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Today I met a really nice woman at Whole Foods. She’s going to make scones for her boyfriend for Valentine’s Day, but feels like she isn’t very good at baking so she had a mix to help her. I assured her that making scones from scratch was well within her capabilities and told her I’d send her the recipe, but she was nice enough to check out this (now largely defunct) blog and she said terribly complimentary things about it in an email to me, so I decided to really help her with the scone project and put up step-by-step instructions. 

Let’s talk a bit about baking mixes. I’m against them. I think in large part they’re a scam perpetrated against baking-shy or –phobic people who, for whatever reason, think they can’t bake or are bad at it or that it’s difficult or somehow beyond them. The thing is, most mixes contain little more than flour, leavening, sugar, salt, preservatives, and sometimes flavoring. If you’re going to the trouble of baking, mixing those things together (minus the preservatives, of course) is the easiest part! You’re going to have to get out the eggs, milk, oil or butter, and mix-ins anyway, so why not do a tiny bit more work and be able to say you made it from scratch? As far as I can tell, there’s no good reason not to. You’ll eat fewer preservatives, it’s significantly cheaper, and you can feel smug about baking from scratch. 

Scones are a great place to start if you’re new to baking. They’re easiest to make if you have a food processor, but you can also use a pastry knife. In theory you can use two knives like scissors in place of a pastry knife, but I’ve never had much success with that method and a really high-quality pastry knife costs, like, 12 bucks at Williams-Sonoma and it will last forever. To make scones, you don’t need to do any creaming or much blending – it’s largely just mixing the flour with the leavening, salt and sugar, cutting in the butter, then adding the mix-ins and the liquid and stirring until it looks like dough. There’s a bit of kneading at the end, but it’s not very challenging. Then you just pat the dough into a disk, cut into wedges, bake, and enjoy! Let’s get started. 

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You will need:

2 cups all-purpose flour (10 ounces)
1 cup heavy cream or half-and-half
1 T baking powder
1 t kosher salt (or ½ t table salt)
3 T sugar
5 T cold butter
1 Meyer lemon
½ cup crystallized ginger


The first thing to do is to set up your mise en place. Make sure you have everything measured out, chopped, and ready to go. This way you won’t have to stop while you’re cooking to look for an ingredient, and you’ll be sure that you have everything you need to complete the recipe. Measure out your flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, and cream.
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Finely dice the crystallized ginger. The easiest way to do this is to cut it into narrow strips, then turn all the strips 90 degrees and cut them again into dice. 

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Zest the lemon with a Microplane grater or a lemon zester or other grater if you don’t have a Microplane. If you don’t have a Microplane, get one the next time you’re out shopping. Bed, Bath, and Beyond sells them for under $15 and you can use one of those coupons they’re always mailing you. My Microplane is absolutely invaluable in my kitchen. I use it for grating parmesan, ginger, zesting lemons, and a myriad of other tasks. 

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Cut the butter into cubes by first cutting lengthwise down the stick, then cutting lengthwise again, then several times crosswise. 

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Put the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder into your food processor and pulse several times to mix it all up. 

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Next, scatter the butter cubes over the flour mixture. Pulse it 12 times (or use a pastry knife), until it looks like this: 

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Now dump the mixture into a bowl and add the ginger and the lemon zest. Use a spatula to mix the ginger and the lemon in. Don’t worry if the zest sticks to itself a bit – you should be able to mix it into the flour mixture easily. The flour will help it distribute evenly. 

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When everything is mixed together, pour the cream into the bowl and mix it up. The motion you want to use is less of a stirring motion and more of a scraping or folding motion. Use the spatula to scrape the sides of the bowl and fold the flour that’s on the sides inward, turning the bowl as you go. If you keep at it, you’ll end up with dough that looks like this: 

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Turn the dough out on a clean counter or butcher block or pirate map or whatever work surface you’ve got. Knead it a bit until it all sticks together and forms a ball. Pat the ball into a disk that’s slightly domed and about 6 or 7 inches in diameter. Cut into eight wedges (like a pizza) with a large knife. 

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Now (or maybe 15 minutes ago) would be a good time to put an oven rack in the lower-middle position and heat the oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Note: do not use waxed paper. The wax will melt into your scones and it will be terrible. Not that I’ve ever done that, or anything. 

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Place the scones on the baking sheet, then bake for 15 minutes. I like to turn the baking sheet around halfway through so that the scones bake evenly, but it’s not the end of the world if you don’t. When they’re done, the scones will be baked all the way through, golden brown on top, and turning dark brown on the tips. 

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Serve them warm with a thin slice of butter, a dollop of whipped cream, or a spoonful of lemon curd if you have some. I imagine they’d also be good with berry jam. 

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(Seriously, this recipe is so easy a 2-year-old could do it.) 
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This is a great dessert for entertaining. You should make it a few hours in advance, but it can be served either chilled or at room temperature so it’s pretty low-maintenance. It’s made in two stages: first the crust is baked, then the filling is added and the whole tart is baked again. This is 1/3 of my summer entertaining menu; I pair it with roasted chicken and broiled asparagus with balsamic reduction for an easy dinner that’s sure to impress. Raspberries are in season now so don’t delay making this tart. I’ve adapted David Leibovitz’s Tart Dough a la Francaise to fit an 11” tart pan. The filling is adapted from a Cook’s Illustrated recipe. 

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You will need:

For the crust:
4.5 ounces butter
1 ½ T olive oil
4 ½ T water
1 ½ T sugar
225 grams (7.5 ounces) all-purpose flour

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For the filling:
8 T butter (1 stick)
2 eggs
¾ C sugar
heavy pinch salt
½ T vanilla extract
½ T raspberry liqueur
1 T lemon juice
3 T flour
3 T heavy cream
1 pint fresh raspberries
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To make the crust:

Heat the oven to 410 degrees. Place the butter, olive oil, water, and sugar in an oven-safe bowl. When the oven is heated, place the bowl in the oven and bake for 15 minutes. 
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Remove the bowl from the oven, place on a heat-proof surface, and stir the flour into the hot butter mixture. Be careful as the butter might spatter a bit and it will definitely sizzle and bubble initially. 
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Dump the dough into an 11” tart pan with a removable bottom. When the dough has cooled off enough to touch, press it out into the pan and up the sides with your hands. Dock the dough with a fork (this means to poke small holes into it all over) and bake in the 410 degree oven for 15 minutes. Remove and let cool. 
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For the filling:
  
Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees. In a light-colored saucepan, melt the butter and cook, swirling intermittently, over medium heat until it’s brown and toasty around the edges and smells nutty and delicious. Pour the melted butter into a heat-proof bowl and set aside. 
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In another bowl, whisk the eggs. Add the sugar and whisk until the sugar is dissolved. Add the flour, whisk, then slowly add the vanilla, liqueur, lemon juice, and cream while whisking. Slowly pour in the butter (it should now be cool enough to touch) and whisk until the mixture is homogenous. 
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Place the tart shell (still in the tart pan) on a cookie sheet. In the tart shell, place the berries evenly. I start in the middle and work outward in concentric rings. 
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Slowly pour the custard batter over the berries, taking care not to pour too quickly lest you move the berries around. Bake for 30 minutes, rotating halfway through. The tart is done when it is set and the filling is golden brown on the surface. Cool for several hours, then remove from tart pan and serve. An 11” tart pan will serve 12, for a 9” pan cut the recipe by 2/3, using one egg plus one white and 6 T butter. A 9” tart pan will serve 8. 
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C’est delicieux!! 
 
Orange Altonius 06/06/2009
 
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The heat has finally broken here in Seattle. We’ve returned to our regularly scheduled programming – overcast mornings, sunny afternoons in the 70s, drizzles in the evening and cooler temperatures overnight. It’s much more civilized and we’ve all recommenced wearing pants. If you’re living somewhere that it’s hot – or even if you’re not – you’ll love this sweet and creamy blended drink.

The recipe is adapted from one given on Alton Brown's show Good Eats. I’ve adjusted the measurements to make a full-blender batch, which serves 4 if you’re feeling generous or 2 if you’re thirsty. 

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You will need:

Juicing Oranges
2 T Powdered Sugar
1 t Vanilla extract
2 C Milk (whole is best)

Specialty Equipment:
Juicer (hand or electric)
Ice cube tray

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Juice enough oranges to get 17 fluid ounces of juice. The number of oranges you need for this will vary depending on the type of orange, its size, and how ripe it is. When I made this recipe to take the pictures it took 10 small ones, but earlier this week I used 8 medium-sized oranges. 
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Reserve 4 fluid ounces (1/2 cup) fresh juice, then pour the rest into an ice cube tray and freeze until solid, at least 2 hours.

When the juice is solid, empty the cubes into a blender. Add the milk, vanilla, powdered sugar, and reserved non-frozen orange juice and blend. Serve garnished with an orange wedge. 
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Once again, my dad George: 

The worst ‘milkshake’ I ever had was in Berlin in 1973.  We were desperate for a taste of home so we stopped at a Wimpy’s Burger.  This was before there was a McDonald’s on every block and the Wimpy’s looked reassuringly franchised.  (Wimpy?  Remember Popeye?  Wimpy was his fat sidekick who would obsequiesly snivel, “I’d gladly pay you Tuesday, for a hamburger today.”  Anyone under 50 may have to Wiki that.)  Anyway, somebody thought that would be a good basis for a burger restaurant and franchised it.  And the burgers might have been OK, I don’t really remember.  What I do remember is that the milk shake came out in a glass.  And it was milk, shaken.  We tasted it again.  It was just milk with bubbles that could only have come from vigorous shaking.  All we could visualize was the night staff standing in the back, poring over a German-English dictionary, shrugging, and shaking some milk for all they were worth.   

Let’s be honest, I steal most of my recipes.  I think we all do.  How many people actually make up something new?  Not many, I’d guess.  (Of course, there was my highly original Pickled Beet Whipped Cream, which, contrary to the scornful derision of my family, wasn’t that bad.) 

Aunt Joyce, a master cook herself, once told me that there were no secrets.  Everything was in a cookbook somewhere.  I mean, with 6 billion people on the planet eating two or three meals a day, that’s a lot of food and people talk.  

But every so often I think I come up with something myself.  Now, this may be a nice bit of self-delusion.  There’s a phenomenon where you get a great idea and a month later read about somebody else with the same idea. Except they market it and make a million bucks.  Did they read your mind?  No.  We’re all subject to roughly the same pool of information.  The same stimulus.  The same events.  The same background knowledge.  That the same ideas would occur to two or more people isn’t strange, it’s almost inevitable. 

Then there’s the Forgetfulness Phenomenon.  You learn something, time passes, you forget that you learned it and it occurs to you seeming like an original idea.  This may have happened when I discovered

The World’s Best Chocolate Malt

It happened at a resort my parents owned back in the 70s.  We were making malts but  they always seemed to lack a dimension.  Fullness?  Richness?   Some were OK but most were disappointments. 

Working  in the resort we had a commercial kitchen and lots of supplies.   At some point I decided to add marshmallow cream to a shake, filled it with chocolate and malt powder, and the gates to heaven opened. 

Really, I mean, this is the malt that your friends will do a double take for.  It’s rich, it’s sweet, it’s creamy/chocolaty/malty . . . it’s really, really good.  It’s so good that we can’t have it at my house.  Once you start making and eating these things, well . . . you gain weight.  It’s the same thing with triple-chocolate cake (cake mix, instant pudding, chips, and yogurt in a bundt pan.)  Good?  Hell, yes.  But just how fat do you want me?  

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Anyway, here’s what you do:

Ingredients:
  8 oz milk
  Big scoop of marshmallow cream  (1/2 cup?  ¾?  You be the judge)
  Malt powder, 2 huge spoonfuls (1/4 cup? 1/3? Again . . .)
  Chocolate syrup (I judge by the color)
  Vanilla Ice cream  (better have two quarts on hand)

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Set up your blender.  Pour in the milk.  Drop in the huge scoop of marshmallow cream and blend immediately.  (Put on the lid first, or you’ll be wearing a portion of this but don’t delay)  The cream should dissolve in the milk but if it gets too cold there may be problems.
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While the blender is still running drop in the malt powder and squeeze in the chocolate syrup.  

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Then start scooping in the ice cream.  Keep at it until the blender A) is full, or B) chokes and won’t take any more. 

Pour into huge glasses and serve with a strong straw.  

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If you’re the sort that likes to keep guests mystified, you can do this in the kitchen and when, amazed, they ask how you did it, you can simply reply, “Ahh, it’s just ice cream in milk.” 

It’s OK, not all secrets are meant to be shared.  

 
 

Rhubarb is often the first fruit available in the spring. It has a wonderful tart flavor and a beautiful pink color that is fresh and vernal. Though the flowers of the plant are toxic, the stalks are delicious. This tart really highlights the flavor of the rhubarb and is easy to throw together. It’s wonderful fresh out of the oven or served at room temperature and makes a good accompaniment to good vanilla ice cream. 


You will need:
  • 2 large stalks rhubarb
  • 1 sheet puff pastry
  • ½ cup sugar
  • juice of 2 lemons
  • 6-8 strawberries (optional) 

Begin by defrosting the puff pastry. I buy mine at Trader Joe’s where it comes in a square sheet, but at most grocery stores it is sold in a narrower and thicker box and the sheets inside are folded in thirds. To defrost, place the sheet on the counter for 15 to 30 minutes, turning over if the bottom is soft and the top is still frozen. 

While the pastry is defrosting, prepare the rhubarb. Begin by washing each stalk and cutting off the top and bottom. Turn the stalk on its side so that the convex part is facing sideways and you’re balancing the rhubarb on its edge. Using a VERY SHARP knife, cut the rhubarb into 1/8” slices at a 45 degree angle. The pile on the left was cut with a dull knife, and the pile on the right was cut with a sharp knife. Note that the rhubarb cut with the sharp knife is neater and the pile on the left is almost shredded. 

Juice the lemons and mix the juice with the sugar. Toss the rhubarb with the juice and sugar and let sit for at least 10 minutes. While the rhubarb is macerating, prepare the pastry. 


(Sorry for the blurry photo.) 

By now the pastry should be defrosted. If you have the kind that is folded in thirds, unfold it, taking care not to crack it along the fold. Use your fingers to gently press the pastry back together along the fold lines, but do not knead it. Cut the pastry in half longitudinally, then roll out on a well-floured surface to 2/3 to ½ its original thickness. 

Using a paring knife, score the pastry about ½ inch from the edges all the way around. Use a fork and poke holes in the pastry inside the box you just drew with the knife. This is called docking the crust, and it will prevent it from puffing up where you’ve poked holes. Do not poke holes in the outer edge. 

Lay the rhubarb out on the pastry just inside the score line, slightly overlapping pieces. Use about half the rhubarb. Repeat with the second piece of pastry. Place both tarts on a baking sheet lined with parchment and bake in a 400 degree oven for 30 minutes, or until the tart is lovely and golden brown around the edges and the bottom of the tart is also golden brown if you lift it up carefully to have a peek underneath. 

Best served warm with vanilla ice cream, but is also good room temperature for breakfast the next morning. 

Optional strawberry variation: slice strawberries into pieces, and alternate with the rhubarb when layering. There is no need to macerate the strawberries in the juice and sugar as they’re sweet already. Bake just as for original tart. 

 
 

I'm starting a new feature here at Emily's Hot Dish. Guest Chef Mondays: Wherein I Convince Other People To Do The Blogging For Me. Our inaugural guest chef is my dad, George. He stayed at home with my brother and I while my mom went to work, so I grew up leaning to cook from him. My earliest memory is sitting on the kitchen counter while he cooked dinner, watching as he added things to the pots on the stove. At the time it seemed like alchemy; he has the wonderful skill of being able to go into a fridge that others find nothing worth eating in and 30 minutes later there's a delicious meal on the table. Chickpeas and blueberries in a salad? Oddly delicious. 


He writes: 


OMG!  TBO!  . . . NSM.

I was reading through the March issue of Esquire a couple of weeks back when I turned to page 106 and actually said to myself, “Oh Em Gee, Tee Bee Oh.”  There was a picture of a stack of Banana Bread French Toast. My mother, Emily’s grandmother, the home-ec teacher, mom of the 50s and no-nonsense Midwestern cook had a failsafe recipe for banana bread that she passed to me.  If you’ve got buttermilk and at least three old bananas, you’re in pig heaven.  She said it was really banana cake but if you called it banana bread you could eat more of it.  Practical, my mother.  So, I like banana bread. 

And I like French toast.  All the better since A) we came across the Cooks’ Illustrated version of French toast dip with milk, sugar, and egg, of course, but also melted butter, flour, and vanilla, and B) we decided to (actually, Emily suggested that we) make it with Italian panettone instead of bread.  This is not difficult living in Italy, as we do, and makes really amazing French toast. 

But not like in the Esquire picture.  I mean, French toast made of banana bread?  With syrup and lemon-flavored sour cream on top?  It just screams “TBO”. 

When we lived in Germany our family friend Trudy was visiting us.  A day with her was like three with a mere mortal.  She made things funnier, events more significant, and life more special.  We were cooking, talking, and recording a tape to her brother who was out at sea and we got to the chocolate soufflé portion of the evening.  It came out rather well and upon the first mouthful Trudy exclaimed, “Oh. My. God.  Major TBO.” 

An Army major?  Time Between Overhauls?  I must have looked puzzled as she translated:  “TBO? -- Taste Bud Orgasm.”

Ahhhhh, it made perfect sense.  The soufflé met the description so much so that we decided we should really make another just to prove the first wasn’t a mistake.  And the term entered our family’s lexicon. 

And seemed to fit the concept of Banana Bread French Toast.  I mean, what’s not to like?   Bananas, walnuts, butter and sugar, then everything French-toasty, then syrup and then sour cream whipped with lemon zest. .  .  the sum just had to be better than the parts, and all of the parts were really good to start. 

Plus, it was an Esquire recipe. Esquire is a men’s magazine but not a “cheesecake mag.”  It has more pictures of male Italian models wearing $3000 suits without socks than any undressed women.  But it does do one thing well every so often: recipes that appeal to guys. 

Which is why I thought I’d give the Banana Bread French Toast a try.  So we did.  Karine and Stuart, our upstairs neighbors, were having Eva and Jose over and Stuart’s sister was visiting so we thought it was a perfect opportunity to test-drive a new recipe.  They are friends that deserve something really special but will laugh and forgive you if it’s a spectacular failure.

And it was good.  Really good.  But not great.  Banana-y, walnutty, French toasty, sour creamy?  Yup, all those things.  Did the masses clamor for more?  You bet they did, and demanded the recipe, too. 

But OMG, TBO?  Not So Much. 

A lot of flavor there, but somehow it didn’t all come together.  It didn’t seem as if we’d done it wrong, it just seemed like there were a lot of separate flavors on the plate.  Good.  OK, very good.  But not great. 

Maybe we just expected too much. 

Give it a try and see what you think. 

 Helen’s Banana Bread
½ Cup butter
1 Cup sugar
2 well beaten eggs
3 mashed bananas
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ Cup buttermilk
2 Cups sifted flour
½ Cup chopped pecans or walnuts(or not)

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Cream together butter and sugar.  Add eggs and bananas and blend. 

Add and blend the buttermilk

Sift together flour and soda

Add banana cream and blend.

Pour into floured loaf pan.

350 degrees Fahrenheit for 1 hour. 

The top should be brown and cracking, the sides should be just starting to pull away.  Test center with spaghetti at 50 minutes.  It should come out bone dry when done. 

French Toast Batter
1 egg
2 TSP melted butter
¾ Cup milk
1 TBS Vanilla Extract
2 TBS Sugar
1/3 Cup flour
Pinch salt

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Beat egg.  Whisk in butter, milk, vanilla, sugar, flour, and salt.

Do not refrigerate, trust me on this.  The butter solidifies, separates out, clumps up, and ruins your morning.  

Just heat your pan (cast iron or pancake griddle), butter it, turn to medium heat, and fry your toast.  First, of course, soak your bread for a couple of seconds.  The original recipe suggests you soak it for 30 seconds or more.  That assumes you are using a yeast bread that has some tensile strength.  Banana bread, however, is a heavy cake that when wet, tends to fall apart easily.  Dip it with your whole hand and remove it using your spread fingers to support the entire slice.  Once it’s on the griddle, you’re OK. 

The Esquire Suggestion

Before frying the toast, whip some sour cream with the zest of a lemon or two.  Esquire claims that artificial (Mrs. Butterworth’s) syrup is better in that it is thicker on the toast and plate.  Real syrup is thinner and soaks in.  This is, of course, heresy, foolish, and totally wrong.  And with all these flavors on the plate maybe it’s just possible that you couldn’t tell the difference, but why take the chance? 

Toast on the warm plate, a dollop of lemony sour cream, and syrup over everything. 

If you’re serving it to guests, pretend you do this all the time. 

If you're interested in Guest Cheffing, leave a comment or shoot me an email. All are welcome.