Blood Orange Olive Oil Cake

Dear Devon,

Last year on Valentine’s Day, slightly blue scones— made with blood oranges— appeared on your kitchen table. I thought I’d pick up where you left off. This morning, I threw together a blood orange and olive oil cake. Blood oranges are in season. And the fiery skinned fruits are all over the market stands.

These oranges were bursting with juice and color. The smell was completely intoxicating. I felt a bit wasteful using the juice to flavor my cake. It seemed much more appropriate to drink the sweet and slightly acidic juice. I called the still groggy eyed boy into the kitchen to share in the sweet flowery smell of freshly squeezed juice.

I have tried to keep kitchen equipment and utensils to the bare minimum. Not an easy task, given my love of smooth ceramic mixing bowls, enamel coated Dutch ovens, and silicon molds. I am now forced to be a bit more resourceful. This is how I ended up using my terracotta cazuela as a baking dish.

A traditional cooking vessel, the cazuela is used for just about everything: roasting, boiling water, stewing…the list continues. Baking a cake seemed a natural extension. The thick clay walls would act almost like an oven within the oven, insulating the cake nicely and providing even heat. I suspected that these same properties would result in a beautiful crunchy crust. (I was not disappointed).

In general, it is good practice to measure the capacity of the baking vessel before filling it with batter. I only wish I had thought to measure the capacity of my mixing bowl too! Half way through the recipe, I realized that it was not possible to mix the liquids and the flour in my medium sized bowl. A bit frantic, I had to press my aluminum pot into service.


Mixing the blood orange juice into the batter, I issued a silent prayer that my cake would not turn out that light blue color of your scones. I reread your post before starting for some advice. To try to avoid the blue effect, I mixed in tangy yogurt instead of lowfat milk. I hoped the acid from the yogurt would help balance the pH of the batter.

As I poured my gooey batter into my lightly oiled cazuela, I admitted my doubts aloud. My remarks were answered with an eager request to lick the sides of “mixing bowl.” The largest spoon in the house was plopped into the mixing bowl and handed over.

The cake emerged from the oven golden on top with a wonderful crusty edge. It was moist and light with the subtle orange flavoring. The cazuela baked the cake evenly and a bit surprisingly, released the cake easily and in one piece. I cut two generous slices and served the cake with a cup of strong dark coffee. My slice wasn’t quite generous enough and as I rose to cut myself another piece, a bright voice asked for a second slice even though there was still half a slice remaining on the plate!


Blood Orange Olive Oil Cake
Makes one 10 inch round cake or one 12-cup bundt cake

2 ¼ cup flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup sugar
2 tbsp blood orange zest and lemon zest
2/3 cup blood orange juice (roughly 3 oranges)
3 eggs, beaten
8 oz olive oil
1 cup yogurt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly oil the baking round. I used a 12-cup capacity baking dish. The recipe is styled for a 12-cup bundt pan or equivalent round cake pan.

In a large mixing bowl, mix together flour, baking soda, and salt.

Zest one blood orange and half a lemon. Juice three blood oranges. In a second mixing bowl, mix citrus zest and sugar. Whisk in three beaten eggs, olive oil, orange juice, and yogurt.

Pour wet ingredients into the flour mixture. The mixture will look a bit curdled but it will be fine. Gently whisk until combined. Transfer batter to the prepared baking dish. Bake for 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean.

Bake 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes.

Note: my baking time may vary from the standard metal baking dishes. Clay cazuelas generally take longer to heat up and probably take a bit longer when baking. I advise checking the cake at the 45-minute mark.

Kale and Avocado Salad

Dear Devon,

Ever since trying kale and avocado salad at the uptown Whole Foods, I've been obsessed with this salad. I immediately bought the requisite ingredients, and began tinkering in the kitchen. My first two attempts were good, but I knew I could improve it. Two weeks later, I have what I think is a pretty darn good salad. Since the salad consists of only a few ingredients with minimal seasoning, fresh, high-quality vegetables are a must. Try to pick kale and avocados at the peak of ripeness. Avoid wilted leaves, limp stalks, and bruised fruits. Limp greens are not appetizing.


Some diners might object to the coarse and chewy texture of raw kale. I find that once you get over the sense that you are a horse chewing on straw, it's not so bad. To avoid this unsavory texture, allow the kale to marinate in the dressing for about 20 minutes before serving. The citrus juices will break down the tough fibers of the kale, softening the leaves. Stalks with smaller leaves yield a tenderer bite. The nutritional benefits of kale are numerous, running the gamut from lowering your risk for certain types of cancer to preventing rheumatoid arthritis or cataract disease. These health benefits are pretty convincing, but in the end, I eat kale mainly because I love the taste.

Blood oranges are a recent, happy discovery. I have eaten them before, but only in Europe. I don't often see them here in the States, so when I saw some plump blood oranges at the market, I grabbed them. Unfortunately, I don't think the season for blood oranges is quite here. The oranges brightened the flavors and freshened the salad significantly, but they weren't as juicy as they will probably be later in the summer. Nonetheless, I would still advise using some sort of citrus fruit, whether it be pink grapefruit, tangerine, or orange. The citrus brings nice color to the plate and when mixed with a lime juice based dressing, produces an unusual flavor, light with a sweet tang.

I like to segment my oranges directly over the salad bowl so that I can collect all the precious juice. After removing all the segments, I give the pulpy membranes a hearty squeeze, to extract every last drop. On top of the fresh juice, a squeeze of lime, olive oil, sesame oil, and a pinch of salt and pepper. Kale and avocado are added directly to the serving bowl and gently tossed. Be careful not to bruise the avocado. While the dressing sets, I cut up some bread and pass out napkins. Allowing the salad to rest is important. It helps break down the leaves while also encourages the avocado to melt into the dressing. The end result is a subtle citrus-avocado infused dressing, studded with vibrant red-orange fruit, dark green kale, and chunky avocado bits. When I look at my salad, I think that summer must be calling.

Kale and Avocado Salad
serves 2

4 stalks fresh kale
1 avocado
1 blood red orange
3 tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp sesame oil
juice of 1/2 lime
large pinch of salt

Segment one blood orange over your serving bowl. To segment, remove the top and bottom of the orange. With the orange sitting upright on its cut end, run the edge of the knife down the length of the orange to remove the rind and white pith. Holding the orange in the palm of your hand, run the edge of your knife in between the white membranes. What should emerge is a clean orange slice, free of any white pith or rind. Give the resulting membranes a hard squeeze. Add the juice of half a lime. Whisk in sesame oil, olive oil, and a large pinch of salt and pepper.

Thoroughly wash kale leaves. Sometimes dirt and mud cling to the leaves and stalks. Don't want that in your salad. Remove the leaves from the stalks and cut into 1 1/2 inch wide strips. Cube avocado. Add the kale, cubed avocado, and segmented oranges into the serving bowl. Gently toss with a large wooden spoon. Set aside for 20 minutes before serving.

Aunt Lynaire's Scottish Scones: Blood Orange and Pecan, and Lime Cranberry

Dear Michelle,

I'll admit, I was trying to be cute. Knowing me as you do, you might guess how I feel about Valentine's Day, and so it would come as a surprise to you that yesterday morning found me making blood orange and pecan scones. My humbuggery had a karmic backlash, however, and turned the scones blue.

You can't see it too well from the photo, but the scone was as blue as blueberry pancakes (the dark in the middle is chocolate). I was being lazy; we'd gone out already that day (Jeff got me some more of that amazing salami and some bulk Valrhona chocolate for Valentines day. I'm more opposed to the holiday in theory than I am in practice, especially when I get presents like this), and we'd forgotten the buttermilk. That was the first in a chain of possibly avoidable reasons that my should-have-been-pink scones ended up blue.


I'd read about making sour milk to replace buttermilk. In fact, the original recipe for these scones calls for it. To make sour milk, you put 1t-1T of vinegar into 1c of milk, and let sit for 5-15 minutes. I used Trader Joe's Orange Champagne Muscat vinegar, one of my favorites, thinking that the orange flavor could only improve the final product. Turns out I was wrong; I knew this vinegar was not as acid as most, and that ended up being my first big mistake. My next was using the resulting milk even though it had not visibly curdled. The dough was gooier than usual, but I forged ahead anyway, and then was surprised to see blue-green lumps on my cookie sheet instead of pretty pink scones. If you don't care about the why and want to get on with your life, skip the next paragraph.


Now, I've made blood orange scones before, and they were pink, and pretty, and delicious. In fact, this is the only time my scones have gone wrong. The latent science nerd that I am, I figured that it must have been a pH thing, but my first couple of Google searches produced nothing. So I dug the remains of the blood orange out of the trash, squeezed a few remaining drops of juice into two glasses, and proceeded to test my theory. I added a little bit of baking soda to one glass, and sure enough, it turned blue. Then I added some vinegar (not the champagne muscat) to the other glass, and it turned redder. Since my previous blood orange scones have not been blue, I figured that the acid protects the color, and if the dough remains acid enough the color will be pink. I added some baking soda to the acid glass, and it took a whole lot more to turn it. Further Google research revealed that the anti-oxidant compound (which is really, really good for you) that makes blood oranges red is also in blueberries, red grapes, acai berries, and red cabbage. Remember using red cabbage to test for PH in high school science class? Apparently they'll all work.


So, the moral of all that is to not be lazy and go out and buy buttermilk. Or, if you sour fresh milk to substitute, use high-acid vinegar or lemon juice and wait till it curdles. Even if you are not making the scones with anything that might turn into a less-than-appetizing color, they will have that baking soda taste if there's not enough acid.

Now, onto the scones, original recipe, and my good fortune to have it. From the time I was about 2 years old till the summer I turned 22, my extended family on my father's side would all get together at Lake Tahoe for a week each July.

From the deck, taken sometime during my college years

These vacations were truly idyllic, even in my teenage years. An only child, I was thrilled to spend time around my cousins, whose company I enjoy even more now as an adult. We'd sun on the pier, jump into the lake and come up gasping from cold, fish for crawdads, watch movies, and double in laughter as our fathers ran down the stairs in their underwear to "protect" the cabin from the bears smashing up the trash cans ( I mean, what were they going to do about it?). The best part, though, were the mornings and the evenings.


Taken with a Holga camera, also sometime during my college years

We the third generation all slept in the living room, in sleeping bags and on couches. In the morning, sun would hit the lake and the reflected light shimmered on the ceiling of our makeshift bedroom. The sound of geese or the smell of coffee from the first awake adult would compete with the heat and light to wake us. We'd crawl out, one by one, bleary eyed, to see what we were getting for breakfast. My Aunt Lynaire, a warm smiling woman who is always ready with a hug, is an ace cook. Both of my aunts are, and my mother too; we are a family that values a good meal, and I learned so much watching them all in the kitchen those summers. Waffles and scones were Lynaire's domain, and those were things I never got at home (we had a waffle iron once, but I'm pretty sure my father broke it somehow), and so were very exciting. She would make two or three kinds of scones, and we'd fall upon them like a pack of starved dogs. They were hearty, fluffy, crispy and moist, steaming from the oven and made for slathering with butter and jam. There were never any leftovers.

Sometime after our summers had been discontinued due to the difficulty of getting my grandparents up there, I asked Aunt Lynaire for her recipe, which quickly became a favorite in our small household of two. I couldn't count how many people have been converted by this recipe to scone lovers; it makes me so sad when people say they don't like scones, because I'm sure they've only tasted the Starbuck's version, and nothing like these before. Saying you hate scones is a surefire way to get invited to brunch. In anticipation of sharing these with you, I asked her recently if she minded. She said of course not, but that she'd made some changes to the recipe, which I will share as well.


Aunt Lynaire's Scottish Scones

original recipe from Breakfast in Bed Cookbook: The Best B and B Recipes from Northern California to British Columbia by Carol Frieberg. Some changes have been made. See Lynaire's notes below for additional instruction.


1 c cake flour
1 c all-purpose flour
2 T sugar
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
1/4 c cold butter
1/2 c dried fruit, soaked in hot water for 15m, then drained
Zest of 1 citrus fruit (optional)
1/2-3/4 c walnuts or pecans, chopped or broken
3/4 + 2T buttermilk (can also substitute orange juice for 2T)

Preheat oven to 400. Sift dry ingredients. Cut butter into dry ingredients till it forms a fine-crumb texture. Add plumped fruit, or whatever, and mix together. Make a well in the mixture and add liquids, mixing lightly with a fork just until a soft dough is formed. Turn onto lightly floured surface and knead gently, turning only two or three times. Place dough onto lightly greased cookie sheet and pat into a circle, until about 1/2-3/4 inch thick at the edge. Score with a knife into six pieces. Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until golden brown. Serve hot with lots of butter and preserves.


Notes:

I like the following combinations:

lime and dried cranberry or cherry
lemon poppyseed
orange walnut/pecan
blueberry

Really, any combination of citrus and nuts is really good. I've not tried dried fruits like apricots or mangos, but I bet they'd be good too. If I don't have enough nuts to mix in, I'll chop them finely and mix with sugar, then roll the scones in those before baking, the result of which is a crispy crust. I tend to make six smaller scones instead of one large, and I bake them on a silicon sheet liner, which works very well. I do not sift before measuring, but do spoon flour into the measuring cup and level it. I've used all all-purpose before, to no ill-effect; they are just not as light. The blood orange I used here was oozing oil after I zested it, so I put it in a bowl with sugar, and then used that in the scones as well. I tried a little of the sugar in my tea, though I don't usually go for sugar in my tea, and it had a wonderful flavor. The rest of the sugar is in the refrigerator.


Below is the current version of the recipe my Aunt Lynaire uses, directly copied from an email she sent me. I've not tried it yet, but I know that it will be good.

"Sift together 1 C. cake flour, 1 C. all-purpose flour, 3T. sugar, 1/2 t. baking soda, and 1/2 t. salt. By the way, if you are not in too big of a hurry, I get the best results if I sift these ingredients 3 times. Cut in 1/4 C. firm butter (not too cold) until you have those little pea-sized blobs you always read about. At this point you can add huckleberries (my favorite), nuts, blueberries, whatever. For what it is worth, frozen berries work best - they don't explode all over the place and make soggy spots in the scones. If you have the fresh berries and you don't want to worry with freezing them, then just top the scones with the berries - don't mix them into the batter. Finally, make a well in the flour mixture and add 3/4 C. buttermilk. I usually substitute a couple tablespoons of orange juice (my preference with berries) for the buttermilk. Mix it all quickly with a fork. You do NOT want a smooth batter, as a matter of fact, you may need to add another tablespoon of buttermilk or orange juice to the batter if it won't stick together. It should look very rough - but dump it all onto a very-lightly floured counter and - with floured hands - quickly knead the mess together. No more than 4 or 5 turns. Plop onto a baking sheet (I have the non-stick kind Grandma Banks gave to your mother (Aunt Kim, too?), and me many years ago), and sprinkle with a little course sugar and cinnamon. Or don't. Bake at (my oven thermometer is off, so I guess here) 400 degrees for about 15-20 minutes. This is all guess work here, Devon. I just wait until it is a deep golden brown. The outside is crunchy and the inside is a nice delicate crumb. Uncle Fred and Tom eat the scones with some of my peach-orange marmalade (tasty) or just slathered with butter (my preference in the good old days)."


Enjoy!

Yours truly, age 4, at the lake. I wonder what I was protesting?