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:

Dear Michelle-

I love your photos of Dijon! It sounds amazing, and delicious, and I cannot help but remember reading M.F.K. Fisher's Long Ago in France, which tells of her early married years living in Dijon while her husband either taught or studied at a University there. I wish I'd given that to you to read before you went, it's a terrific book, that woman really loved food. I can only hope to be somehow involved when you try to recreate some of the dishes you had when you were there. . . ?


Since it's been a while, I am going to share some photos with you from Virginia while I gather my thoughts about brownies, pork belly ssam, and cherry-sour cream ice cream, all of which I have been wanting to share with you. For dinner tonight I'm making fried green tomato sandwiches with aoli, crispy oven fries with apricot-curry ketchup, and a green salad of mache and wild arugula. If it turns out like I hope it will, then you'll be seeing the end result here at some point.


For all that I'm glad I am now married, for all the fun of seeing so many people that I love all together at once, including many I hadn't seen for years (like your family!), I am glad the wedding is over. Now, I can think about cooking again, and I can take time to do things like clean the apartment, and go to the farmer's market, and contribute to our correspondence. But before I do that, here are some photos I took in the days leading up to the wedding. They aren't of food, but they are just as beautiful.



I haven't been home in May since college, and so have never experienced the full glory of the garden at that time. We'd planned the wedding for late May in part to take advantage of the hundreds of peonies that grace the driveway to my parent's house. This year they started a little early, what with all the heat, and though we came up with plan B, they cooperated in the end.




All of the bouquets and centerpieces were made with flowers from my parent's and their friends' gardens, and were made by my mother and two of those friends. It was so beautiful, all of those flowers, in whites and light pinks and deep magentas, some of them as large as 7 or 8 inches across. In the two days before the wedding, we picked and received about a dozen buckets full of peonies; the garage was bursting with them, and smelled of their perfume.

Dijon, France

Dear Devon,

I think I was meant to be Dijionnaise. I mean, I was meant to be a girl from Dijon, not a squeeze-bottle of mayonnaise mixed with mustard. I came to this conclusion somewhere between Dijon's bustling weekly market and its labyrinthine streets. Much smaller than Paris, Dijon still managed to turn my navigational sense upside down. An indelible mark of its days as a Medieval city, Dijon's twisting streets charmed this visitor, who quickly abandoned the map and used its patisseries and fromageries for landmarks. A town whose butchers will discuss the finer points of roasting a pork loin (while three people wait in line) has its priorities in the right place.

One of my favorite shops in town was Le Chalet Comtois, an amazing cheese shop. The paper bags from this shop proudly announce its lineage: P. Rouaud, successeur de Robert Perrot, Maistre Fromager. Cheese production and sale is considered a highly respected artisanal trade, of which your reputation depends on where one holds an apprecenticeship. The friendly lady who assisted us went into great detail regarding an array of Epoisses. M. Brilliat-Savarin dubbed it "the king of cheeses," but my tasting notes read, like licking the wet rafters of a hundred-year-old barn. She lead us around the shop, delighting us with bizarre details including how the production of semi-hard cheese from the Pyrenees region was hampered by bears.

Everyone knows Dijon for its mustard. Before I arrived here, I thought it was more clever marketing than an essential Burgundian ingredient. To my surprise, mustard as a blatant consumer product was largely absent, but mustard, its intense, musty, nose-clearing, and creamy taste was everywhere. For many Americans, mustard is the thick neon yellow substance that squirts out in even lines on a hot dog. To the Dijonnais, mustard and its seeds are a subtle background flavor in salads, an herby, earthy contrast to fresh cheese, or a stringent sauce against a rich steak. I have always been a fan of mustard, or at least what I knew mustard to be, but I have to admit that I never realized its potential. In Dijon, it infused the food like soy sauce in Chinese cooking. It simply appeared everywhere, in savory baked goods, integrated into sauces and marinades, mixed into mashed potatoes, and of course as a condiment.

One assumes that a region's prized product is to be found in its highest form at the source. Of course the mustard is good. But how good is it? Riding the train back to Paris, I realized that for my entire life, I had eaten an over-vinegared, brash, and oily third cousin of the nuanced and wonderfully pungent Dijon mustard. A quick look in my fridge upon returning to New York confirmed my suspicion. My jar of mustard, proudly proclaimed as Dijon mustard, was actually made in Illinois. I've been to Illinois. Their mustard fields don't look like the ones that line the hillsides and the highways of Burgundy.

I am dying to try to recreate some of the dishes I tasted in Burgundy. But in the meantime, enjoy these photos of Dijon's market.

Double Vanilla Pound Cake

Dear Devon,

13 May 2010
Jet lag is brutal. I'm going to bed at 9:30 PM and waking up at 6:30 AM. It is very unsettling. This morning, I actually exercised before going to work! Does that ever happen? I'm in the process of picking through my hundreds of France photos. I will try to send you some images soon. Until then, here is something I prepared before my trip which unfortunately I did not have time to send before leaving for France. Enjoy!


25 April 2010
I'm slowly falling into a routine where each Sunday I bake something to last for the week. Perhaps it is my sentimental side or maybe it's my desire to spoil myself with freshly baked treats? This week, I chose a simple double vanilla pound cake. Convenience was a major factor in the selection process. I had all the ingredients in the pantry, including a cup of heavy whipping cream that needs to be finished and plump vanilla beans. When the fates align, it would be foolish to ignore the signs.

The recipe comes from a marvelous cookbook called The Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet. With some subtle hinting, I tipped the hands of fate and received the coveted book as a birthday present last year. I am really impressed with this cookbook. With its clear and concise writing and luscious photographs, the book is a constant source of inspiration. Ordinary pantry-found ingredients like flour, eggs, baking powder, butter are called for with a selection of exotic flavorings (kumquats, kiwis, coconut) but nothing too wild or difficult to locate. I, generally, steer clear from recipes that call for super exotic ingredients. It's always difficult to figure out what to do with your kafir lime leaves after you've made that one recipe you need them for (mine are still in the freezer, six months later).

Pound cakes are normally molded in a loaf pan. This works out well because currently the loaf pan is the only cake mold I have available. The recipe is the basic butter cake recipe with the added twist of two types of vanilla flavoring: vanilla extract and vanilla bean. On their own, both are potent flavoring techniques, so what happens when they are combined? The nicely browned cake smelled of a heady mix of butter and vanilla. The cake was dense and intensely flavored. I toasted a thick slice, creating a slightly burned edge and slathered the top with a generous mound of rich whipped cream. The intense vanilla flavor seemed to call for a cup of darkly brewed tea, if not a small snifter of brandy.

I like vanilla but a little can go a long way. For future double vanilla pound cakes, I am going to reduce the amount of vanilla extract to 3/4 tsp vanilla and throw in a bit of lemon or orange zest. The zest will brighten the flavor and cut some of the sweetness from the extract. The cake will definitely serve as a great base for trifles, baked Alaskas, or a compote of mixed berries.


Double Vanilla Pound Cake
The Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet (p. 311-312)

6 oz (1 1/2 sticks) butter, at room temp
3/4 cup sugar
1 vanilla bean
3 eggs, at room temp
1 tbsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp baking powder
2 cups cake flour
1/3 cup yogurt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9 inch loaf pan. Sift together flour, baking powder and salt, set aside. In a separate bowl, beat together three eggs.

In a large mixing bowl, pour in sugar. Split open lengthwise one vanilla bean. Using the back of the knife (or a spoon), scrape out all the seeds. Add to sugar and whisk liberally. Beat in butter using an electric mixer, until pale yellow and fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla. Beat until eggs are thoroughly incorporated. Alternately mix in dry and wet ingredients, beginning and ending with the flour mixture.

Pour batter into butter loaf pan. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes, until golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on a metal rack. Serve with a dollop of slightly sweetened whipped cream.

Bonjour Paris!

Dear New York.

I love you. You have are a consistent source of inspiration and an unharnessed life force. I draw energy from your dense, noisy streets and am calmed in your lush parks. But you have been a callous companion. I've grown tired of the subway and the hustle, the morning commute, the $20 brunch menu, and the general grayness. I'm leaving you, to continue my love affair with Paris, its streets, museums, and above all its FOOD!


Hey Devon

Is that too dramatic? I like its cinematic flair. I'm not prone to diva behavior a la Maria Callas, but it'll give me something to chew on while I'm folded into an airplane seat. I'm off to Paris and then south into Burgundy. I'll be headquartered in Dijon, where I plan to eat about five meals a day, let my nose do the decision making, and basically roll around town because I'll be numb from all the good eating. I CAN'T WAIT!!

Pictures will be forthcoming. Notes are a must. I have a long list of places to try from enthusiastic friends. You WILL be hearing from me.

Hugs
Michelle

Braised Lamb Shanks

Dear Michelle,

I apologize for my long absence, and for what I'm afraid will be another till after the wedding. I never imagined that planning for ONE DAY could take up so much time and mental space as it does! That plus getting very busy at work has really killed my free time. Jeff's been cooking a lot more, and when I do cook I just don't have the energy to photograph it and write about it. That doesn't mean I'm not thinking about food; I have lots of day-dreams about what I will make in my free time, whenever it comes again.


So right now I must take you all the way back to Easter, and to my parent's house in Virginia, to experience the height of Spring there. The magnolias were magnificent when I was home, thick and fragile and smelling of honey. The daffodils lit up the vibrant green hillsides with dots of yellow and white, and the fruit trees all had masses of flowers on them. The sycamores in the front yard started leafing out while I was there, the leaves growing noticeably each day. Could there by any place as beautiful as Virginia in the Springtime? There probably is, but I won't believe it till I see it.



I find a terrific irony in eating lamb for Easter dinner, though that's not why my mother made it then. That is, neither particularly for the holiday nor the irony. She made it because she knows it's one of my favorites, and she often makes it when I go home to visit. I usually make it a point get down there in the Spring, and therefore find myself, almost every year, meditating on the tradition of eating lamb to, essentially, celebrate rebirth of diety and land. I know it's probably just because that's when the lambs are ready to eat, at least in this hemisphere. Anyway, it's delicious.


Braised meats are, to me, the easiest to make. They rarely turn out badly, unless you don't give them enough time, and you can usually safely sneak a small glass of wine from the cooking liquid if you've bought a halfway decent bottle. I try to estimate an extra hour into the cooking time, which can only make the meat more tender and succulent. This recipe takes the dish a little further than most when it calls for pressing the cooking vegetables through a food mill or strainer to create a thick, luscious sauce. Serve it on stewed white beans, pasta, or risotto, like my mother did this time. I'd bet it's pretty good with polenta, too.


Oh, and we had apple crisp for dessert. YUM. Thanks, Mom.



Lamb Shanks

Buy at least two lamb shanks, or four or even six if you have a big enough pot for them. Preheat oven to 250F. Add fat to a hot dutch oven, and brown the shanks on all sides, removing to a plate when finished. Below measurements are for 2-4 shanks, adjust as needed for more. Add 1 small onion with about a cup or so chopped carrot to the hot dutch oven, sauteing till softened. Stir in 1 large spoonful of tomato paste (like half of one of those small cans) and two cloves of chopped garlic and let cook for a few minutes, stirring as necessary. It's ok if it browns SLIGHTLY, as this will add further depth. Add half a bottle of wine and stir, scraping bottom. Stir in a good big pinch of herbes de Provence, or some thyme and/or rosemary. Add shanks as tightly packed as possible. Pour wine to almost cover. Put in oven, flipping shanks over every once in a while (maybe once an hour?) until very tender and falling off the bone, three hours or so. Pull out shanks, skim fat off surface of the liquid and strain, pushing as much as you can of the vegetable solids through a strainer. Return to dutch oven and boil till thickened. Pull meat off the bones and add to sauce to reheat.
Leftovers make great tacos!