned. Place butter in a small pan with the scraped pulp and seed of the split pod. Add the opened pod to the pan as well and cook over medium heat until browned. Discard the pod. In a mixer beat the sugars, syrup and rum at medium for 4-5 minutes. Add the brown butter and mix another 2-3 minutes. Finally add the egg and yolk and a pinch of salt and continue to mix for another minute or so. Place the chopped walnuts in an even layer into the prepared pan. Arrange the walnut halves on top in concentric circles. Pour the sugar mixture over this and bake for about 40 minutes until the filling is set. Cool for about 30 minutes, remove from pan and then serve in wedges.

Pound-Off

I remember its proud towering stature and thick golden mantle embedded with coarse sugar crystals. Moments before we sat in hushed silence as Rodney nudged and cajoled his family’s top secret pound cake slightly warm from the oven, successfully out of the Bundt pan and upright into distinguished position. I sat in combination awe and reverence; excitement tinged with yet named desire. Our small party of six had just polished off a dinner straight from the Silver Palate cookbook, some sort of chicken cordon bleu with an apple Calvados sauce. Newly graduated, this was the very first dinner gathering I attended in the fall of 91. Free from impoverished student life, I was easily impressed with the sophistication of a duplicated Pottery Barn interior. Following a recipe out of a gourmet cookbook seemed wildly urban and worldly. And then there was the pound cake. As I recall all of us kowtowed before Rodney’s baking achievement. Without yet tasting a crumb, we were seduced by its warm sultry perfume and craggy crunch crust that lifted away from the interior at various dramatic vistas. Rodney obviously pleased and playing up the attention for all its worth, cooed and fawned over the cake as much as the rest of us. Finally digging into a buttery yellow hunk, I had one of my big defining moments. I enjoyed pound cake, but all that I had previously encountered was commercially made and now dead to me. Upon partaking of that heavenly sweet-bread, my culinary standards and goals transcended to heights previously unknown.

My deep love of baking actually bloomed forth from the side of Rodney’s cake. Cookies and brownies seemed like no-brainers that I assumed could be easily mastered. A pie seemed hopelessly difficult. But the execution of a perfect homemade cake seemed difficult enough to be a skill worth honing, but not so formidable as to be absurd. Cake has gravitas; it is celebratory and can signify and magnify a party. Yet it is homey enough that it can comfort and mollify when needed. We were under cake seduction and I was powerless to step away from its spell. I knew henceforth that I would become a baker and for awhile I even dared to dream, a pastry chef. My usual curiosity turned on its edge becoming razor sharp attention. I was enraptured by definitive moist-itude, a moist crumb that commands respect and attention and contributes greatly to the overall balanced flavor. The contrast between the sugary crunch above and the dense velvety crumb within was complimented by a subtle combination of flavors. Rodney was onto me. He sensed the competitor within and suddenly his all-ease-to-answer became evasive and vague. With artless duplication at stake, he clung to his family recipe only parting with a few hints thrown my way. He led me on to believe that there was a trinity of extracts; vanilla, coconut and rum to commingle into one terrific taste. But without the actual map to this pleasure palace, I was on my own to find a worthy substitute.

For awhile I stumbled around in a land of castor sugar, pastry flour and butter, emboldened by my brief brush with greatness. With visions of grandeur I recklessly, naively attempted a complex Almond Génoise with Mocha Buttercream. I owned neither a mixer nor a whisk but instead was in possession of a trusty blender and fork. Somehow I had the belief that with enough will power and elbow grease I would be able to grind almonds into meal, aerate egg whites into meringue and manifest a billowy batter that would later become base for a feather light buttercream. The very same party of six from the dinner before would become unwitting witness to my cake-of-shame. Slavishly I brought forth two flattened discs slicked in a shabby coat of grey. This lump failed to elicit any festive feelings at all instead only receiving a hearty slap of ridicule. This temporary setback, this dose of dishonor helped steer me back on course and back to the basics.

Eventually I came to realize that I couldn’t expect to be a baker without the proper equipment and careful technique. Armed at last with a mixer, proper measuring cups and spoons and a copy of Rosie’s All Butter Fresh Cream Sugar Packed Baking Book, I set out to bake a dizzying number of cakes, pies, bars, tarts and fillings of all sorts. The recipes in my growing repertoire while fairly elementary still provided ample training in the art of baking and making. If I come to think of it now, it was this search to find the perfect pound cake, the miserable failure of the génoise, the determination to create wonderful baked goods, that launched me down the path of endless joy and sharing. Before the pound cake, I was an eater. I was an appreciator. I was an observer and a person who splashed about in the kitchen. But post pound cake I merged the sense and the passion, gained the skill and the confidence to turn out food which would nourish me and those that I love henceforth. As luck would have it, the good book also happened to have a pound cake recipe to rival the pound cake. It is now recognized as being my oldest recipe and probably the only one that I will ever scrupulously follow.

Cream Cheese Pound Cake from Rosie's All-Butter, Fresh Cream, Sugar Packed Baking Book

INGREDIENTS:
3 Cups cake flour
1 1/2 Cups unsalted butter at room temperature
1 8oz. package cream cheese at room temperature
3 Cups sugar
1 Tblsp vanilla
6 large eggs at room temperature

DIRECTIONS:
1. Preheat oven to 325. Lightly grease a 10 inch tube pan.
2. Sift the cake flour into a small bowl.
3. Cream the butter, cream cheese, sugar and vanilla with the mixer on medium-high speed for about 2 minutes until fluffy. Scrape the bowl with a rubber spatula.
4. Add the eggs one at a time and mix after each addition for about 10 seconds. Scrape the bowl each time. After the last egg mix 30 seconds more.
5. Add the flour and then mix on low for about 5 seconds. Scrape again and then blend another 10 seconds.
6. Pour the batter into the pan and bake the cake on the center oven rack until tester inserted in the center comes out dry, approximately 1 hour and 35 minutes.
7. Cool completely before unmolding and serving.

Too Much Brownie Face

If you were to look at my face around mid-week, you might find an expression that could make you rethink ever indulging in “too much” of anything ever again. It is the visage of surfeit, an after-the-act brought back to the ground, humbled countenance of overdoing. Maybe the caffeine made me do it. I was feeling wild and reckless as of last posting. Adrenaline coursing through my veins looking for some action and around Sunday, I found the perfect complimentary companion in the form of dark chocolate loveliness. I was warned of the true lethal nature of the seemingly harmless flourless chocolate torte. But I balked at all such admonitions. “Child’s play” I remarked to myself as I hastily ate one then two wedges of darkness. Both pieces were dressed up with a ruffle flourish of Redi-Whip which turned out to be an actual assistant in distributing semi sweet’s earthy flavor. I was silenced then euphoric. I mumbled something about writing poetry but my mind jammed up and sweet feelings took over rendering me quite useless. Throughout the night my mind returned to this cake. As is customary, I plan out options for my next meal. The sublime chocolate slice was part of the picture, but as the meal would be breakfast I decided it should be Part II of a two part act. Act I was a ham and tomato sandwich fully swabbed with mayonnaise. No secret sauce, just full on light as a whip mayo. Crunchy pickle and a scattering of chips enlivened and completed the whole plate for a very satisfying base and prelude for Part II- the main event, chocolate deliverance. The cake was portioned out into 4 parts to be consumed by myself and one other that day and the next. The slices were this side of modest, so I knew I would need to focus, all attention on the eating and little else. Once again I sank into a silent reverie enjoying bite after bite. Luckily I was with someone who more or less understood where I was coming from and the rest of the day quickly passed until dinner. While most nights I am typically hungry, that evening a meal was downright unnecessary. I ate anyways and age made me worse for the wear. The next day I began with a clean slate only to find myself allowing everything to revolve around this ultra rich focal point once again. As the hours wore on, I began to notice how chocolate wedge had shoe horned its way into my life, taking my heart and now my dinner hostage. I began to sag under the weight of too much cacao and cream, all reasonable thought of food blotted out. The singular ingredients in my refrigerator which needed attention in order to be shaped and redefined into an actual meal went unnoticed. My life eclipsed under the shadow of too much.

But the passage of time is an ever shifting continuum and to be sure soon enough the horn of plenty will deplete. This brings me to today and my crisper drawer full of zucchini, a small bumper crop of summer’s bounty and provocation for my next cooking showdown. Suddenly the gravity of too much chocolate is lifted by the humor of too much squash. I envision home gardeners anonymously abandoning bushels of the green stuff on sidewalk curbs, empty park benches, the steps of the YMCA. And I set to work with the appreciation that comes with the good fortune of abundance and just enough enthusiasm to use it all up. For this week we double the pleasure with chocolate zucchini cake.

Chocolate Zucchini Cake adapted from Bon Appétit
Serves 12

This is a moist, not too sweet, go-down-easy kind of cake. Even after a few days of intense chocolate eating, the cocoa in this is just right. Bon Appétit included about a cup of chocolate chips and walnuts which I omitted because my tank was on full. If I were to make this again soon I would definitely include them.

Ingredients:
2 1/4 cups flour
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup butter, room temperature
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 1/2cups grated unpeeled zucchini

Directions: Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter and flour a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan. Sift flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt in a medium bowl. Beat sugar, butter and oil in a large bowl until well blended. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition. Mix in vanilla extract. Gently incorporate dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk in 3 additions each. Be sure to scrape the bowl from time to time. Lastly mix in grated zucchini, pour into pan and bake for about 50 minutes until done in center, cool then eat.

Granita di Caffe con Panna in a Motor Sidecar

The road to my heart is paved with dark aromatic coffee beans, specifically Peet’s Major Dickason’s blend. This week, I wander the contours of the deeply grooved seed tracing the scent of Colombia, Ethiopia and Sulawesi. Such a simple form belies the length of patience and endurance required to grow and harvest rich tasting Coffea Arabica, not to mention the literal miles traveled from tree to mug. Whether one imbibes or not, few can resist coffee’s alluring earthy toasted nose that hints of far away places and mysteries untold. Sniffing was my preferred method of consumption until recently when I unexpectedly received a stuffed black shiny bag in the mail from a friend. Suddenly I had the resources to brew gallons of highly charged drink at my fingertips- a slightly dizzying thought for a non-regular coffee consumer. I plunged in ready to embrace a beverage that I nonetheless enjoy. My first cup I drank with little fanfare. Being somewhat clumsy and unskilled, we (H & I) ended up with a liquid that was both thin and tepid. The warm pleasing taste was still enough for me to hearken back to a time when I drank cappuccino in an Italian bar as a student. It was an almost daily morning ritual that survived for as long as I was abroad. When in Rome one must do as the Romans do. Back in NY however, we sink or swim and the temporary habit quickly receded into the background to become a sophisticated memory usurped by cans of supercharged Mountain Dew and scores of Kit Kat. It is exactly because I overused sugar and caffeine so non-judiciously to prop up and enliven my sorry-of-a-corpse self, that I generally swore off the stuff as soon as I graduated to sleep and sensible self care. Now here I am alone with my pile of beans and the spirit of Juan Valdez, thousands of miles away from school. So I reach for a cup and then another and another…

I feel a bit guilty as I have times before when hungering after something I think unwise to consume. It has been my curse to learn just enough to clutter my mind with “what is good”. Many an internal argument has broken out over the vices and virtues of eating something truly decadent I crave. Therefore I have attempted to silence all opinionated body parts by eating what I want in moderation and throwing in some extra kale, just in case. I think about my acupuncturist who years ago used the term “instinct injured” to describe most of us in relationship to our own terra firma. Hunger and cravings can appear misleading in signaling an authentic need. We feel betrayed when our “needs” point us towards that box of shiny oil slicked donuts while health officials are warning us away from saturated fats. Do most of us follow our desires down to its root to discover the true origin? Tired of distrusting the self, I decided to go along with my recent coffee guzzling ways to see where my body would lead.

It will be no surprise when I report that I have felt enlivened by the caffeine. However unlike when people drink caffeine to oppose their physical fatigue, I have found that it seems to match the internal energetic place that I feel. It is a description that is in the process of becoming. And like a desiccated piece of sea matter, I feel great surging excitement in being quenched by this aqua vita. I have come to experience coffee drinking as a very kinetic ride. I can feel my blood vessels constricting, my heart pounding, my tissue buzzing. I get a subtle hum of movement that has a similar exhilaration that one gets from running breathlessly towards the ocean spray. I am alive and caught on fire with memories of movement fast and furious. I am a child pedaling my orange ten speed bike home before night fall comes to swallow me up. I am bombing down a snow packed mountain, knees and hips moving in tandem, shock absorbers for the impact of each perfectly carved mogul. I am one with my cello, giant reverberating heart, swaying and sculpting sound as it floats out and up through the air. I traipse delicately upon the uneven matt floor of a cathedral like redwood forest hand in hand with silence. All this and every variation and turn of movement fast and slow, syncopated and disjointed, attached to purpose or pleasure- somehow compiled and distilled into one very potent liquid dream. That has been the allure of coffee for me. And I can hardly wait to fly down the road of forever next.

Granita di Caffe con Panna is the perfect way to get your adrenaline up on a hot day such as the record breaking one's we have been experiencing all over the country and have your dessert too. Quite simply brew some good quality strong (as in muscle flexing strong) coffee. I would figure about 2 cups more or less per person, it is nice to have extra. Dissolve a bit of sugar (approx.1 Tblsp per cup) into the brew but keep in mind that when frozen, one will not perceive sweet to be quite as sweet as unfrozen. When cooled pour granita mixture into a shallow pyrex pan or in ice cube trays and place in freezer. If using a pan, one is committed to agitating the newly formed ice crystals every 40 minutes or so. Do so until what remains is a pretty pile of ice shavings. If using ice cube trays, just prior to serving pop ice into a blender or food processor and whirl away until there is a mass of smallish ice particles. Scoop into parfait glasses and garnish with sweetened whipped cream. Some like to add more oomph to the buzz by adding libations such as a splash of Kahlua, Amaretto or cognac. Enjoy this creamy bittersweet adult slushy.

Canele de Bordeaux, Living on the Edge

It is fun to open up an unexpected Fed Ex package, but it is entirely delicious when the large box is temporary housing for un petit cadeau: a tasteful yellow rectangular box cocooned within 5 feet of scrunched paper. Without further pause, this pretty parcel is ripped open to reveal a surprising sight, the coppery burnished crumb of a caramelized canelé profile. For some reason, the size and shape of the container seemed to indicate to me, something weightier perhaps a fancy olive oil bottle within. I couldn’t be more wrong or more pleased. These smallish cakes (about 1-3/4” tall) are wonderful and might easily be overlooked in a pastry case because they are so unapologetically brown and look as though they have been left in the oven too long, slightly wizened and glassy. They look like some sort of elongated miniature bundt cake or even worse they remind me of strange scented waxy candles with scalloped edges found in the back of a Hallmark card store (though not orange). While crude and slightly off putting, these physical descriptions are still meant to assist in honing in on these treats in case you haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced.

I myself have eaten these cakes only a half dozen or so times and each event as an after-lunch dessert. It was probably back in 2002 when I first met the infamous Canelé de Bordeaux. They arrived- a pair, in a non-descript wax paper bag along with a salmon tartine (a French open faced sandwich) in the educated hands of my brother. Knowing how much I love to eat good food and limited by my waning energy and mobility, he began to come by weekly after foraging the streets of San Francisco for our special feast. In spite of how alarming that time was for me personally, it was greatly assuaged by the gentle care and witty banter of my dear sweet brother. He would appear with mysterious bags and containers in tow, opening each one with excited earnestness all the while studying my expression. The first time he produced that nub of a glazed cake, I stared blankly unable to rouse appropriate excitement. I had no idea what it was. He did not roll his eyes visibly, he didn’t need to. The incredulous tone in his voice said it all,“You don’t know what a canelé is?” Slightly embarrassed, I listened to a description of this prized custardy cake from Bordeaux that is slowly baked to a deep mahogany patina within fluted copper molds coated with beeswax. I nodded attentively while thinking, “When on earth had he become a foodie and isn’t that tartine just a sandwich?” Unable to blow my cover, I hastily bit into one of the burnt pair and discovered a taste-texture sensation. First, one meets the thinnest veneer of bitter crackled sugar adhered to a chewy crust about 1/8” thick. Upon taking that first bite one is next able to note the eggy interior and inhale a strong sweet perfume of vanilla and honey, it is a little pineapple-y as well. The insides are somewhat similar to a popover or a cream puff in that there is a cavity, but it is much moister and almost collapsed looking. In fact, the bottom interior portion of the cake is thickened custard holding on for its life, a taste somewhat reminiscent of the round full confectionary taste of dulce de leche. This makes sense in that milk, sugar, vanilla bean, egg, flour and rum steep and age at least a day or two and then are slowly baked up to 2 hours, further enriching and condensing their flavors. This is custard on the edge- reduced so long it finally produces a chewy crispy crust on the outside while managing to retain a fetchingly creamy interior. This edginess is then further explored and exaggerated with those hard to find, specially made copper molds with the crenulated crevices, a necessity for producing a multiplicity of crunchy corners and teeth jamming satisfaction. “Incroyable!”

Back in New Hampshire as four become two, I contemplate taking on this time consuming treat. While the ingredients and the actual making of the batter seem to require elementary cooking skills, like a bad fortune cookie- I see trouble ahead. The texture is a complex combination that hardly seems easily reproducible; no matter how fool hardy I tend to be. The few recipes that I have perused indicate that a muffin tin can be used in lieu of the real thing. For once, even I scoff after a short consideration. I decide to go the way of the canelé, “Live on the Edge” and buy instead of bake, after all Pascal Rigo of Bay Breads seems to know what he is doing. And besides, they ship here.

Gelee revisited

By now you have probably figured out that accuracy is not my cooking method of choice. I use (I once thought everyone did-) a recipe as an armature to tweak and mold according to that day's whim or cupboard's contents. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose but the results are almost always intriguing not to mention edible. I have taken to writing loose instructions on this blog, probably also as a direct result of my communication style with my attendants. In fact one has mentioned from time to time, that I really need to let my readers know about this tendency. I don't think she is amused when I hand her a list of ingredients with questionable measurements on the back of an envelope-sans instructions, and try to pass it off as a recipe. I also try to use simple directions along with collapsing several cooking steps into one in order to not overly complicate the process. (As I have not figured out how to link to past posts, please refer to "Ecru Brute" in my archives for a better understanding on the issue). Going deeper, I feel that the cooking process is an experiment and a sensory experience. I think you need to really involve the senses and pay attention (end of lecture). The adaptions that I made to this Epicurious gem are pretty basic, a few adjustments to the fat and sugar content. The big departure was in the final presentation. They set the gelee while tilted in the refrigerator creating an elegant diagonal within the dessert. This involved elegant tapered glasses propped up within an empty egg carton. I set my dessert in opaque plastic molds. However, had I known how utterly outstanding this dessert would be, I might have rushed out to purchase some beautiful glasses. In any case, this creation deserves a mental asterisk next to it. This is a winning collaboration between taste and texture. Gelee has a barely set quality to it. It instantly dissolves in the mouth leaving behind a shock of flavor. The passion fruit has a bright pucker to it which is mollified by the cream. Surprising basil comes in mid taste and lingers on. I believe that you will raise your eyebrows in delighted approval like I did.

Passion Fruit Gelee with Basil Cream- Adapted from Epicurious
4 (6-8 oz) attractive servings

Ingredients for Passion Fruit Gelee:
1 3/4 tsp unflavored gelatin
1/4 cup water
2 cups Passion Fruit Nectar (I used Ceres brand, Epicurious recommends Looza)

Basil Cream:
1/2 cup loosly packed, chopped basil
1/3 cup sugar (this is a reduction from 1/2 which I found too sweet).
1 1/2 cup half and half or heavy cream
1 tsp unflavored gelatin
2 Tblsp water
pinch of salt

Instructions: In preparation of the passion fruit gelee, place the water in a saucepan and sprinkle the gelatin to soften for a minute. Heat on low for about 2 minutes to dissolve gelatin completely. Turn off the fire and slowly pour in the juice to cool. Pour evenly amongst 4 glasses and refrigerate until set. If you want the "diagonal" I would suggest clicking on the hyperlink I've included at the recipe title. Next, sprinkle the gelatin over the remaining 2 Tblsp of water in a saucepan. Once again allow this to soften and separately mix the basil, sugar, half and half and salt into a bowl until the sugar is dissolved. Heat the gelatin and half and half mixture on low for 2 minutes. Turn the heat off. I tasted the mixture from time to time to make sure the basil didn't become too overpowering. Once the desired flavor is met, strain out the herb and allow the mixture to cool. Once room temperature, distribute evenly over the 4 set glasses and chill for a few hours.