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.

Favorite Brownies

Dear Michelle,

I have a long history with these brownies. They are the first thing I remember baking that I made of my own initiative, by myself, and for the first time. This must have happened some time in high school, because I remember making them for my 16th birthday when my parents invited some of my friends over for dinner. I thought I'd impress them with some awesome brownies, but unfortunately I forgot to add sugar! Since the chocolate used here is unsweetened, they were NOT good at all. I recently made them for the welcome bags we left for out-of-town guests at the wedding, and I did remember the sugar this time.


This recipe is from my mother's copy of The Joy of Cooking (I'm pretty sure the 1963 edition), which was the cookbook I felt most comfortable with through high school and college. I use my edition ('97) all the time; it is probably my most-referenced cookbook. The brownie recipe is pretty much the same, as far as the amounts go, but the instructions have been streamlined a little. At some point I decided to see how much chocolate I could add, and have increased the amount they use by 50%, from 4 oz to 6 oz. Any more than that, and something bad happens. I don't remember what, but considering how much I love chocolate, it was probably a textural problem instead of a too-much-chocolate problem.


These brownies are the best I've ever had; they are rich, chocolaty, with a slight crust on top and a very tender, but not quite gooey center. I might try making them with a little less sugar next time, but that's because I like the taste of sweet less and less, and tend to prefer my desserts richer instead. These never last long; if you want to save them for something, do not leave the pan out on the stove to cool! Best to make them when no one is around. Oh, and be prepared to lick the mixing bowl; I dare you to stop yourself.


Recipe scanned from my photocopy of my mother's book:

Linzertorte

Salut Devon,

I recently spent a lovely afternoon playing piano duets and baking with my lady friend, Gunhild. We had a great time, both at the keyboard and in the kitchen. She has one of those amazing apartments filled with sentimental objects: faded prints, colorful rugs, dusty books printed in German Gothic type, and best of all, a grand piano and a harpsichord. Her apartment is in a beautiful part of upper Manhattan near Fort Tryon Park. Happy squeals from the children in the nearby playground drift through the open window as our linzertorte quietly bakes.


I had tasted Gunhild's linzertorte many times and always found it delicious. I figured the recipe was in her Austrian blood. So, you can imagine my surprise when I saw that the recipe came from an old edition of the Joy of Cooking! My astonishment was even greater when she handed me a gleaming copper bowl and a wooden spoon. Gunhild came of age before the electric mixer was widespread. If generations of bakers managed to make linzertortes without it, I suppose I could, too, at least for one afternoon. I did loudly object when she instructed me to beat the butter for an hour. This was seriously hard work. Even with soft butter, the process is slow and tedious. Adding flour, chopped nuts, and eggs only increased the effort. As the process wore on, I could feel the burn in my shoulder and the kink in my neck. All I can say is: I love my electric mixer.

With our linzertorte batter cooling in the freezer, I took a much needed rest with a restorative cup of tea. Freezing really helped to bring the batter together. The room temperature butter had gotten a bit too soft and greasy. 20 minutes or so later, we pulled it from the freezer and began building the torte. The 9-inch round springform pan was brought out and filled with 3/4 of the batter. Next came a thick, dark, luscious layer of raspberry jam. Use good jam (and butter) for this recipe. It definitely makes a difference. In lieu of piping the decorative lattice on top, Gunhild dipped her fingers into a nearby bowl of flour and rolled out skinny coils of dough. After the fuss I made over the electric mixer, I think she was a bit self-conscious about her latticework, insisting that she needed a piping bag. But I disagree: I love the rustic, uneven look of the hand-formed lattice. The linzertorte went into the hot oven and we headed over to the piano.


With the pleasant afternoon and the delectable linzertorte lingered in my thoughts, I decided to try it on my own with an electric mixer. Though I had faithfully copied her recipe, I consulted my edition of the Joy of Cooking. To my surprise, the recipes are different. For better or worse, I'm not sure. But I take comfort in her well-worn recipe. A few substitutions were made. Hazelnuts for almonds, and the flavor of jam. Raspberry jam was low, so I combined it with a blackberry variety from my favorite Italian grocery store at the Chelsea Markets. Good jam is one of my must haves. I don't eat jam a lot, but when I do, I want it to taste like fresh fruit. Some jams tend to be more sugar than fruit, making them excessively sticky and a bit tart. In place of the springform pan, I pulled out a 13 inch rectangular tart pan that I've been dying to use.
The resulting torte can only be described in my dear friend Fatima's recent email:

I thoroughly thoroughly thoroughly loved that torte! It tasted like a cross between a pecan shortbread and sour cherry pie -- DELICIOUS! I can't even say I like linzertortes -- I pass them by every time I see them, but that one was so buttery, nutty, semi-tart, goodness...it was a gem of a treat, THANKS.



Linzertorte
3/4 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp lemon zest
1 cup hazelnuts
1 1/4 cup flour, sifted
1/4 tsp cloves
1/2 tsp cinnamon
8 oz raspberry jam

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Roast hazelnuts on a large baking sheet until fragrant. Using a large dishtowel, rub off the skins while the nuts are hot. Grind in a food processor. Set aside until ready to use.

Beat together sugar and butter until smooth. Beat in eggs, lemon zest, and ground hazelnuts. Sift flour, cloves, and cinnamon. Using a rubber spatula, fold in dry ingredients. Cool in the freezer for 20-30 minutes.

Let the dough come to room temperature. Spoon 3/4 of the batter into baking pan. Using an offset spatula or the back of a spoon, smooth out the batter into a smooth layer. Evenly, spread jam over the batter. With lightly floured fingers, roll remaining batter into long coils. Carefully arrange half the coils about 1 1/2 inches apart on the tart. Place the remaining coils on top at right angles to the already placed coils, forming a lattice pattern.

Bake until lattice is golden brown. 9 inch springform bakes for 50 minutes. 13 inch rectangular give 40-45 minutes.


I use the leftover batter to make butter cookies. Roll the remaining dough into small balls and place on a lined cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 - 12 minutes until light golden brown.

Venison Stew

Dear Devon,

I apologize for my long silence. And to my downstairs neighbors, I apologize for the resounding bass reverberating through your ceiling. THE PIANO IS HERE!! I haven't done much in the kitchen since its arrival. The move was full of excitement. Picture three unimposing men carrying a 45 inch piano up a narrow staircase. Turns out moving a piano is just like dragging your groceries upstairs - step by step - only a lot slower.

Though my bedroom is chaos, my kitchen is almost perfect (minus the Viking range and dishwasher). Sigh, a girl can dream. The kitchen is equipped with the most anxious smoke detector. Let’s call it the Woody Allen of smoke detectors. Preheating the oven causes general panic; a robust voice booms "fire fire" in 15 second intervals. There is no exhaust fan. I've resorted to propping the front door open with my shoe. I can't stand the heavy smell of oil that lingers in the air after cooking. It soaks into fabrics and into your hair. Febreeze might be the only solution.

Into this kitchen, enters a nice piece of venison. My experience with venison is limited. I've only eaten it three or four times. It's a rarity where I grew up, but I'm starting to hear a lot more about it. The shoulder came frozen and dated courtesy of a friend, who suggested that I prepare it in a stew. I was shocked by how lean the meat was. There were no traces or suggestions of fat. As for the color, it was a shocking dark red. I had never seen meat this shade of dark violet red, almost purple.

I read through a bunch of cookbooks, but no one really had a venison specific recipe. Because I wasn't sure what to expect, I conflated two recipes for beef stew from the Joy of Cooking and Mastering the Art of French Cooking. You know the one that tells you to marinate the meat in a bottle of red wine for eight hours? That's what I chose. I had this bottle of red wine, a Malbec from Argentina, that I received as a present this Christmas. I'm not in the habit of buying wine to bathe meat, so it seemed natural to use this bottle. Because the meat was so lean, I added sausage and bacon for tasty and needed fat. I perfumed the stew with lots of wonderful flavors like garlic, bay leaf, and onions. Black eyed peas and a bag of frozen green peas tossed in the last half hour of cooking added to this flavorful and rich stew.

In total, it takes three days to prepare. I marinate the meat along with carrots and garlic in red wine for 24 hours. The meat emerges almost black and completely wine soaked. The next evening, after finishing my dinner, I begin the cooking process. The stew simmers on the stove for 2 hours. Originally, I wanted to use the oven, but given my problems with the smoke detector, I used the stove top. The upside to the oven is the stew will basically cook itself. The stovetop requires some babysitting. When the meat is fork tender, I turned off the flame and let it cool. I want the stew to rest and to encourage all those wonderful flavors to marry and get richer. Thirty minutes before serving, I reheat the stew on the oven and add the frozen peas and the beans. I serve it on top of starchy egg noodles in wide bowls. I leave a big bowl of chopped parsley on the side for garnish.

The stew is warm, rich, and wonderfully flavorful. The bold wine is perfect for the meat, giving it a nice dark flavor, but without that overwhelming winey taste. The bacon completely melts, marking its presence through the smoky and salty undertones of the stew. Using spicy sausage gives the stew more body and makes a nice contrast to the fork tender venison. I love the addition of the peas. Cooked so they just retain their perky sweetness, each bite is like a bright spark of flavor. I'm in love the stewed carrots. They taste amazing, almost better than the venison. Sweet, soft and succulent, the carrots maintain their shape and absorb all the rich flavors, while still keeping their distinct sweetness. My mother always serves stews over egg noodles, so it is only natural I use them here. Egg noodles provide the perfect backdrop to rich food. They absorb all the bold juices without interfering with the intricately composed main course.

Venison Stew
serves six comfortably

1 1/2 pounds of venison, cubed into 2-inch pieces
2 sausages, sliced
1 onion, cut into wedges
2 carrots, sliced
4 cloves of garlic
1 bottle of red wine
1 bay leaf
2 slices of bacon, chopped
1 cup of cooked beans
1 package frozen green peas
1 cup chicken broth
1 tbsp flour

Cube venison into 2 inch chunks. Peel and cut carrots, roughly the same size as the venison cubes. Crush four cloves of garlic. In a large bowl, mix together venison, carrots, and garlic. Pour in one bottle of red wine or enough to cover the meat. Stir to combine and coat the meat. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate in fridge for at least 8 hours or up to 24 hours. (I marinated for 24 hours). Every few hours, give the marinade a mix.

Drain the meat and pat dry. Strain the marinade and reserve it and the vegetables separately. Heat a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Cook chopped bacon. Remove crispy bacon from Dutch oven. Drain off excess oil, leaving about 2 tablespoons of bacon fat. Cook sausages until nicely browned and crispy. Remove and set aside. Brown venison on all sides. You might want to do this in batches to avoid overcrowding. Remove and set aside. Add onions, gently cooking until translucent. Stir in vegetables from marinade and flour. When veggies have nicely browned, add bacon, sausage and venison. Add one bay leaf. Pour in wine marinade and chicken broth. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and cook, covered, until the meat is fork-tender, 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Salt and pepper as needed. At this stage, I let the stew cool and rest. The other advantage to preparing the stew a day in advance is that it allows the fat to rise to the top and harden, making it easy to skim off. However, this stew had very little fat, so there wasn't much to skim off.

Thirty minutes or so before serving, reheat the stew. Stir in pre-cooked black eyed peas and one bag of frozen peas. Simmer with the lid on until ready to serve.

In a large pot of salted boiling water, cook one large bag of egg noodles.

Tuck into rich, hearty venison stew over a steamy bowl of egg noodles topped with fresh parsley.

Not So Classic Pear Clafoutis

Dear Devon,

Life has been very hectic since Thanksgiving and is about to go crazy all over again. First, a couple of weeks ago, my kitchen was pulled apart by my very capable super, looking for the source of water dripping into the apartment below. It took a week to complete the work. A week and half worth of lost images, thanks to a corrupted memory card, plus the hole where my kitchen sink should have been kept me from posting. Fortunately, both issues have been resolved and I am happily writing to you again.

I saw these cute Seckel pears at the farmers market and had to buy a bagful. I couldn't resist. They were destined for my oven. At first, I thought I would use them in a pear tart. But then I decided they were so special that I needed to try something a bit more adventurous. A few summers ago, I went on a big clafoutis kick. I never made them with the traditional cherries (too much work), but instead substituted blueberries, apples, and sometimes almonds. The results were always the same--delicious.


In the past, The Joy of Cooking's recipe served me well. This time, I followed Julia Child's recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Her recipe is a bit more complicated. If I had read the instructions through to the end, I would've discovered that she wants you to start the cooking the dessert on the stove and finish it in the oven. Of course, I didn't notice this until I had already put the pan into the oven. I don't think it affected the outcome.


It has been a year or two since I made clafoutis. I remembered it to be more like a pancake than a custard. I won't say I was disappointed, but it's hard to overcome an expectation. The subtle flavor of the pear and sweet egg and milk custard were wonderful in combination. The almonds gave a nice bit of crunch to an otherwise smooth and delicate dessert. Unlike a custard, the clafoutis lacked the overwhelming brightness of egg yolk. While egg yolk would have enhanced its richness, I feel it also would have overpowered the soft pear flavor. It would be a shame to destroy the light and clean taste of pear, especially when flavorful pears are so hard to find. I did not have enough milk and used a combination of whole milk yogurt and whole milk.

I have no objections to the Joy of Cooking's take on claufoutis. In fact, I prefer it to Ms. Child's version. But sometimes it's good to try new things.


Pear Clafoutis
Julia Child. Mastering the Art of French Cooking, vol. 1
 
1 lb small pears, Seckel pears
3/4 cup whole milk
1/4 cup whole milk yogurt
3 eggs
1/4 tsp lemon zest
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/3 cup almonds, chopped
2 tbsp butter
1/2 cup flour
1/3 cup sugar

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Fill a large bowl with a few ice cubes, water, and a splash of lemon juice. Peel and halve pears, submerging the pears in the water bath. This will prevent discoloration. I tried coring the first pear; but the fruit was so small and slippery that I quickly became frustrated and abandoned it. Luckily the seeds are small and hardly noticeable in the final product.

In a large mixing bowl, whip eggs with sugar until frothy. Add in milk, yogurt, and vanilla. Beat until thoroughly incorporated. Gradually stir in flour and a pinch of salt. Set aside.

Melt butter in a small saute pan. I used an eight inch copper bottom pan. Arrange the halved pears cut side down in the melted butter. Pour batter over pears. Bake in the oven at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 350 degrees and bake an additional 30-35 minutes or until the top is nicely puffed and golden brown. Toothpick test it for doneness.

Note: It will sink as it cools.

Citrus Cornmeal Crisps

Dear Devon,

A large bowl of lemons was left on my desk at work (props from a recent exhibition). This brings about the old joke: what do you do when the world gives you lemons? Ask any foodie and lemonade probably won't be the only answer. I wanted something besides lemon meringue pie and lemon scented roast chicken. In the Joy of Cooking, I found a master recipe for butter cookies and fourteen variations, including this recipe for Cornmeal Citrus Cookies.

I wanted to highlight the crisp, bold taste of fresh lemon. Basically, I wanted the cookies to have the character of a lemon pie. To achieve this, I increased the amount of zest ten fold, adding the entire zest of one lemon. Next, I worked the zest into the sugar, releasing the ultra fragrant lemon oils. It seems a shame to throw out the lemon peel, especially when it contains great flavor. I love the intensity and bright color of lemon zest and try to incorporate zest into my cooking and baking as much as possible.


The recipe called for vanilla extract, but I used a fresh vanilla bean. The tiny black seeds of the vanilla look nice against the pale yellow of the cookie. Nothing beats fresh vanilla beans. Super fragrant, the beans can be expensive and are quite fragile, but are definitely worth it. I store mine in ziploc bags in the dark corner of my pantry. I've also found a great website that sells high quality beans at affordable prices. Beans can be purchased individually or in packs of 10 up to 1,000. I find that a 10 pack lasts me about a year. I keep used beans in a jar with sugar for vanilla sugar at any time. It's another great staple to have in your pantry.


At first, I objected to the grittiness of the cornmeal, but have since been won over by the effect. I expected more of a shortbread-type cookie but instead got a crunchier, almost cracker-like cookie. The flavor of lemon pervades the entire cookie and pairs nicely with the coarseness of the cornmeal. I used a fluted round cookie cutter to give the cookies a rustic look.

The dough can get a bit difficult to work with once it has been rolled out too many times. I advise rolling out the dough twice, which will make about 60 - 65 cookies at 2 1/2-inches in diameter. I gathered the scraps and flattened them into a rough square, which I baked along with the cookies. I intended to use the scraps as a crust for a simple fruit dessert. My plan was to smear the baked cookie with jam and top it with fresh berries. However, the cookie was too sweet when topped with jam. Instead, I broke it into pieces making rough shards and stuck them into a large bowl of ice cream.


Cornmeal Lemon Crisps
adapted from The Joy of Cooking
makes 60 cookies

1 lemon, zested
1 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
1 egg, whole
1 cup cornmeal
1 1/2 cup flour
1 vanilla bean
1/2 tsp salt
2 sticks (8 oz) butter, softened

Let butter come to room temperature, maybe an hour's wait. Meanwhile, zest one lemon. Mix lemon zest with sugar. Crush the zest into the sugar to release the oils onto the sugar. Measure out corn meal and flour, set aside.

Using an electric mixer, beat softened butter and lemon sugar together, until fluffy and pale yellow. Add in egg yolk and egg, beating thoroughly after each addition. Periodically scrape down the sides. Slice vanilla bean down the center. Using the back of a knife, scrape the bean to remove the tiny black seeds. Add vanilla seeds to the butter mix. Beat in cornmeal, flour, and salt. A wet dough should form. Gather into a ball and wrap with plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours or up to one day.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with foil or wax paper.

Turn the dough out onto a floured surface. Halve dough. Refrigerating the second half. With a floured rolling pin, roll out dough to a 1/4 inch thickness. If the dough begins to tear, return to the fridge. Using a cookie cutter, cut dough. A flat spatula can be helpful to transport cut cookies onto a baking sheet. Bake about 12 minutes, rotating the baking sheet half way through baking. Cookies should be golden brown but still soft. They crisp up when cooled. Remove to a cooking rack. Allow the baking sheet to cool before filling with cookies. Repeat with the reserved second half of dough.

Cinnamon Rasin Granola

Hi Devon,

Homemade granola, easy to make and tastier than store bought: why waste money on pre-packaged? Nothing jumpstarts your morning better than a big scoop of yogurt mixed with fruit and granola. I love granola but don't like many calorie-packed commercially boxed granolas. Unnecessary sugars and additives make eating a healthy alternative like granola more like eating a sausage and egg sandwich from the corner deli.

Making my own proved a much healthier and tastier solution. Controlling the ingredients is key to any recipe. Luckily, granola is flexible by definition, allowing for many substitutions and improvisations. I read through three recipes (the Joy of Cooking, Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything, and Ina Garten of Barefoot Contessa fame) before finalizing my own formula. A comparison of the three proved that a recipe for granola is always a suggestion, rather than a specific technique. Add anything you like, toss with an oil / sugar-based mix, and toast in the oven until golden brown and fragrant.

Each of the three recipes varied slightly in their choice of ingredients and cooking instructions. Both the Joy of Cooking and Ina Garten called for the oats to be tossed in an oil and sugar-based mixture, while Bittman suggested cooking the granola on a baking sheet positioned over two burners of the stove. Proportions varied wildly from Bittman's 4 cups of oats to Garten's 6 cups. Each suggested an assortment of dried fruits, nuts, and spices, including: wheatberry, pecans, raisins, poppy seeds, and nutmeg. All three consider shredded coconut an essential component. I didn't use it- it's not in my pantry, so it's not in my granola.

I devised my own recipe / suggestion for granola. I opted for a simple base of old-fashioned rolled oats. I picked up some plump golden raisins and walnuts, not my first choice, but still adequate, at my local grocery store. The pantry was stocked with a thousand sunflower seeds, a remnant from a project a few months ago, and a box of raisins. At first, I was hesitant to use sunflower seeds, but upon tasting the final product, I loved it. They gave the granola a nutty and almost buttery flavor, something that was needed to balance the sweetness of the raisins.

For my first attempt, I did not want to be too crazy with my flavors. Bittman suggested adding nutmeg or cinnamon, to infuse the granola with warm and spicy notes. I used both spices and enhanced the flavor with maple syrup, omitting the recommended honey. I love honey, but this time, I wanted something that would tie into the dark tones of the cinnamon and nutmeg. Substitutions are fine. You don't have to run out to the store before making this. Use what you have and make thoughtful choices.

Since each author recommended a different baking time and temperature, I chose a moderate temperature of 300 degrees F and opted to check my granola every 10 minutes, giving it the requisite stir. Spread the mixture out evenly over the large pan to encourage even cooking. The wonderful perfume of roasting nuts and spices filled the kitchen. The texture and crunchiness determined when to remove the pan. Be careful when tasting, the granola is burning hot. Allow the granola to come to room temperature before mixing in an assortment of dried fruit. If you add the dried fruit too soon, it will get sticky and adhere to the hot pan and lose its shape.

The recipe makes an insane amount, roughly 8 cups. Store in a plastic container and it will keep indefinitely.


Cinnamon Raisin Granola

4 cups rolled old-fashioned oats
1 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup sunflower seeds
1 pinch salt
1/4 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup maple syrup
1 cup golden raisins
1 cup black raisins

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F.

In a large bowl, combine the oats, chopped nuts, sunflower seeds, salt, and spices. Whisk together vegetable oil and maple syrup until well-blended. Pour the oil / syrup mixture onto the dry ingredients. Toss with a flexible spatula until the oats, nuts, and seeds are evenly coated. Empty the mix onto a large baking sheet (9 x 13 inch). Bake in the oven for 30 - 35 minutes, stirring with a spatula every 10 minutes, until the granola is golden brown and fragrant.

Allow granola to cool on the pan on a wire rack. Toss in the raisins. Mix to combine.

Serve with yogurt and fresh fruit or milk.

Store in a plastic container.