Jelly Donut Muffins

Dear Devon,

Orwasher’s Bakery on East 78th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenues has memorable jelly donuts. They are made daily in small batches and usually sell out by noon. Bigger than a clenched fish, the donut is rich and dense, capped with an even layer of powdered sugar, and filled with a thick red jelly. These are probably the best jelly donuts I have ever eaten.

I used to live around the corner from Orwasher’s. On Sundays, I often intended to rise before noon to capture one of these coveted confections. I was disappointed many times -- evidently I wasn’t the only person enjoying them. About a year ago, I decided to settle my craving for jelly donuts and crossed the Park before noon on a Sunday. To my surprise, the bakery is under new management. Though they kept the Orwasher’s name, the secret of the jelly donut disappeared with its previous owner. Quel horreur! With the memory of this jelly donut floating in my thoughts, I attempted to create something that embodied the character of the jelly donut.

What exactly made these donuts so good? Perhaps it was the spongy texture, or the overwhelming density? Maybe the thick, almost opaque jelly, or the generous dusting of powdered sugar? I like to imagine Jewish grandmothers placing them into the sticky hands of their grandchildren before the days of transfat regulation.

Having identified the three most important traits of the donut, I referenced the Joy of Cooking for inspiration and guidance. I combined three recipes 1) the basic muffin recipe 2) “donut” muffins and 3) filled muffins. Basic muffins batter is self-explanatory. “Donut” muffins are muffins dipped in melted butter and tossed in sugar and filled muffins have jelly or cream centers. These three recipes served as my launching pad.

I substituted half and half to get a richer, denser crumb and to create a fattier, creamier morsel. A high quality cherry jelly is essential to the success of any jelly donut. The jelly squeezed into an Orwasher’s donut was more like a custard than jelly -- thick and opaque, deep ruby red, and smooth. I loved taking that first excited bite and tasting the sweet jelly that oozed into my mouth. Each consecutive bite became more treacherous as jelly mischievously seeped out of hidden pockets. I opted not to pipe jelly into my muffins. Instead, I filled each muffin cup half way full of batter then dropped in a generous spoonful of jelly before topping with second large dollop of batter. Surprisingly, the jelly doesn’t sink to the bottom, and remains intact throughout the baking process. In place of powdered sugar, I sweeten the muffin tops with a much tidier cinnamon sugar. The spicy fragrance of cinnamon enhances the first bite and contrasts nicely with the sweet cherry jelly. I don’t think Mr. Orwasher will mind.

In the end, I was more excited by the idea of making jelly donut muffins than the result. The muffin tasted fantastic, and looked good. Cinnamon sugar pairs nicely with the simple creamed based muffin and tangy cherry jelly. There were no complaints at my brunch table: I would definitely make them again. I enjoy their whimsical character. But, in the end, I was doomed from the start. Muffins will never be donuts, and I probably shouldn’t have tried to deceive myself. So far, I still haven’t found a substitute for Orwasher’s jelly donuts…


Jelly Donut Muffins
Makes 12

2 cups flour (1 cup all purpose, 1 cup cake flour)
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup half and half
6 tbsp vegetable oil
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup cherry jam (more as needed)

1/4 cup sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon
3 tbsp melted butter

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Butter a 12 tin muffin tin. To maintain the illusion of a donut, I do not line the muffin cups with paper liners. I like the rough texture of the muffin bottom. Set aside buttered tin.

Whisk flours, baking powder, and salt together in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together thoroughly half and half, eggs, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract. Add egg mixture to flour and stir until just combined. Be careful not to overmix.

Fill each muffin cup roughly 2/3 full. Top with a small spoonful of jelly, roughly 1/2 tsp each, centered in each muffin cup. Cover each muffin with a generous spoonful of the remaining batter.

Bake for 17-20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on a drying rack before removing from the muffin tin.

Combine sugar and cinnamon. In the bowl of a double boiler, melt butter. Brush muffin tops with melted butter. Dip muffin top into prepared bowl of cinnamon sugar. If you are feeling extra decadent, double the recipe for cinnamon sugar and toss the entire muffin in this sweet, spicy mix.

Pear Tartine

Dear Devon,

I subtly lobbied for an apartment located near one of Barcelona’s many vibrant markets. Within its various and colorful streets, Barcelona houses forty green markets, selling an abundance of brightly colored fruits and vegetables, farm fresh eggs, sun dried fruits, cured meats and cheeses, and rich meats, fish, and poultry. My local market, situated a mere 3 blocks away, is a deep well of inspiration. Saturdays are the major market days. The crowds and rush are incredibly dense. At the moment, I don’t have the nerve to slide up to the counter. I do my shopping on the much slower paced Tuesday afternoon.

I am slowly making friends with the local vendors, who are starting to show a glint of recognition as I walk pass. For their part, they are very patient with my faltering Spanish and American indecisiveness. The practice of browsing does not exist. Spanish shoppers know exactly what they want, how much of it, and from whom. They don’t ogle and oh-and-ah the crates of pungent spring onions or wonder at yellow plums and mint green skinned citrus fruits. Like a lion, I pace in circles in front of each stall, carefully selecting my purchases and double-checking my conversions from metric to English measurements.

A friendly smile and a cheerful “Hola, buenas tardes” will take you a long way in building relations with vendors. My first week shopping, the fruit lady suspiciously eyed me in that small town way. Though I asked for four pears, she gave me eight and refused to be corrected, even after I persisted. Somewhat defeated, I slunked home with double my order, vowing not to return to her the following week. Midway through the week, I had a major change of heart. Enjoying one of those delectable pears, my resolve failed and I found myself in her debt. The pears were so good that four is not enough to get you through the week, eight was a much more suitable number. The following week, her stall was the first one I visited. I asked for eight pears and hoped I wouldn’t end up with dozen (though I wouldn’t complain too loudly).

Though relatively petite, the pears pack some major flavor. The flavor is clean and distinct, like spring water with undertones of honey and a soft citrus flavor. The pears are wonderfully aromatic, like freshly bloomed blossoms. The rounded shapes fit snugly in the palm of my hand. The soft, yellow skin wonderfully blushed with speckled rose tinted flecks on their smooth bellies. Each bite contains the perfect balance of crunchiness to juiciness. None of that mealy, coarse skinned fruit back home, but napkin worthy, juice dribbling down my chin fruit.

The pears are so tasty that improvement or embellishment is really not necessary. In the end, spreading chocolate-hazelnut butter on freshly baked baguette and topping with pears is not really cooking. It could be considered cheating. But this combination is so good that if you consider this cheating, you can call me a cheater with a capital “C.”

Pear Tartine

Baguette
Ripe pears
Nutella or some similar hazelnut chocolate spread

Using a serrated knife, divide and halve the baguette into six-inch segments. Generously spread each half with a thin layer of nutella. Thinly slice pears lengthwise. Arrange sliced pears on prepared baguette.

Good for a quick dessert or at breakfast with tea or even as a midnight snack. Good anytime.

Japanese Style Cabbage Pancakes

Dear Devon,

I woke up this morning and realized that I won’t be returning to New York for a long time. I ran to an Asian grocery store because I can’t stand being without kimchi any longer. Three weeks into my stay and I would kill for a Q-tip and a pork laden, umami rich, generously scallioned, steaming bowl of ramen! You would think in a country where pork is the national food, a veritable mascot, ramen would quickly follow. And yes, there are Asian people here. I just don’t know what they are eating or more importantly, where.

I suppose I should be grateful that there is an Asian grocery nearby. In my present state of Asian food withdrawal, this fetid garage that sells Asian-made products was a beacon to a weary sailor. I already commented on the distinctive smells of Barcelona, but this grocery store brings the concept of malodorous stink to an Olympic level. My sense of smell has never been better tested than in the streets and in this case Asian markets of Barcelona. Let’s put it this way, the smell made the fishmongers’ stalls in New York Chinatown smell like the florist.

If that wasn’t enough, I experienced the greatest shock of my entire life in this shop. With my nerves strengthened by the plum sauce in my hand and the friendly company of dried ramen and pho, I approached a shopkeeper to inquire about other necessities. She looked Asian, so I addressed her in Cantonese. She shot me the blank look of incomprehension. My desire to guzzle down an entire bottle of sweet soy milk encouraged me to question her again, this time in Mandarin. Immediately, the same look of utter confusion! I don’t give any pretensions toward fluency in either Cantonese or Mandarin, but I certainly know how to ask, “Where is the soy milk?” Now, I’m sure that the look of incomprehension was on my face. I stumbled to the cashier and hardly notice as he rang up a bottle of soy sauce at 6 euros ($10), the second greatest shock of my life. And no, it’s not the fancy organic kind, it’s not even low sodium (the store doesn’t even carry it).

On a happier note, I did manage to track down my beloved Korean red chili paste at a food stall at the Boqueria market off La Rambla, a modest 2.50 euros. She did not have in stock the bright red chili flakes, but promised to set some aside for me the next week. My plan is to make kimchi. I half dread the visit to the market to inquire about Napa cabbage. Imagine explaining that in Spanish. Do they even know where Napa is? Not to mention, every time I go the market, I leave with my nerves completely shot and the back of my shirt soaked with sweat. The vendors are all extremely friendly. It’s me, I’m extremely anxious, not to mention lost in the metric system (1/2 kilo of ham = about 1 pound, which is now cooling in my fridge). If a kilo sounds like a lot, ½ a kilo is still more than I would probably ever buy at home.

How many import laws would be violated if you FedExed me a bowl of Momofuku ramen and pork belly buns?


Japanese Style Cabbage Pancakes
(makes four pancakes)

1 cup flour
1 cup water
1 tbsp salt
1 egg
¼ head of cabbage, shredded
½ small onion, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, thinly sliced
1 hot pepper, diced

Spicy Red Pepper Sauce
(makes about 1 cup)

2 tbsp Korean red pepper paste
2 tbsp plum sauce
2 ½ tbsp soy sauce
1 ½ tbsp brown sugar
1 ½ tbsp corn oil
½ tsp sesame oil

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together flour, water, egg, and salt. Carbonated water can be substituted for still water. It gives the pancakes an extra bit of lift, but is by no means necessary. Allow batter to rest for about 15 minutes before using.

Shred cabbage, thinly slice onions, garlic, and hot pepper. Make four separate piles for the cabbage, onions, garlic, and hot pepper. Toss together a quarter of each pile into a separate mixing bowl. This insures an even distribution of each ingredient per pancake.

Bring a medium sized skillet to medium high heat. Add a drop of oil about the size of two quarters into the hot skillet. To the hot oil, add the cabbage and onion mixture. Gently fry for a minute or two, just to get some nice color. Splash in about a quarter cup of water. The water creates a steaming affect and slows down the cooking process. It is very easy to burn the cabbage. When the water has just about evaporated and the cabbage is about transparent, pour in a large ladleful of batter. Using a wooden spatula, fold the batter on to the cabbage to make a circular pancake. Add a drop more oil. When the edges begin to brown and bubble, flip the pancake. Add a bit more oil as needed. The pancake is done when both sides are nicely browned and the pancake has a solid feel.

Serve with a spicy red pepper sauce. Combine the ingredients listed above in a large mixing bowl. Mix together thoroughly. Adjust seasonings to your taste. I prefer my sauce slightly sweet. The sauce is greatly enhanced with the addition of toasted sesame seeds and/or a generous drop of honey.

Hungarian Goulash with Poppy Seed Dumplings

Dear Michelle,

New York is at its best right now, but I'd trade cities with you in a second. Who needs a food processor when you have such incredible ingredients! I can't wait to hear about it when you start cooking.

Though today was beautiful, we had a cold spell last week, and I was moved to make goulash. I make it at least once a year now, but happened upon it by accident. Maybe five years ago I was making a birthday dinner for my friend Kate, and asked her if she had any requests. She said that her favorite Winter dinner was goulash, and I agreed to make it, never even having had it before. I came home after work and did the shopping, started the stew right away, drank some of the left over beer and thought, "this does not look very good." My dutch oven was full of onions and peppers, beer, meat, and a full half cup of paprika. It was all very. . . red. It smelled of raw onions and peppers, and seemed to be overwhelmed by the paprika.



We didn't eat that night till very late, and by that time I no longer doubted Kate's choice of birthday dinner. The meat fell apart, the onions and peppers melted, and the rich, spicy, smokiness of the paprika pervaded the stew, bringing it all together. We ate this deep red savory deliciousness over egg noodles tossed with butter and poppy seeds, as per Kate's request. I was won over.



Now every year when Winter descends and the windows close, I wait for the radiators to turn on and start thinking about what needs to cook for a long time in the stove or the oven, and I think of goulash. This year I tried a mix of pork and beef stew meat, and I've decided that beef works best. I did add a smoked trotter (pig's foot or ankle; a ham hock would work too) for some extra flavor and gelatin, to make the stew really glossy. I've made the mistake before of using mostly hot paprika, and I'd advise against it unless you're one of those masochistic people who eats hot sauce by the gallon. I also tried making dumplings instead of noodles, with success.



I think paprika is produced in Spain, as well as Hungary, so you should get some! I bet chorizo would be an amazing addition to this dish.




Hungarian Goulash with Poppy Seed Dumplings, '97 Joy of Cooking, not verbatim

Notes:

A smoked trotter or ham hock tossed in works well. I've tried just beef stew meat and a mix of beef and pork, and I think just beef works best. The last time I made this I only used 2lbs meat and the same amount of vegetables, but for carrots which I increased. I've always used beer instead of wine, and beef instead of chicken stock. GO EASY ON THE HOT PAPRIKA. Seriously. It is really easy to make this too hot. Start with all sweet, then add more for extra heat later if you like. The JOC calls for the caraway to be added with the rest of the herbs/spices, but I think I read somewhere that it becomes bitter if cooked too long, so I add it at the end. The first taste I had of the dumplings I thought they were a bit paste-y, but they quickly became addictive. Egg noodles are also a classic pairing, with poppy seeds and butter. I've never used the sauerkraut, or the sour cream, but I bet both are delicious.

4 oz bacon, smoked ham, or Hungarian paprika sausage, diced
3 lbs beef chuck, or half beef, half pork or veal shoulder
3 c thinly sliced onions
6 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 c (2 oz) sweet Hungarian paprika, or a mix of sweet and hot
3 bell peppers, diced
1 c diced carrots
1 T dried marjoram
1 t caraway seeds
1 t ground black pepper
3 bay leaves
2c beef or chicken stock
1 c dry white wine or beer
1 lb sauerkraut, drained (optional)
1/4 c tomato puree, or 2T tomato paste
1/2 - 1 c sour cream or creme fraiche (optional)

Make sure everything is chopped, etc.- this makes the process easier. Brown the bacon or whatever in a Dutch oven, then remove to a plate or bowl. Pat stew meat dry, season with salt and pepper, and dredge in flour, shaking off the excess. Brown in batches in bacon fat, making sure not to crowd the pot. Add oil/fat as needed; the flour tends to soak it up. Remove as it browns to a plate.

Add onions to pot, and cook till soft and lightly browned (you could go further towards caramelizing if you like). Add garlic and peppers and saute till just soft. Add tomato paste and cook a few minutes, then stir in carrots and all herbs but caraway. Add liquid, scraping up the burned bits on the bottom. Add sauerkraut if using. Cook on stovetop or in oven at 300F for several hours, until meat is fork-tender. Stir in caraway. Add dumplings (recipe following), or serve over egg noodles tossed with butter and poppy seeds, or rice. If using sour cream, stir in at the last minute.

Poppy Seed Dumplings

2c flour
1T baking powder
3/4 t salt
3T poppy seeds
3t butter
1c milk

Bring milk and butter to a simmer on the stovetop. Meanwhile, mix together dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add simmering liquid to dry ingredients, stirring with a fork or kneading by hand until the mixture comes together. Divide dough into 18 dumplings. Roll each piece into a rough ball. Gently lay dumplings on top of stew and let simmer for 10m.

Vietnamese Iced Coffee

Dear Devon,

Let me tell you how the Spanish day is structured:

8:00	El desayuno: coffee, toast or croissant
9:00	Arrive at work
11:00	El cafecito: coffee, croissant, maybe a small beer
2:00	La comida: 3 course lunch including beer or wine, dessert, and more coffee
5:00	Return to work (from lunch that is)
6:30	La merienda: coffee or beer and snacks (cigarettes, tapas, fried anything)
8:00	Work day ends
10:00	La cena or dinner

It seems the further south you travel, the less time you spend working and the more time you spend eating. But who am I to complain? Any tradition that tells me to eat two croissants in one day can’t be too bad.

The workday schedule above is not an exaggeration. I had a minor problem with my water service at the new apartment. Being a newly arrived American, I was extremely anxious to have the situation resolved, but knowing a Spaniard’s distinctive schedule, chose to call my landlord at midday, as opposed to at dawn. My landlord, a respectful and generous man, but distinctly Spanish, hurriedly told me to come to his office at 6 pm. Spanish people are never in a hurry, except at closing time or before meals. To call at noon and to meet at 6 pm seemed like a long wait. What I didn’t realize is that the day really begins at 6 pm. But less than an hour later, they take another break, so that thirty-minute window is essential to Spain’s economic future. Honestly, I don’t think I will ever be able to re-adjust to an American working schedule!

Given the amount of coffee consumed here in a single day, I have had to adopt a coffee habit. My favorite coffee is the cortado. With an espresso machine, steam is quickly shot through a disk of tightly packed grounds. Just short of a full shot, the steam is prematurely shut off and a splash of whole milk is added to the glass. The result is a thick, syrupy shot of espresso with the most heavenly, dense, frothy foam. Use a tiny spoon to vigorously mix in a bit of sugar (make sure you clank the sides of your glass loudly). Even if you don’t think you like coffee, the intoxicating fragrance of a cortado will reveal your deepest coffee fantasies.

Historically, I have preferred tea to coffee, but in hot weather, a good iced coffee can really hit the spot. I am partial to Vietnamese style iced coffees sweetened with condensed milk, which in Vietnam’s colonial period substituted for unavailable fresh milk. Vietnamese iced coffees have the same intense richness as cortados and are flavored with a hint of spicy chicory. The infused chicory gives the coffee a distinct aromatic character that is woody and tangy. The coffee brews in a small metal container that rests on top of an ice filled glass. The heavy condensed milk supports the lighter coffee, forming two distinct layers of liquid that require vigorously stirring to sufficiently balance the sweetness of the condensed milk to the dark and spicy undertones of the coffee.

Gathering together the requisite ingredients is usually the most difficult part in the brewing process. Sweetened condensed milk and the unique brewing filters can usually be found at an Asian grocery store. Chicory is a bit harder to find. Zabar’s sells chicory in individual containers and can pack it to order, so you can buy a ¼ pound instead of a full pound (which I recommend). Don’t buy your chicory mixed into whole coffee beans. It will ruin the beans if it is ground with them. Chicory is extremely fragrant, slightly bitter, and a bit overwhelming, so I suggest using it sparingly. On another important note, do not go crazy with the sweetened condensed milk, unless you have excellent dental coverage.



Vietnamese Ice Coffee
For 2 servings

One kettle of boiling water
2 metal Vietnamese drip coffee filters
½ tsp of chicory
2 tbsp of ground coffee (French roast)
2 to 3 tbsp sweetened condensed milk

A Vietnamese coffee filter has three parts: the lid, the canister, and an internal perforated disk that screws into the canister. A metal piece with a screw at the end extends from the perforated disk. To remove the disk, twist the screw to the left.

To prepare the filters, carefully unscrew the perforated disk and metal lid. Grind coffee beans until the size of quinoa. Spoon one tablespoon of ground coffee in an even layer into the base of the canister. Add a pinch (1/4 tsp) of chicory. Secure the perforated disk onto the canister, turning the screw until the coffee is tightly compressed between the disk and the base of the canister. Rotate the screw two full turns to the left. This step is really important. The disk must be loosened a bit to allow for the water to flow through the coffee grounds. If the disk is too tightly secured, the water cannot flow through the filter. Shake the canister several times over the sink, to release excess or undersized coffee grounds.

Bring a large kettle of water to a boil. Prepare two glasses. Pour condensed milk into each glass. Depending on how sweet you like your coffee, add 1 to 1 ½ tbsp of condensed milk. It is always easier to put in too little at first and adjust, than to put in too much and ruin the coffee. Top with ice cubes. Set the prepared filters over each glass.

Pour boiling water in a slow, steady stream into each canister. Stop at about a quarter of the way full. Wait about 20 seconds. If the water has flowed through, the filter must be tightened. The coffee should trickle out slowly. Continue adding the boiling water until the container is roughly three quarters full. The entire brewing process should take about 5 minutes.

At The Butcher

Dear Devon,

The last time I ate your delicious egg salad was the morning after your wedding. Now that I am so far away from you and New York, I was excited to read your last post and to be reminded of that lovely afternoon at your parents’ house. I have tried many times to replicate your egg salad, but never succeeded! Your notes will be especially helpful for future egg salad experiments.

Barcelona is amazing, but I must confess to bouts of homesickness, mostly for my friends and the crisp autumn air of October in New York. I doubt that I will miss the New York winter. Seeing everything in Spanish is shocking, although I suppose I expected it. I am enrolled in an immersion course. I spend the majority of my days trapped in the world of irregular verbs and gendered nouns. But after discovering La Central, a sophisticated and carefully curated bookstore, and its immense selection of cookbooks, I am completely resolved to gain some measure of fluency, if only to share Ferran Adrià’s secrets with you!


I am nicely settled in a small apartment in the Eixample neighborhood. I can see Nouvel’s glowing Torre Agbar from my bedroom window. The apartment is furnished, though I question the interior designer’s choices. At first, the neon peach colored walls seemed a bit abrasive. A week later, my complaints about the color have subsided. The boy who carries my groceries hates the white lamps on our bedside tables. Briefly banished to the living room, his lamp was quickly reinstated to accommodate late night reading. The washing machine that I was so excited about cleans clothes, but boasts neither speed nor efficiency. I am wary of the super rapido cycle, which claims to wash the clothes in 15 minutes. A normal cycle takes 3 hours. And just to clarify, that’s washing, only, not drying, which happens outside on our sixth floor balcony.

The kitchen consists of a two-burner electric stove above a medium sized electric oven and a mini fridge. Not ideal for large dinner parties, but amazingly efficient for cozy dinners for two. I am really impressed with this electric stovetop and must re-evaluate all my preconceived notions of non-gas appliances. I am still in the process of setting up the kitchen, which I find very stressful. Forced to rethink kitchen necessities, I must make several difficult choices like: food processor or mortar and pestle, paper towels or waffle maker. It feels more like Sophie’s Choice than leisurely visits to Sur La Table.

For the moment, I have limited myself to one non-stick pan with an oven-proof handle, a large aluminum cooking pot, two glass mixing bowls, a single wooden spatula, a vegetable peeler, one chopping board, the (requisite) mocha pot, and four knives. I equate cooking with the large pot to cooking on a hubcap, but you can do almost anything with one pan and a good set of knives. I did run into a slight problem when I had to remove the burning hot pan from the oven. An oven mitt will be my next purchase.

No recipes today, sorry to disappoint you. But, I know these shots from a local butcher shop will whet your appetite.